Zeus Rising: A Memoir

By Louis Anastas

Zeus is living anonymously in the hills of Los Angeles when he gets an unexpected marriage proposal, which triggers a mid-life crisis. He fights to find renewed purpose and even considers coming out of the shadows and reclaiming his power. Living forever has its problems, like losing everyone you love and carrying around baggage from thousands of lifetimes, but things get much worse when an ancient, vengeful force closes in on him and his loved ones.

In this memoir, Zeus also recounts memories of the Big Bang, the development of humankind, the Battle of Marathon, and the rise of America—he's seen it all. And, he's met everyone from Socrates to Jesus to Washington. Zeus has evolved and has great empathy for our plight—life and certain death—and our fight to be free of tyranny. This is the tale of Zeus, his loves, his children, and our collective history.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jan 28, 2020
• ISBN: 9781543994827

Book preview

BookBaby Publishing

7905 N. Crescent Boulevard

Pennsauken, NJ 08110

Copyright © 2020 Louis Anastas

All rights reserved. This book, or any portion thereof, may not be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotes in a book review or for academic purposes.

ISBN: 978-1-5439-9482-7

Louis has spent most of his career telling the stories of great brands by writing and directing hundreds of videos and campaigns. He has also written a dozen screenplays, several TV pilots, and he wrote and directed the feature film A Day in the Country. This is his first novel.

To place large book orders, to schedule an event, or to ask questions, correspond via louisanastas.com.

For my daughters Sophie & Isabel of Los Angeles

and my father Basil of Athens.

Thanks to Stephanie Orphan, G, and Sean Egen for their editorial and cultural notes that were indispensable. Thank you to Irena Fiks for designing the book cover. And a special thanks to Sean Egen for also providing extensive proofing notes. Your professionalism and candor were appreciated.

And thanks to my wife Nicole for her patience, and to my mother Angie for her wisdom.

And for Kazantzakis, Lagerkvist, and Bergman for never shying away from the big questions.

Table of Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

One

I am long forgotten but I do hope to change that. It has not been easy hiding out all this time. I’ve been invisible for millennia and it no longer sits well with me. I might as well come out and state my identity. It is the one name, other than Jesus, that stands out across all cultures. And if it does not, it should. My name is Zeus.

In my native tongue it is pronounced Zefs, but the name of the nation from which I sprang is Hellas, and that has long been overrun by the more vulgar term Greece. Let’s go with Zeus. There are more significant battles to wage. You may think that these pages represent the rantings of a crazy man, but I assure you that I am very sane, and I am not a man.

I was truly a king, but I have adjusted to life without power. It has been dreadful at times, but I persist. Most do, but not as long as I have. And I have grown cold to this world, but I have compassion for those around me who do not have nearly enough time to make sense of it all. I look like man, and I feel like man, but I am not a man. I am not coming out of the shadows just yet, but perhaps this lays the groundwork for doing just that.

What are my goals for this revelatory tome, and why now? I suppose it’s to let people know that they are not alone in their worries. This is cliché and not entirely true. Perhaps it is to let everyone know that the best traditions of the West, namely a search for truth, beauty, and freedom, are still vital. The most important element, eleftheria, what you call freedom, is something I’ve come to embrace, although it was at the heart of my ouster as king. It’s probably not that either. I hope you indulge me in using this literary exercise to find myself. I sound like a snowflake, but that is what I am setting out to do. I am no different from Hemingway or Kazantzakis really.

And, America, if you don’t wake up soon – the place I now call home – you will come to miss your freedom greatly. Power will revert to the hands of the very few, or the one, and when that happens it will take a hell of a long time, and a lot of bloodletting, to get it back. Lincoln was right, you are the last best hope of Man. The current American president, as I write these very words, is dim, shameless, black-hearted, and could signal the end of the West. If you think I am overstating this, please realize that you have not seen as much as I have. Not even close. Am I aiming to fight for the little guy, as the Americans like to say? Maybe that’s my story.

Or you might wonder if I am tired of having my former glory fictionalized by self-important writers and simpleton actors who have no idea what it is like to lead fellow gods, set the example for mortals, and wield lightning. Maybe it is a bit of all that, but I am no longer that vain. Yes, I wielded lightning; that’s no myth. How it gave charge to my entire immortal body; it was excruciating. The price my body paid was almost as great as those who were hit by its force. Of course, they didn’t live to tell about it, so there’s that. Am I admitting to criminal or immoral behavior here? Not at all. I was king and god, not God, and I was judge and jury, and, yes, executioner, but that was my role at the time, and you cannot fault me for that. I helped far more people than I hurt. And I do not hurl lightning anymore.

And you might be wondering about the one God and my relationship with Him. I suppose by reading these words, and if you believe that I was the first amongst the Hellenic gods, you must wonder if He is real. I’ve never seen him, but I’ve heard him countless times. He is relentless, consistent, and kind but fiery, and he is disgusted by liars, charlatans, and fascists.

He’ll take you as you are – gay or straight – if you are true to yourself, kind to others, and do not lie. I get along with Him, but he coerced me – not all too gently – to give up my powers centuries ago. Has he let me write this memoir? I did not ask permission, nor will I seek forgiveness. Could I suffer his wrath? No comment. But I could not remain silent any longer. He is the one with all the power, but he uses almost none of it. His passivity is infuriating but I am not going to spend time talking about Him. This is my time to tell my story and, in keeping with my own distaste for liars, I will do so with the intention of retelling events as they occurred.

I hope you’ll come to appreciate and trust me. It’s been an extraordinary and very long life, but I am not done yet. I have some fire left. And, be forewarned, there are a few more like me who are walking in your midst. You are not as safe as you think. And, as I said earlier, you may think I am crazy or even delusional, but I will prove to you who I really am. I am a god.

Before I jump back to ancient times, let me describe the events that brought about my recent mid-life crisis. Yes, it was one of many, but it was one of the most severe cases I have ever experienced. I guess my story, at its core, is about my search for a reason to go on living after what has felt like a million years.

Two

My primary home is in the hills above Los Angeles. I still have a few homes spread around Greece, but I spend most of my time here. Los Angeles feels like ancient Athens in terms of climate, topography, and energy, and it’s about being at the forefront like Athens used to be. I won’t get too descriptive about my home or its location for obvious reasons – okay, I have enemies – but I will say it is a modern, quintessentially Southern California home off Mullholland. The kind of house David Hockney celebrates in his paintings, but mine has minor Hellenic flourishes that make me feel at home.

I suppose I should describe my appearance in objective terms. I look about 45 years old. My hair is dark and with a bit of a wave, my body is svelte but it’s not at its peak. I am nearly as handsome as George Clooney in his forties, and people say my eyes are piercing and seem to invite sex – or at least they used to. I was far superior to Clooney, or anybody else when I was much younger, but while the years don’t show up on my face or body, they are present in my eyes that drag me down a bit. By the way, the bronze sculpture at the National Museum in Athens was of my brother Poseidon, not me. May his memory be eternal.

Well, it was another perfect Sunday morning in spring. They all feel about the same in L.A., mostly sunny and starting off in the 60s Fahrenheit. Now, depending on the time of year, temperatures can head into the 70s or even the low 100s, but it almost always starts in the 60s. This one started with a gorgeous, tight, brilliant blonde woman lying atop me — her face just inches from mine. This was Greta. She gave me an evocative look, took hold of me, and put me just where she wanted. She was in complete control, but I was ready. And I am good with that.

Bet you’re wondering what I want?

Not really, I said.

She moved her hips to make sure we were securely fastened.

It’s not what you think. Give me your hands.

My interest was piqued, and I complied. She took my hands and quickly pinned them against my chest. Then she smiled at me for a long, uncomfortable moment. She was summoning courage.

Go on. I’m not afraid, I said.

I know we don’t have it all figured out. But I want to spend my days and nights with you. Wake up with you. Drink coffee with you. Go to the beach and fall asleep with you. Don’t want to lose my Golden Greek. I admit, I am not one-hundred percent sure this will translate into forever with you, but I want to give forever a try.

I’m not sure forever is possible. I’m rudderless, and not much fun.

That’s not true.

What do you see in me?

She took a moment. She obviously saw a lot.

I see a man who’s seen more than anyone I’ve ever met. I know you’ve been there, done that. And I don’t even care to know the particulars of who you’ve done.

She smiled, proud of her play on words.

But the result is a man who excites me. That’s what I see and feel.

I smiled graciously.

What do you want? I said.

I want babies. Two or three of them. And I want you to give them to me.

I asked.

And I don’t want your money. You know that, right? I’m tenured, and an only child. I have no financial stress.

I tried to kiss her; it was the only weapon I had to stop her from going on. But she had a hold of me, and I failed to reach her lips.

She then revealed a platinum band from the palm of her hand.

Will you marry me?

I didn’t say anything. I just smiled politely, and that scared the hell out of her. Not my intention.

Did you even hear me?

I nodded ever so slightly that, yes, I had heard her. And then I went on.

Marriage is not my thing anymore.

It was true for me but, as we know, speaking the truth – especially when naked and being proposed to – is not ideal.

It’s not your thing anymore? Are you fucking serious? You swore off marriage like a bad habit? Could we not even kick it around for a few minutes?

I freed my hands, and gently grabbed her by the shoulders.

This is a surprise, that’s all. Give me some time.

You already gave your answer. That was the truth. No takebacks. How’s that for a mature response?

Please, give me more time. I need to rethink where I am.

I packed every ounce of charm into that request, and it seemed to work. It’s something I’ve honed for millennia, so this is about as good as it gets.

Greta smiled to let me know that she’d give me more time. And then she threw her arms around me and buried her face in my shoulder and proceeded to grind against me to finish what she started. I just held on and didn’t say a word till she got what she wanted. It wasn’t going to erase the humiliation, but she got some of her power back. After she was done, I remember hearing the clang of the ring as it fell to the floor. She must have opened her hand and let it go. I acted like I heard nothing. This was an unorthodox but formal proposal that I had loused up. But, in my defense, what choice did I have? I was no mortal.

Later that morning she raced through the kitchen on her way out. I chased after her wearing just a towel. I offered to make her an omelet with tomatoes and basil from my garden. But she wanted out. Who could blame her?

You allowed me to come without returning the favor; that’s quite enough. Thank you. Gotta run.

Don’t rush out like this. Give me some time. Okay?

And then I said what I shouldn’t have said. It made things worse.

I adore you.

She stopped and pivoted sharply.

Is ‘adore’ one up from love?

I couldn’t lie and nodded no.

It’s probably one rung below. But that doesn’t mean love can’t be there too. They’re not mutually exclusive, I said.

She looked at me for a long moment; I was surprised to see the hostility dissipate before my eyes.

We don’t have to get married in a church. I know you have that hang-up with God. Most are over it by the time they reach your age.

"I just don’t like all those icons staring back at me. Who are they to judge? Just sit down, eat a good