Scientist, seductress, and alchemist: Who is the real Cleopatra? | books

WItchy, slutty, wicked – there are few women as vilified throughout history as Cleopatra VII. The disdain for ancient sources that sought to characterize her as exotic and seductive has marred her legacy. But I was gratified to know that her name has passed through time with a much greater esteem than the men who wrote about her. Ask a 10-year-old who Plutarch is and he’ll furrow his brows – but Cleopatra? Their eyes light up with delight.

I did this when my teacher assigned me to draw Cleopatra. My little hand searched through the box of colored pencils. I picked up the brown color, and the tip was clean from lack of use. It was the dullest color in the box, and was only used for drawing clay or bark. The face I drew reflects my face in features and colors.

Years later I began studying for a master’s degree in African studies at Soas University. As someone of Ghanaian, Sudanese and British heritage, I was hungry to put a name to my feelings of displacement, and was also curious to understand why the younger version of me found commonalities with Cleopatra.

My interest was not in discussing Cleopatra’s skin tone—others had spent enough time on that—but rather why I felt connected to her. Although there was time between me and Cleopatra, it was not as many years as I first thought. She lived closer to my birth than the pyramids, which were ancient relics to her, already covered in graffiti.

I learned – as I delved into my books – that Cleopatra was a scholar too. She was multilingual and could speak at least eight languages. Her interest in chemistry and therapeutic treatments is cited in later texts, suggesting that she once published her own research.

She has traced the threads of Cleopatra’s legend through time, seeking to recreate the fabric of her life. I say legend, because Cleopatra’s legacy wanders through poems, plays, films, and even video games. Her story has blossomed far beyond what history has taught us. Elizabeth Taylor is no less important in creating her image than ancient sources. Her sexual portrayal, against the backdrop of the most expensive collection ever created, maintained her legend as a seductress, a witch—a woman with more money than brains, who would gladly dissolve a priceless pearl in vinegar for the amusement of her guests.

But the more I learn about Cleopatra, the more I realize that we know absolutely nothing. Primary sources from the time of Cleopatra are all non-existent. Even Plutarch, whose chronicles of the lives of Antony and Caesar influenced Shakespeare’s plays, wrote his stories more than 100 years after Cleopatra’s death. The threads I had been following through time have faded and been cut off.

Likewise, Suetonius, Appian, and Dio penned their narratives after Cleopatra’s death but were notably distinguished by two specific factors. First, they were all Roman, and thus had more to gain by claiming that she had corrupted their leaders than by describing her as an intelligent woman capable of forging strategic partnerships. The second: they are men. Their hatred of women was the sharpest weapon they used. It was much easier to classify Meritrix Regina (“The Adulterous Queen”) to recognize that she is worthy of the love of Caesar or Antony.

My studies inspired me to write a historical novel about the great queen. But what I thought would be a rich and detailed collection of sources to cite was actually a pit of propaganda and ancient court rumour. Cleopatra was the antithesis of the Roman world; Stately, feminine, wayward. Even the tale of the melting pearl (told a century after Cleopatra’s death by Pliny the Elder) was a way to venerate Roman restraint over Egyptian luxury.

I was also painfully aware that there are very few ancient sources outside the Greek and Roman world. If I want to add complexity and nuance to Cleopatra’s multicultural life, I will have to look no further than what remains through the eyes of the men who sought to discredit her. But that left me at a dead end: Where can one look for history beyond the written word?

I realized that “pure” history did not exist and, like fiction, it always had a story. Which gave me an idea: Could I use my experiences and the experiences of the women around me to fill in the gaps in Cleopatra’s story? My research turned inward, and I soon realized that the book I wanted to write about Cleopatra would not be historical fiction after all, but rather a memoir.

The novel came together quickly after that. It was only while editing the book that I saw how much my own experiences were reflected on the page. Her struggles with early motherhood are especially relatable as I began writing in the weeks after my son was born. And while I’ve never known how important it is to run a country, I know the feeling when I walk into a conference room full of men intent on ignoring my voice.

My rendition of Cleopatra refuses to be silent. She is as thoughtful as she is cunning, with a mind sharper than anything she’s given credit for. But she wasn’t always so confident, and this growth from uncertainty to boldness is a path he recognizes. She’s a queen who strives to do her best in a world where men are more likely to listen to her five-year-old son than her. But even your best can feel like a failure. My Cleopatra is allowed to make mistakes. This is what makes her human.

The story of Cleopatra was a tale I longed to tell. The story of another woman, misunderstood and mistreated. Sadly, it is a story that many women are aware of, making its legacy more important today than ever before. Although thousands of years separate us, our worlds are not so different. Day by day, I watch our governments move closer and closer to the tyrannical brutality of the ancient kingdoms. Women’s rights are being neglected, and democracy is being challenged. I wonder if the Roman crest stole Cleopatra’s breath as did the flag of St. George?

But one thing Cleopatra taught me is that resilience is timeless. The victors may write history, but they cannot take our memories. We will remember. We will endure.

• Cleopatra, a novel by Sarah Al-Arifi, published by HarperCollins. To support The Guardian, order your copy from guardianbookshop.com