The Dark Prophecy

Apollo’s first-person narrative is laced with self-deprecatory humor and wit, but readers will recognize the streak of self-loathing that underlines his sarcasm. In Apollo’s case, the self-loathing stems from one primary source: his mortality. In the very opening section of the narrative, Apollo funnily laments that he, the former perfectly beautiful and invincible god, is “now a sixteen-year-old mortal with the ghastly alias Lester Papadopoulos…[with] a case of acne which simply would not respond to over-the-counter zit medicine” (2). Apollo constantly compares his former speed, prowess, and beauty with the clumsiness of his mortal body. He loathes his lack of powers and dislikes the idea of work, which, along with pain and suffering, is central to human existence. When Emmie and Josephine give him chores at the Waystation, he complains, “Being productive. Ugh. It’s such a human concept” (62).

Apollo dislikes his own humanity at the start of the novel and projects his feelings onto other characters, like Calypso and Hemithea. He cannot comprehend why Emmie (Hemithea) would give up her powers as a Hunter of Artemis for a mundane, domestic mortal life. At the zoo, he tells Calypso that she deserves her predicament, saying, “You chose to go with Leo. You gave up your immortality for love! You’re as bad as Hemithea” (114). Since mortality was imposed upon him by Zeus, Apollo feels his life is worse than that of Calypso. He is angry at Emmie and Calypso for willingly abandoning the one thing—immortality—for which he hankers. He does not yet understand that immortality is not as limitless as he thinks: It comes with its own set of conditions, as Calypso and Emmie’s examples show. While Calypso was bound to her island, Emmie had to be celibate as a Hunter. Apollo himself has never found lasting love as a god.

Of course, Apollo’s criticism of the choices of others is informed by his own context. He simply does not know what it means to be human. He is caught between two states: his former immortal life and his current quandary. As the narrative proceeds, he must come to terms with his reality and approach himself and others from a place of understanding rather than anger. Apollo begins to make this shift within the unfolding plot. Even though he doesn’t realize it at the novel’s beginning, he is already changing into his new human self. He may feel tired, weak, and clumsy, but he also experiences emotions, such as love and guilt, which his divine existence could not encompass. When he and Meg reunite after freeing the griffins at the zoo, she hugs him so hard “[he] felt new fracture lines developing on my ribs” (159). Apollo insists he doesn’t weep at the reunion but is quite “content to be annoyed, once again, by Meg McCaffrey” (159). Whereas as a god, he was driven by his sense of rightfulness and power, as a human, he is driven by love and protectiveness. Significantly, all the moments in which he is able to summon his divine powers, such as when he shows his blinding divine form to Commodus, involve saving his friends and loved ones.

By the novel’s end, Apollo begins to understand why Calypso and Emmie made their choices. He congratulates Emmie for building the Waystation and a loving family. When he says, “I envy you” (384) to her, Emmie, like the reader, is surprised by how much Apollo has changed his views about human existence. It is as a human that Apollo visited the Cave of Trophonius and experienced Meg’s trauma. His journey in the narrative has enabled him to expand his views and see that there is more to human life than just the fear of mortality. When Meg carries on with her chores before they visit the Cave of Trophonius, Apollo reflects that “[he] was amazed at how resilient humans could be in the face of catastrophe. Even the most traumatized, ill-treated, shell-shocked humans could carry on as if things were completely normal” (299). This expanded understanding shows that being a human is helping Apollo become a better god. The subtext to Apollo’s struggle to find peace with his new self is that he also represents any teenager struggling with their identity. Just like a young adult, Apollo is changing between two life stages. He feels uncomfortable in his skin, as evidenced by frequent references to his acne and his “pathetic mortal body” (186). As he grows up, he begins to see that the perfection he yearns for was always a myth. He is himself, and that is enough.