Book: I, Medusa by Ayana Gray
Reviewed by Ashley M
Rating: 4/5
Overview
Dates read: August 4 – September 4, 2026
Ayana Gray drops us into a gorgeous, suffocating vision of ancient myth, and she doesn’t waste time breaking our hearts. The story follows Medusa, a girl whose desire for a life beyond her isolated shore borders on danger. When she yearns to leave her island and see the world she knows only from the odd trinkets that wash up on her shores, she seeks purpose, beauty, and autonomy. Instead of a clean, heroic coming-of-age story, she gets tangled in a web of predator-driven politics, terrifying family dynamics, and the reckless, suffocating nature of the gods.
The narrative balances whimsical, fairytale-adjacent wonder with a creeping, visceral danger. Gray focuses on the cost of innocence, showing that even the smallest yearning for freedom can burn your whole world down.
What I Loved
The voice and the visual prose. The driving force is the friction between Medusa’s internal voice and the brutal expectations thrust upon her. Early on, she feels like a common moth trying in vain to pass for a butterfly — deeply relatable and melancholic, yet the voice never loses its capacity for sharp, striking observation. It is an absolute masterclass in visual prose. Her shoulder-length locs, her greatest pride, become a quiet thread of identity that accumulates devastating weight for what follows.
Lived-in, unpredictable magic. The world-building is fantastic. Hints of looming Olympian power set up a chilling trail of foreshadowing, and the story builds tension by turning cozy folktales into covers for a much bloodier reality. The family dynamics are layered with a terrifying, dark humor — her mother strikes with the speed and precision of a viper.
Athena’s temple. When Medusa steps into the temple, the narrative shifts into a hypnotic, breathtaking atmosphere — ritualistic beauty that echoes the choreography of “Willow” on the Eras Tour. Yet the sanctuary is an illusion, and the story takes a delightfully unhinged, deeply unsettling turn once the true monsters step into the light.
An unflinching take on the myth. Medusa’s trajectory mirrors a long literary tradition of female subjugation, the kind Natalie Haynes dissects in Pandora’s Jar . Gray leans into that tragedy: the predatory nature of men in power echoes through the text, and her interactions with Poseidon unravel any romantic illusion. Medusa’s later realization that “wait” and “I can’t” were still a clear refusal is heartbreaking, and the institutional victim-blaming recalls The Handmaid’s Tale . She wasn’t just unlucky — she was a pawn on a board she didn’t know existed. The worst monsters don’t bother hiding in the dark.
What Didn't Work
The descriptive lulls occasionally check the story’s momentum. They pay off in emotional weight by the end, but readers who want a fast-moving plot may feel the slower stretches.
Content note: sexual assault, predatory behavior toward a minor, victim-blaming.
Verdict
4/5 stars. If you love a myth retelling where the magic feels completely lived-in and every divine favor comes with a sharp, bloody price tag, drop everything and read this one.
Read next:
Pandora’s Jar by Natalie Haynes — a sharp literary deep-dive into the women of Greek myth who were cast aside or villainized.
Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes — a fiction companion that reclaims Medusa’s perspective.
Circe by Madeline Miller — isolated, lived-in magic and the subtle dread of divine politics.
Full review on Medium: medium.com/p/9366219cf88c
I received an e-ARC from the author in exchange for an honest review; all opinions are my own.