After Queen Dido, founder of the great city of Carthage, was abandoned by her lover, the Trojan prince Aeneas, she asserted her power by choosing the method by which she would die. Stabbing herself atop a funeral pyre with a gifted sword, she sealed a curse on his descendants for generations to come.
Her twenty-first-century namesake, however, doesn’t want her life to end in flames. She needs answers.
Since encountering Vergil’s Aeneid in the paintings of a childhood book, modern-day Dido has strived to be as fearsome as her ancient counterpart. A driven and artistic civil engineer who dreams of designing her own Carthage, she navigates the thirteen-year pursuit of a diagnosis for her chronic pelvic pains, processing her struggles through the lens of the Roman epic. Princes and gods become doctors and protectors who follow her through countless tests, educated guesses, medications, and invasive procedures. Her Aeneas is not a runaway lover but an eminent gynecologist.
Through the ages, muses have sung of the rage of Achilles and the cunning of Odysseus. Now, with acerbic humour, they bear witness for a modern audience to the wrath of Dido as she waves a wonky speculum aloft.
This book follows a Toronto woman trying to get answers for her medical problems, recasting her as the mythical Queen Dido of Carthage. Though the story is very much set in our world in modern times, all of the characters get pseudonyms from Greek mythology.
One thing this book does really well is showing the constant battle people dealing with chronic illness and pain face within our medical system. It also highlighted the ways women in particular are often disbelieved. Dido is sent from doctor to doctor, often getting contradictory answers and facing long wait times. In one frustrating scene, she is prepped for exploratory surgery and waits all day, only to be rescheduled. This unfortunately is also a bit of a drawback of the book—the tedious experience of dealing with medical bureaucracy doesn’t always make for the most interesting plot. However, I do think people dealing with chronic illness will feel seen by it. Speaking of feeling seen, this book also depicts white collar shift work, like being a casual employee in a newsroom, in a more realistic way than I’ve ever seen in fiction.
The parallels to mythology didn’t always work for me. They often felt shallow, like calling a home a palace, and I think this literary device could have been used in a more effective and interesting way.
This book felt like a bit of a slog at times, but I would definitely recommend it to anyone who is dealing with chronic medical issues and wants to see that reflected in fiction in a realistic and compassionate way.
Thank you to the publisher for gifting me an eARC of this book!
A Hungry Fire is an intimate story that leads the reader to witness the story of Dido, who becomes the heroine of her own medical saga.
The monsters are not hydras or cyclops, but the indifference, bureaucratic heaviness, presumption and certainties of too many caregivers who, although they have both their eyes, seem too often unable to see Dido, the person in front of them rather than their preconceptions and prejudices around her symptoms.
Her allies, without being gods capable of protecting the heroine with a magical fog as Aphrodite does for Paris, are no less divine. Their gifts are as powerful as they are sober, and all the more magical for being human: love, constancy, trust and the simple ability to be present with her, always.
Dido did not ask to be a heroine; she could have done without being one. But like Kierkegaard's hero, it was not the certainty of success that made her the queen of her destiny: it was that she began.
A Hungry Fire makes us witness a deeply intimate experience. We laugh, we cry, we get angry. And the evocative and precise writing of Élyssa Marcoux-Bissoondath and the resonance it weaves with the story of Dido queen of Carthage betrayed by Aeneas reminds us of the power of true good stories: it is by touching the specific, the unique and the intimate that we touch the universal.
The author, like her heroine, reminds us of the need to be seen, to be heard and to be believed.
I was lucky enough to receive an advance review copy of this book, and I found Élyssa Marcoux-Bissoondath's use of fiction and mythology a totally novel approach (pun intended!!) to approach the lack of support for women's health that so many people have so unfortunately had to navigate. From delicious scenes sharing soup dumplings on Dundas West, to enjoying the cherry blossoms in Toronto's High Park, to nightmarish moments in OB/GYN offices, as a Canadian reader, I thrilled at moments that I found both so Canadian, and yet so universal. I loved the writing and truly appreciated Marcoux-Bissoondath's refreshing, creative style, and humour, particularly given the fact that her novel addresses the truly challenging issues of undiagnosed, and dismissed pain. Anyone who's had to navigate a lack of understanding and support in health care, or who has lived experience with endometriosis, PMOS, or PCOS will see themselves in this book. As an author who writes creative non-fiction and memoir about similar subjects (women's health, PMDD, etc.), I found Marcoux-Bissoondath's creative approach to addressing this pervasive problem through mythology, ancient history, and such a page-turner of a novel, to be truly inspired!
The story and characters grow on you. At first it felt as though I was reading the woman's version of your grandfather whining about his prostate troubles. I struggled with the Roman mythological elements of the story, such as the main character referring to herself as Dido, her boyfriend as Juno (who seems more perfect than even a Roman god ought), and the various doctors in her life as others from Dido's story.
It was not an unputdownable read. However, two things kept me from putting the book down: Dido's struggle with getting medical professionals to actually believe her pain was real show the horror of knowing something's wrong in your body and those who ought to know suggest your pain lives in your imagination, and they only grudgingly look more closely at the symptoms.
Ultimately, Dido's condition forms the basis of a mystery compelling you to read on. I kept reading because I started caring about Dido, and wanted to see how she fares.