In today’s really important news, my article on the Lutheran Free Church for the Acton Institute’s Religion & Liberty Magazine is now available free online. You can marvel at its awesomeosity at this link.
In even better news, I HAVE FINISHED MY MARATHON SLOG THROUGH THE VIKINGS: VALHALLA SERIES.
It was particularly frustrating watching a series that covered events I’ve researched and dramatized in my own novels, observing how the producers took historical events and characters, shuffled them like cards, and dealt them out in random order. Particularly annoying was their treatment of King Magnus the Good of Norway, who is treated here as a homicidal psychopath. I mean, they called him “the Good” for a reason.
But what’s important is that I can write my article now, with an eventual eye to payment. All through my life, I’ve harkened back to a poem I read somewhere, which went like this (more or less):
There’s a little check at the end of this verse. I see it just three lines away. And it shall be mine For the good of my purse If luck is my fellow today.
(I’d credit the author, but a web search doesn’t reveal his name, and I can’t find it in the book where I thought I saw it.)
Back in the 1960s, before he became a bestselling thriller writer (The Eagle Has Landed, etc.), the English author who wrote under the name Jack Higgins produced mysteries under his real name – Harry Patterson. Among them was a short series featuring London police detective Nick Miller. As The Graveyard Shift, the first entry in the series, begins, our hero has just been promoted to detective, after some special training. He is young for a detective, and well-educated. He’s also rich and likes to dress fashionably. Not a natural fit for the Crime Squad, but his extreme self-confidence never wavers, and he operates with a James Bond-like cool.
Meanwhile, Ben Garvald, a convicted robber, is being released from prison. He’s barely on the street before a couple of thugs attack him with a message to stay away from his ex-wife, now married to their boss, a crime lord. It takes more than that to intimidate Ben, who casually cripples them both and leaves them with a message for their boss. He has business to attend to, and then he’ll be on his way. If they want to stop him, they’ll need to kill him. Which they’ll try to do.
The ex-wife’s sister asks the police to find Ben and warn him off. This will lead to a trail of mayhem and death.
I was a big fan of Higgins/Patterson back in the day. He was a good storyteller, and set a good scene. His prose was adequate. As time went on (in my opinion), he got formulaic and predictable in his storytelling. But this is early work, and pretty fresh.
The book definitely shows its age in many ways. The cops are all men. Most everybody smokes, and they smoke in the office. The language is assuredly un-PC. I generally liked all that. I feel at home in that world.
I did figure out whodunnit, though.
The Graveyard Shift was intended to be dark and gritty by the standards of the time, depicting the hopelessness and desperation of the denizens of the rougher districts of London. Little did they know that it would only get worse with the coming years.
Not a bad book. Cautions for violence and insensitivity.
Human beings could not have done this work on their own. God’s spirit had been at work in holy Øistein and the men who built the church after him. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Now she understood those words. A reflection of the splendor of God’s kingdom bore witness through the stones that His will was all that was beautiful.
I will not try to tell you that Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy is easy reading. The books are extremely long, and a lot of time is spent on medieval Norwegian (and Catholic) arcana that even I don’t always understand. And the books are deep as much as long. The author takes us into her characters’ hearts, with an unsparing eye for their loves and their sins.
Volume 2 of the trilogy, The Wife, could be summarized by calling it the tragedy of a woman who’s gotten what she wants. Kristin, beautiful daughter of a wealthy and honorable man, grew up loved and spoiled. She rewarded her parents’ love by manipulating them into letting her marry Erlend, the man she loves. Now she’s his wife, mistress of the great estate of Husaby, and her chickens gradually come home to roost. Her husband may be handsome and romantic, but he’s also thoughtless and rash, the kind of man who can be counted on to join the losing side just when the tide is turning against it.
Kristin is a good wife to him, efficiently taking over management of the estate – which has been shamefully neglected till now – and bearing him seven handsome sons. But her guilt never leaves her, and she takes constant offense at her husband’s thoughtlessness. This drives them apart, until Erlend’s poor judgment gets him arrested and tortured – very nearly costing him his life.
Sigrid Undset demands some effort from the reader, but she provides an unforgettable reading experience – a journey through time and the human soul.
As a translator myself, I noted that Tiina Nunnally, the translator here, has generally done an excellent job. I wonder about her use of the word “village” to translate what I assume to be the Norwegian word “bygd.” I don’t think I would have made that choice, though I sympathize with her problem. “Bygd” has no exact equivalent in English. It refers to a rural community of several farms, not to a cluster of houses with streets. But I’ll admit my alternatives would have been a little clumsy.
In terms of typographical errors, I note that on several occasions, quotation marks are missing from the beginnings of paragraphs, so that the reader is left uncertain whether the words are dialogue or not.
At sunset Kristin was sitting up on the hill north of the manor.
She had never before seen the sky so red and gold. Above the opposite ridge stretched an enormous cloud; it was shaped like a bird’s wing, glowing from within like iron in the forge, and gleaming brightly like amber. Small golden shreds like feathers tore away and floated into the air. And far below, on the lake at the bottom of the valley, spread a mirror image of the sky and the cloud and the ridge. Down in the depths the radiant blaze was flaring upward, covering everything in sight.
Just a passage from my reading in Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter today. I thought it was rather nice. I’m nearing the end of the second book, having watched Kristin’s half-smart husband gradually weave the rope that will hang him in the end – in terms of his ambitions, at least.
I’ve also, of course, been watching “Vikings: Valhalla.” And simple justice demands that I admit that it surprised me – I like it better than I expected. Though my expectations, as you probably guessed, were pretty low.
But the fact is that the writers and showrunners of “Vikings: Valhalla” seem to have made the decision to pull in their horns a bit. The “Vikings” series, especially in the later seasons, just went loopy. They let their freak flag fly, so to speak, to the point where it almost came loose from the flagpole. They produced the wildest fantasies and impossibilities and anachronisms, pinning them now and then to odd points of history or saga.
“Vikings: Valhalla” seems a little more controlled, at least as far as I’ve watched so far. Time is still compressed, but not as radically as it was in the first series. Instead of making the same man the attacker of both Lindisfarne (793 AD) and Paris (845), this story seems to be concentrating on the stories of Canute the Great, Saint Olaf, Harald Hardrada, and Leif Eriksson. In this series, all those men are involved in Canute’s conquest of England in 1016 – at which time the real-life Leif had already discovered America and had (I believe) settled down as chieftain of the Greenland Colony. And Harald Hardrada was an infant. Still, all these people could have conceivably met each other in real life.
Many of them show up in my Work In Progess, The Baldur Game. I doubt that Erling will show up here, for which I’m grateful.
The most audacious liberty taken is making Jarl Haakon a Strong Black Woman (and, of course, as is the custom in our times, she is the story’s great font of wisdom). Actually, she’s supposed to be Haakon’s widow, Estrid, who took his office over for him (women could not do that in real life – they could inherit a chieftainship, but needed to get a man to exercise it) and uses his name as her last name. The fact that the Vikings didn’t have last names in the sense we understand them seems to be outside the producers’ ken.
But the costumes (though not in the least authentic) are a little less radically imaginative than the ones in the previous series, and the haircuts are generally much better. I’m grateful for that.
As we age, we learn to be grateful for small mercies. And I’ve aged a decade watching these programs.
“How long, O Lord?” said the prophet (Isaiah 6:11 is a prominent example of the theme, but several prophets asked the same question with – it seems to me – some justification). I am no prophet, nor the son of a prophet (Amos 7:14), but the same question has occurred to me now and then too. Right now I’m wondering how long, O Lord, this “Vikings” series will plague me.
I’m happy to report that I have at last finished all 6 seasons of the History Channel “Vikings” travesty. The longer the thing went on, the more the writers seemed unconstrained by the petty straitjacket of actual facts. Occasionally a historical character shows up, less often a historical event. But they are portrayed in ways the writers must have thought clever (like hand-operated paddlewheel landing craft for an invasion). I have endured all these outrages with the patient endurance of a Christian. And now I find that lo, my travails are not ended. For I’m going to have to go on to watch the sequel, Netflix’s “Vikings: Valhalla” series.
The thing is, the topic I’ve been commissioned to write about is the conversion of the Vikings to Christianity. And it’s not that the original series didn’t deal with the issue – it’s just that they dealt with it in ways that don’t have much to do with my thesis. The Vikings in this series are treated as an ethnic group (which is not what “Viking” originally meant), and they’re all proudly and stubbornly heathen. Christianity has made almost no inroad among them (in this production) by the time of King Alfred the Great’s victory over their armies at Edington. This was not the case in real life. The conflict of faiths is treated here as almost a religious war, which (in my moderately educated opinion) it was not. The Vikings on the series are always talking about their gods as “the true gods.” They didn’t really think that way historically. They were actually more like Hindus, recognizing any god they happened to encounter. They’d be happy to acknowledge the Christian god too, except for His offensive insistence on monotheism.
What I want to write about is the progress of Christianity in Scandinavia itself. I’ve avoided reading much about this new Netflix sequel series, but I understand it involves Jarl Haakon (gender-switched, because of course he/she is), and Harald Hardrada. So they’ve got to touch on my topic.
Therefore, I must gird up my loins for the ordeal.
And I believe I can do this. A couple weeks ago it would have been harder. I’ve always had an irrational and extreme response to watching programs I considered stupid or offensive. Such experiences raised very painful feelings in me.
But in just the last couple weeks, I seem to have made a breakthrough. I’ve found what appears to be a “brain hack” that helps me regulate my emotions better than in the past. I’m not going to go into detail about it now – I want to see whether the effect lasts, and even if it does it may not be applicable to anyone else.
But, like Alfred the Great, I believe I now am equipped to go forth and face the “Vikings.”
I had a great experience Saturday afternoon (before all the shock of the events in Pennsylvania). Max McLean was in town with the Fellowship for the Performing Arts production of “Further Up and Further In.” A friend of a friend had bought a block of tickets, they had a seat free, and my friend arranged for me to get in.
“Further Up and Further In” is a splendid example of a one-man show. The performance time (about an hour and 20 minutes) rushed by.
I’d seen McLean’s work before, having bought the DVD of “The Most Reluctant Convert.” I thought it an impressive low-budget production, though McLean seemed a little rubber-faced in the role of Lewis. I suspected that the stage was his true medium, and was gratified to be proved right.
I read an article years ago that said that if you only know Sir Laurence Olivier from the movies, you have no idea what a genius he was. He was directed to subdue his reactions and his gestures for the more intimate environment of film. But some spark (the author said) was lost.
McLean doesn’t seem to have subdued his performance greatly for the movie, but on stage this approach is highly effective. The dramatic scenario here is that we’re having a conversation with Lewis in his study in the year 1950, but of course it’s not really like that. Lewis would never have gesticulated as McLean does – these exertions are for the audience in the upper decks. (Also, Jack Lewis would have been smoking constantly, which does not happen in this play.) What we actually have here is a long sermon – but it’s a brilliant sermon, cut-and-pasted from Lewis’ articles, books, and letters. It’s all vivid and exciting, and the stage furniture – desk, wing-backed chair and drinks cabinet – sits before a large rear projection screen that displays images illustrating the narrative.
The text deals with problems of faith such as how we can believe in God at all, and how to deal with the problem of pain. It ends with Lewis speculating on ultimate things, on the end of the world (he quotes heavily from the sermon, “The Weight of Glory”) and the wonders of Heaven.
If “Further Up and Further In” comes to your town, I highly recommend going to see it. I had an exhilarating time.
The video above shows the farm and neighborhood landscape which Sigrid Undset appropriated for the setting of the second novel in her Kristin Lavransdatter trilogy — The Wife.
This is not the kind of Norwegian scenery that generally gets promoted in the world. This is in the Trondelag, one of Norway’s best agricultural areas. The Viking kings made the town of Nidaros in the Trondelag their capitol — today it’s called Trondheim. Stiklestad, where Saint Olaf was killed, is also in the Trondelag (that will be described in The Baldur Game, and I promise I’m working at it as fast as I can). I had some ancestors from that area myself.
The farm where Kristin and her husband Erlend live in the novel is called Husaby. This is a significant name — historians note that many farms belonging to kings were called Husaby (it means “house town,” I think). So when Erlend brought Kristin to a farm called Husaby, we’re meant to understand that it was a place that carried some prestige, regardless how poorly he’d been managing it.
Yes, thanks for asking, I am still reading The Wife. Got some distance to go.
The curse of reading long books is that I’m forced to bore you in these posts with the details of my life, which is more than most a mundane one. I go days without talking to anyone, for instance, and it doesn’t bother me at all. Makes for dull reading, though. I am self-aware enough to grasp that.
And yes, I’m still slogging through the Vikings series on Netflix. I’ve found that it helps to hate-watch it. I expect “hate-watch” is even a term people use out in that wide world I’ve heard about – watching a show or series, concentrating on the pleasure of hating everyone involved. Every time a character dies on the series – sympathetic or unsympathetic – I cheer inwardly – “There’s one I won’t have to watch anymore!” One bad haircut and impractical costume that will not offend my eyes henceforth. A few pages of clunky dialogue I’ll be spared.
I’m closing in on the end of the fourth season. Then Season Five has twenty more episodes, apparently. I pray to Heaven I’ll learn enough that’s relevant to my assignment so that I won’t have to move on to Vikings Valhalla, where (according to what I’ve read), they turned Jarl Haakon of Hladir, whom you may remember from The Year of the Warrior and Death’s Doors, into a Strong Black Woman.
When I ponder these matters, I am convicted that our societal sins must have been very great, to merit our hoisting by such a petard as this.
I had a nice surprise today. I got my first invitation in many years to lecture again on a cruise. Not a bad deal either – Iceland and Greenland (where I’d love to go), and they’d spring for my air fare and cut my cruise fee in half. Still, I can’t justify it fiscally, at this point in my pilgrimage. And the booking company shows no signs of further compromise.
Nevertheless, it was nice to be asked. I’d thought they’d forgotten about me completely.
First of all, business. Feel free to check out the new listing I have on Booklisti. They asked me to make a list books of my own, and one of books that I wanted to recommend, for any reason. A fascinating look into my fascinating mind. For which the world, of course, has been eagerly waiting. Feel free to share it with seekers after truth and beauty.
Updating my personal situation, I’m delighted to report that my air conditioning is operative again – at last. (Just in time for a heat wave.) I haven’t checked precisely, but I think I was without it for about a month. Roughing it. Living as my ancestors did – or as I did when I was a kid, to tell the truth. I’m old enough to remember when air conditioning was still a luxury in northern states.
The problem, as I’ve explained, was that my home warranty company (which shall remain nameless) preferred to go the cheap-but-lengthy route of repair over replacement. I suppose there must be some way to register a complaint on their webside, but if there is, it’s pretty carefully concealed from the customers.
I’ve tackled another long book, which will delay my next review. I can give updates as I go, though. I’m reading The Wife, volume 2 of Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter (I reviewed the first volume a little while back). A passage that caught my interest today was this one, involving a visit by Kristin’s father, Lavrans, to her and her husband Erlend’s new home at Husaby (near Trondheim):
…they were accompanied by two gentlemen whom Kristin didn’t know. But Erlend was very surprised to see his father-in-law in their company—they were Erling Vidkunsson from Giske and Bjarkøy, and Haftor Graut from Godøy.
Like any crank, I know things most people don’t – about matters of no interest to anyone else. What sparks my attention in this passage is the estates this Erling Vidkunsson owns. Giske was the home of Thorberg Arnesson, who married Erling Skjalgsson’s daughter Ragnfrid (as described in my novel King of Rogaland). And Bjarkøy was the home of Thore Thoresson (remembered by history as Thore Hund, Thore the Dog), whose brother Sigurd married Erling’s sister Sigrid. The fact that this man (who’s likely a documented historical character – there are plenty of them in these books) carries Erling’s name suggests he’s a descendent of these people, and thus a descendant of Erling himself.
That’s all. It just pleases me to discover Erling connections in my reading.
I wouldn’t go so far as to say John Sandford’s series of Prey novels is losing its momentum. Sandford is still a professional who serves up professional entertainment. But I can’t help feeling the character of Lucas Davenport has become an anachronism, and his act just doesn’t work like it used to.
The opening of Toxic Prey (Book 34 in the series) is pretty neatly done. The author introduces a character in a highly sympathetic, highly admirable light. Then we learn that he’s a psychopath planning mass murder. Dr. Lionel Scott has grown convinced that we face global disaster if we don’t radically reduce the earth’s population. And he has engineered a hybrid virus capable of doing just that. He and his little group of fanatics have a plan to spread that virus, beginning in Taos, New Mexico and from there, pretty much everywhere.
But the Department of Homeland Security has gotten a tip about it, and they send their top agent, Letty Davenport – Lucas Davenport’s adopted daughter. She has recently gotten involved with an English MI-5 agent, who also comes along for the adventure. And the US Marshals send in her dad, along with his highly skilled, ethnically and sexually diverse, team.
What strikes me constantly in these later Lucas Davenport books (and in the real world he’d be long retired by now) is how awkwardly they fit our times. Aside from exciting plots, author Sandford’s great strength has always been the relationships between the cops, expressed especially in hilarious cop banter – usually obscene. But the books have kept up with the times – now about half the cops are female. And you know what – I just don’t believe the banter anymore. Guys who talk that way around women these days find themselves called on the carpet by Human Resources.
But I ought to note that he takes time out to praise John D. MacDonald’s Travis McGee novels here. I’m always grateful for that. And it should be noted that the bad guys in this book are on the left. You don’t see that often.
Aside from my personal quibbles, Toxic Prey is a perfectly satisfying thriller. Cautions for adult situations and language.
