A Review of
Katrina Denza's "What She Gave to the Sea"
SmokeLong Quarterly #11 (December 2005)
by Peter Anderson
Katrina Denza's "What She Gave to the Sea" is a fine example of fiction which builds on an earlier, well-known work. Such derivative works can elaborate on what the original left unsaid, or introduce new characters and settings with which a familiar classic character can interact. In this story Denza invokes Greek mythology---specifically Poseidon, god of the sea---in telling, with spare but very moving language, a sad tale of a woman facing the difficult decisions she has made in her past.
Like many of his godly colleagues, Denza's Poseidon appears on earth, looking for mortal women to seduce. But instead of the usual mythical devices---seducing mortals after appearing to them as a glimmering shower of gold---this Poseidon uses much more prosaic means: he simply picks up the unnamed woman in a bar. His ungodlike actions (acting pensive, meekly asking her to marry him) call into question whether the man is indeed Poseidon at all. This startlingly mortal Poseidon is certainly not the warrior of antiquity who acted violently and impulsively, attacking his enemies in tide-releasing fury. But the woman, perhaps persuaded by the seaweed stuck to his feet, the trident he nervously picks his teeth with, or his scent of dead fish, is convinced he is indeed Poseidon. Or perhaps she needs to just believe he's Poseidon, as if her actions can be excused by her being a mere mortal, powerless before a mighty god. The woman seems strangely compelled to submit to him: she "offers herself as sacrifice" despite his less-than-flattering comments about her "boyish" body and dull personality.
Denza's structure---ten stanza-like sections, each beginning with "There's a young woman," "There's a woman," or "There's an old woman"---gives the story a meter and rhythm, its rigidity standing in sharp counterpoint to the softer human emotions of the narrative. The structure also echoes the verse-based narratives of the oral traditions from which the transcribed myths and sagas were derived.
The writer presents a convincing contrast between the woman's two worlds: the land where she marries and raises her family which is high and bright, "close to the sun and far from the sea," and the setting of her early life, near the sea, which is dark, cold, damp, full of rank smells, forbidding. But she feels strangely drawn back to this latter world---even in her sunny aerie she can't escape the sea, and she's "haunted by the smell of salt air," obsessively laboring to cleanse the smell away, trying the patience of her mortal husband.
The lingering salt air and the lure of the seashore seem to represent her guilt over the child she had by Poseidon, a child which she gave up for adoption after refusing to marry him. In refusing to do so, she realizes the marriage would never work, vividly alluding to a married Poseidon as "seawater captured inside a jar (which) begins to smell after a while." Later, her mortal husband insists that she needs to let go and put the past behind her, something which she is clearly unable to do.
As the story concludes, she has returned to the sea shore as an old woman, demanding that Poseidon show himself and answer for what he has so carelessly done to her life. She steps into the sea, calling him out. Although her fate is not entirely clear, the gently ominous tone suggests that this old mourning woman seeking answers at the end of her life sees little left to live for, other than redemption. Yet if the man truly was the god Poseidon, it's highly unlikely he'll bother answering to a lowly mortal; and if the man was just a common mortal, he's probably long since departed. She may never find redemption, finding instead nothing more than a lonely end in the sea's depths.
Copyright © 2006 Peter Anderson
