Special Guest Post: The Mysterious Pull of Myth on Children, Young People and beyond

Prof. Susan Deacy on her Inspiring Work, Hercules and more

Today I am delighted to share the story of Susan Deacy, one of the most brilliant people working on and with ancient myth, as a special guest post. Susan is an extraordinary person and I know no one else whose work has made such an impact relating ancient wisdom to the modern world. For decades she has worked with children and young people (especially neurodivergent people) using Greek and Roman mythology. It’s truly an honour to be able to share her fascinating work with you all.

When I first visited this Substack site, and saw the opening quote from Einstein, something clicked. It felt like the kind of place that would appeal to me, and I’m thrilled to have the chance to share a few words about my own interests and work, all of which are rooted in the mysterious world of myth.

Susan Deacy’s forthcoming book

I can still recall the moment when, around the age of ten, I first encountered Greek gods: mysterious, yet somehow relatable and familiar. This was all thanks to a book my grandfather had picked up at a book sale—Roger Lancelyn Green's Tales of the Greek Heroes. It took me a while to open it because, back then, I was hesitant about new things. The thought of diving into something unfamiliar made me nervous, and I wasn’t sure what "Greek heroes" even meant. I put it off in favour of the other books I had—mostly by Enid Blyton, particularly her stories set in boarding schools. The characters, though, and their school adventures, seemed close enough to my experience to feel relatable even if they were set in a world far from my own.

But when I finally opened Tales of the Greek Heroes, it was a whole different story. I found myself transported into a world that was unlike anything I had ever known—strange, dramatic, and filled with gods, monsters, and epic deeds. And yet, this world felt familiar too. The rules of this new place were different, but in some way, they still made sense. The bizarre, yet ordered, world of Greek myths spoke to something inside me, just like the stories of Enid Blyton.

I remember where I was when I first opened that book: sitting by a small pond my grandfather had built, a perfect spot for getting lost in a story. And when I did, I found myself immersed in a world so unlike my own, but strangely relatable. The sense of wonder that filled me then has stayed with me ever since.

The fascination with classical myths stayed with me through school, and I gravitated toward studying anything that connected to the ancient world—especially through English literature and biblical studies. This intense interest eventually led me to a degree in classical studies and theology. My interests honed in on ancient gods, especially Athena, beginning with a PhD, then two books and various articles focused on this deity and her connections to culture, politics, gender and more – and how these figures were understood by the people who believed in them, as real yet mysterious entities that were invisible, yet somehow everywhere.

In recent years, I have had the pleasure of sharing my own sense of wonder with others, especially autistic young people. My curiosity about this grew after a conversation with a Special Needs teacher in the UK, who shared something surprising initially: in her experience, and that of her colleagues, neurodivergent young people often have a strong connection to classical myths. This piqued my interest—why? Gradually, as I started researching and blogging about classical mythology – that was in 2009 - I began to realise that the answer was much like my own experience: it is the wonder, the strangeness, and, above all, the relatability of these ancient stories.

For many, these myths present a world that is different, but in ways that still resonate deeply with the human experience. And for neurodivergent individuals, these stories seem to offer something especially compelling.

My discovery of neurodivergent individuals' connection to classical myths mirrored my own experience of wonder and relatability.

‘Amphora’ ready for the trip to Somerset

As I write this, I’ve just returned from a school in Somerset in the UK, where I spent two intense days teaching, and equally learning from, both the students and their teachers. I ran workshops centred on the experiences of Hercules—a mythological figure who is no stranger to strange encounters with all manner of mythical creatures and places. But one of his most curious experiences takes place in a weird, almost dreamlike setting: a barren landscape on one side, and a serene picnic area on the other, complete with bowls of fruit, drinking vessels, and a shaded bench under a tree. This is where Hercules meets—or perhaps is met by—two mysterious figures. Are they women? Or are they goddesses? They represent the personifications of Virtue/Hard Work and Pleasure.

Choice of Hercules: chimneypiece panel, the Adam Room in Grove House, Roehampton, London

I showed this same scene to the students. The question: Which one is which? How does Hercules react to them, and how do they respond to him?

What did he choose? If you guess Hard Work, you're right. Hercules is known as the great doer of deeds, whose life is defined by toil. But if you guessed Pleasure, that is also true.

Hercules, after all, is also the great lover of life, and in the end, he does ascend to Olympus to spend eternity feasting in the company of his divine bride, Hebe (Youth). This artwork, which looks ancient but was actually created in the 18th century to look like an artifact from Greece or Rome, served as a conversation piece. It reflects the period's fascination with balancing hard work and pleasure, a theme that resonated deeply with the people of that time.

It can resonate today as well.

When we look at Hercules in that strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar figures, we’re in a mysterious space ourselves. But Hercules invites us in. He is distant—son of a god, powerful beyond belief—but he is also an ‘Everyone’ figure whose journey can speak to our journey.

Today, most people are unfamiliar with Hercules' story, which means that no one is at a disadvantage when they encounter it. And that's exactly why myths like his still speak to us, including autistic individuals. Entering new spaces, meeting new people, making choices, and navigating emotions—these are common challenges for all, and acutely so when you are neurodivergent. Mythology provides a framework through which we can explore these experiences.

Recently, I published a book based on these lessons, designed for autistic children, focused on the challenges Hercules faces. It is available here for free and soon I’ll be launching a website with accompanying materials, including a teacher's guide.

In the meantime, I'm also running a new mythical series. This May and June, I’ll be offering a five-week course on the Hellenistic and Roman societies and their mythology. It’s something I haven’t done in a while, but after the success of virtual teaching during the lockdown, I’m excited to dive back in. We'll explore what myths were, who the key characters were, and what these stories meant to the ancient world—and what they mean to us today, as they continue to resonate in fresh ways.

If you're interested in joining the course, you can find the link here.

As the ancient Athenian orator Demosthenes once said, "Any endeavour begins with the gods”. Once it has begun, it need not end.

Susan Deacy running a session for young people from a Pupil Referral Unit at a cultural site in South West London