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Notes of an imposter

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Busy, busy today. Busy like a maur, which is Norwegian for “ant.” Working on a project I won’t describe to you, of course, except to say that it’s more difficult than the usual fare. I’m dealing with some dialect here. I do surprisingly well with dialects (having figured out the “trick” of it some time back. You need to imagine the sounds of the words). But it still takes longer than the usual stuff. And involves harder thought.

It’s just as well I had inside work to do. It was cold outside. Clear, but cold, though it wouldn’t have seemed so bad a month ago. Yesterday was partly cloudy, and the temperature soared into the 40s, which feels pretty good in March. Exchanged a few words with one of the neighbors, who complained about his aches and pains due to moving snow. The warm day had been ushered in by a heavy snowfall. We have now, according to the neighbor, exceeded the average snowfall for the year. It’s been a yo-yo year, we agreed. The temps have gone up and down, and every time they passed the freezing point (either way, it seemed), we got another dump of snow.

My usual favorite radio talk show didn’t grab me today, so I slipped in my DVD of “Wisting” (a Norwegian production, you may recall, which I worked on a bit). I wanted to listen to some spoken Norwegian. When I go there this summer, I’d like to be able to understand people. I can speak TO them – haltingly, but understandably. But I can’t understand them when they talk. The words, so comprehensible on paper, blur together and mean nothing to me. It’s frustrating. Here I am a genuine Norwegian translator, with credits, and I can’t understand the spoken language.

One of my great fears is that someone will someday expose me for the imposter I am.

I guess I’m not the only person who feels that way.

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‘Look to Norway’

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Well, this is nuts, isn’t it? And by “this,” I mean pretty much everything that’s going on in the world. I have never before in my long, marginal existence felt that listening to the news – and even to conservative talk radio – doesn’t do much to inform me about reality.

I think I know whom I’m against. I’m not entirely sure whom I should root for. I have a feeling of being awash in misinformation. And I have this fear in my heart that that will be our future – we will never again be sure what’s going on.

So, I’m concentrating on my translation (been fairly busy) and my developing plans for my Norway trip this summer.

I am now in contact with Vikingklubben Karmøy, the group that hosts the festival documented above (that was 2019, which I assume was the last festival held). This year they’re hosting a portion of the big Riksamlingen Festival (National Unification Festival). And they’ve told me I’m welcome to participate in costume. Not sure at this point whether I’ll actually be of any help to anyone, but I hope to be there, on the outskirts, an object of pity and horror, no doubt.

The prospect thrills me. And terrifies me. It involves interaction with actual human beings. I don’t always do well with those kinds of people.

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As if you hadn’t figured it out already…

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Illustration of the Battle of Hafrsfjord by Erik Werenskiold, from Heimskringla.

Big day today, in the saga of Lars Walker. I got one item I’d been unsure of confirmed, so I feel I’m in a position to announce that I’m definitely planning to attend the celebration of the 1150th anniversary of the Battle of Hafrsfjord on Karmøy Island and in Stavanger, in June of this summer.

I haven’t reached the point of no return yet. Haven’t booked the tickets – I’m still not entirely sure when I should leave and return. And I could still suffer some financial disaster that forces me to cancel the whole thing. But all things being relatively equal, at least I feel able to go public.

The festival takes place in Erling Skjalgsson’s neighborhood, but the battle under consideration was well before his time. King Harald Halvdansson, known as “Fairhair” (or “Finehair”), is said to have fought a great sea battle there in the year 872 (perhaps). He is said to have defeated a coalition of petty kings on the waters of the fjord, cementing his control over at least part of what would become the Kingdom of Norway. This has always been considered the founding of the nation. Even historians who believe Harald actually existed (and not all of them do) disagree on how much territory he actually controlled. My personal suspicion is that it was more than the historians think, because, let’s face it, historians enjoy tearing down legends. (Cue a dozen cable channel documentaries.) Until some genius comes along and finds evidence for the legend. (Cue a dozen more cable documentaries.)

Frankly, the idea of taking this trip scares me a little. I’m no longer a young, or a thin, man – and let me tell you, there’s no way you travel in Norway without doing a lot of walking.

But if I don’t do it now, I probably never will. And I’ll never get a better chance to see a fleet of Viking ships in real life. If I overdo it and have a fatal heart attack surrounded by Viking ships, it would be kind of cool, don’t you think?

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Saga Farmann

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The translation work keeps coming in. I groan under the load, but I am a man of iron, capable of enduring great hardships.

Speaking of hard ships, the short video above is of a Viking ship replica called Saga Farmann (Saga Merchant Traveler; link in Norwegian). It was launched in Tunsberg, Norway (a place that features in my Novel in Progress) in 2018, and is particularly interesting because it’s a copy of a knarr (specifically the Klåstad Ship). If you’ve been reading my novels, you know that a knarr is a Viking merchant ship. In the Viking Age these broad, deep ships were doubtless far more common than the fighting dragons (though knarrs were used in war too). But today the great interest is in the dragons, so you don’t often see a nice knarr.

Knarrs generally had rather small crews. Though they carried oars, those were only for emergencies. Knarrs sailed most places they went. What did they do when the wind was calm, or contrary? They waited. You arrived when you arrived.

If my hopes are fulfilled, I might get the chance to see this ship this summer. Plus a bunch of others. If I’m a good boy and say my prayers and eat my vegetables.

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Winter’s tale

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Winter in Minnesota. Artist’s conception.

It started snowing last night, and it’s still snowing now. It’s supposed to keep snowing till sometime overnight. I’m not even going to shovel the steps tonight. Tomorrow will do. No point doing it twice.

This is the time of year when cabin fever sets in. Winter’s fun right up until Christmas. After Christmas it becomes a thing to endure, except for the hearty Nordic types who love to tug on their multiple layers and strap on their skis and make for the blustery, aerobic slopes. They exude a moral and physical superiority that annoys me, frankly. The fact that they are in fact morally and physically superior to me is beside the point.

But by mid-February, even the Chilblain Brigade starts dreaming of beaches and barbecues. No, thank you, we won’t have another helping. We’ve enjoyed as much of this as we can stand. Wake us when the robins show up.

Yesterday I had a day without translation work, but I’d been told more was coming, so I figured relaxing a bit was okay, as I’ll be at it pretty hard in the days to come. At this point, it feels as if people are clamoring for me to take their money. I like this. It makes me feel morally and physically superior.

But I didn’t loaf all day. I went back to working on the new novel, and I made a fateful determination – my work habits have grown shoddy.

I’ve often mentioned that I like to write with the TV on. And I do. It works fine when I’m on a first draft, because first drafts are mostly sitting and thinking anyway. A TV distracts my mind just enough to keep it sparking. Or so I tell myself.

But when I’m doing revisions, as I have been for some time now, I need to concentrate more. Instead, I’ve been doing it over TV, and I think that’s why I’ve been moving so slowly.

So last night I put on music (Bach, mainly), and yes, it works better.

Maybe there’ll be progress now.

If I have any time free from translating.

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Please don’t Include me, thank you very much

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So I took myself out for lunch yesterday. Went somewhere I hadn’t been in a while. It’s a diner called “The 50s Grill.” Not far from where I live. Excellent food and tremendous desserts. Kind of expensive for a diner, but really worth it.

They do the best hamburger I know of in town (no doubt I’ve missed some; don’t look to me as an authority). But I didn’t want a burger that day, so I got the meatloaf lunch. Very nice. And then they were advertising this Black Forest Cake with cherries in it, and I couldn’t resist that. My only complaint was that it was too large. (I skipped supper to make up for it.)

The waitress, an older later, was very nice. When I was done, as she was passing, she patted my shoulder and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

I was, frankly, surprised. I hadn’t even been thinking about the holiday. I suddenly saw myself through her eyes. Old man, eating alone on Valentine’s Day, orders a fancy dessert. Probably a widower, reliving past happiness.

But no, really, that wasn’t my intention. I just wanted to eat out somewhere different. I had no intention of horning in on someone else’s holiday.

On Facebook, I saw a couple instances yesterday of single people trying to redefine the holiday to include them. Give it a new name. Make it Inclusive.

I’m frankly sick of the word “Inclusive.” When I happen to see a couple I know out on a date, I don’t sit down at the table with them, “including” myself in their night out. It belongs to them. If I want a date, I should get my own girlfriend. If I want a holiday, I should start one. Nobody’s stopping me. I’d be celebrating by myself, but that would kind of be the point, wouldn’t it?

One of P.G. Wodehouse’s great characters is Uncle Galahad Threepwood. Uncle Gally is the brother of Clarence, Earl of Emsworth, and shows up periodically in the Blandings Castle stories. It’s often said of him that it’s unfair that anyone should have had so much fun for so many years and still look so youthful and healthy. His chief function in the stories is to smooth the way for young couples whose parents are trying to keep them apart for one stuffy reason or another.

Occasionally Uncle Gally’s back story is mentioned. He once fell in love with a music hall performer, and his parents prevented their marriage. He has taken his revenge in the best way, by doing for others what no one was there to do for him.

As I’ve frequently mentioned, I don’t believe in the religion of True Love as understood in our culture (though The Princess Bride is great). But I think old single people ought to have Uncle Gally for a role model, rather than trying to Include Themselves in everybody else’s happiness.

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The Viking Ship Museum

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More video tonight. This is an amateur video, but pretty well done, of the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo. I’ve been there, of course, but I’ll probably never see it again. They closed it down recently for a five-year expansion. While they’re at it, they’re also working on stabilizing the old ships (I personally blame their deterioration on a guy I know, whose name I won’t divulge, who once put his hands on the Gokstad ship while the guards weren’t looking). By the time the renovation project is done, I’ll probably be too old to travel over there.

The one with the curly prow and stern is the Oseberg Ship, the oldest of the two. It seems to have been sort of a royal yacht, and two women were found buried in it. One assumes they’re a mistress and her slave, but they still haven’t worked out who’s who.

The one with the plain prow and stern is the Gokstad, which is larger and a genuine fighting ship. A tall man, wounded in the leg, was found buried in it. Among his grave goods was a peacock. That always amused me. A questionable tradition says its occupant was Olaf Gierstad-Elf, an ancestor of Saint Olaf, who plays a small role, as a ghost, in my novel-in-progress.

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The forgotten palace

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Nothing to review tonight. It’s a rich moment in my reading life – just enjoyed a new Dean Koontz (reviewed the other day), then I revisited Travis McGee (review yesterday) and now I’m on a new Greg Hurwitz Orphan X novel. Times to savor.

The video above is about the church/royal residence at Avaldsnes, on Karmøy island in Norway. I’ve talked about it often before. My great-grandfather was baptized in the church with the tower (though the tower wasn’t there at the time – it had to be restored in the 1920s). I have ancestors in that graveyard.

The first time I visited, in the 1990s, the relative who was showing Dad and me around told us they’d done some archaeological excavation south of the church, and discovered a secret tunnel. They were looking forward to further discoveries.

It wasn’t until 2017 that government funding made serious excavation possible. What the archaeologists discovered amazed them. An entire royal hall had once existed south of the church (as reconstructed in the video).

What amazes me is that we’re dealing with a forgotten palace here. How do you forget a palace? It’s easy to understand how a palace could fall down after a while. But I find it harder to comprehend it being forgotten entirely. Not only was it lost from the written record, but not so much as a legend survived.

Anyway, I think recreations like this are fun. Avaldsnes (under its old name, Augvaldsness) features heavily in the Erling book I’m writing, King of Rogaland. Also in the previous book, The Elder King, come to think of it. But that’s before the stone buildings existed.

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Swords in the rock

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Above, a very nice little video of the “Sverd i Fjell” (Sword in Rock) monument at Hafrsfjord, near Stavanger, Norway. I’ve been there, briefly, years back. It is, you will not be surprised to learn, my favorite monument in the world. It’s directly north of Sola, where Erling Skjalgsson lived. This is about where he docks his ships in my novels.

But the place is most famous for the battle which the monument commemorates, the Battle of Hafrsfjord, fought (it is thought) in 872. This was a sea battle in which King Harald Fairhair (or Finehair) defeated a coalition of his enemies to secure control over the kernel of what would become the kingdom of Norway. Nobody knows the extent of his actual domains, and (of course) there are historians who doubt his very existence, and whether the battle ever happened.

They’re planning a big celebration of the Battle of Hafrsfjord this summer, and I’m seriously considering going over for it. I can plausibly hope to have the funds – the main thing I need to make up my mind to is the trip itself. Air travel becomes less fun as you age, and it’s become less fun for everybody in recent years. And Norway is not a place for people who have trouble walking. I walk okay, but my range isn’t what it used to be, and my fake hips complain if I overdo it. What I need is to lose some weight. I’m working on that.

I think I’ll regret it if I don’t go.

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The World Never Stops Changing for Good and Ill

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I didn’t mention the death of art and theater critic Terry Teachout on January 13, because I didn’t feel I had anything to add. I interacted with him as a minor player in the early blogosphere, and I enjoyed seeing his enthusiasm over his one-man play, Satchmo at the Waldorf. Richard Brookhiser summarizes him in National Review this way:

He specialized in omniscience. There was a bit of boy-from-Sikeston-keeping-up-with-the-city-slickers in that. But the main source of his appetite to taste, learn, and enjoy was his love of all the arts, and of the wonderful sparks cast off by human minds generally.

(via Prufrock)

Ted Gioia tells a heart-warming story of being a recipient of Teachout’s “generous spirit.” “The last time I saw him was in Santa Fe, where the opera he wrote with composer Paul Moravec made its debut. His career seemed to know no limits—which was fitting, because that was true of Terry himself.”

Let me share a few other things with you. Let me know if you’ve heard these before.

America: Chinese-born Aaron Tao writes of American greatness and his appreciation for his parents immigrating to Ohio. “As I grew up, my parents gradually revealed more details of their former destitute life in Maoist China, which made me grateful that I never had any experience remotely comparable here in the United States.”

In New York, an immigrant from Hong Kong is now rallying people against Democratic policies. “The atmosphere at schools here is more and more like China’s cultural revolution that encourages students to cancel teachers and parents, all in the name of equality,” he said. This is only one example of Asian Americans vocally supporting better communities.

Strangers: The world is ever changing. J.A. Medders, recently the author of Humble Calvinism, shares this about his first book.

In the replies to this tweet, people mention Dangerous Calling by Paul David Tripp, whose endorsements are far more troubling. But faith is a living habit, not a single accomplishment, and some will enter heaven with clothing caked with the mud of the world.

Identity: Gina Dalfonzo talked to Alan Noble about his new book, You Are Not Your Own: Belonging to God in an Inhuman World.

Dalfonzo: I’ve seen some vigorous pushback against your book’s title on social media, much of it from Christians—even though it’s taken from a Bible verse (which, as you note, was later incorporated into the Heidelberg Catechism). Where do you think some of these visceral reactions are coming from? Why have so many Christians bought into the idea that we actually are our own?

Noble: Some pushback to the idea of belonging to God comes out of a deep belief in self-ownership and self-sufficiency. But my impression is that most Christians who struggle with this concept have experienced abuse. Sometimes abusive people and institutions have used the idea of belonging to God to control and harm people.

Soft Porn: Francine River’s early book Redeeming Love has been made into a movie. People I know have praised it. My wife is not one of them, and because of her comments, I’ve thought about reviewing it here, expecting to rip it apart. But this book is not burdened with a lack of reviews, and do I really want to put myself through it when I’m not doing all kinds of useful things. World reviews the movie, saying fans of the book will probably enjoy it, but there’s a lot of vice, pushing the limit of its PG-13 rating.

Photo by Chris Bair on Unsplash