I’ve been boring you for some time, talking about the big miniseries, Atlantic Crossing (trailer above), on which I did a whole lot of translation work (often when I say I worked on a project, I mean an episode or two. On this one I helped translate several episodes, and I proofread the entire first half, four episodes). Right now, it’s being judged at the Cannes Film Festival. If you sign in with your email address (or so I’m told; I haven’t tried it yet) you can view Episodes 1 and 2 right here. But the showing only lasts 24 hours, which means you’ve got to get to it before sometime around early afternoon tomorrow, my time (Central), Tuesday (if my reckoning is right. Which is not something to bet your life on).
I’m authorized to give you that link, by the way. I’ve messed such things up in the past, but I have this on good authority.
I like that trailer. Very moving, it seems to me. I hope it gets lots of awards at Cannes, so I can brag about my association even more. I’m an old man. I covet the gratifications I can still get.
“Well, our first event of the year kind of sucked,” said one of my friends in the Viking Age Club on Saturday. Some of us had gathered in another town for the funeral of one of our older members. (Cancer, not Covid. I know you were wondering.)
What a year it’s been. But, as Thanksgiving approaches (and Happy Canadian Thanksgiving, to any Good Neighbors to the North who happen to be reading this), I have to say I have much to be thankful for. Aside from my continued good health, I’ve gotten enough translating work (just about exactly enough; it’s kind of like manna) to sustain me through the year.
The funeral day came equipped with beautiful weather; today is about the same. Almost enough to make me an Autumn fan. Autumn days can be delightful; but I’m too much of a worrier to ever forget that Fall is the door through which Winter enters (with horns in a minor key, like Darth Vader).
But, day by day. That’s what I need to remind myself.
Leif Erikson discovers America, by Christian Krogh, who liked his heroes stout. I saw the original of this painting once, when it was on loan at Epcot.
In the honored tradition of this blog, or at least in the honorable tradition of my own posts, I shall announce a holiday at the point when it’s mostly over.
Today is Leif Erikson Day. A legal holiday in some states, though not the kind you get off work for.
Leif Erikson (I prefer to spell it Eriksson, with two s’s), of course, was the Norse discoverer of North America. Other Europeans may have done it before him, but they don’t have proof and we do. As I mentioned on Facebook, it’s OK to celebrate Vinland, because the colony was unsuccessful. If it had prospered, it would be another egregious example of European imperialism.
Leif himself is something of a mystery. He’s not one of those saga heroes who jump off the page as a full-blown personality. The sagas that tell of his exploits are fairly laconic. He seems to have been a man of boldness, sense, and good luck. Unlike most saga heroes, we have no evidence he ever killed anybody. And he was a convert to Christianity.
I feature him in two of my novels, The Year of the Warrior and West Oversea. There’s every reason to believe he probably knew Erling Skjalgsson. Erling had family and business ties in Iceland, and Leif’s father, Erik the Red, came from a farm in Jaeren, Erling’s bailiwick. As the chief of the Greenland colony, dependent on Norwegian markets, Leif probably did business with Erling.
A Norwegian bachelor buddy of mine texted me and asked, “How shall we celebrate Leif Erikson Day?” After considerable deliberation, we decided to clean out my gutters. It was an amazing day, above 80 degrees in August.
To some extent Ronald and Edith [Tolkien] lived separate lives at Northmoor Road [Oxford], sleeping in separate bedrooms and keeping different hours…. She and Ronald did not always talk about the same things to the same people, and as they grew older each went his and her own way in this respect, Ronald discoursing on an English place-name apparently oblivious that the same visitor was simultaneously being addressed by Edith on the subject of a grandchild’s measles. But this was something that regular guests learnt to cope with. (J. R. R. Tolkien: A Biography, Humphrey Carpenter.)
‘But our hearts did not go on growing in the same way: the Ents gave their love to things that they met in the world, and the Entwives gave their thought to other things, for the Ents loved the great trees, and the wild woods, and the slopes of the high hills…. But the Entwives gave their minds to the lesser trees, and to the meads in the sunshine beyond the feet of the forests…. ‘ (Treebeard, in The Two Towers)
Just a parallel that struck me, from Tolkien’s life and his books. It’s not for me to say much about the Professor’s domestic life (which was full of love by all accounts, though a little eccentric). Just to point out a similarity.
Another theme in these books that strikes me is the vision of what – at the risk of political correctness – I might call “diversity.”
The Fellowship of the Ring is, self-consciously, a diverse group. It includes members of several of the more-or-less human “races” not dominated by Sauron – Men, and Elves, and Hobbits. No doubt this mirrors Tolkien’s experience with classes and Imperial ethnicities (not to mention Allies) during the Great War. The feeling (it must have seemed very strange in those times) of thinking, “Here I am, crouched in a trench with men I might have despised or even fought against in the past. But we’re all at war for a single cause now, and I find much to love and admire in them.”
No doubt it would have occurred to a thoughtful mind that one could conceivably come to feel the same way about the enemy, under different circumstances.
But it wouldn’t only have been the war. The fabled Inklings group was itself (to an extent) a disparate gathering. Not radically disparate, but to Tolkien, as a member of a religious minority, the chasm between Catholic and Protestant was always significant. I don’t recall that any of the Inklings was an atheist or agnostic, but Owen Barfield was a Theosophist (though he eventually became a communicant Anglican).
Which reminds me of the issue of “Jack” Lewis’s Anglicanism, always a sore point with Tolkien. After the famous night in 1931 when he and Hugo Dyson convinced Lewis that mythology might be a kind of inchoate prophecy from Heaven (leading to his Christian conversion), Tolkien hoped Jack would join him in his Roman faith. But Jack remained at bottom a Belfast Protestant, though he learned to appreciate certain beauties in his friend’s church.
And when I read of Gimli and Legolas, tentatively finding common ground in which an Elf might go so far as to visit caverns, in order (perhaps) to discover the beauties a Dwarf sees there, and the Dwarf condescends to travel in a forest with the Elf for the same reason, we may be peering into the heart of Tolkien’s and Lewis’s friendship.
On October 10, 1520, Martin Luther received an official church statement charging him with heresy. Today’s Luther says the bull got to him by a circuitous route.
The Rector of the University of Wittenberg, Peter Burkhard, received the bull from a citizen to whom a Leipzig militiaman had given it. This was, to say the least, an unusual mode of delivery of an official document, probably intended to prevent the University from refusing to accept it.
The Papal Bull condemns him for statements that are “either heretical, false, scandalous, offensive to pious ears, or misleading to the simple.” Clearly Luther was playing precursor to Osteen at this point in his career.
Ligonier Ministries has a new Reformation Day podcast starting October 10 to dramatize Luther’s actions and thoughts, starting at this point, called “Luther: In Real Time.”
“Like cold water to a thirsty soul, so is good news from a far country.” (Proverbs 25:25, ESV)
There is good news, folks, even now, especially if you’re a C. S. Lewis fan.
There are “new” recordings of C. S. Lewis reading his own work and Chaucer, available from the Rabbit Room Store. That’s surprising in itself, but the source of the recordings is even more remarkable.
In August of 1960, C. S. Lewis’s wife Joy Davidman had been dead for about a month. At that time her ex-husband, William Gresham, traveled to England to see his sons, Douglas and David. It must have been an awkward reunion. Bill Gresham tried hard to get custody of his sons, but “Jack” Lewis strenuously opposed him, winning custody for himself. (According to Joy Davidman’s biographer, she may have exaggerated her stories of Bill’s neglect and abuse. However, it is indisputable that he was an alcoholic.)
However he felt, Bill was gracious enough to ask Jack to read some of his work into the new tape recorder he’d brought along. Jack did so, reading excerpts from Perelandra and That Hideous Strength, and then reading (or reciting) part of the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales in flawless Middle English.
I haven’t bought my copy yet, mostly out of laziness, but I’m going to. I can’t complain about the price – three bucks for the whole caboodle.
Proceeds go to benefit the Marion E. Wade Center, which owns the rights.
I’m well into The Two Towers now. An anxious nation will be gratified to know that I Have Thoughts.
I noticed – for the first time, I think – the name of the ancient warrior who – we are told – founded the Kingdom of Rohan. His name was Eorl the Young.
This is where I did a little linguistic analysis, based on my fair knowledge of Norwegian and my sketchy grasp of Old Norse.
I figured Eorl must be etymologically related to the Norse word, Jarl, which means a ruler. I was pretty sure that the Norse cognate when used in personal names was “Erl.” I had looked up the meaning of Erling (for obvious reasons) and learned that the name means “young ruler.”
That makes sense, because the “ing” suffix is common in sagas to indicate “the younger,” as in “junior.” Thus the sons of Arne Arnmodsson (whom I mentioned a few days ago in my post on my novel writing) were known as the Arnmodings.
My guesses were verified by the author of this web site, assuming he knows what he’s talking about.
Therefore, when you encounter the name Eorl the Young in TLOTR, think “Erling.”
Did Tolkien have Erling Skjalgsson in mind when he named the character? I have no evidence for that. But I like to think so. Because what I like is extremely important.
This book showed up as a freebie, and I figured I’d read it before going back to The Lord of the Rings.The Anatomy Lesson, by Robert I. Katz, wasn’t bad at all.
Our hero is Richard Kurtz, a young New York surgeon whose sideline (and a useful one) is martial arts. The Anatomy Lesson is the second book in which he assists police detective Lew Barent in an investigation. The first time constituted the first book in the series.
The mystery starts with what looks like a grotesque practical joke. At a Halloween party for medical students, somebody substitutes genuine cadaver parts for plastic ones that had been set out as decorations. The body parts turn out to come from medical school dissection specimens, but it’s hard to figure out who could have stolen them.
Barent asks Kurtz to inquire into the matter, and one of the people he talks to is Rod Mahoney, a lecturer at the medical school. When Mahoney is murdered in a grotesque manner shortly after that, the motives remain impossible to guess, but soon there is talk of a drug connection.
The story has lots of twists and red herrings; it was challenging. I certainly didn’t figure it out. On top of that, Kurtz and Barent make an interesting team – Barent is the jaded cop who’s seen everything, while Kurtz is young and full of vinegar, and quite enjoys the opportunity to fight bad guys off now and then. Barent is always telling him to stay out of the investigation, but then doesn’t hesitate to call on him when he needs an entrée into the medical world. They’re believable and amusing.
My main problem with this book – and it was purely personal opinion – is that the cause of drug legalization keeps coming up, and the author leaves no question what he thinks. He may even be right – maybe legalization is the only way to mitigate the social disaster – but I’ve never been able to shake the idea that legalizing drugs is a marker of societal surrender and imminent death.
But that’s my opinion. The Anatomy Lesson was an enjoyable read with enjoyable characters. Cautions for the usual.
Tonight, insight into the creative process. Or rather, my creative process.
Because other novelists work very differently from me. They amaze me. Some author friends on Facebook will say, “Well, I only got 1,000 words down tonight. Had the flu and my mother died, but that’s no excuse. Got to punch those numbers up tomorrow.”
Me, at this point I get in about one scene a night. Often only a few paragraphs. After that I haven’t got a clue what comes next, and I won’t know until the next day – maybe. It may take a couple days or a week before I figure out how to coax my characters into going where I need them to go.
It should get better as I get deeper into the plot. Then things will move by themselves. I’m setting up my shots at this point.
Anyway, this is what I’ve been working through recently:
There’s a story (only one) about Erling Skjalgsson that’s not included in Heimskringla. You find it in Flatey Book. I’ve mentioned it here before. It’s the Tale of Erling and Eindridi.
Eindridi was the son of the famous chieftain Einar Tambarskjelve, a very important man. I won’t outline the story tonight, but basically it’s about how young Eindridi gets into a compromising situation with Erling’s daughter Sigrid. Erling is furious, and Eindridi has to undergo the Iron Ordeal (you may recall that ceremony from The Year of the Warrior) to prove that he hasn’t dishonored her. Then old Einar, Eindridi’s father, nearly goes to war against Erling over the insult to his son. But the business is resolved through the two young people getting married.
It’s been my intention from the beginning to include that story in my current Erling book. But there were points I wondered about.
For one thing, another story mentions Eindridi’s wife, and she’s not Sigrid Erlingsdatter. I forget her name, but she’s somebody else.
Now that doesn’t invalidate the story by itself. Wives were a tragically perishable commodity in those days. Childbirth often carried them off. Rich men frequently went through several wives. Still, I found it odd that the connection wasn’t mentioned anywhere else (as far as I know; might have missed something).
Also, I saw Erling and Einar as fairly friendly. Just an assumption on my part, but call it an artist’s instinct.
On the other hand, there is a well-attested marriage alliance that I thought required more explanation. We know that Erling had a daughter named Ragnhild who married Thorberg Arnesson of Giske, son of the powerful Arne Arnmodsson, and one of a group of brothers who swung a lot of weight in the time of King (St.) Olaf Haradsson and his successors.
The Arnesssons were a family divided in Olaf’s time. Some of them supported the king, others opposed him. At the Battle of Stiklestad, where Olaf died, there were Arnesson on both sides.
But Thorberg was one of the pro-Olaf Arnessons. He even went into exile in Russia with Olaf. So why would he marry the daughter of Olaf’s greatest domestic enemy, Erling Skjalgsson?
And I had the brilliant idea – audacious by my mousy standards – of replacing Eindridi with Thorberg in the anecdote. It would achieve narrative economy while solving a problem of motivation.
So I’m doing that. And nobody can stop me.
There was one further problem, though. Last night I had a worrying thought – “Wait! For this to work, old Arne Arnmodsson (Thorberg’s father, if you lost your score card) has to be alive in 1022. But I always had the idea he must have died young.”
This was because there was another brother named Arne Arnesson. And the usual custom in the Viking Age was not to name a baby after a living relative. The old Norse believed that the soul followed the name, you see. So if you named the baby Arne after his father, Papa Arne would likely drop dead. Only one member of the nuclear family at a time was permitted the same name.
But I did some more research and learned that old Arne is believed to have lived until around 1024. So it’s cool. They must have adopted Christian naming practices in the family by the time Arne Jr. was born.
