Fiction, Reviews

‘The Fire Pit,’ by Chris OUld

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In the Faroes you’re overshadowed by mountains wherever you go, and now – in their absence – I realized I’d got used to their overbearing presence, like a stern father, always looking on disapprovingly.

I’ve raved about the previous two novels in Chris Ould’s Faroes series, and I’m happy to report that The Fire Pit is just as good. Maybe better. It is unclear whether the series is intended to go on from here, as most of the unresolved plot threads from the previous books get tied up here. But I hope there will be more.

Suspended English detective Jan Reyna is still in the Faroes when The Fire Pit begins, but he’s preparing to leave. He needs to go home and settle his problems on the job, one way or the other. But first he’s stopping off in Denmark, to see the place where his mother committed suicide when he was 5 years old, and see if he can spark any memories. While he’s there, his autistic Danish researcher will discover that his mother worked at a secretive mental institution, which she fled suddenly just before her death.

Meanwhile, his Faroese detective friend Hjalti Hentze must investigate the apparent suicide of a reclusive man. Then he’s called to the site of an abandoned hippie commune from the 1970s. There two skeletons have been discovered in secret graves – an adult woman and a female child. This is the same commune where Jan’s mother lived for a while – and before long Hjalti will be joining Jan in Denmark, their mysteries having merged.

The Fire Pit (and all the Faroes mysteries) are exactly the kind of detective novels I like best. Although there is action and suspense, the emphasis is on character and motive. There’s even a moment of Christian wisdom (though provided, sadly, by a woman pastor).

I was also pleased that Horsens, Denmark, where my Danish ancestors hailed from, gets a couple mentions.

I highly recommend The Fire Pit along with its predecessors. Top-notch Scandinavian Noir, unmarred by nihilism.

Writing

My journey with Erling

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Above, milestones in my pilgrimage with Erling Skjalgsson. On top, me with Erling Skjalgsson’s memorial stone in Stavanger, sometime around 2003. Below that, me playing Viking at Hafrsfjord, on Erling’s turf, in 2022.

When I stand before the Last Judgment and the Lord asks me, “What did you do with the talent I entrusted to you?” my answer, I guess, will be, “Well, I spent about 50 years writing Erling’s saga.” Will that be a satisfactory answer? I don’t know.

Writing-wise, I’m deep in anticlimax territory now, just tying up loose ends. I don’t think I’ll be done with the first draft of The Baldur Game tomorrow, but it will be soon. There’ll still be plenty of work left to do, of course – editing, polishing, tying up plot threads. But the tale will essentially be told very soon now, the formation formed. A stage on my journey finished.

I don’t remember exactly when it was that I first settled on Erling Skjalgsson as the Viking hero I’d write about. Reading Heimskringla, the sagas of the kings of Norway, I always found him a puzzling character. The main episodes where he showed up were impressive. Snorri Sturlusson, the author, must have had a soft spot for him. We meet him first when his powerful kinsmen offer him as a bridegroom for King Olaf Trygvesson’s sister, and he surprises everyone by turning down the title of jarl (and the more you understand about Norse society, the more surprising that decision is). Then he gets mentioned here and there, first as a supporter of Olaf Trygvesson, then as an opponent of (Saint) Olaf Haraldsson. We learn that, to his credit, he runs a self-help program to help his slaves buy their freedom. He really stands out when he rescues his nephew Asbjorn from the king’s justice in a dramatic scene at Avaldsnes, And at last Snorri gives him a stirring, Alamo-style death scene. But there’s also the suggestion that he’s a traitor.

I realized Erling was local to me. Sola, where he lived, was not far at all from where some of my ancestors came from, near Stavanger. And Avaldsnes was where my great-grandfather Walker grew up.

But what clinched it for me was acquiring  enough historic insight to understand what Erling was all about. It may have been reading Prof. Torgrim Titlestad (whose book I’d later translate) that helped me to get it, or maybe I’d begun to work it out myself as my political sensibilities matured. I honestly can’t remember. But Erling suddenly fit all the criteria I’d begun setting when I first pondered writing a Viking novel as a kid.

Of course it still didn’t come together until, sometime in the late 1980s, I guess, while I was living in Florida, Father Ailill burst on my mind. Ailill would be my bridge character, my hobbit – the Everyman who’d interpret the Viking world for the reader. I thought, “I can make this work.”

Remains to be seen, of course, but I like how it’s coming along.

When I’m not feeling melancholy about saying goodbye.

Non-fiction, Reviews

‘A Short History of Nearly Everything,’ by Bill Bryson

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There seemed to be a mystifying universal conspiracy among textbook authors to make certain the material they dealt with never strayed too near the realm of the mildly interesting and was always at least a long-distance phone call from the frankly interesting.

Back in the 1970s, one of the most fascinating programs on television was broadcast (in the US) on PBS – a short English series called “Connections,” hosted by James Burke. Burke, a somewhat odd-looking fellow in a sort of leisure suit, took the viewer on a journey through time, tracing how some remote phenomenon in history, like a variety of medieval cargo ship, led through various permutations to the invention of plastics. What made the show work was that Burke kept it down-to-earth (often funny) and related his science to intriguing personalities, events, and places.

I thought of “Connections” often as I read Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything, which I’d been meaning to read, but hadn’t gotten around to until its 20th anniversary of publication (I got a deal on it; it pays to be patient). The book is a history of science, very, very long, but fascinating from front to back.

Author Bryson alternates his chapters between descriptions of the universe and its laws as we understand them, and the pageant of how humans discovered those laws. What makes the book work is, first of all, his knack for helping the non-scientist think about counterintuitive concepts and massive numbers (“you can get some idea of the proportions if you bear in mind that one atom is to the width of a millimeter line as the thickness of a sheet of paper is to the height of the Empire State Building”), along with no reluctance at all to showcase the eccentric or petty sides of revered scientists (to his credit, he also likes doing justice to researchers who’ve been elbowed aside by the spotlight-seekers).

The overall goal seems to be to wow the reader with how amazing and complex our universe is (and to admit how much we still don’t know about it). The book is full of Wow! moments. Bryson clearly loves his material, and he’s eager as a kid to share his delight. 400 pages worth.

Being me, I found some things in his narrative that he probably didn’t intend. The incredible complexity of life and its structures seems to me to suggest intelligent design (though Bryson carefully avoids that subject, seeming to pooh-pooh any idea of a Creator. But that approach leaves a lot of questions unanswered – surely as many questions as faith leaves unanswered).

The big problem with A Short History of Nearly Everything – for this reader – was sheer input overload. The information provided includes a lot of doomsday talk – we’re told how likely it is that we’ll collide with an asteroid, or suffer another extinction-level pandemic. When he tried to raise our enthusiasm for environmental causes, I felt more inclined to sit back and say, “Yeah, well, you just told me the Yellowstone Caldera is long overdue to erupt and kill us all; it hardly seems worth the effort.”

Nevertheless, A Short History of Nearly Everything is a tremendous book and well deserving of its classic status (even if some of its science is outdated now). I recommend it highly. You’ll find a lot of arguments for Intelligent Design here, even if that wasn’t the intention.

Uncategorized, Writing

The Stiklestad Drama

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This morning, during my writing time, I committed to paper (well, screen) my conception of the Battle of Stiklestad, where King (Saint) Olaf of Norway died, in circumstances that remain contentious among historians.

Above is a video I managed to find on YouTube at last, which seemed to me worth sharing. It’s a Vlog post, not very sophisticated, describing the Vlogger’s attendance at a recent production of the Stiklestad Drama, which is performed every year in an open-air theater near the battle site (which, due to topographical changes, is impossible to precisely locate anymore). This play has been going on almost annually since 1954 (it was one of Liv Ullman’s first acting gigs). No doubt the script has changed over the years, as Norwegians become less enamored of their Christian legacy.

This appears to have been the first production after the Covid shutdown, and had the distinction of being the first time (as far as I know) that St. Olaf was portrayed without a beard. I can’t say I approve.

Also, I note that in the associated art exhibit, there’s a “tree” called the Verdenstreet (World Tree), where children are encouraged to hang prayers. This is an obvious bow to heathenism, and I can’t say I approve of that either.

But Stiklestad is on my mind (I had ancestors from the area) and I thought I’d share something about it today. Describing the battle was a surprisingly emotional experience for me, even if I’m not a great fan of Olaf. As I wrote my books, he grew in my sympathy. Also, I killed off a couple old friends (I’m not saying whom).

What’s left of writing the first draft for me is mostly mopping up, tying up loose ends. Then, of course, there follow as many revisions as it takes.

As Olaf himself (reportedly) said: “Fram!” (Forward!)

Fiction, Reviews

Saga reading report: ‘The Tale of Thorvard Crow’s-Beak’

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13th Century illustration of the Battle of Stamford Bridge from Matthew Paris. It looked nothing like this.

I’m still slogging through a Very Long Book (a good book, but comprehensive), so tonight I’ll report on another tale from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. This is the last story in Volume I, which means I’ll be coming to longer sagas again in the next one. I’m not sure what I’ll do to vamp while I’m reading future long books.

To my delight, this tale turned out have considerable personal interest. It involves Erling Skjalgsson’s grandson, Eystein Orre (son of Erling’s daughter Ragnhild and Thorberg Arnesson – you may remember the story of Thorberg’s courtship from King of Rogaland). Eystein had a sister named Thora who would, in time, become concubine (or wife, sources differ) to King Harald Hardrada, and would die with him following a legendary charge at the Battle of Stamford Bridge in England.

Our tale is the Tale of Thorvard Crow’s-Beak. Thorvard is a wealthy Icelandic merchant. He sails to Norway where he speaks to King Harald, inviting him to come down to his ship and accept the gift of a sail. (According to this article from the Viking Herald, the manufacture of one sail for a Viking ship could take as long as fifty years [!] Perhaps they mean 50 years in man-hours).

I’ve mentioned previously that King Harald appears uncharacteristically genial in most of these saga tales. But in this one we see him in his usual temper. He tells Thorvard, curtly, that he got an Icelandic sail once before, and it tore apart under wind pressure. So he’s not interested in another such gift.

However, Thorvard then offers the sail to Eystein Orre, the king’s best friend, and Eystein, on examining it, recognizes it as an excellent specimen. He accepts it with thanks and invites Thorvard to stop and see him at his own home when he sails back to Iceland. When Thorvard does so, Eystein gives him generous gifts.

And to cap it we are told that, on a later occasion, Eystein’s ship outsails the king’s. And when the king asks where he got this fine sail, Eystein tells him it’s one he had turned down. A nice final note for the storyteller – it could even be true.

I was surprised to see “Eystein Orre” translated as “Eystein Grouse” here. Orre does mean grouse, even in modern Norwegian, but I’m sure I read somewhere that Eystein got his nickname from Orre farm in Jaeder. Perhaps that’s the meaning of the farm’s name. If Eystein lived there, it would likely have been due to inheritance from Erling.

The Tale of Thorvard Crow’s-beak is one of the more plausible stories in the collection, just trivial enough to believe.

Music

Sunday Singing: How Good It Is to Thank the Lord

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For the final hymn this month, we have another adaptation of a psalm from the 1912 Psalter. “How Good It Is to Thank the Lord” is taken from Psalm 92:1-9, 12-15. The tune is called St. Petersburg by Ukrainian composer and harpsichordist Dimitri Stepanovitch Bortniansky (1751-1825).

“For you, O LORD, have made me glad by your work;
at the works of your hands I sing for joy” (Ps. 92:4 ESV).

1 How good it is to thank the Lord,
and praise to you, Most High, accord,
to show your love with morning light,
and tell your faithfulness each night;
yea, good it is your praise to sing,
and all our sweetest music bring.

2 O Lord, with joy my heart expands
before the wonders of your hands;
great works, Jehovah, you have wrought,
exceeding deep your ev’ry thought;
a foolish man knows not their worth,
nor he whose mind is of the earth.

3 When as the grass the wicked grow,
when sinners flourish here below,
then is there endless ruin nigh,
but you, O Lord, are throned on high;
your foes shall fall before your might,
the wicked shall be put to flight.

4 The righteous man shall flourish well,
and in the house of God shall dwell;
he shall be like a goodly tree,
and all his life shall fruitful be;
for righteous is the Lord and just,
he is my rock, in him I trust.

Authors, Publishing

Reading Thomas a’ Kempis, Great Art, and Intellectuals

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A little from Kempis’s Imitation of Christ

In the video above, I share from an 1898 (or earlier) inexpensive edition of The Imitation of Christ by Thomas a’ Kempis. It’s one of those books that looks as if it could have been valuable (just because it’s old and if it was in better shape), but it’s actually a cheap copy. This site on Chicago history notes the publisher of my book, Donohue, Henneberry, & Co., as purveyors of “inexpensive and unauthorized copies of popular books,” mostly fiction. I think my copy is from their set of cloth bound books, 50 in the series, sold at 75¢ each.

Most of the video is my unpolished reading from the book with a couple comments.

Art: Does great art come mainly from morally great men? “One lesson of a great city like Florence is that cruelty, greed, and depravity often coexist with civilization’s finest achievements. “

C.S. Lewis: November 29 is the author’s birthday. He was born in Belfast, 1898. In his chronicle of Lewis, Colin Duriez notes a meeting of Tolkien, Charlies Williams, Dr. Robert “Humphrey” Harvard, Owen Barfield, and Lewis on Nov. 23, 1944. Tolkien said the conversation was “most amusing and highly contentious.” Barfield, he said, could meet Lewis head on during a rousing argument, “interrupting his most dogmatic pronouncements with subtle distinguo’s.”

Intellectuals: Philosopher Roger Scruton talks with Hamza Yusuf about the natural bent of intellectuals toward leftism and what should just as naturally draw them out of it. That’s the first part of the linked recording. They go on to speak of many other topics, including the King James Bible, English grammar, and Islamic society.

Tristram Shandy: Writing advice from Laurence Sterne, “a line drawn as straight as I could draw it.”

Uncategorized, Writing

Local color in the Faroes

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I’m reading another long, long book – I don’t know why I put myself through these things. This circumstance forces me to come up with creative ideas for the blog, and blast it, Jim, I’m an author, not a creator!

My work on The Baldur Game proceeds on schedule. I’m nearing the final climax – the Battle of Stiklestad. So I thought I’d look for a YouTube video about the battle. Informational for you and I can always use more local color. But, oddly enough, there aren’t any YouTube videos on the subject that I consider much good. Someone should address this need, which will doubtless become acute once The Baldur Game is an international bestseller and a Major Motion Picture.

But my searches led me to the holiday of Ólavsøka, the great national holiday in the Faroe Islands (it’s the celebration of the feast of St. Olav, not coincidentally on the anniversary of the battle). I’ve reviewed a couple of Chris Ould’s Faroes mystery novels (which I’m enjoying a lot) recently, so I thought I’d post a video about that event. But most of the videos I found were just shots of people in folk costumes walking through the streets of Torshaven. Perfectly good in their place, but I wanted something with a little more scenery. I finally found the video above, which I think rather nice. Here is another place I’d like to visit someday, though it’s becoming increasingly unlikely.

I hope you had a blessed Thanksgiving. Mine was just fine.

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Follow these 4 crazy steps for a better pumpkin pie!

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Photo credit: Famartin. Creative Commons License via Wikimedia Commons.

I think it’s been a few years since I’ve performed my Thanksgiving act of public benevolence by sharing with you my mother’s pumpkin pie recipe. This is the only kind of pumpkin pie I actually like. And, since I’m a ridiculously picky eater, you’ll probably like it too.

The recipe is simple. Stupidly simple. You don’t need to print it out — you’ll remember it.

  1. Do everything it says in the instructions on the pumpkin pie filling can (any brand will do), EXCEPT:
  2. Instead of using 2 eggs, use 7.
  3. Pour into 2,, not 1 deep dish pie shells.
  4. Otherwise, continue following step 1.

That’s it. The result is 2 light, custardy pumpkin pies. No need to thank me; the warm sense of magnanimity I feel is reward enough.

Fiction, Reviews

‘The Killing Bay,’ by Chris Ould

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Heljarayga was a small, natural cove no more than a hundred yards wide at its midpoint. Beyond that I couldn’t see much. The mist hung like a damp dust-sheet over the headlands and above the almost mirror-smooth water it appeared to ebb and flow slightly, gossamer fine. The stillness made you want to hold your breath. Nothing and nobody moved.

I knew a few things about the Faeroes before I started reading Chris Ould’s mystery novels. One of my Norwegian cousins (gone now) was married to a Faeroese woman (still around). The hymn, Tiðin rennur, which Sissel sings so beautifully, comes from there…

And they still hold an annual whale hunt in the old Norse tradition. The old Norse tradition was to herd whales into a bay or inlet and beach them in the shallows, then kill them there. It was an important element of survival in a subsistence economy. (My own ancestral home in Norway is a farm called Kvalavåg, which means “whale bay” or “whale inlet.”) But the custom has been abandoned in most places. In the Faeroes it still continues, stubbornly maintained as a central element of local culture. This has not entirely escaped the notice of anti-whaling organizations, and that fact generates the central conflict of The Killing Bay, second of Ould’s Faeroes mysteries.

Our hero, Jan Reyna, is still in the Faeroes. He’s an English police detective (born in the Faeroes but raised in England) currently on suspension, not sure if he even wants to go home. He rather likes the Faeroes, and most of the relations he’s met there, but he doesn’t really feel at home.

The female cousin who’s hosting him brings him along to witness the grindadráp, the whale hunt. He’s not enthusiastic about the thing, but doesn’t feel qualified to judge. While there he meets Erla Sivertsen, a female Faeroese native who’s working as a photographer for an environmental protest group, documenting the kill. While there Erla clashes with Finn Sólsker, a local fisherman, but violence is averted.

Not long after, Erla is discovered murdered, and the local investigators, led by Jan’s new friend Hjalti Hentze, have it as their first job to check whether Finn has an alibi. (This is awkward because Finn happens to be his son-in-law.) When Erla’s coat and hat are discovered hidden in Finn’s fishing hut, Hjalti is forced to arrest him, but he’s not convinced of his guilt. In addition, why is he getting pressure from his superiors to close the case before he’s examined all possible leads?

The mystery in The Killing Bay was well-constructed and solid, but it was the setting that really riveted me, as it did with the previous book, The Blood Strand. Author Ould does a masterful job of evoking the setting and atmosphere of the islands. I felt like I’d been there.

Highly recommended. Cautions for language and mature themes. Environmental politics are treated with an even hand.