Category Archives: Reading

Chronicle of a writer’s day

“Daffodils and Glastonbury Tor.” Photo credit: Glastomichelle. Wikimedia Commons, Creative Commons license.

What’s on tonight? Hey, how about a pointless account of my day? What could be more fun than that?

Last night my men’s Bible study group re-convened after several weeks of preemptions. I continue to be astonished how much these meetings nourish and uplift me. I feel an actual physical easing. I’ve been a solitary for so many years, getting by without close Christian fellowship. I knew that was the wrong way to do it, but I was hemmed in by… well, fear, to be honest.

I don’t think these guys will ever realize what they’re doing for me.

This morning I drove to the gym, and while I was inside, beavering away at my Sysiphian labors, a freezing rain came down, which covered my car windows in a matrix of icy pearls and made the road treacherous going home.

I worried about driving this afternoon, as I had a doctor’s appointment. But by the time I had to pull out again, the moisture had all melted and (mostly) dried off. I was able to reassure a technician, who took samples of my blood, on that point.

(No big deal on the doctor’s appointment, by the way. I wanted him to check something out, and he ordered tests, but didn’t seem greatly concerned. This stuff is just S.O.P. when you achieve venerability.)

Right now I’m re-reading two different books I read as a teenager, both of which deal with medieval Glastonbury. Because I’m writing a book about King Haakon the Good, and he grew up in England, and there’s good reason to think he might have spent time at that ancient site of monasticism and pilgrimage.

The first book is The Hidden Treasure of Glaston, by Eleanore M. Jewett. This is a book aimed at teenagers, and I remember that it surprised me when I read it (as a teenager), since I had known nothing about Glastonbury or the grave of King Arthur up to then. So far, I think it stands up pretty well. Entirely credulous about the legends, but well done withal. I’ll review it when I finish it.

The other book is Avalon, by Anya Seton, which I’ll also review. I read this as a Reader’s Digest Condensed Book (remember those?) back when it was new. It was quite a thrill for me, back in 1965 or 66, to discover any novel involving Vikings. I’m enjoying this book too, though I detect some historical errors. It’s set slightly before my Erling books.

What do I envy most in other historical writers’ works? The ability to describe geography, plants, and wildlife. I struggle with that stuff. “What kind of flowers would be blooming in an English marsh in Somerset in April, 980 AD, and how would they smell?” Would it be the same varieties they have now? How much have things changed in a thousand years? How much guessing do the authors do? Sigrid Undset was great at that stuff, but she was an amateur expert in botany.

What comforts me most? Finding mistakes. If successful novelists can screw up on details, maybe I can get away with a few howlers too. Because I know they’re there, like Communists under the beds (who were also actually there, as it happened).

How could I make this title shorter?

Photo credit: Vanburn Gonsalves. Unsplash license.

In tonight’s episode, a sad story about a book, plus some writing advice.

I won’t name the book or the author. At the start he showed some promise as a writer of Christian fantasy. His prose wasn’t professional, but it interested me. He made a good first impression. I was rooting for him, in spite of his often-clumsy style.

But he lost me when he started using demons as point of view characters. That’s a dangerous experiment, and not advised for newbies. I don’t think I’d try it myself. We’re talking about a whole different level of intelligence here; it doesn’t work (in my view) to portray suprenatural beings thinking like human villains, even very smart ones.

“But what” (you may ask) “about The Screwtape Letters?” The Screwtape Letters (in my opinion) is spiritual satire, not intended as the kind of fiction where the reader suspends disbelief. The Screwtape Letters is more about exploring ideas than characters.

But setting aside the issue of demons, I asked myself, “What writing advice would I give this author, if he were to ask me for guidance” (based on my own tremendous success, of course)?

Here’s the exercise I’d set him – based on an exercise in a correspondence course I took once, back in ancient times when people took correspondence courses.

The Exercise (note that this is not intended to make the piece of work you’ll tackle suitable for publication. It’s just intended to give your writing muscles a workout):

Take a piece of your own writing. Preferably at least a page long.

Check the word count.

Now, cut it to 50% of that.

Cut unnecessary verbiage. Cut adjectives and adverbs, replacing them with more vivid nouns and verbs. Find precise individual words to replace longer phrases. Interrogate each sentence and phrase to make it justify its existence. If it’s just decorative, excise it.

What you get in the end may not be anything like publishable prose. Or anything like the writing you want to produce. But it will teach you how to trim. You’ll be surprised what you can accomplish along those lines.

The final, mature style you adopt for yourself may be nothing so Hemingway-esque. But the exercise will do you good, like a workout in a gym.

Reading report #4: ‘Njal’s Saga’

Kari Solmundarsson

“Bare is the back of a brotherless man.” (Kari Solmundarsson)

This is to publicly certify that I have completed another re-reading of Njal’s Saga, from the Complete Sagas of the Icelanders collection. My chief take-away is that I didn’t remember it as well as I thought I did.

My faulty recollection revealed itself mostly in the fact that I forgot how complicated the whole thing was. In my first reading report, I named Hallgerd Long-legs as the chief villain. But she actually disappears about half-way through the story, after her husband Gunnar is killed. Two further major sections follow, with at least one further villain.

The first villain is the very strange character of Mord Valgardsson. He remains a figure of loathing in Iceland to this day; I read somewhere that one of the worst insults to an Icelander is to call him a “murderous Mord.” Mord delights in manipulating people into murder, playing both sides against the other. His motive for this behavior seems obscure. He’s just a bad guy.

Yet, ironically, when it comes time to prosecute the men who burned Njal and his family in their house, the injured parties pressure Mord into leading the prosecution – which he does quite effectively.

After the burning, there’s no clear villain anymore. The burners (one of them is Gunnar’s son) are painted negatively, except for their leader Flosi, an honorable man who seems remorseful and fatalistic. The great hero of this section is Kari Solmundarsson, a family friend who manages to escape the burning, and devotes himself thereafter to getting even. His attempt to prosecute ends in an epic battle at the Thing (an amusing element in that episode is one man who promises to keep his warriors on the sidelines, in order to intervene once the killings reach the limits of the plaintiffs’ ability to pay fines for them). After that, Kari takes the law into his own very capable hands, and the story proceeds to describe the experiences of some of the burners at the Battle of Clontarf, after which, eventually, both Flosi and Kari call an end to it after pilgrimages to Rome.

Among the points that struck me was a scene at the jarl’s hall in Orkney, shortly before Clontarf. Kari rushes in and kills a man before the jarl, in a scene suspiciously similar to the killing of Thore the Seal at Augvaldsness by Erling Skjalgsson’s nephew Asbjorn (which you may recall from my novel, King of Rogaland). It’s touches like this that make historians look askance at saga accounts.

I also noted with interest that in many of the fight scenes, a fighter’s weapon gets caught in a wooden shield, and the shield’s owner then twists the shield to disarm the man. This is a move much prized among Viking reenactors, and I’m happy to say that I accomplished it myself once. (Others have done it more; my reflexes aren’t very good.)

Also, the scenes of lawsuits at the Things involve a whole lot of Norse legalese, which is just as stilted and tedious as in the English/American tradition.

That covers it, I think. If I recall any more, I’ll post about it tomorrow.

Reading report #2: ‘Njal’s Saga’

Gunnar fights off attackers near the Ranga River.

[Njal said:] “Never kill more than once within the same bloodline, and never break any settlement which good men make between you and others, least of all if you have broken my first warning.”

Still working on reading Njal’s Saga, yet another time. As I write, I’m now approaching Gunnar’s last stand, and I’m not even half-way through the story.

Impressions – yesterday I commented on the way fate lies heavy on all the characters here. No major player goes to his death without someone handy (Njal himself excels at this) to tell him plainly that if he goes ahead and does what he’s about to do, it will end in his death. In each case, the character says he understands, but he’s going to do it anyway. He seems to be, as some other sagas like to say, “fey,” which does not mean effeminate here, but deceived by faery powers, helplessly doomed.

In Njal’s Saga, this business of recognizing fate while still ignoring it rises at one point to what we might today describe as “meta.” One of the hero Gunnar’s enemies is aware of Njal’s warning/prophecy, quoted at the top of this post. So he proposes to a co-conspirator that he bring a cousin along the next time they attack Gunnar. This is because Gunnar has already killed one of his relatives, so if he kills the second one, he’ll trip the wire on his doom. (The loss of a cousin is apparently considered an acceptable sacrifice.)

That’s kind of remarkable as a literary device. It’s almost like breaking the proscenium, as if at the end of a mystery play, the butler is shown to be the killer, and he turns to the audience and says, “Curses! I was sure the cliché would prevent anyone suspecting me!”

Yet, oddly, this heavy-handed fatalism, which you’d think would spoil the story, does not. Rather, it makes it fascinating, like watching a house fire or a train wreck.

Njal’s Saga is believed to have been written about 300 years after the events it describes. We know that the author was a Christian, and I wonder what he thought about this heathen fatalism. Did he believe in free will himself? Did he think that his ancestors, before their conversion to Christianity, were bound in slavery to the devil, and therefore doomed?

Just thinking out loud (or, rather, visibly) here. I’ll keep you posted as I continue reading.

Reading report #1, ‘Njal’s Saga’

Gunnar meets Hallgerd at the Thing.

“What I don’t know,” said Gunnar, “is whether I am less manly than other men because killing troubles me more than it does other men.” (Njal’s Saga, Ch. 55)

Happy New Year. I have spent the day, as you’d expect, pretty quietly, though I did make about an inch of progress on my Haakon the Good book. About two hours of reading through my notes culminated in the extrusion of about eight lines of text.

And I’m reading Njal’s Saga, for the umpty-tenth time. It’s not only a long saga, but a very complex one. I keep discovering things in it, partly because I forget so many of the details between readings. Two facts (or opinions) strike me this time around, so far.

First of all, the author’s perspective matters a lot. I can imagine telling this story from a different point of view, making Gunnar and Njal, the traditional heroes, into villains.

Both of them are portrayed as peace-loving men whom fate has marked for tragedy. But in their first act together as friends, they combine to pull a sharp legal trick. Following Njal’s advice, Gunnar goes in disguise to his opponent’s house and tricks him into reciting a legal formula in front of witnesses, which sets the man up for prosecution at the Thing. At the Thing, Gunnar takes full advantage of the situation to win his lawsuit.

The second fact I noted was that, though we’re always told that Gunnar and Njal are the saga’s heroes, the true central figure of the story, the one person who binds it all together, is Gunnar’s wife, Hallgerd, whose nickname is “Long-legs.” She’s one of the archetypal Dangerous Dames, a forerunner to Lizabeth Scott and Barbara Stanwick.

We first meet Hallgerd as a little girl, when her father proudly introduces her to his brother, then asks his brother whether she isn’t very beautiful. The brother concedes that she is, but says, ominously, “I don’t know how thief’s eyes came into our family.”

Hallgerd’s great vice is that she’s a thief. She manipulates several men into committing murders for her, but that’s not considered all that shameful. Such behavior is common in the sagas, and the women seem to be relatively admired for it.

But when Gunnar discovers that Hallgerd has stolen (or ordered a slave to steal) food during a time of famine, and strikes her for it, then his doom is sealed. She vows to get revenge for that slap – someday. Her vengeance will be served very cold, but very effectively, in one of the most memorable scenes in any saga.

We’re in an alien moral landscape here. Being guilty of murder may entail legal difficulties, but it’s not considered shameful. Murder is a dangerous activity, usually requiring courage. So it’s honorable, except in certain particular situations.

But stealing is always shameful. It’s furtive and secretive by its nature. Stealing is an activity suited to slaves and poor people. So theft, though a lesser crime, incurs greater shame. And being shamed is the worst thing that can happen to anybody.

I might also mention that the useful literary device of “foreshadowing” is employed heavily here. Whenever anybody makes a particularly disastrous decision, there’s almost always somebody nearby to prophecy that they’ll come to regret it. They’re always right, of course, because the saga world resembles, but is not identical to, the real world. Like all great literature, it illuminates.

The Tale of Klypp the Hersir

Illustration of Klypp killing King Sigurd Sleva, by Christian Krohg, for J.M. Stenersen & Co.’s 1899 edition of Heimskringla. Krohg was a Commie and made ugly pictures, and I’ve never liked him.

I’m still researching my book on Haakon the Good. It occurred to me that I possess a resource most English-speaking scholars don’t have access to – the Norwegian translation of Flatøybok, published by my friends at Saga Bok in Norway. In it I came upon a fuller version of a story that Snorri Sturlusson only mentions in passing in Heimskringla. Which also involves Erling’s family. Had I known this story when I wrote my Erling books, I might have changed a couple lines.

The Tale of Sigurd the Slobberer

It is said that when the sons of Gunnhild [widow of King Erik Bloodaxe] ruled in Norway, King Sigurd Sleva (the Slobberer, though I’ve also seen it translated “Sleeve”) sat in Hordaland. He was manly in appearance, and a great spendthrift. Lightminded and inconstant he was, and fond of women, nor was he careful about it.

Torkjell Klypp was the name of a man, a rich hersir in Hordaland; he was the son of Thord Horda-Kaaresson. He was a fearless and strong fellow, and an outstanding man. His wife was named Aalov; she was beautiful and honorable.

It is said that one day King Sigurd Sleva sent him a summons to come and see him, and he did so. Then the king said: “It has come about that there is a voyage west to England to be made, and I want to send you to meet King Adalraad (Ethelred the Unready) and collect tribute from him. Such men as you are best fitted to carry out errands suitable to great men.”

Torkjell answered, “Isn’t it true that you have already sent your own men on such errands, and that they’ve had no success?”

“That is true,” said the king, “but I think you’ll have better success in this matter than they, useless as they were.”

Torkjell answered, “Then it looks as if it is my duty to travel, and I will not make excuses, even if others have had so little luck in the errand.”

Afterward Torkjell set out and went west to England with a good following, met King Adalraad and greeted him. The king received him well and asked who was the leader of this group. Torkjell then explained who he was. The king said, “Of you I have heard that you have a good reputation. Be welcome among us.”

After that Torkjell was with the king over the winter. One day he said to the king: “This is how things stand, my lord, with this journey of mine, that King Sigurd Sleva has sent me to you to collect tribute. And I hope that you can find a good solution for this.”

(Continued after page break)

‘Troll Valley’: recording done

Tonight, BIG NEWS!

Deeply… underwhelming… big news.

(By the way, do kids today realize that “underwhelming” wasn’t always a word? I first saw it used in the Pogo comic strip, back in the 1960s, I think. It was funny because “overwhelming” had never (that I know of) been paired with “underwhelming” before. “Overwhelming” was one of those words that had no commonly used obverse form, just as we still never talk about anyone being “gruntled.”)

What I mean to say is, I finished recording my novel, Troll Valley, this morning. To mark the occasion, I decided to film myself “in studio,” for the benefit of future literary historians.

I apologize for the quality of the video. The old HP laptop I use for recording doesn’t have much of a camera.

But you’ll note that the sound is good. That’s the quality of sound you’ll be getting with my fully artisanal audiobook.

I need to give the whole thing a listen-through again, though, just to be sure it’s right. I should be able to do at least two chapters of that a day, so it ought to take a couple weeks.

Then, it will take as long as it takes for me to jump through the hoops of converting files for Audible, and uploading. (Phil has already modified the book cover for me, for which I’m most grateful.)

But it’s coming. It can’t be too long now.

You may now return to your scheduled weekend.

The ambivalent wonders of cotton

Eli Whitney’s cotton gin

Do they teach them about Eli Whitney in schools anymore? When I was young, Whitney’s story was told (briefly) because of his tremendous – and ambivalent – importance in American history.

Whitney’s cotton gin revitalized the economy of the American south. It made cotton a cheap and profitable bulk commodity. (Until then it had been exclusively luxury wear.) And – tragically – it revived human slavery as a business model in America, where it had been – everyone agreed – quietly dying out. All those self-righteous sermons about God ordaining slavery mostly got delivered after the plantation economy had been revived and prosperity once again depended on cheap field labor.

But there’s another side to the cotton story, less well known but equally significant. I read about it, I think, in Paul Johnson’s The Birth of the Modern, and it astonished me.

I’ve written much about the rise of Pietism and how it contributed to literacy, social mobility, and a new social status for common people. But few are aware how much cotton fiber also contributed to that change.

As I understand it, John Wesley never actually said, “Cleanliness is next to Godliness.” But it does encapsulate some ideas he expressed. However (I think Paul Johnson made this point), it would have been impossible to say that before cotton became widely available.

Cotton is a wonderful fiber. It’s light and cool, great for summer wear. And you can boil the stuff. Throw it in a kettle and bubble the germs out of it. A poor man who owns cotton clothing can be as clean as the king of England or the president of the United States.

Wool is wonderful in its way (especially up here in the north), but you have to wash it in cool water. You can never sanitize it. That means that throughout history, when most of the poor wore wool, even next to the skin, those poor people stunk.

Cotton gave them a new dignity. I remember my mother reminiscing repeatedly about her childhood in the Great Depression. “Our clothes may have been old, and they may have been patched,” she said, “but my mother saw to it they were always clean.” That’s the pride of the honest poor, and a revolution in the world.

Since it’s supposed to be Pride Month, I’ll go with Cotton-Wearing Pride, thank you.

Thoughts on ‘All Hallows Eve’

I’m reading (again) Charles Williams’ final novel, All Hallows Eve. I’m not quite half way through it. Williams is not the easiest read, but I keep coming back to his books. Just a few thoughts tonight about my ongoing impressions.

A recurring theme in Williams’ novels is the city – properly spelled with a capital “C” when he deals with it. J. R. R. Tolkien was always a little leery of Williams, and I’d imagine attitudes towards cities had something to do with it. Tolkien was a countryman, reveling in woods and meadows, trees and flowers and butterflies. Williams was London-born, and felt best at home there, amid the noise, the crowds, the bustle.

I’ve never (yet) read St. Augustine’s City of God, but I understand it to be a meditation on the societal catastrophe of the fall of Rome. Augustine told Christians that they mustn’t identify the City of God with any city of man, however great its pretensions. Christianity could do without Rome – we look to the City with foundations, eternal in the Heavens.

Nevertheless, Williams saw something of eternity in London, and in any great metropolis. A city has a being of its own; a body, a pulse, and a spirit. Many members work together to support a common life. The man of God can find an image of Heaven in the city, if he looks for it. London is itself an active character in All Hallows’ Eve.

Another thing that always strikes me – bothers me, really – in this book is that the villain is a Jew, and his Jewishness is an important element. There is no hint here of Jewish inferiority – rather the opposite. The villain here, Father Simon, is, we are made to understand, the Antichrist. And as the true Antichrist, he has to correspond to Jesus Christ, but in an inverted way. The Jewish capacities that in part made Jesus Messiah are aped and parodied in Father Simon.

This is my personal opinion – we need to be careful, when reading, to understand that people didn’t view antisemitism the same way back then (Williams died in 1945, as the war was ending, but before most people knew the true extent of Hitler’s Holocaust). The old antisemitism was bad enough, but Hitler improvised a new kind. The persecutors of Jews before that time – Catholic and Protestant and Orthodox – had never considered annihilating the Jews. They wanted to convert them. Hitler cared nothing for the Jews’ souls. He was all about “pure” blood, and regarded the Jews as an infection to be removed.

I don’t think we can ever treat Jews the same way in literature again. And that’s a good thing.

‘Troll Valley’ and Dalebu Jonsson

Finished reading Chapter 19 of Troll Valley today for the audiobook iteration. Chapter 19 was a bear. It took three days (one-hour sessions) to record, edit, and master the whole thing. I was a little fuzzy on the concept of chapter length back when I wrote the book, and I let that one get out the barn door and off across the pastures into the corn. I start it with Chris, our hero, in the fictional town of Tuscany, Colorado, getting a visit from his brother Fred. Then Fred takes him to the ghost town where their father has settled down for a hermit’s life, and they have quite a lengthy reunion, getting to know each other better than they ever did back home in Minnesota, and revealing some secrets. Then Fred, who’s now an outlaw, has a confrontation with a lawman, after which he must go on the run again. Then Chris says goodbye to his father, has a couple supernatural experiences that change his personality, and gets in a fight in a brothel, in which he is injured. After recovering from his wounds, he heads home to Epsom.

If I were writing it today, I’d make that at least two chapters. Possibly three. But in spite of that, I have to admit that – contrary to my expectations – I think Troll Valley isn’t a bad book at all. I was pretty young when I wrote it, and I’m sure I’m a better artist now, but it’s still a good book. There’s stuff in there I’d completely forgotten about, and it mostly works. If somebody else had written it, and I were reading it for review, I think I’d recommend it.

At one point, when the Anderson boys are gathered with their father, they sing the song posted above, a Norwegian folk song called Dalebu Jonsson. It’s about a man who kidnaps a princess, then singlehandedly fights off 7,000 warriors her father sends to rescue her. Finally the king is so impressed that he agrees to let him marry her – “You can have little Kjersti; you are worthy of her.” (Or words to that effect.)

I know the song from a recording by a male Norwegian group called “Vandrerne,” which no longer exists. They did it in a very rousing style, sort of like an Irish drinking song in spirit. When I got to the part of the text where I include the first verse, in Norwegian, my full intention was to just read the words straight. But as I was reading, I found myself sliding into music, so I ended up singing it. I translated that verse, “Oh, Dalebu’s love was a beautiful maid; he won her with steel and sharp iron blade.” (Which I think is a jolly translation; not literal, but it nails the spirit of the thing.)

The arrangement embedded above is nothing at all like the song as I know it, but I couldn’t find a better one and I thought somebody might be interested.