During the reading of this book I was constantly reminded of Mary Renault’s Fire From Heaven. What I was reminded of was how much better that book was than. Well. The similarities are many. The mad mother. The destiny of the son. The golden hair. The quiet love of the best friend. The war. The landscape of Greece. This is not to say that this current book borrows from the other. What it is to say is that Mary Renault remains incomparable. This book completely lacks any epic quality, and what is left is a thinly conceived MM romance. I love a good romance that has some substance to it. But neither Achilles nor Patroclus has any feeling of authenticity for me. I have read Renault over and over again because of her magic. So I expect I was unlikely to appreciate Miller. Many people do, and I am glad for them, and for her. I wish I had felt the same, because this is a book I should have loved.