Autor: Hephaistos

Trojan horse that ended the Trojan War of Homer's ancient Greek tale.

On the Shores of Troy — Sing, Goddess, the Tale of Achilles and Its Silent Heroes

Januar 5, 2026 /

My dear reader,

in the last newsletter we travelled to a remote lighthouse off the coast of Australia to ponder what we are allowed to do on account of our own happiness. I believe this is a question we can never answer with absolute certainty; sometimes all our guiding lights fail, and we must make a choice even when every option feels wrong.

This month, our journey is less about distance and more about time — we’re visiting an era long past, scarcely recorded in history. We’re traveling to ancient Greece — or more specifically, ancient Troy at the time of the Trojan War. The events of the story are well-known and have been passed down through the millennia. Though the events themselves belong to a distant past, the underlying human experiences remain unchanged today.

A Tale as Old as Time

In Pat Barker’s novel The Silence of the Girls the story of the Trojan War is told from the point of view of Briseis, the princess of Lyrnessus. The story begins with the sacking of the city in which her brothers and husband die by Achilles’ sword.

Long after the Trojan War is over, Briseis describes how she and the other women were taken by force and enslaved. She is given to Achilles as a war prize and made his slave. As Briseis is the main narrator of the story, some of the events that are usually covered in retellings of Homer’s Iliad are left out or only appear on the margins. Instead, the narrative centers on her own experiences, bringing the events that matter most to her into sharp relief.

We get a glimpse of what is going on inside the Greek camp — the suffering of those enslaved, the relationships they build amongst themselves and with their captors — as well as an unusual, perhaps more private picture of Achilles. While The Silence of the Girls questions the Homeric ideal of Achilles as the great hero, it never reduces him to a soulless brute. Briseis’ view of Achilles is more layered and complex — he is both these things and none of them. He’s carrying his very own burden and emotions — he’s human like all of us.

A Tale Retold

Telling the events from Briseis’ point of view gives us the opportunity to challenge the traditional version of the story; the first person as narrator brings us even closer to Briseis’ view of the events. She brings in her opinion and interpretation to these events which gives them a unique perspective.

At the same time, the narrator is neither omniscient nor objective, but highly limited and subjective. Barker mitigates some of the narrowness of the first person narrator by — very purposefully — having some chapters taken over by a third person narrator focused on Patroculus or Achilles.

Allowing a second narrator’s perspective does more than relieve the limitations of Briseis’ perspective, it also challenges it: Is Briseis a reliable narrator? Is she telling us everything? Is she maybe carefully selecting what she wants us to know? Could she even hide something from us?

For me, the suspicion that Briseis is not always reliable became very strong when she tried to explain why — after she had nearly successfully escaped from the Greek camp — she returned to Achilles’ compound. She rationalizes it later, but the reasoning feels thin. It left me wondering whether her feelings towards Achilles had changed in the course of the story.

What History Remembers

It is often said that history is written by the winners — from the perspective of those who dominated in the end. We’ve seen this in other stories too — in Lisa See’s Snow Flower and the Secret Fan, Yaa Gyasi’s Homegoing, and also James Welch’s Fools Crow.

In Pat Barker’s The Silence of the Girls the question of how history is told and whose perspective lives through time was especially loud for me. Briseis’ point of view challenges our traditional reading of the Trojan War and of the great hero Achilles — but not by rewriting them, but by adding layers and facets rarely seen before. Recently, authors like Pat Barker or Yaa Gyasi have started to challenge traditional history book accounts. They do not dispute the events themselves, but the lens through which we have come to understand them. The absence of these perspectives may not even be intentional; they might simply have been irrelevant to those recording the version of history we as a society have accepted as fact.

What stories have challenged your previous understanding of history? How and why did they change what you’ve considered to be the truth? What did you previously accept as “how things were” simply because no other voice was present? I’d love to hear from you. Just reach out via mail or owl.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Reading a book and listening to an audiobook, reflecting on how medium shapes story interpretation

Eyes Wide, Ears Open — Finding Your Interpretive Space

Januar 3, 2026 /

My dear book-lover,

I had a frustrating moment a couple of weeks ago. Because I love listening to stories while walking or doing household chores, I often buy audiobooks. This time I had selected The Kingdom of Back by Marie Lu. It’s the story of Mozart’s sister Anna (“Annerl” in Bavarian). It begins in Salzburg, with Annerl’s early memories of her brother Wolfgang’s (“Wolferl”) musical genius. Obviously, all place and people names are in German. Unfortunately, the performer was mostly unable to pronounce these names correctly. “Annerl” and “Wolferl” turned into what sounded like “Anrul” and “Wolfrul”; I — a native German speaker — struggled to understand many of the names because of the mispronunciations.

I eventually had to stop listening, which got me thinking about how the medium shapes our perception of a story. I might have ended up liking the book, but I just couldn’t keep listening to the performer’s pronunciation mistakes. In this case, the medium negatively affected my perception of the story. What bothered me wasn’t only the mispronunciation itself, but the sense of a growing disharmony between the story and me.

Today, I’d like to discuss how the way we experience a story — through reading or through listening — shapes our perception and affects our interpretation of it. For explorations like this, I created the Reading Lens — a space for reflection, curiosity, and deeper engagement with the stories we encounter.

Encountering a Story

Most of us encounter stories either by reading a paper book or eBook, or by listening to an audiobook. Of course, there are practicalities attached to all three:

Paper books are the most tangible of the three, because you can interact with them directly. You can make notes, put in a bookmark, display it on a shelf, give it to a friend. Very similar to this, eBooks are pragmatic alternatives. You can carry all your books with you in one small device.

Audiobooks are practical in a different way. You can listen to your book and have your hands free for easy chores, which can make unenjoyable tasks much more fun.

These practical differences are real — but they don’t, on their own, explain how our perception is shaped or what that means for interpretation.

When a Text Takes Shape

Practicalities aside, there are important differences in how we engage with the story when either reading or listening. Please note that I’m only talking about books here that are meant to be read; I’m not including theatre plays, poems or similar works here.

Paper books and eBooks both require us, as readers, to interpret the text for ourselves. When reading, we are directly interacting with the story from the page. We interpret punctuation, pauses, tone of voice, and intonation to shape pace, characters, and dialogue.

For a long time, I thought audiobooks already covered this task for us, because we don’t have to think about tone of voice or intonation — especially in dialogue. When something is read to us and we do not interact with the text on the page ourselves, what we hear is how the performer interprets pace, voice, intonation. We primarily hear the performer’s interpretation of the text. Subtle ironies you might have picked up may be lost to them. Maybe the text is more quiet or more angry in their interpretation than it would be in your own.

As a reader, the interpretation of the text and the story is entirely your responsibility. As a listener, you interpret the performer’s version of the text, but still interpret the story, the characters, the text coherence — you interpret what remains once tempo and tone have already been decided. The space for your own interpretation is narrowed by what the performer gives you.

A Layer between us and the Text

In the end, the central question is how much of the interpretation we want to allow someone else to do for us. When we read a book, there is no additional layer between us and the narrator. When we listen to an audiobook, we allow the performer to sit between the narrator and us. And their interpretation of the text can affect ours. This may rob us of certain possible interpretations — but it may also enrich our experience, because they make the text come alive.

Personally, I love interacting with the text directly — to be as close as possible to the source of the narration. But I’m also a pragmatist, and I enjoy listening to a great performer tell me a story. For me, every text opens its own interpretive space, and by choosing the medium we get to occupy this space in different ways.

The Text through Your Lens

When did a medium change a story for you? When did someone else’s voice sharpen — or quietly narrow — your experience of it? And when did you choose that trade-off deliberately?

Before I leave you with these questions, feel free to visit my Contribee page, if you’d like to help keep the Lens sharp. Think of it as dropping a coin into the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to think about the fabric of stories and how we interact with them, feel free to pass this Reading Lens article along. There’s always room for a fellow thinker.

Hope to read you soon,
Kalypso

Lighthouse on a remote island, symbolizing moral dilemmas, solitude, and guidance in M.L. Stedman’s The Light Between Oceans.

The Lighthouse at the End of the World — Can You Trust the Light to Guide You Right?

Dezember 4, 2025 /

My dear book-lover,

Did you enjoy Daniel’s search for answers? And what treasures lay hidden in your own Cemetery of Forgotten Books? If there’s anything you’d like to share, just send me an electronic letter.

The next book I want to share with you is not as mysterious as the story of the ever-elusive Julián Carax, but no less dramatic — and just as heart-wrenching.

The Solace of Solitude

M.L. Stedman’s novel The Light Between Oceans begins in 1918, when Tom Sherbourne, who returns to Australia after serving in World War I, takes up his position as lighthouse keeper on the remote island of Janus Rock. Tom, taciturn and diligent, clearly carries the pain and trauma of his years at war. Unlike many who returned home after the war, Tom has a strong moral compass and a very clear sense of right and wrong. He craves the solitude and structure that the work on Janus Rock will give him, as he hopes to find peace by disconnecting from the world.

Just before he sets off for his solitary life on Janus Rock, Tom meets Isabel. There’s a stark contrast between the two characters: Tom is quiet and seems to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders; Isabel looks at the world with curiosity, optimism, and unclouded innocence. They fall in love and quickly fill the solitude of their remote home with their happiness.

When Solitude Turns to Loneliness

But their happiness slowly begins to fade as Isabel suffers miscarriages and stillbirths. It’s not only the death of her unborn children that causes her such pain. She also grieves the loss of her dream to raise a family and, with it, the loss of the future she imagined. Her pain is even sharper because she has to carry it alone; she withdraws from Tom, and he slowly loses the ability to connect with her.

As they lose themselves in their pain and trauma, a miracle happens — an infant girl and a dead man are washed up in a dinghy on the shore of Janus Rock. And though Tom knows it is his duty to report the event, though a part of him whispers that this is wrong, he hesitates. Isabel, believing the girl was a gift from God, begs him to stay silent. Tom writes no report. They keep the girl. They name her Lucy.

For the next few years, they live as though Lucy were their own daughter and get to have the family they’ve always wanted. Until — by a series of coincidences — the girl’s true family is revealed.

The Road Not to Be Taken

This moment is the novel’s turning point, though the direction is never clear as we’re wading through a moral fog we can’t dispel. Four forces pull against one another: Isabel, who cannot bear to lose the child she has raised; Tom, who believes it is wrong to keep a child from her family; Lucy’s biological family, who are still grieving their loss; and Lucy herself, unaware of the truth and unable to decide for herself.

The novel is deeply psychological. Every possible road the story could take from there seems both right and wrong. Every path runs into a dead end. There is no fair solution. None of the options allow everyone to have a happy ending. Our senses of morality, fairness, and empathy are in checkmate. Ironically, the very things we uphold as guiding lights — morality, fairness, and empathy — falter here; even the lighthouse that gives the novel its name cannot cast a beam through this moral fog.

The characters are faced with a set of questions they all need to answer and everyone’s answer is different: Can I be happy while doing something wrong? Does achieving my own happy ending justify placing someone else in misery? Will I sacrifice my own happy ending to do the right thing?

On Account of Happiness

And these, my dear mind-wanderer, are the questions I want to leave you with today. What are we allowed to do, on account of our own happiness? And, if you’ve already read the novel, what did you think of the ending? I’d love to hear from you.

Before I leave you to ponder these questions, feel free to visit my Contribee page, if you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Cemetery of Forgotten Books

Barcelona’s Cemetery of Forgotten Books – Chasing the Shadow of the Wind

Dezember 3, 2025 /

My dear reader,

I hope the story of Lily and Snow Flower has touched your heart as much as it did mine. And while the story of these two women has left me with a feeling of helplessness, I also admired their courage and resilience in facing their life’s difficulties. If their story sparked other thoughts in you, I’m curious to hear from you!

At its core, Lily’s story is about friendship, resilience, and finding one’s own voice. The narrator and protagonist is Lily herself, who writes down her story towards the end of her life. In this newsletter, we’re looking at another novel told from the point of view of the protagonist and narrator, who also tells us his story at a later point in his life.

A Book Named after a Book

The protagonist and narrator of The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón is a young man named Daniel, who lives with his father, the owner of a bookshop, in Barcelona. The earliest event of Daniel’s story takes place around 1940, when his father takes him to the Cemetery of Forgotten Books. In this mystical library of rare and banned books, he may pick one book. His father tells him that the book he chooses will determine his own life’s story.

Daniel finds himself drawn to the novel The Shadow of the Wind by Julián Carax. After reading and being consumed by the novel, Daniel wants to find out more about the author and his other books. It soon turns out, however, that the life — and presumably the death — of Julián Carax is deeply mysterious and that the book in Daniel’s possession is the only existing copy.

Lives Interwoven: Stories within the Story

Over the following years, Daniel keeps searching for answers about Julián’s life, his books, and his mysterious death. In the pursuit of answers, he unravels a tragic love story that swept everyone around the unfortunate couple along with them.

With the help of his friends and their network, Daniel follows clue after clue — sometimes being led on what seems to be a wild goose chase and sometimes to a dead end. He also encounters several characters that at first seem to be only informants and then turn out to be central to the whole story.

It’s fascinating how Zafón has interwoven multiple timelines and storylines. While Daniel follows his clues like a detective, there’s always a piece of the puzzle that seems to be missing, so you never get to see the full picture — until the final pages of the novel.

It’s Time to Try Defying Destiny

Apart from the narrative choices, timelines and storylines, one core question kept returning to me: Is there really something like destiny and can we defy it by making our own choices?

At the beginning of the novel, Daniel is told that the book he chooses from the Cemetery of Forgotten Books will shape his path. Indeed, discovering the book and his fascination with it sends him on an investigative journey that continues to affect his life and the lives of those around him. Beyond that, there are noticeable parallels between Daniel’s experiences and those of Julián Carax, hinting at a potential tragedy in his own love life. And yet, through his choices, Daniel avoids the fate that befell Julián.

But still, the question of whether we can defy destiny remains — and the book offers no definite answer. And beyond destiny, Zafón’s novel invites us to think about the books we carry in our own lives.

Exploring your own Cemetery of Forgotten Books

So there’s one last question — a much lighter one than destiny’s (in)exorability — that Zafón’s novel has raised: Which books rest in my personal Cemetery of Forgotten Books? And that question, my dear book-lover, I want to leave you with today. What books have you laid to rest or banned and why? I’m curious to hear from you!

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

China Lisa See Snowflower

Confined to the Upstairs Room — Walking on Lotus Feet, Writing out Loud

Dezember 2, 2025 /

My dear reader,

I know it’s been a while since my last book recommendation. I’d love to tell you that this was all because of some big stuff I’m preparing in the background to bring even more stories to you. But in all honesty, I didn’t do anything to push or promote this page — in truth, I didn’t make enough time to produce anything meaningful. I got carried away by what life demanded from me — and by the stories I let myself get lost in.

Whispering Voices

But even though I wasn’t writing, stories were still finding me. And some of them refused to leave quietly. I hope that over the next weeks I’ll be able to bring some of them directly to your inbox or internet browser.

When I started this newsletter I set out to explore foreign cultures and find untold stories. Reading through the last book recommendations, I really find myself circling back to stories that are told from an unexpected perspective or that give a voice to people who often go unheard.

And among all these whispering voices, one voice stood out — not because it was loud, but because it was unmistakably clear. Lisa See’s novel Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is a perfect example of what I wanted you, dear reader, to find in this newsletter.

A Bond that Lasts a Lifetime

The story I want to share with you today is one that has deeply moved me. It’s the story of two women whose friendship grows, endures, breaks and revives over the course of their lifetime.

Lily, a beautiful girl from a poor family, enters a laotong relationship with Snow Flower, an equally beautiful girl from a rich and prestigious family. A laotong bond is an official sisterly relationship between two women and it helps to massively improve Lily’s marriage prospects.

From their first meeting on, the two girls are very close — sharing many of life’s challenges — until it is time for them to marry. As soon as they get married, however, their life’s circumstances and roles are reversed: While Lily gets to marry into a prestigious family, Snow Flower who had been hiding her family’s impoverishment from Lily can only secure a marriage into a butcher’s family, which at the time was the lowest profession in society.

Suffering in Silence

The bond between Lily and her laotong shapes their girlhood, but it is adulthood — and the weight of the world around them — that truly tests their friendship. We follow Lily and her friend through their joint and individual hardships like footbinding, war, sickness, miscarriages, and betrayal.

To improve and secure their marriage prospects by having perfect lotus feet, the girls have to go through the painful footbinding procedure. The procedure is not only painful but also dangerous because infections can easily fester in the broken and torn feet.

During the Taiping Rebellion, the rural communities in Hunan province, where our story takes place, had to leave their homes behind and flee to the mountains. The suffering people endured then is hard to put into words.

What stayed with me most was not only the women’s hardship itself, but how little any of it seemed to matter to the world around them. Throughout the whole novel it is made clear that women’s lives and their hardships are of no relevance to anyone but — maybe — themselves. They are utterly powerless and have no voice.

The Voice without Sound

This feeling of powerlessness and irrelevance hit me hard. Sometimes, I wanted to shout at Snow Flower and Lily to just break free from the shackles that they were wearing. But — of course, and that’s the point — for them, there was no way to break free — at least on the outside.

And yet, even in all this silence, something unexpected stirs beneath the surface — a quiet refusal to remain unseen. Taking a closer look at what was going on between the women behind closed doors, we find that they did find their voice. Some women in the region, Lily and Snow Flower among them, learned the secret women’s script known as nu shu — a syllabic writing system, partly derived from the male ‘official’ script. The women use this language to secretly communicate: they write letters to each other, embroider handkerchiefs, and paint on fans. Lily and Snow Flower commemorate the most important joint memories of their friendship on a secret fan.

Through this secret writing, women get to step outside of their very narrow lives, to be creative and to reach across distances. By that they — confined to the upstairs room and utterly powerless — can find their own voices. This is especially true for the protagonist, Lily, who learns the secret women’s writing early in life and later teaches it to the next generation.

Narrating a Story, Commenting on Life

We meet the protagonist, Lily, as an old woman who tells the story of her life and especially her most meaningful friendship. The story being told in retrospect allows the narrator, the 80-year old Lily, to reflect and comment on the events. We’ve also seen this in Memories of a Geisha where Sayuri later interprets the events in a different way than in the immediate moment.

That way, we clearly experience the story from Lily’s point of view, but at the same time, the narrator is not limited to exploring their immediate experience of a given situation but can interpret it differently at a later point in time or even correct themselves. This adds depth and lets the story move closer to or further from each moment.

For your own Research

Websites

Articles

Movies & Documentaries

Finding your Voice

While first and foremost, Lisa See’s novel Snow Flower and the Secret Fan is about a deep and powerful friendship between two women, it’s also a story about finding your voice. The narrator is honest and aware of her own limitations in life. However, she has found a way to express her deepest voice and thoughts through nu shu. For me, this was also a very hopeful message that even in the darkest of times and even in the most limited circumstances people can create something for themselves and make it their own.

Let me Hear Your Voice

If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions — I’d love to hear from you. Just reach out via mail or owl.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

French Resistance – Glimmers of Light in Dark Hours

Oktober 4, 2025 /

My dear time-traveller,

I hope last month’s story inspired you to take a closer look at Japanese culture—or at least at your own perception of it. Perhaps you agreed with me that it’s never easy to fully grasp a culture that isn’t your own, though this doesn’t mean you’re purposely misrepresenting it. Or maybe Arthur Golden’s novel sparked entirely different thoughts in you. Either way, I’d love to hear them.

Echoes of World War II

In Memoirs of a Geisha, Sayuri recounts her life in a voice that is more personal than historical. Yet even in her intimate storytelling, World War II presses in. At first the effects seem small, almost distant—but as the story unfolds, they deepen and grow. Through Sayuri’s eyes we glimpse how profoundly the war reshaped Japanese lives and history.

This month, we remain in the 1940s but shift both culture and geography: from Japan to France, much closer to the European heart of the war.

One Tale, two Voices

Lucinda Riley’s The Light Behind the Window wouldn’t be one of her novels without being, of course, two stories woven into one. One thread takes us to wartime France; the other to a more contemporary setting, 1998.

The novel opens with Emilie, a young woman who inherits her family’s château in Provence and a house in Paris after her mother’s death. As she begins to untangle her family history, we learn about her father and her aunt during the German occupation. The past comes to life most vividly through Constance, a member of the Special Operations Executive sent to Paris in 1943. Her chapters are written in first person, while Emilie’s modern storyline is told in third person—an interesting inversion of Riley’s usual pattern. Rather than distinguishing between an “omniscient” and an “introspective” narrator, she seems to use these shifts simply to mark the different timelines.

A Tale through a Lens

Reading this story felt both fascinating and unsettling. Having grown up in Germany, reminders of the Nazi regime have always been part of my environment. Yet my perspective has always been strongly Germany-centered: I knew of resistance groups within Germany, but rarely considered how others across Europe resisted and collaborated. Riley’s novel opened a new lens for me—a reminder that Hitler’s reach extended far beyond battlefields and that collaboration left scars across many countries, not only within Germany’s borders.

That’s what makes this book more than a family saga or wartime romance (though it is those too, complete with tragedy and a touch of cheesiness). Whether tragedy outweighs cheesiness or the other way round you may decide for yourself. Lucinda Riley’s story made me reflect on history’s complexity, and on how stories can broaden the way we see our past.

This month, I’ve decided to skip the extra historical tidbits and bonus materials. Sometimes, the best companion through a story is simply the story itself, and the reflections it sparks for us as readers.

Share your Lens

If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions—I’d love to hear them. Just hit reply and say hi, share your take, or let me know what you’re currently reading.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Geisha Gion Kyoto Japan

Kyoto’s Willow World – Becoming a Geisha in Gion

August 2, 2025 /

My dear reader,

I’m so eager to recommend you this month’s book. As I’ve only recently learned by doing my own research on the book, it sparked more than a bit of controversy. Before we get into the heart of it, let’s take a quick look at the journey we’ve been on so far.

Where We’ve Been

So far, we’ve traveled from Ancient Rome, to 19th century Montana, to 17th century Africa (to name only the starting points of each of the books I’ve recommended so far). And it’s been quite a ride. The one topic that connected them was colonialism, its history and effects. But we also explored the adjacent topic of perspective and cultural perception. This month’s book continues that thread—in a culture that may feel even more distant and mysterious to many Western readers.

Sayuri’s World: Story and Structure

Arthur Golden’s novel Memoirs of a Geisha tells the story of a young girl from an impoverished family who is sold by her parents to the district of Gion in Kyoto. But until a very fateful moment that will change the trajectory of her life—the moment she meets the Chairman—her outlook is uncertain at best. The girl is eventually found and mentored by an older Geisha who takes her under her wing and helps her to become a Geisha.

Sayuri’s story is told in the style of a memoir and in the first person singular. That way, we see the world through her eyes. At the same time, telling the story in retrospect also allows present-day Sayuri to comment and interpret on her life’s events. While first person singular is a far more intimate perspective than third person, it’s also less well-rounded in the sense that we only see what the narrator brings up and what information they are privy to themselves. That unique lens—intimate yet incomplete—stayed with me, especially as I revisited the book years after my first encounter.

Through My Lens: First and Second Encounters

The first time I picked up Memoirs of a Geisha must have been around 2005—when the movie came out. I remember reading the book first, but admittedly my memory of both the novel and the movie were rather obscure. Which made re-reading it all the more enjoyable. What I do remember is that—back then—I thought the book an interesting picture of a Geisha’s life. Of course, I knew little about what a Geisha was and even less about the history of Japan.

Re-reading the story now, I started to wonder whether an author from a different cultural background could, even in light of all their research and their intimacy with the country and its traditions, truly grasp and properly reflect a culture that is so foreign to the Western World. Personally, I have not yet found an answer. And as it turns out, I’m not alone in wrestling with this question. The book’s reception—particularly in Japan—was far from uncomplicated.

From the Outside Looking In: A Cultural Controversy

When I started reading more about the book and about Geishas I learned that the publication of the book—as well as the movie a couple of years later—caused a scandal in Japan. It seems that both book and movie were found to be a misrepresentation of Japanese and Geisha culture. This criticism was also tied to a legal dispute: one of Golden’s key sources, former geisha Mineko Iwasaki, sued him for breach of confidentiality and later published her own memoir to counter his portrayal. In the West, the book was largely celebrated as an authentic glimpse into a hidden world—highlighting the stark difference in reception between Japanese and international audiences. I wonder whether a verdict such as this is too harsh. But you may be the judge of this.

There’s More to Explore

If you’re curious to dig deeper or form your own opinion, here are a few starting points.

Articles & Essays

Movies & Documentaries

Entering the Willow World by Yourself

If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions—I’d love to hear them. Just hit reply and say hi, share your take, or let me know what you’re currently reading.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Yaa Gyasi Homegoing

Across the Atlantic –One Origin, Two Paths of Fate

Juli 20, 2025 /

My dear reader,

have you had the chance to follow Fools Crow to the Backbone of the World — and have you felt how both his personal struggles and the hardships of the Pikuni tribe changed the way you look at the history of the Native Peoples of America?

If you have — or especially if you haven’t — I’m curious to hear what you thought. Feel free to just send me a note and share your experience.

Conquerors, Conquered — and Collaborators

This month, we’re staying with the broader theme of colonialism — from a somewhat familiar, yet still very different angle. So far, we’ve met Caesar, whose story is one of conquest and colonisation. We then looked at the perspective of those conquered, whose way of life is severely threatened. As we already saw in Fools Crow, some among the colonised even facilitate conquest and support the foreign power in order to profit themselves.

In Yaa Gyasi’s novel Homegoing, we dive deeper into the minds and histories of those directly affected by colonialism — as they were the ones being colonised.

Two Sisters, Two Fates

The story begins in Cape Coast Castle, in what is now Ghana, in the mid-18th century. Told in a structure reminiscent of short stories, Homegoing follows the descendants of two sisters who lived very different lives. One sister lives in relative comfort as the wife of a British officer; the other is imprisoned in the castle’s dungeon and traded as a slave to the United States.

To put it in a nutshell, we learn the histories of British colonies in Africa and the history of those who were brought to the United States as slaves.

History, as It Was Lived

As we follow each protagonist for only a short part of their life, the broader theme emerges slowly and naturally. Historical events and their impact are shown rather than told. Sometimes they are loud; other times, they fade into the background — depending on the individual’s experience.

As we move from one generation to the next, we see how the past continues to echo — not just through history books, but in families, in bodies, in neglect, in violence, in silences. Trauma becomes inheritance, even when the exact memories are lost.

History is almost never explained explicitly, but blends into the world each protagonist inhabits. To me, Yaa Gyasi focuses on the individual’s experience of the time they were born into and lets the reader explore the period for themselves. In Homegoing, questions of identity and belonging quietly take root. Some characters are disconnected from their pasts and must invent themselves in unfamiliar worlds. Others fight to hold on to cultural memory, even as it slips through generations. Yaa Gyasi’s novel doesn’t offer clear answers — only the quiet ache of what’s been lost, and the strength that still remains.

Exploring without the Omniscient Narrator

I must admit that my knowledge of British rule in Africa and the history of slavery in the US — both before and after the Civil War — is a bit hazy. But I believe the historical realities, and the overarching themes of uprooting, exploitation, and centuries of discrimination, are vividly present in Homegoing. They don’t need additional facts and figures to be felt.

That’s why I’ve decided to skip the additional materials in this newsletter. Let the story guide you. Experience the world like the protagonists do — without an omniscient narrator explaining the political decisions and historical forces of the time. And if something catches your curiosity, feel free to dig in.

If Yaa Gyasi’s novel sparked thoughts, memories, or questions — I’d love to hear from you. Just reach out via mail or owl.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, feel free to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat — no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Backbone of the World – Riding the Storm with a Young Pikuni Warrior

Juni 28, 2025 /

My dear reader,

I hope you’ve found and shared stories that moved you since the last newsletter. Perhaps you even had time to follow Julius’ footsteps through Rome, Gaul, Spain, and Egypt. If so, let me know what you thought of his conquests and political triumphs.

On the Edges of the Empire

Ever since sending out that last letter, one thought kept creeping back into my mind: Yes, the conquests of Caesar—and of the Roman Empire more broadly—were undeniably impressive. Their legacy still marks the map of Europe. And yes, their method of integrating conquered peoples was clever, even seductive. They brought roads, aqueducts, architecture—advancement, some would say.

But it was also ruthless. Highly exploitative. Roman rule was imposed on autonomous, self-governed peoples who had no say in the matter. And of course, Rome was neither the first nor the last empire to expand in this way.

History repeats this pattern. Empire brings wealth to the conquerors, but at great cost to those already living on the land. We see this again with the Spanish, French, English, Dutch—and, in South America, the Portuguese—in the so-called “New World.” Profit, at a price often paid in lives and memory.

So this month, I wanted to turn the lens. Away from the empire builders—and toward those whose worlds were changed by conquest.

Holding On to a Fading World

This month, we meet White Man’s Dog, a young man of the Pikuni, one of the three tribes of the Blackfeet Nation, living in the region now known as Montana. Fools Crow, written by James Welch, brings us into a way of life that was already beginning to fade in the late 19th century.

The story begins shortly after the American Civil War. At first, White Man’s Dog seems unremarkable—young, unsure, untested. But as the novel unfolds, he earns respect as a warrior and emerges as a steady, grounded presence within his community.

Standing Against the Storm

When I picked up Fools Crow, I expected a story shaped by marginalization. Welch, after all, was one of the first widely recognized Native American authors, and he grew up on a reservation in Montana. In my mind, I had already placed this novel into the category of “marginalized voices.”

But Fools Crow doesn’t read like a story reaching in from the margins. The Lone Eaters, a band of the Pikuni, are self-reliant, self-governed, and deeply rooted in their land and customs. The novel portrays a world that is intact—spiritually, socially, and politically. The people within it are not helpless or oblivious. They recognize the changes pressing in around them, and they discuss, debate, and respond with clarity and agency.

Still, the threat is real. Trade with white settlers brings not just goods, but diseases. Dreams grow darker. Violence looms. There is a sense of watching a storm gather in the distance—one that will reshape the land, and the lives of those who call it home. While there’s animosity toward white encroachment, there’s also curiosity, and even the hope of gaining from their wealth or knowledge. Nothing is simple; every reaction is layered with history, desire, and fear.

Let the Story Guide You

Fools Crow isn’t an easy book to slip into—but it’s deeply captivating once you’re there. Welch uses Blackfeet names for people, places, animals, and objects. While I quickly grew used to the characters’ names, I found myself adrift when it came to unfamiliar flora, fauna, and geography. Welch offers little cultural explanation, so as a reader unfamiliar with the traditions, you’re left to lean into the context, to feel your way through the unfamiliar.

That unfamiliarity is part of the power. Fools Crow is rich with symbolism and deeply rooted in the worldview of the Pikuni people. Dreams, visions, and ceremonial practices are not just background elements—they shape the path of the story and the life of the protagonist. The spiritual world isn’t set apart from daily life; it breathes through it, offering guidance, warning, and connection across generations. I’m sure much of its meaning slipped past me—I could only glean what I could from research and quiet attention.

For further exploration

If Fools Crow leaves you wanting to learn more—about the literary movement it emerged from, the historical backdrop, or stories with a similar tone—here are a few places I explored:

Articles & Essays

TV Series & Documentaries

As always, follow what sparks your curiosity—there’s no need to click through everything. Let the story lead.

Into the Backbone of the World

The novel uses a third-person omniscient narrator, shifting between perspectives. At times, we’re deep inside White Man’s Dog’s thoughts; at others, we glimpse the inner lives of those around him. This broadens the emotional scope and gives the story the feeling of a shared memory, rather than a solitary journey.

I hope you’ll enjoy exploring the “Backbone of the World”—the Rocky Mountains—and following White Man’s Dog on his quiet, powerful journey into adulthood.

If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions—I’d love to hear them. Just hit reply and say hi, share your take, or let me know what you’re currently reading.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and story, you’re warmly invited to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat—no pressure, just a small gesture of appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

See you at the next campfire,
Kalypso

Ancient Rome Forum Romanum

Ancient Rome — The Story of a Boy Named Gaius

Mai 4, 2025 /

My dear time-traveller,

this month we visit ancient Rome. For many people, myself included, Rome is where time stops and history comes alive.

The Eternal City

If you’ve ever been to Rome, you’ve probably done it all: St. Peter’s Basilica, Circus Maximus, the Colosseum, the Forum Romanum. You’ve wondered how—many centuries after Rome was the cradle of global power—you can still find the abbreviation SPQR (senatus populusque Romanus) everywhere. There are even Romans who wear it tattooed on their skin – a tribute to their hometown.

In today’s Rome, you can find layer upon layer of history – from the earliest Etruscan settlement to an empire of incomparable luxury and innovation, to the buzzing modern city it is today. And it’s all there – in one place. Frozen in time, yet never standing still. The city is a silent witness to and mirror of millennia of human civilization.

Founded somewhere in the 8th century B.C., the city of Rome grew slowly but steadily, reaching the peak of its power around the 2nd century B.C. At its height, the Roman Empire stretched from the North African coast in the south as far as what today is Scotland. I’m using the term „empire“ loosely here to refer to the history of Rome between its founding and the split into the Eastern (Byzantine) and Western Roman Empire.

The traces the Romans left in these countries are evident not only in roads, buildings, and settlements. We’ll hardly find a language in the former empire or adjacent regions that doesn’t carry at least a trace of Latin. Roman philosophy still shapes how we see the world today, and the democratic system of the Roman Republic laid the groundwork for many modern governments.

The Name that Lasted

When you think of ancient Rome in all its military and political prowess, one name rises to the surface: Gaius Julius Caesar. I’m sure you’ve heard of him. If you’ve read Asterix & Obelix in your childhood, a little old man in a white toga with a really bad temper may come to mind. Maybe you’ve even studied Latin and translated his work De Bello Gallico – and cursed him for it.

I tried to remember what else I actually knew about Caesar. The name of his political opponent Cicero and his lover Cleopatra came to mind. As well as the date of his death – the Ides of March – along with the quote “… et tu, Brute?”

Apart from a handful of scattered quotes and names, I must admit I didn’t know much about the historical Caesar at all. Still, he rose to become one of the most powerful men in antiquity. He was so renowned that his family name, Caesar, was soon used as a title. The German word Kaiser and Russian Tsar both trace back to his name.

But who was he, and how did he rise to such fame and power? To answer that, we have to travel back to the beginning—before the legend, there was a boy named Gaius.

Gaius, Not Yet Caesar

In the historical fiction series Emperor by Conn Iggulden, we accompany the protagonist Gaius Julius Caesar from his early childhood on a small, not overly wealthy estate just outside of Rome to the height of his political influence and military glory.

Having spent his childhood shielded from the city’s intrigues, the young man soon finds himself in the center of Rome’s political unrest. We follow him through a series of challenges on foreign soil from which he returns stronger, more ambitious, and with a clear hunger for power.

As his fame and power increase and he grows into the military and political genius we know today, we see how he reshapes the political landscape to suit his ambitions—and how the seeds for his later downfall are sown.
But the book series is more than political intrigue and personal tragedy – it’s a portrait of a society and a man within it.

Caesar, the Human

It’s a fascinating read, offering insights into ancient Roman history, the city’s political machinery, and the empire’s military strength. And perhaps most importantly, we meet Gaius, the human—not just Caesar the politician, strategist, and imperialist.

Caesar was born into a time of political upheaval and societal turmoil – at the brink of the Roman Republic’s decline. With the Republic weakened and ambitious men increasingly able to bypass its institutions and traditions, Caesar finds himself navigating a fragile political landscape.

The book offers a glimpse into what life in ancient Rome might have looked and felt like. Iggulden, in my view, does a remarkable job capturing the texture of Roman society – how people lived, what they valued, how the class system functioned, and how they engaged with politics, religion, and warfare.

Lastly, the book touches on a question that’s always stayed with me: Who was Gaius – the human behind the legend? While countless books recount his life, it is rarely told from his perspective. For me, the series also conveys what it must have meant to walk in his shoes and to navigate a world that was about to change fundamentally. It bridges the gap between his political personality and his strategic genius to the human being with memories, doubts, fears, joys, and love.

A Note on History

And yet, as with any retelling of history, we have to take into account that fact and fiction are often interwoven and it’s hard to tell the two apart.
Therefore, we need to be aware that Conn Iggulden did take some creative liberties and has bent history to serve his story. While biographies and encyclopedias can offer facts and timelines, Iggulden brings the fractured Roman Republic to life and gives Julius a soul.

For the Curious Traveller

If you want to keep wandering the streets of ancient Rome and put on your historian’s glasses, feel free to have a look at these materials:

Historical Input on Caesar

Historical Context – Ancient Rome

To grasp the feeling of the time

  • Those about to die (Amazon Prime) – set much later, but still worth a watch
  • Rome (HBO)
  • Caesar (TNT Miniseries)
  • Queen Cleopatra (2023) – Netflix
  • Das Römische Reich (2019) – Netflix

On the Author

Until Our Next Journey

I hope you enjoyed wandering through ancient Rome with me. If this story sparked thoughts, memories, or questions – I’d love to hear them. Just hit reply and say hi, share your take, or tell me what you’re currently reading.

If you’d like to help keep the lantern lit on this journey through time and space, you’re warmly invited to visit my Contribee page. Think of it as dropping a coin in the storyteller’s hat – no pressure, just a gesture of kindness and appreciation.

And if you know someone who loves to get lost in good stories and explore the world through books, feel free to pass this newsletter along. There’s always room for a fellow traveler.

Until next time – keep wandering, keep wondering.

Love,
Kalypso

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