I sincerely doubt any Black Gate reader needs an education in who Ray Harryhausen was or why his films, despite the sea-change in special effects technology, remain seminal classics (I’ve been making my way through a bunch of his swashbuckling adventures with my Zoomer son, who notes, time and again, how ‘cheesy and awesome’ the stop motion is, but also calls out how perfect at times the strange movements are at making monsters seem, well…strange and *monstrous* in a way that smooth CGI does not).

I myself am young enough that the only Harryhausen film I saw in theaters was his grand finale, Clash of the Titans (1981), though thanks to Saturday matinee TV I had a steady diet of all that came before.

Clash itself is interesting, because, written by Beverley Cross, while ostensibly the story of Perseus — one of the few *likable* Greek heroes, and one of the few with a reasonably “happy” ending to his tale — the film is to large extent a reworking of an early film Cross had done with Harryhausen, Jason and the Argonauts (1963).

For those a bit older than myself, it is the latter film, with its famed finale against the animated skeleton warriors, that is the quintessential Harryhausen film. Certainly, the quest for the Golden Fleece is in many ways the quintessential adventure story of the Western canon: a band of adventurers, each with unusual gifts (remember, Peleus, father of Achilles and greatest warrior of his generation, Orpheus the Bard, the twins Castor and Pollux and Herakles are among the Argonauts!) sailing into foreign lands and there encountering strange peoples and monsters; an island of beautiful women who have murdered their husbands; blind oracles; cannibal savages; harpies; and at last, an evil king who has the Fleece guarded by a dragon.

Their own hope? Aid by his daughter, who is high-priestess to the goddess of magic — but her brother is on to them!

Is that not the prototype to most High Fantasy…. and every good D&D adventure?

Consequently, it’s probably surprising that unlike the stories of Achilles, Odysseus, or Thesus, there have been far less attempts to recount the story of Jason. Likely this is for three reasons.

1. A LOT happens in the full story of Jason; the tale of the Argonauts is just one part of it, and not even the largest, but certainly the most exciting.

2. Unfortunately, the tale of the Argonauts, even who they all were, is derived from multiple, contradictory sources that changes up who is there, who does what when, and sometimes the crew are just names — so an author has a lot of leeway, but also not a lot to go on.

3. Even by the standards of Greek heroes, Jason is at best harsh and inscrutable and worst callous and cruel. Achilles may be an arrogant prick, but he has his moment with King Priam. Theseus, does Ariadne dirty, but has a great love story with Hippolyte and multiple adventures and high deeds — and also, at the end, is aware of his failings. Jason is hard to know, is often overshadowed by Medea, one of the great tragic figures of the myth cycles, and even his end is… uninspiring. Even in that Harryhausen film, it’s really more about the gods on Olympus and Harryhausen’s miniatures than anything Jason is up to…

And yet, the tale of the Argo is seminal. So imagine my surprise, and excitement, to come across not only a book boldly labeled Argo in a London bookshop, but to find out that it was Volume One of a Blades of Bronze trilogy. I immediately bought it, stuffed my current read back in my suitcase, and made it my inflight read home.

Mark Knowles, the author, is a trained classicist, has rowed reconstructed Greek biremes and consulted with experts in Bronze Age weapons and warfare, studied recent thoughts on who was actually living in Colchis in 1200 BC and what their cities were like…. even the Golden Fleece itself has a verified, archaeological take. But this is not a dry or dense historical novel, it is an action-adventure tale, and a big one, spanning about 600 pages and ending with the capture of the Fleece itself. To my knowledge, this is the first time this has been done since Henry Treece wrote Jason in the 1960s, and this is a very different work in tone and pacing — with a decidedly less unlikable Jason, even by the standards of point 3.

How’d he do?

Before we talk about what Argo is, let’s be clear what it is not: It isn’t the sort of revisionist takes on Greek myth that are popular right now.

Song of Achilles was a major breakthrough in telling Greek hero-tales from a queer POV (although, newsflash — that was being done 3,000 years ago, really isn’t new), and has been followed by a slew of feminist takes on the old myths: Ithaca, Medea, Circe, Medusa, etc. That’s certainly a great idea, as let’s face it, the women in these stories get one raw deal after another. But it is not the ONLY way to tell the story of Odysseus, the Argonauts, the Trojan War, etc., and it has become so prolific that it is becoming a cliche in its own right.

So, if you wanted Argo to have a sociological slant, ie: a feminist or queer take on the tale of Jason, you will be sadly disappointed and should skip this book. (But see below, after Volume 3.) Likewise, if you wanted a Ray Harryhausen fantasy replete with gods, dragons, etc., you also should look elsewhere.

Instead, Knowles tries something radical — so radical, it hasn’t been done since the radical 1960s: Argo is a deeply researched historical take on what the underlying story behind the legendary quest for the Golden Fleece might have been with glimpses of magical realism and the inexplicable (at least to the characters) such as might be woven by a Luis Borges or the incomparable Mary Renault.

Let’s get to it.

VOLUME ONE: ARGO

Kingdom of Iolkos, Thessaly. 1250 BC

Twenty years ago, the Kingdom of Iolkos was attacked and the young prince – Jason, son of King Aeson – was smuggled from the palace.

Now, Jason has become a fearless seafarer and explorer. He returns to Thessaly, bitterly determined to make his rightful claim to the throne. But King Pelias won’t give up the rule of Thessaly easily. So he gives Jason an impossible challenge: to win back his throne he must steal the Golden Fleece from the distant kingdom of Colchis.

Jason assembles a band of Greece’s best warriors for his crew aboard the Argo. But even with these mighty athletes by his side, Jason will have to overcome the brutal challenges hurled his way and quickly distinguish friend from foe. His mission and his life depends on his wits and skills with a blade…

Argo is the first half of a retelling of the legend of Jason, his quest for the Golden Fleece and what happened upon his return. Arguably, the tale of the Argonauts is the prototypical quest tale in Western literature and there is a direct through-line from the Argo’s mishmash of characters from a powerful berserker (Herakles) to a moody, doom-haunted bard (Orpheus), and a powerful priestess-sorceress (Medea). It’s an ancient tale, with no single surviving narrative until about the 4th c BC, almost a millennium after the events are said to have taken place (a generation before the Trojan War, or c. 1300 – 1250 BC).

The story isn’t perfect: Knowles decides not to address Jason’s being raised by Cheiron the Centaur by just saying he was raised by ‘shepherds,’ which makes some of his skills — such as his ability to pick up fighting skills on the journey somewhat contrived. Some of the Argonauts have little personality (often because history left us little to go on besides a name), and it takes Knowles time to really settle into a voice for Jason. The story of the Argonauts is itself very linear and episodic, and “Argo” is little different in this respect. Although we get snapshots of life in Colchis and Medea’s plot to avoid unwanted marriage; these scenes are few and far between and the novel faithfully follows Jason and his crew as they make their way east.

Having said that, within these limitations, the story is fast-paced, with stirring, well-conceived action scenes, and if some of the Argonauts are little more than names, others, such as guilt-ridden Oileus; self-serving and pot-stirring Idras; and the “mad, bad. and-dangerous-to-know” Herakles are dominant figures with clear voices from the first time they appear. Medea, one of the most fascinating women of Greek myth, is a cipher, stirring, intriguing but her motives unclear — then again at this stage, perhaps that is fitting, leaving her story with Jason for volume 2. Any 600-page novel you read in three sitting is doing something right.

VOLUME TWO: JASON

The quest is far from over
They may have won the prize, but will any of them make it home alive?

Jason has fulfilled the mission set him by his uncle, the scheming King Pelias of Iolkos: he and the Argonauts have won the fabled Golden Fleece of Colchis. Jason dreams of glory – of taking his uncle’s throne, rightfully his – and, like his warrior shipmates, of home.

But it is not only Pelias who wishes Jason ill. Before the Argonauts can make it back to Iolkos, they must contend with a legion of foes who would see them dead – and a web of allies who are not quite what they seem.

Jason and his warriors must outwit the recondite Circe and the spies of mighty Troy, overcome hostile tribes beyond the Danube, and sail the troubled waters of the Archipelagos, where the Sirens wait to snare unwary seafarers.

Yet Jason’s perils are only beginning, for he will soon discover that a truer evil lies closer to home…

Second novels are hard, and middle volumes of a trilogy even harder as you need to advance the story in a satisfactory way, yet leave the larger plot unresolved. Even more challenging for Knowles, the various Jason legends say very little about the Argonauts” return journey.

Taking those scraps, parallel stories happening at the same TIME as the Argonauts’ adventure, and leavening with a dash of Ray Harryhausen (his take on Talos the Man of Bronze is somewhere between Harryhausen and George R. Martin’s The Mountain!), Mark Knowles creates a compelling, action-packed tale of Jason’s home journey. As in volume 1, this is a ‘realistic ‘, his-fic version of the tale, albeit with a dusting of magical realism in which some things seem to defy reason/explanation and the reader can take them at face value, as the characters do, or not. Jason’s character develops quite a bit, but not entirely for the better.

As is her want in any version of his story, it is Medea who constantly upstages the other characters. Volume 2 is the chronicle of their love story, though even here, the frayed edges of Jason’s personality, and Medea’s own gifts of insight, hint at the tragedy that is to come.

Of necessity, and much like the myths, the narrative is episodic, and some episodes work better than others; while the adventure on Crete has perhaps a small misstep in trying to too closely link the Jason and Theseus cycles, much to Theseus and Ariadne’s detriment. (Unfortunate, as historically, Theseus is the more interesting figure, even if Jason’s adventures are more gonzo.) Still, this is a page-turner, and the conclusion comes in a rush that leaves you gasping like you’ve just spear-fenced a cadre of Trojans, setting up the triumph and tragedy that awaits in volume 3.

Very well done, indeed!

VOLUME THREE: HADES

The Age of Heroes is dead.

Decades after the voyage of the fabled Argo, the last remaining Argonauts are scattered to the corners of the Greek world. The last vestiges of once-mighty kingdoms are crumbling or already lie in ruins and the enemy is nearly at the gates. The gods have abandoned Greece. The Sea People are coming…

If the Age of Heroes has truly passed, never to be reborn, then great men will fade and pass into legend. Only one man can channel the spirit of the Argonauts and inspire and renew the heroism of old… and it may yet be too late. Will the old-world crumble and burn… or will a new hero rise?

This is the blurb for Volume Three, and in a way, it reminded me of the (perhaps only) memorable line of Luke Skywalker in The Last Jedi: This won’t turn out how you expect it to. And that’s true the moment I opened the cover of the final volume of this trilogy.

In a sense, even “trilogy” is a fraught term for how Knowles decides to complete the Blades of Bronze saga. Rather than continue the long journey through Jason and Medea’s disastrous marriage, his infidelity, her murder of their children, his overthrow and exile — all fodder for many a play and saga through the centuries — Knowles jumps two generations. The Argonauts are old men, many dead, all scattered, and it is the time of the invading Sea Peoples, whom we have seen glimpses of in the first two novels. Orpheus, youngest of the Argonauts and bard, assumes his logical role as Chorus, singing to us the tale of the Argonauts final deed, and with it, the time that will be known to history as the Bronze Age collapse.

In essence, Hades is a stand-alone sequel, or a novel-length epilogue to a two-volume tale of Jason; a thematic trilogy more than a literal one. This also means that one could conceivably pick up Hades without having read Jason or Argo, though I think much would be lost thereby.

Setting his story mostly with Xandros, Jason’s grandson via one of the twins he fathered with Hypsipyle, queen of Lemnos during the Argo’s journey to Colchis, we follow Xandros’s quest to find the remaining Argonauts, the politics between the two rival polities on Lemnos, the tale of Huliat, a young captive raised among those Sea Peoples who will be remembered through time as the Philistines, all intercut with Orpheus’s observations of his role both then (Orpheus the character), and his reflections long after the events are over (Orpheus the Chorus).

The end result is a far more complex and ambitious novel than the previous two, with sometimes uneven results. Knowles does not have historic legend for an outline, and indeed, the Bronze Age Collapse is itself a debated and complex topic; at times the first two third of the novel feel episodic and at times characters or ideas don’t seem to reach their full potential.

The introduction of Huliat, which I will leave vague so as not to give away a nice Easter Egg, is indeed a good “reveal” but the early few chapters of his origin suggest either more of a role throughout the novel, or could have been excised completely, leaving his appearance for the end. Likewise, Xandros has a love interest whom Orpheus charges him to take with him on his quest early in the novel — then they are promptly separated, and she disappears from the story for about 250 pages.  In a way this is a big book that could be winnowed down, OR, could have been expanded to a second volume.

What Knowles handles brilliantly is the world-building — his late Bronze Age LIVES and it is as full and vibrant an alien fantasy world as any you will visit, because its inhabitants live by different rules than we. But he also masters mood in this novel, specifically the feel of a dying era; that somehow, despite the triumphs of the Argonauts, the Greek victory at Troy, something has all gone wrong within but a handful of years and the Mycenean world is collapsing from within, just as it is facing an implacable foe from without. The Sea Peoples are thinly sketched (as they are, to large extent, to archaeologists), and I think this works well — it gives their coming an elemental, insurmountable feeling.

Orpheus, who has been such a slight character in the first two volumes, now speaks in first person throughout his portions, and dominates his scenes with a vibrance and energy (odd terms for an old man), that I would very much like to see a standalone novel about the bard himself. Interestingly, the magical elements, while still slight are a bit more pronounced — there are at least two instances where I myself was left scratching my head thinking “wait, did she…”. It’s well done and fits.

Finally, as all Greek myths must be, and as its name — and its narrator’s identity — suggests, Hades is a tragedy, so its final act is the final act of a novel, of a trilogy and of an era. That’s a big landing to stick, and although there were times I was impatient with the middle of the book, it’s final act on Lemnos is as epic as the encounter Knowles envisions and the cast he assembles; its epilogue truly an ending of stories.

These old tales are told again and again, in different media and hidden in different guises, for a reason: they reach back through time to primal elements of our being. There is also a reason to sometimes “play it straight”, and Mark Knowles, in trying to tell “what might have been” has written a fantastic historical fiction, but also created a vivid secondary world as the men behind those myths might have known it. You will not always like these men; you will not deny their arete . Blades of Bronze is decidedly worth your time.

EPILOGUE: WITHER MEDEA?

As I said earlier, there has been a lot — by which I mean a now ridiculous — amount of feminist or queer takes on the Greek heroic age. You can find multiple takes on just about every heroine and myth cycle; far more than you can of modern lit takes on the heroes as written.

Having said that, any story that does follow the mythic narratives faithfully does mean that the role of some of the amazing women in these myths gets short shrift — their stories were often left to, at best, the playwrights of the Hellenistic age. For those who aren’t that familiar with Jason and Medea’s story, the structure in Knowles’ trilogy allows a reader to fill in the long gap between Jason and Hades with Eilish Quin’s Medea. Definitely a feminist take, it not only covers the events not recounted by Knowles, but the two works share an interesting thematic quality in that both “Medeas” are dealing with the world mythologizing their story while they are still alive and living it.