Goddess with a Thousand Faces

by Jasmine Elmer

Genres: Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Legends & Mythology

Synopsis

'I loved Goddess with a Thousand Faces. Fascinating, fun and thoughtful and enlightening' JENNIFER SAINT

'A beautiful weave of history, myth and storytelling by one of our most exciting new classicists' DAN SNOW

Steeped in ancient magic, dark divinity and wild ways, Goddess with a Thousand Faces takes you on a historical journey like no other...

Blending mythological retellings with historical research, Goddess with a Thousand Faces traverses the world and transports through time to bring ten formidable and inspiring ancient goddesses to life. Meet Artemis, the Greek goddess of the wilderness, never without her bow and arrow; Sedna, Inuit goddess of the ocean, guarding the icy waters and all its creatures; Isis, Egyptian goddess of healing, who dwells by the River Nile, just to name a few...

Jasmine Elmer explores these goddesses of our past, uncovering their truths, their rebellion and their freedom. For too long, they have been written out of history; lost to the sands of time and stamped into silence. Goddess with a Thousand Faces restores these women to their glory.

Pour over this treasure trove of myths, legends and mighty goddesses. Hear the messages echoing through the ages and see yourself in the faces of these icons. For while their stories might ancient, today they are more important - and more powerful - than ever.

A treasure trove of beautiful storytelling and ancient wisdom, perfect for fans of Love in Colour by Bolu Babalola and Storyland by Amy Jeffs.

'Gorgeous. Jasmine Elmer has a fierce passion for these women, and this shines through in her writing. Come for the goddesses, stay for the spiritual journey!' Lizzy Tiffin, author of Bad Girls of Ancient Greece

'If you love history and feminist retellings, this is your next must-read. Goddess With a Thousand Faces is a thrilling exploration of lesser-known goddesses from around the world - offering a crash course in feminine myth and worship, with all its power, fury and wonder. I adored it' Rachel Blackmore, author of Costanza

'A passionate ode to the inner goddess within us all, that blends a rich and vibrant introduction to a diverse array of cultures and mythologies with accessible retellings. Part mythical guide, part history compendium and part self-help handbook, Jasmine Elmer's sparkling debut offers up a refreshing, inclusive and powerfully feminist manifesto for what it means to be a goddess, ancient and modern' Emily Hauser, author of Mythica

Release date: September 12, 2024

Publisher: Dialogue

Print pages: 80000

Sample

This whole journey is a brand spanking new one. The first of its kind, Goddess with a Thousand Faces will ask you to interrogate your own past through a fresh new lens. It will go further and encourage you to see yourself in these goddesses, to reclaim them; and in doing so, you may just restore yourself. It’s a storytelling, historical, self-reflective extravaganza, and you should give yourself a little pat on the back for making a bloody awesome choice in picking it up. You are now part of a rebellion, a movement.

Last year I turned forty. That means I have had twenty-something years of being a woman on this planet, and it got me thinking. I looked around at this world we live in and wondered what the hell has happened? Where are all the wise women of bygone times? Where are the feminine energies of nurture, compassion and gentleness? Why is everything so toxically masculine?

With men like Andrew Tate gaining scarily high levels of adoration among young men and women’s rights torn into pieces with the reversion of Roe v. Wade in the US in mid 2022, the world seemed to be getting harder for women, not easier. Even if I looked around me, to the women I know, all I could see was rushing around, giving everything to everyone – time, resources, energy – and burning out as a result. A style of living suited to the male, a suppression and disdain for the feminine energies of the world. I felt like I was screaming into the wind, alongside every other woman I know, asking for it all to stop. Unsurprisingly then, my thinking quickly turned into anger, which then transformed into passion and purpose. What you are reading here is a result of that journey.

Like all journeys, it started out all sweetness and light. It started with me planning the mother of all parties to celebrate this milestone birthday. A deep and serious focus on the type of cocktail I wanted. Even more consideration into who I would invite. But beyond that frivolity lay something deeper. It’s hard for me to pinpoint, but it felt like a yearning. A desire to find out more about my own femininity, compounded by the loss of my beautiful mum a few years before and fired up by my own role of mother to my gorgeous boy. Shit had got real, and I needed more. So much more. You see, something amazing happens around forty – beyond hot flushes, low libido, social invisibility, and whatever else you might have been told in the press. It’s a sharp focus, a clarity and, quite frankly, an outright objection to all the BS that comes with being a woman in today’s age. This is where the anger came in, the need to throw off all the roles, expectations and judgement imposed upon me since I was young, and find my own feminine identity. For me, for you, for everyone. Sod the pornstar martini, I had a book to write.

So, I decided to do what I knew best, which was to ‘ancient’ the shit out of it to uncover new and deeply powerful truths about our past. As an ancient world expert with over twenty years’ experience in the field of classical education, I wanted to search for myself – for all of us – in untold or marginalised stories of powerful goddesses of times gone by. Of goddesses that are as ancient as human civilisation; of goddesses that are still revered all over the world today. Because if goddesses could garner such adoration in the past, perhaps by restoring their stories, I might restore parts of myself. I wanted to rebuild aspects of our femininity – regardless of biological gender, for we all possess inherent female qualities. I wanted to show people, but especially women, that there is another way. That you don’t need to wait until you reach forty to uncover hidden depths and truths about yourself. I also wanted it to be a global tale, for femininity is a universal thing. Plus, I am biracial, so my mixed culture influenced my choice to think openly, widely – to think BIG. Lastly, I wanted you to have the full picture – not just a mythical retelling, but some historical context too. So, you have everything you need. No knowledge assumed, everything contained and accessible to all. I wanted a book that could fold through time and space, in a concertina effect, to find the ultimate goddess inside of us. Traverse lands, spotlight cultures that have been sidelined. Let these ladies pipe up! And guess what these goddesses have to say? All traits can be female traits. We are allowed to feel angry, be loud, embrace darkness and rebel. We are not limited to what society deems palatable: pretty, obedient and demure. And you know what? I’m owning it. All aspects of self. Sweet permission to be what you want to be when you want to be it. Writing this book has profoundly changed how I view my own ancestry, handing my power back to me. I have cried, I have laughed, I have felt all the feelings.

Let me expand on all this a little more. The first point is super obvious, but it needs to be said. We are a construct of our societies and have been moulded by our past. Shocker, I know. But what you might not often reflect upon is what is missed out in our history lessons. Glossed over. Relegated. And spoiler alert – it’s a lot. Further to that, you may also not consider how various influences over time have edited our history. I am not man-bashing when I say this, but do not underestimate how patriarchy has stomped all over female stories for millennia. Put all this together and what do you get? Women’s stories written out of history time and time again, lost and disregarded. I’m not saying that we know nothing of women in the past – of course we do – but how much is left to discover? What I really want for you is that you read this book and embark on your own journey of discovery. Pour over these amazing ancient goddesses and see what they are whispering to you. This is not a religious exercise; I am not suggesting that you take on any of the belief systems explored here. But take these stories into your heart and see what they illuminate inside of you.

This is why I have called this book Goddess with a Thousand Faces; see your own faces alongside theirs. I see you. And so do they. Rise up, emboldened by the knowledge in these pages to reclaim what is rightfully yours. Stand with them and all women. Unite in the blissful freedoms these goddesses give. For you are a goddess, and you can wear as many faces as you damn well please.

What this book isn’t

Goddess with a Thousand Faces isn’t an encyclopaedia, and it cannot tell you everything you need to know about every culture of the world! In each chapter, we will first meet our goddess through a retelling which will be based upon real source material and/or a close reflection of oral traditions. It isn’t an attempt to narrow our view of a goddess by focusing on just one story, as she will likely have many myths and legends in her canon. I have selected a myth according to my personal viewpoint as to what these goddesses have to say to us; what they have to say to you. The context for each section is just that – some context for you to understand the worlds these goddesses inhabit or inhabited. I cannot tell you how many times I have encountered someone reading a mythological retelling without context, coming away confused as to what is real and what isn’t. This has always seemed a real shame to me; a missing piece of a very awesome puzzle. This is why I have blazed a trail with this book, to give you both sides of the coin, so that you can make up your own mind and maybe learn something new.

The context sections cannot tell you everything about that culture, because, quite frankly, that is impossible unless you want a book the size of your house. And my publisher wasn’t up for that so … there will be missed topics, occasional generalisations and avoidance of academic conjecture. I do this intentionally to make this book accessible to all, relatable and concise, rather than an epic thesis on each culture. Similarly, let’s talk footnotes, which although enlightening at times, often disrupt the flow and bog us all down in detail. It is the point of this book to encourage perspective and reflection, not to get lost in rabbit holes of academic debate or nuance (there’s a place for all that, but not here). I can’t bear the thought that people often regard ancient cultures as the domain of the elite, or that you have to be mad clever to study them. I say sod that, because this is our shared ancestry and it’s time we took it back for ourselves. It’s time for a rebrand. If you happen to know a culture in detail, or if it’s your own, and find yourself frustrated at the lack of depth – please don’t take that personally. It is for the greater good. However, if it does happen to be new to you, see it as a first date with that culture, a testing of the edges and overall vibe. You can always have a second or third date, or a lifelong relationship with it, learning everything there is to know, or get in the face of all those footnotes I mentioned. I’ve added a select bibliography to whet your appetite, for those of you who are chomping at the bit to get into it. So instead of caveating this in every chapter, I’ve done it here. Upfront, frank and honest. Because that’s how I roll. Elephant in the room acknowledged, now we can have some real fun.

Welcome to the world of the goddess …

Viking Goddess of Sexuality, War and Magic

The Necklace

It all began with a walk. A simple walk. Each day I like to observe the worship of the gods at the majesty of the Godafoss waterfall in our land of fire and ice. I watch from afar – always in disguise – so they cannot know my true form. Men, women and children gather at the powerful waters as they swirl and churn, tumbling over rocks more ancient than even I. The snow dances in the breeze, glides effortlessly, until it settles on the infinite blanket of white that cover the land.

Despite its spellbinding beauty, these lands can be deadly and hard for mortals to thrive in. There is much to contend with, from the fiery mountains and deep cold winters, to isolation and inconsistent crops. Glaciers, with their bright blue glistening cores, ice sparkling in the low winter sun. I weep each time a mother who has lost yet another child comes to pray to me at this sacred place, her pain on a precipice, before it plummets down, deep and hard, like the waterfall she visits. She asks me for mercy. I grant it. I gently stroke her hair – invisible to her – but the power of my touch feels like a gentle soothing wind and her pain softens, just a little, for the briefest of moments. And so it goes, everyday like this. I see the human condition, raw and cracked open. And every day I vow to soothe their pain, in whatever way I can. You see, I have many, many talents and powers. That is why they utter my name so often in prayer. Freyja. And I exalt in their worship, basking in the glory they pour upon me.

Time to move on. But today it is different; I wish to take an alternative route. Little did I know that this change in direction would lead to my downfall, to my name being sullied throughout time. As I walk, I spy the entrance to a cave. A dark, black cave, created by the fire rocks that are dotted all over this land. In the middle of this blackness is a glow. It calls me. And as I get closer, I see beauty like I have ever seen before: a Brísingamen, a golden torc, being forged in the hot fires by four dwarves. Round in shape, glistening like the sun. Amber is being placed in adornment along its curved surface and it is then that I see that this jewellery is the essence of me, the physical form of the fire that burns inside me. When I see it, I see my power. And I need it. Now.

‘How much for the necklace?’ I ask the dwarf closest to me. He looks me up and down, before he shudders in recognition at my divinity. Then he gives a crooked smile. ‘For the goddess Freyja there is no amount of silver or gold that could purchase this beauty.’ I fix my eyes on him, and then each of them in turn, before settling on the one furthest away, the one shying away into the shadows.

‘You. Speak up. I will have this necklace. What price will you accept for it?’ And from the darkness, comes a sinister but clear whisper. ‘You.’

I sigh. I know exactly what he is referring to. Men all across the land covet me, they see my beauty, my sexual power, and their eyes turn dark with desire. As they drink in my delicate curves, long silky flowing blonde hair and blazing blue eyes, they fall deeper and deeper into lust for me. They can think of nothing else. I find this tedious if I am honest, and pathetic that men can be manipulated so easily. All of these warriors, belittled by their swollen desire for me. Ha! It has been my currency since the dawn of time. For me, it means nothing at all. In fact, at times I enjoy it – physically, I mean. And if I am not enjoying it in that way, there is always the other way, the way of my superior power. When I use my currency, I do so with free will and always with the upper hand.

Now, I weigh up the current situation and decide that I want that necklace badly enough to pay their price. ‘Very well,’ I reply.

As they come towards me, one by one, I lie back and allow them to do their bidding. The deeds are over in a flash, hardly a moment to register. Not the greatest experience, rather perfunctory, but at least now I have my necklace. I raise myself from the dusty ground, smooth off my sumptuous robes and snatch up my necklace, placing it around my delicate neck. It glows even more brightly at it touches my skin, as it mingles with the essence of my power and embodies it for eternity. I smile as my face emerges into the summer sun, burning brightly along with it.

I awoke today to find my necklace vanished, gone, missing. And along with it, my power. It must have been Loki, the shapeshifting trickster god and meddler in all divine matters. I cannot think who else would do such an awful thing. He is honestly the most irritating, treacherous being I know.

Quicker than a lightning flash, I arrive at Loki’s place and blast the front door off its hinges. Rage is boiling inside me, as I set my eyes on his smug face. He is lying in front of the fire, dangling berries above his mouth with a goblet of beer beside him. He does not even bother to look up, but instead bellows: ‘Leave us.’ And all of his attendants scuttle away in fear of what is about to come.

Finally, he faces me. I examine his features: small inset eyes, red hair and a skinny yet tall stature. He repulses me. He interrupts my thoughts: ‘What do you need, Freyja? Why are you here breaking down my doors?’

I scoff. ‘Enough games, Loki; you know exactly why I am here. Give it back to me. NOW!’

At this he laughs, a hearty laugh, and the anger rises so fast within me that I start to feel giddy. I rush across the room and grab him by the scruff of his neck, lifting him high off the ground so his feet are dangling in the air.

‘OK, OK. Put me down!’ he exclaims. As I do so, I can feel him trembling. Fear and lust. The two responses I receive most often from men. A curious combination at times. I refocus on the moment, and realise Loki is speaking. ‘… and so, Odin ordered me to steal it to force you to confront him. He doesn’t like sharing you with others.’ Loki now looks a little sheepish. ‘And he wants you to be punished for your lack of loyalty to him.’ His eyes remain fixed to the ground as he splutters out this last bit.

Instead, I sigh. These men. Odin is the worst. They all want me, lust after me, but some, like him, need more. They need dominion over me. They need to own me, keep me all for themselves. But I am the one that controls my currency not them. Still, I need to play this carefully. Odin is very powerful indeed, ruler of Valhalla, the sacred halls of the dead. I need him onside.

‘Take me to him, Loki. I need to speak with him at once.’ Loki nods and we soar high above this land of fire and ice. Looking down, I drink in the breathtaking beauty of this place. Waterfalls, fire mountains, ice rivers and green – so much green in these summer months. This place is sacred. I cherish it the most of all of the lands we gods oversee. I believe the mortals call it Iceland. A fitting name.

We are now entering the great halls of Valhalla, where courageous warriors dwell for all eternity. Cavernous, with the accessories of war taking centre stage, areas for feasting and fighting. It’s a rather intense place, even for a goddess, it makes me feel so small. Above us is a roof lined with mighty golden shields, below rows and rows of men gorging on boar’s flesh in merriment.

We sink down in front of Odin, seated on his golden throne at the end of the hall. His large frame looms over us, lines of wisdom carved deep into his face, reflecting the scarred lands of this great country. His white beard the colour of snow, his solitary eye fixed down upon us. For he gave away his other eye in exchange for wisdom. His spear is propped to his side and his cloak cascades down the throne upon which his sits. I have been here many a time, flown many a soul down here to him. I notice that Odin is staring at me, rage in his eye but also something else. There is disappointment swimming there too.

I decide I must speak first: ‘Odin, I have come about my necklace. What will it take for you to return it to me?’ I plead with him using my words, but also my whole body.

‘You have disgraced me. I took that necklace after I learned what you did to get it. I made Loki transform into a fly and sneak into your home last night, stealing it while you slept.’

I sigh, aware that I must tread carefully when dealing with the pride of a god. Even though I do not agree with him, I know I have to concede a little. It feels befitting to use my feminine wiles to persuade him; after all, that is how I keep my power.

I spend a further moment weighing up my options before I speak. Then I say, ‘Odin, please forgive me. I did not mean to cause you offence. What will it take for you to return my precious Brísingamen to me? Name your price.’ What a thing it is to be a woman in a man’s world. Always having to negotiate, concede and pander to their fragile egos. It amuses me that they believe they hold all the power, when in reality, I am the master. I am leading Odin to wherever I want him to go. Little does he know that there i. . .