Will I ever get over this novel? Will I ever not want to be reading it? I don't think I will. This is almost a month after finishing, and I still feel like picking it up again. Circe's words are still with(in) me. Madeline Miller's prose is beautiful, simply beautiful, captivating. Her characters are alive, lovely, hateful, present, all of the above—I honestly thought she could never top The Song of Achilles, and I'm not sure she has, but who knows? This might be it. I won't put it past her.