Book review: A myth with modern themes

“I am fury. It is all that I know and all that I am. I am the bitterness that lives in the heart of every wronged person. I am retribution served swift and reprisal served slow. My heart sings when blood flows, my mouth waters at the crushing of bones. It is the only time I know peace.”

This is the vengeful voice of the titular character in The Morrigan by Kim Curran.

In Irish mythology, she is a goddess of war, and the drumbeat of this novel is her unapologetic, insatiable rage.

Curran’s narrative opens with The Morrigan arriving with the Tuatha Dé Danann on Irish shores and depicts the character’s interactions with legendary figures, climaxing with the monumental battle between Queen Medb of Connacht and Cúchulainn at the Cattle Raid of Cooley.

Melding fantasy and mythology, The Morrigan tracks its warrior protagonist, who can shapeshift from human to beast, as she navigates fluctuating emotional states — from the pain of ostracism and grief to the exhilaration of falling in love and giving birth.

The novel is embroidered with some of the classic conventions of mythology. 

For example, The Morrigan embarks on a quest, spells are cast, and the numbers three and seven recur throughout.

An essential element of historical fiction is how it incorporates contemporary preoccupations and The Morrigan imaginatively engages with some of today’s most polarising anxieties.

The novel weaves in concerns about nationalism (“Who wouldn’t give their blood for this soil?”) and the migrant crisis (“I would…force them into exile, till they became nothing but whispered memories”).

Elsewhere, Curran probes fraught social and political flashpoints, including the representation of female ageing (“Why was it that being old was the worst thing they could think of for a woman?”), climate change (“What a savagery man performed on the earth”), and privilege (Cúchulainn was told “the world would be his, that he would be adored by all”).

The portrayal of The Morrigan offers glimpses into the protagonist’s interior life. 

She admits her fear of showing vulnerability (eventually seeing tears as a source of healing rather than weakness) and acknowledges the risks inherent in love. 

Becoming a mother fundamentally alters her perspective: “A heart I thought was cold as stone burned within my chest, filling every inch of me with love”.

The novel would have benefited from a stronger emphasis on The Morrigan’s psychology, however, rather than focusing on the seemingly relentless action sequences that drive the plot.

While characters’ inner monologues aren’t central in mythology, The Morrigan could have amplified this aspect because it is explicitly framed as a retelling of the protagonist’s role in the canon of Irish legend.

The Morrigan insists she was deliberately excised from accounts of the Tuatha Dé Danann and wants to reclaim her position (“I will try to tell it now”).

This resonates with an important theme of the book: The version of history we receive is invariably shaped by the sources who provide it. 

These narratives celebrate a hero’s wartime achievements but typically elide the complexity of the individual (“Poets lie”).

While the novel presents a pointedly feminist rendering of The Morrigan’s exploits, the effect is undercut by the depiction of its male characters as largely treacherous, vain, and condescending. 

A more nuanced portrayal would have better articulated this strand of the book.

Born in Dublin and based in London, Curran is a copywriter and author of seven young adult novels.

The Morrigan, her debut novel for adults, won’t convert readers who are unmoved by historical fantasy but for genre devotees looking for an epic story marinated in Irish mythology, this is catnip.