Ayana Gray’s adult debut, “I, Medusa”, marks a significant departure from her celebrated YA Beasts of Prey trilogy, yet it carries forward her signature talent for breathing life into mythological worlds. I, Medusa doesn’t simply retell the myth of the snake-haired Gorgon—it dismantles and reconstructs it entirely, centering a narrative that classical texts have spent millennia obscuring. This is Medusa’s story, told in her own voice, with all the rage, heartbreak, and hard-won power that such a reclamation demands.
“I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray follows Meddy, the mortal daughter of minor sea gods Phorcys and Ceto, who spends her childhood as an afterthought beside her immortal sisters, Stheno and Euryale. When the goddess Athena offers her a position as a priestess in Athens, Meddy seizes the opportunity to escape her island prison and discover purpose beyond the narrow confines of marriage and motherhood. What begins as a tale of self-discovery transforms into something far darker and more complex—a meditation on power, agency, and the cost of survival in a world ruled by capricious gods.
A Portrait of Transformation
Gray’s greatest achievement lies in her nuanced portrayal of Medusa’s evolution across three distinct identities. The girl who arrives in Athens is intellectually curious, desperate to prove herself worthy, and painfully naive about the dynamics of power that govern both divine and mortal realms. Her transformation following Poseidon’s assault and Athena’s curse isn’t instantaneous or clean; it’s messy, painful, and entirely human in its authenticity.
The middle section of “I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray, where Meddy grapples with her new form and its implications, showcases Gray’s willingness to sit with difficult emotions rather than rush toward resolution. Meddy’s journey from victim to vigilante doesn’t follow a simple trajectory of empowerment. Instead, Gray explores the complicated territory between justice and vengeance, the burden of wielding lethal power, and the question of whether reclaimed agency can ever fully heal the wounds of violation.
The relationship between the three sisters forms the novel’s emotional core:
- Stheno emerges as the pragmatic strategist, her sharp wisdom born from understanding that “power is not given, it is taken”
- Euryale provides warmth and emotional intelligence, serving as a bridge between Meddy’s idealism and Stheno’s hardened realism
- Meddy herself evolves from seeking external validation to defining her own purpose on her own terms
Their bond deepens after they all bear Athena’s curse, transforming from typical sibling dynamics into something more profound—a chosen family forged in shared trauma and mutual protection.
Athens Reimagined
Gray’s Athens is a revelation, drawing on extensive historical research to present an ancient world far more diverse and complex than popular imagination typically allows. The bustling markets, the temple rituals, the social hierarchies of citizens, metics, and slaves—all are rendered with sensory richness and careful attention to period detail. The author’s note acknowledges the scholarly foundation for depicting a multiracial ancient Athens, pushing back against modern misconceptions of Mediterranean antiquity as racially homogenous.
The temple life receives particularly vivid treatment. Gray captures the rhythms of religious service, the politics among acolytes, and the ways institutional power operates even in sacred spaces. The tests Athena’s priestesses must pass—demonstrating knowledge, craftwork, and ultimately an undefined quality that amounts to the goddess’s favor—mirror the arbitrary standards women face in patriarchal systems, ancient and modern alike.
However, the world-building occasionally prioritizes thematic resonance over geographical consistency. The fictional island where Medusa’s family resides remains purposefully vague, which serves the story’s universality but sometimes creates spatial disorientation. Readers seeking the concrete specificity of historical fiction may find certain elements frustratingly abstract.
Confronting Uncomfortable Truths
“I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray tackles sexual violence with unflinching honesty while avoiding gratuitous detail. The assault scene itself is brief but devastatingly clear in its depiction of manipulation, coercion, and the violation of trust. More importantly, Gray explores the aftermath with rare sensitivity—the self-blame, the way trauma fragments memory, the societal mechanisms that protect perpetrators while punishing victims.
Athena’s response to Medusa’s assault proves particularly chilling. The goddess punishes Medusa not for being violated but for allowing another deity to “use” what Athena considered her property. This framing exposes how institutions often care less about harm done to individuals than about territorial disputes between powerful actors. The curse itself—transforming Medusa into a “monster” whose very gaze kills—becomes a metaphor for how survivors are stigmatized and isolated rather than supported.
“I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray also examines power imbalances with considerable nuance:
- Poseidon’s grooming tactics mirror predatory behavior across centuries
- Athena’s conditional kindness reveals how mentorship can become manipulation
- The gods’ dependence on mortal worship exposes vulnerability beneath divine power
- Medusa’s eventual wielding of her curse raises questions about the ethics of violence
Gray doesn’t offer easy answers about whether Medusa’s transformation into a vigilante represents triumph or tragedy. Instead, she presents it as both—a reclamation of power that comes at tremendous cost.
Prose That Pulses With Emotion
Gray’s writing style adapts beautifully to adult fiction, maintaining the vivid imagery and emotional immediacy of her YA work while embracing darker, more complex territory. Her prose favors sensory detail and interiority, pulling readers into Medusa’s perspective with remarkable intimacy. The snake imagery alone—how the serpents writhe and hiss against Medusa’s scalp, bite when disobeyed, eventually settle into something approaching companionship—demonstrates Gray’s skill at making the fantastical feel visceral and real.
The pacing, however, proves uneven. The Athens section unfolds with deliberate attention to daily life and character relationships, building investment before the devastating assault that bisects the narrative. The post-transformation section moves more rapidly, sometimes rushing through emotional beats that deserve more space. The final act particularly accelerates, leaving certain plot threads—including Medusa’s relationship with Apollonia—feeling somewhat truncated.
Gray’s dialogue captures the cadences of mythological speech without descending into archaism. Characters speak with formality appropriate to their status and era, yet their concerns and conflicts remain immediately accessible. The author successfully walks the difficult line between honoring the source material’s ancient origins and ensuring contemporary relevance.
Where the Narrative Stumbles
While “I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray excels in many areas, it occasionally struggles under the weight of its own ambitions. The compressed timeline—Medusa’s entire journey from sheltered girl to legendary figure occurs within roughly two years—sometimes strains credulity. Her intellectual development from island isolation to serving as Athena’s favorite priestess happens remarkably quickly, even accounting for her self-education.
Additionally, certain secondary characters remain underdeveloped. Theo, Medusa’s childhood friend, serves primarily as a device to demonstrate the cost of her curse rather than emerging as a fully realized person. Similarly, some of the temple priestesses and Athens citizens blur together, distinguishable more by function than personality.
The novel’s engagement with the original mythology walks a careful balance but occasionally tips into didacticism. Gray’s author’s note helpfully contextualizes her interpretive choices, yet sometimes the text itself feels overly conscious of making particular thematic points, particularly regarding institutional complicity in violence against women.
A Necessary Retelling for Our Time
Despite these critiques, “I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray succeeds magnificently at its central goal: restoring agency and humanity to a figure Western culture has spent millennia depicting as monstrous. Gray’s Medusa isn’t a cautionary tale about female vanity or sexuality gone wrong. She’s a young woman navigating impossible choices in a world designed to exploit her, who ultimately chooses to define power on her own terms rather than accept the limited roles others prescribe.
The ending resists neat resolution in favor of something more honest. Medusa doesn’t find permanent peace or ultimate victory over the gods who wronged her. Instead, she discovers that purpose isn’t a single destination but an ongoing process of self-definition. For readers frustrated by narratives that promise trauma can be “overcome” through sheer determination, this more realistic portrayal may prove refreshing, if bittersweet.
For Readers Who Loved This
If “I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray resonated with you, consider these similar mythological retellings:
- Circe by Madeline Miller – Another tale of a mythological woman finding power and purpose despite divine persecution, with equally gorgeous prose
- The Silence of the Girls by Pat Barker – Centers the Trojan War’s female captives, exploring agency within brutal patriarchal systems
- Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes – An alternate Medusa retelling that shares Gray’s feminist approach to classical mythology
- A Thousand Ships by Natalie Haynes – Retells the Trojan War entirely through women’s perspectives
- The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller – For readers who appreciated Gray’s lyrical approach to ancient Greek settings
- Ariadne by Jennifer Saint – Follows another mythological woman betrayed by heroes, with similar themes of survival and self-definition
“I, Medusa” by Ayana Gray stands as a powerful addition to the growing canon of feminist mythological retellings. While not without flaws in pacing and character development, its unflinching examination of power, trauma, and agency makes it essential reading for anyone interested in how ancient stories can speak to contemporary concerns. Ayana Gray has crafted a Medusa worthy of the name—not a monster, but a survivor who refuses to let others write her ending.