Cleopatra: A Novel
63 pages • 2-hour read
Saara El-ArifiCleopatra: A Novel
A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Summaries & Analyses
Reading Tools
Themes
Content Warning: This section of the guide references graphic violence, sexual content, sexual harassment, death by suicide, illness or death, and animal death.
The Use of Self-Narration to Combat Historical Erasure
In El-Arifi’s novel, Cleopatra’s voice stretches across millennia to narrate her own life and challenge the records of the male historians who have tried to define her. The book frames her story as a deliberate reclamation of identity, and Cleopatra treats self-narration as a way to push back against hostile accounts that have turned her into an archetype.
From the opening pages, the novel sets up a clash between personal memory and public myth. In the novel’s Prologue, Cleopatra addresses the legends that surround her, distinguishing between legend and truth: “You know my name, but you do not know me” (xi). Cleopatra’s words position her own telling as a correction aimed at historical accounts shaped by poets and Roman chroniclers such as Cicero, Shakespeare, Plutarch, and Horace. In her Author’s Note, El-Arifi explains that her novel is “As true as any other biography of Cleopatra VII […] The historians we have relied upon to tell her tale lived centuries after her death […] The men whose words were preserved, such as Cicero, often originated from Rome, and their opinions were shaped by the propaganda of the Roman Republic” (ix). El-Arifi keeps Cleopatra’s own voice at the center of the narrative, challenging the official, male-authored records that have tried to reduce her.
The novel’s opening chapter frames storytelling as a formative part of Cleopatra’s life, defining how she navigates the world. Cleopatra describes her childhood fascination with the hakawati, a travelling storyteller she encounters in her youth: “For years Charmion and I had repeated the hakawati's tales, every story blossoming into something new with each retelling” (4). As the story continues, Cleopatra continues to push back against her rivals’ efforts to define who she is and what she’s capable of. Attempts to discredit or dismiss her galvanize her to assert her presence and power. When she discovers that her image has been removed from the newly minted coins, she observes, “I had been reminded of the threat […] The coin with my profile removed. And so it began, the erasure of my history” (85). The coin signals an attempt to usurp her power, motivating her to outmaneuver Pothinus and form an alliance with Caesar.
Throughout the narrative, Cleopatra participates in the creation of her own legend, positioning mythmaking as a tool of political survival. She recounts the events of her life and reveals the legends created from them by providing her own commentary, emphasizing her need to reinforce her authority by framing every choice made and action taken as indisputably divine. When she swims to Antirhodos and arrives naked for her coronation as pharaoh, she counters Pothinus’s disapproval by reframing the moment as a calculated display of divine authority. Her response acts as the foundation for her own legend as she asks, “Who among mortals dares question the blood of a god?” (22). By interpreting her own history, Cleopatra positions her voice as the one force her many legends cannot override.
Misogyny as a Political Tool in a Patriarchal Society
As Cleopatra governs, her political choices are constantly undermined by rumors and gendered assaults on her character. The book argues that patriarchal societies, unsettled by powerful women, perpetuate gendered archetypes that threaten women in positions of power. El-Arifi’s structure divides the novel into three sections—“The Witch,” “The Whore,” and “The Villain”—highlighting the ways misogyny was used to distort Cleopatra’s strength, leadership, and political acumen and positioning the novel as a feminist retelling. In the Prologue, Cleopatra describes these archetypes as the “brick[s] that [have] raised me up like the great pyramids, further and further away from my humanity until I have become nothing more than a myth” (xi). By placing her life inside these accusations, the novel highlights how those who feared her authority tried to reshape her into a symbol instead of a ruler.
Her political challengers, in both Egypt and Rome, use gendered accusations to weaken Cleopatra’s position. Roman propaganda delivered by Pothinus reduces her alliance with Julius Caesar to a sexual entanglement, claiming she “only fights for the man in her bed. She is a whore” (145). Cleopatra immediately provides her own commentary on the moment, implicitly revealing the misogyny inherent in Pothinus’s tactics: “It may surprise you that this was the first time I had been called such a name—especially as your historians continue to use it so wantonly […] But women have ever been defined by their affiliation with men” (145). Eventually, these same tactics are adopted by Octavian, as evidenced by her encounter with the hakawati in Antioch who proclaims, “Exotic queen, salacious queen. Pharaoh of what might have been, if she had closed her legs and her bed” (284). Each rumor erases her skill with strategy, leadership, and political acumen and replaces it with a narrative of feminine chaos or seduction.
Cleopatra uses the tactics of her enemies against them to reify her own rule. To counter naysayers that question her healing powers, she stages a miracle, dissolving a pearl in vinegar and using it to revive Charmion, disguised as a courtier experiencing a fainting spell. Yet even this moment, designed to quiet public doubt is eventually appropriated by her conquerors. Cleopatra reflects, “I had hoped for the story to spread throughout Egypt, not throughout time […] though by the time [Pliny the Elder] recorded the tale it had been twisted by the lips of Octavian’s court” (184), reinforcing the contrast between her own account and the misogynist agenda of those who opposed her rule.
The Tension Between Personal Empathy and Political Ambition
In El-Arifi’s novel, Cleopatra’s personal empathy, often localized in her identity as a mother competes with her ambition and responsibility as pharaoh. Her political position and romantic relationships—first with Caesar and later with Antonius—make her children political targets, so her attempts to protect her children necessarily exists alongside her need to shore up the power and control of Egypt. This blend of personal and political pressure shapes her rule.
For example, Caesarion’s birth complicates the military alliance between Egypt and Rome. As heir to both Egypt and Rome, Caesarion is viewed as a threat to Roman sovereignty. When he is born without a divine mark, Cleopatra fears his authority to rule Egypt will be questioned. Cleopatra orders the soothsayer’s immediate execution, hires an artist to tattoo the mark of Horus onto her son’s leg, and then poisons the artist to keep the secret contained. She thinks of the artist’s death as “survival. For me, for my son, for Egypt” (177). Her desire to protect Caesarion’s claim to the throne pushes her to act with the same ruthlessness as a mother that she does in her political dealings as pharaoh.
As the novel progresses, Cleopatra’s maternal instincts take precedence over her political diplomacy as her attempts to protect her children and secure their political legacy redefine her priorities as pharaoh. When Antonius travels to Egypt, after Caesar’s death to request military support, Cleopatra demands, “Proclaim Caesarion as Caesar's heir, and my armies will be yours" (242)—a request that would destroy the fragile alliance between the two empires. As Antonius notes, “To oppose his birthright is to declare war […] what you ask of me will bring more death than the toll your administrator reports" (242). For her, the survival of her children merges with the survival of Egypt, blurring the line between the two.
In the novel’s conclusion, Cleopatra grapples with the ultimate test of her priorities—give her life to save her children or sacrifice their safety to fight for her throne. Her final decision to protect her children emphasizes her personhood over her constructed myth. Even as she makes her choice, Cleopatra wonders, “had I not borne children, would I have fought the currents? But it is too difficult to separate my life from them. My sacrifice was a small thing to trade for their survival […] Oh, how I loved them. The flesh of me” (318). As she stands alone, facing death, Cleopatra chronicles the tiny details of her body—“the lines of the smiles Antonius had solicited, the scars on my stomach from my children” (320)—emphasizing her humanity, despite a lifetime spent publicly shoring up her divine persona.
Unlock every key theme and why it matters
Get in-depth breakdowns of the book’s main ideas and how they connect and evolve.
- Explore how themes develop throughout the text
- Connect themes to characters, events, and symbols
- Support essays and discussions with thematic evidence