The Mother of Rome is Mothering
Listen up, literary elite and scandal seekers alike—if you haven't yet sunk your teeth into Mother of Rome by Lauren J. A. Bear, consider this your official summons. Because while you were busy dissecting the latest political maneuvering in the primaries, Bear dropped a novel so rich in blood, betrayal, and divine intervention that even Zeus himself would clutch his pearls.
They would call me a vessel, a shell, a mother to kings. But I was never empty.”
Let’s talk about the leading lady: Rhea Silvia. If you thought House of the Dragon had its share of messy family drama, just wait until you meet this Vestal Virgin-turned-mother of Rome’s most infamous twins. Picture it—chosen to serve the gods, meant to live a life of chastity, and then, surprise! She’s impregnated by Mars himself. (Consent? We don’t know her.) What follows is an epic tale of survival, power, and a woman who refuses to be erased, even when the gods, kings, and fate itself seem determined to strike her name from history.
Bear’s prose is intoxicating—lyrical yet sharp, like poetry with a serrated edge. It’s mythology through a feminist lens, the kind that makes you want to sip wine, light a candle, and whisper, oh, it’s getting good now. If Madeline Miller’s Circe and Jennifer Saint’s Elektra had a Roman cousin with a rebellious streak, this would be it.
“If I must be a monster to survive, then let them tremble when they speak my name.”
And the best part? Bear doesn’t just rehash history—she makes it feel immediate, pulsing with life, heat, and danger. Every betrayal stings, every triumph burns, and every moment reminds you that the women of history weren’t just side characters in the rise of empires—they were the foundation. If you’re a sucker for stories that make ancient women feel like modern revolutionaries (because, let’s be honest, they were), this one belongs on your shelf, nightstand, or frankly, enshrined on a pedestal.
Go forth, devour, and remember: history belongs to those who tell it best.
XOXO,
Dewey
