Here’s a Thoroughly Professional Video showing a couple of my antique books. They aren’t commercially valuable, but they’re pretty and have the humanistic value of a great books. On the left is the Complete Works of Shakespeare, a Walter J. Black edition, which I think means it’s cheap. I say it’s leather bound, but I’m sure it’s imitation leather. On the right is the Works of Edmund Spenser, an 1895 MacMillan edition.
It’s too bad I don’t have something really nice to show you, but I may record more physical books to better reveal their tangible value, especially if I can up my A/V quality.
Inklings: “The Ellison Institute of Technology (EIT) has purchased the historic Eagle and Child pub on St Giles’ from St John’s College, with plans to refurbish and reopen the space to the public.”
Poetry: From Philip Larkin “For nations vague as weed, For nomads among stones, Small-statured cross-faced tribes And cobble-close families In mill-towns on dark mornings Life is slow dying.”
I have a couple more saga tales for you tonight, and then I expect I’ll be able to do some regular reviews again. I have finished at last the endless book I was reading (which will be reviewed elsewhere) and am back on my usual reading schedule. Except that I’m busy with a couple projects too. And that’s a nice problem to have, especially after this year of idleness and indigence.
The first tale is peculiar in that neither the Icelandic hero nor the king he served is mentioned by name. However, it’s not impossible to guess the latter.
“The Tale of the Story-wise Icelander” introduces us to an unnamed young Icelandic man who goes to Norway to serve an unidentified king. When the king asks him what he can offer in return for a place at his table, he says he knows many stories he can tell. Given the chance to “sing” for his supper, he proves to be as good a raconteur as advertised.
However, as Christmas approaches, the king notices that the young man’s spirits are low. The king guesses that he’s run out of stories. The young man admits that he has only one story left to tell, and he’s reluctant to repeat that one. It turns out it’s the story of the king’s own travels. The king says he’s particularly eager to hear this story. The young man may, he says, tell a part of it (serial-wise) every night during the Christmas season, and the king will help him to space the episodes out so they’ll last through the season.
When it’s all over, the young man is reluctant to hear what the king thought of it, but the king tells him he liked it very well. He asks where the young man heard it from, and the young man says he heard it from Halldor Snorrasson.
And that’s how we can figure out who the king is. Your average modern reader won’t know this, but you are fortunate to have me for your guide. For Halldor Snorrasson was a companion to King Harald Hardrada (who keeps turning up in these stories). Moreover, Halldor and Harald parted company under strained circumstances, Halldor not entirely sure Harald wasn’t planning to hang him.
So that’s the first story.
The second story is possibly my favorite saga fragment of them all. It’s a pure human interest story, featuring my favorite Norwegian king – who seems to have invented modern counseling techniques in the 12th Century. King Eystein I was the quieter brother of King Sigurd the Crusader, and left a reputation for kindness and Christian charity.
The story is called “Ivar Ingamundarson’s Tale.” Ivar was a member of King Eystein’s court, a poet and a friend to him. He had a brother who came to join him in Norway, but soon grew jealous of Ivar’s place at court and decided to go home. Ivar asked him to give his love to the girl he hoped to marry in Iceland, but the brother, out of jealousy, courted the girl himself and married her. When Ivar learned this, he was plunged into depression.
King Eystein, noticing this, asked Ivar what he could do to help. He made a number of suggestions – he could introduce him to some nice girls; he could give him property to manage; he could give him money to travel. Ivar isn’t interested in any of these things.
Now read this speech, from King Eystein’s mouth:
“It’s getting difficult for me now because I have tried everything I can think of. There’s only one thing left now and it’s not worth much compared to those which I’ve already offered, and yet one can never tell what’s best. So come and see me every day after the meal when I am not engaged in urgent business and I will chat with you. We’ll talk about this woman in every way you like and we can think of. I’ll make time for this, because it sometimes happens that people can cope more easily with their grief by talking about it. And I’ll also make sure that you never leave my presence without a gift.”
It probably won’t surprise you to learn that this plan worked, and after a time Ivar was his old self again.
Now I ask you – did you expect to find something like that in a 13th Century book?
More saga-licious awesomosity tonight, from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. This entry is unquestionably a different kind of story – more of a “clever yokel” yarn than an epic of feud and vengeance.
Hreidar, our unlikely Icelandic hero, is (we are told) neither handsome nor intelligent. But he’s tall and strong, and a notably fast runner. He has a brother named Thord, who is good-looking and smart, but very short. They’ve inherited property from their father and are quite well to do – but Hreidar leaves the management of all that to his smarter brother. He is, however, able to get his way when he wants it, simply because Thord lacks the strength to dominate him physically.
Hreidar decides he wants to accompany Thord on a merchant trip to Norway. He wants to meet Thord’s friend, King Haakon the Good, and to go somewhere where there are a lot of people around. Thord is dubious; he’s pretty sure Hreidar doesn’t know how to act in society – especially in a king’s court. But Hreidar asks him – essentially – “How you gonna stop me?” So Hreidar sails with Thord.
Once in Norway, Hreidar proceeds to act exactly as Thord has feared, but his disingenuous manner amuses Magnus, and he even manages to get himself invited to spend the winter in the king’s court. There he gradually acquires some polish, manages to kill one of the men who serve Magnus’ co-king, Harald Hardrada, and contrives (with the help of his remarkable speed as a runner) to get out of the country with his life and a nice profit.
According to Wikipedia, Hreidar’s Tale is considered by scholars one of the earliest written saga stories. My impression is that it may be based on true events, but probably got heavily embroidered over time. Full text (in a different translation) here.
A Viking merchant. Painting by my friend Anders Kvaale Rue.
Tonight’s reading from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders is a short one, less than two pages long. It’s known as “The Tale of Brand the Generous.” This is a fairly neat little anecdote, so neat as to appear (to this reader) a little implausible.
We encounter here yet another Icelandic merchant who has traveled to Norway. He is known as Brand the Generous. He’s a friend to the skald Thjodolf, who repeatedly praises his generosity (a quality much prized in Norse culture) to King Harald (I assume this is Harald Hardrada).
Harald (who was, according to reports, pretty generous himself when it came to gifts, though stingy with food) gets sick of Thjodolf bragging about Brand all the time, and proposes a test.
First, he asks Thjodolf to go to Brand and demand his cloak on the king’s behalf. Thjodolf goes, and Brand gives up the cloak without a word.
Then the king sends him back to ask for Brand’s gold-inlaid axe. Brand once again surrenders the item, still saying nothing.
Finally, Harald sends Thjodolf back a third time (Thjodolf is sorry by now he brought the whole thing up) and asks for the shirt off Brand’s back. Brand removes the shirt and sends it with him, but rips one sleeve off first.
King Harald is pleased with this response. He says, “This man is both wise and high-minded. It is obvious to me why he tore off the sleeve. He thinks that I have only one arm that always takes and never gives….” Then he sends for Brand, whom he now showers with honors and fine gifts.
I suspect this is more of a fable than a true anecdote – or perhaps it just got polished in retelling. It serves as a practical lesson in etiquette for men in that culture, most especially for merchants, and I imagine that explains its popularity. (It’s found in three saga collections, according to the end note.)
The actual face of King Svein Estridsson of Denmark. Reconstruction by Danish scientists in 1911. Photo credit: Arne Kvitrud.
I’ll probably be reporting on several Icelandic saga tales for a few days now, while I finish reading the long book I’m working on – intended for review elsewhere, no less (!).
Tonight’s offering is one of the more charming tales in The Collected Sagas of Icelanders. I was already pretty familiar with it, as the late Magnus Magnusson included it in his long-ago cassette recording, Tales From Viking Times (no longer available). It’s called “The Tale of Audun From the West Fjords.” This story focuses on good manners and good luck, rather than martial prowess or (apparently) cunning, as a means to get ahead in the world.
Audun is a poor young Icelander who goes to work for a rich merchant in order to make his fortune. After some profitable dealings, he sails to Greenland, where he takes a flyer – he trades in everything he’s earned thus far for the ultimate prestige item – a polar bear. This he determines (for some unexplained reason) to transport as a gift to King Svein Estridsson of Denmark. That’s a big deal, as, at the time, a white bear carried about the same social cachet a Lear Jet does today (though a bear is probably less useful in day to day business).
We are not informed what security measures are required for carrying a live bear on a Viking knarr, but no doubt a muzzle was involved.
His ship puts in in Norway on the way, and Audun takes the bear with him to his rented lodgings (what else could he do?). King Harald Hardrada (cue ominous background music) gets word of the new guy in town with the expensive bear. He summons Audun to see him, and an interesting – indeed, classic – conversation follows.
King Harald first asks (just in case he’s dealing with a moron) whether Audun will give him the bear in return for the price he paid for it. Audun refuses.
Then Harald asks if he’ll sell it for twice what he paid. Again, Audun says no (politely, I have no doubt).
Finally, Harald asks Audun if he’ll make him a gift of the bear. Again, Audun turns him down, explaining that he’s made his mind up to take it to King Svein.
If you sense that this is, for Audun, the most dangerous moment in the story, you’ve learned something of Norse culture. This final bid is in fact the highest of them all. If Audun were to give Harald the bear as a pure gift, Harald would be obligated, under the rules of honor, to reciprocate with an equally generous reward. The reward would have to be as extravagant as a white bear was rare. (This was during the Medieval Warming Period, so no doubt contemporary Al Gores were warning of sea levels rising.)
Audun’s refusal is so audacious that interpreters disagree to this day as to what it signifies. Is Audun just too much the country bumpkin to understand that these kings, Harald and Svein, are mortal enemies, and that denying the bear to Harald in order to give it to Svein is likely to enrage Harald – well-known to be a merciless enemy? Or is he somehow counting on Harald’s sense of honor (a dangerous gamble, considering Harald’s ethics)? One is reminded of yesterday’s story of Thorleif the Earl’s Poet, where Thorleif refused Jarl Haakon in a similar situation and brought doom on himself.
However, Audun has caught Harald on one of his good days, and Harald lets him go, making him promise to come back on his way home and tell him how Svein responded to the gift.
Audun then proceeds to Denmark, where he’s received graciously by King Svein (who looks very good in this story), rewarded with gifts, and made part of his household. Then Svein subsidizes Audun on a pilgrimage to Rome, and in the end (I’m skipping stuff here – Wikipedia gives a synopsis) sends him home with a ship and other treasures. Audun keeps his promise to stop off and see Harald again, and Harald is once again a good sport. Audun goes home rich.
The Tale of Audun From the West Fjords is a delightful story, easy to like. It’s also very revealing about Viking Age values and mores.
My only complaint is the somewhat weak, literal translation used in this collection. Some very vivid dialogue is here rendered flat and bland.
Jarl Haakon, headed back to Norway from Denmark, jettisons a load of Christian priests who were forced on him. Illustration by Christian Krogh from Heimskringla.
Tonight, another report on one of the skalds’ sagas (technically a tale) from The Complete Sagas of Icelanders. “The Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s Poet” is interesting primarily, I think, because of the picture it provides of its writers and editors. It’s taken from the 14th Century saga collection known as the Flatey Book (of which I’ve written here before). The tale may incorporate genuine old legendary material, but it’s been thoroughly massaged to conform to medieval Christian thinking.
The tale begins with a synopsis, in which the writer makes it extremely clear that (trigger warning!), although this story includes elements of heathen beliefs, magic, and cursing, the ultimate moral is going to be a good one – avoid that stuff or it’ll come back to bite you.
Our hero is Thorleif Asgeirsson, the son of a well-to-do Icelander, who shows early aptitude for poetry. After some preliminary adventures, he gets outlawed (learning magic while a fugitive) and manages to sail for Norway in a merchant ship his father buys for him and stocks with trading goods.
Thorleif arrives in Norway, where he meets the current ruler, Jarl Haakon (whom you may recall from The Year of the Warrior and Death’s Doors), at the wharf. Haakon offers to buy his cargo, but Thorleif prefers to offer his goods on the open market. His blunt refusal offends Haakon, who takes revenge by having his men burn Thorleif’s ship and steal all his goods. Thorleif then flees to King Svein Forkbeard in Denmark, and begins planning his magical revenge, which he achieves finally. However, the ultimate repercussions will bring disaster back on him.
The tale contains snippets of skaldic poetry, which probably indicates some basis in true events. However, the story as we have it is pretty fantastic. It contains, for instance, the old fairy tale motif of someone concealing a bag under his shirt (camouflaged by a false beard in this case), down which he shovels large quantities of food, amazing the spectators with his appetite. This motif is often capped in the fairy tales by the cutting open of the bag, mimicking disembowelment, allowing the hero to fake his own death – but nothing like that happens here.
Another point of interest is a mention of Thorgerd Altar-Bride (Holgabrud), who is identified as Jarl Haakon’s personal patron goddess. I’ve read of Thorgerd (who may be Freya under a different name) elsewhere, but I think this was the first time I’ve come across her in an actual saga story (Snorri never mentions her in Heimskringla). If this were the only source of information about her, I’d wonder if she wasn’t just an authorial invention – but I think she’s mentioned in at least one other place in Flatey Book. Just another indication of how much knowledge has been lost about Viking religion.
Final verdict: “The Tale of Thorleif, the Earl’s Poet” is not a well-told story. And it’s not very plausible as a historical source either. But it does offer some points for the curious to ponder.
In 1837, the influential Scottish preacher Robert Murray McCheyne wrote today’s hymn of looking to the next life in faith.
“Therefore I tell you, her sins, iwhich are many, are forgiven—for she loved much. But he who is forgiven little, loves little” (Luke 7:47 ESV).
1 When this passing world is done, when has sunk yon glaring sun, when we stand with Christ on high looking o’er life’s history, then, Lord, shall I fully know, not till then, how much I owe.
2 When I hear the wicked call on the rocks and hills to fall, when I see them start and shrink on the fiery deluge brink, then, Lord, shall I fully know, not till then, how much I owe.
3 When I stand before the throne, dressed in beauty not my own, when I see thee as thou art, love thee with unsinning heart, then, Lord, shall I fully know, not till then, how much I owe.
4 When the praise of heav’n I hear, loud as thunders to the ear, loud as many waters’ noise, sweet as harp’s melodious voice, then, Lord, shall I fully know, not till then, how much I owe.
5 Chosen not for good in me, wakened up from wrath to flee, hidden in the Savior’s side, by the Spirit sanctified, teach me, Lord, on earth to show, by my love, how much I owe.
“Hear my voice, O God, in my complaint; preserve my life from dread of the enemy. Hide me from the secret plots of the wicked, from the throng of evildoers, who whet their tongues like swords, who aim bitter words like arrows, shooting from ambush at the blameless, shooting at him suddenly and without fear.” (Ps. 64:1-4 ESV)
The occupation of Gaza was a burr, not a territorial benefit. In the decades following the 1967 war, hundreds of thousands of Israelis moved themselves to the West Bank, to the ancient provinces of Judea and Samaria, the historical home of the Jewish people, where they formed the “settlements” that have caused such controversy. But Jews do not hear the same mystic chords of memory from Gaza, and so efforts to settle them in Gaza to create geopolitical “facts on the ground” never really took root. By the early 2000s, 8,500 Israelis had moved to 21 tiny settlements, in a situation so dangerous that those 8,500 Jewish Gazans had to be guarded by 24,000 Israeli soldiers.
Novels: Author Richard Russo “discovered that what really interested readers were his stories about growing up with an often-absent father in a declining upstate New York manufacturing community filled with struggling but memorable characters whom some might call ‘deplorables.’”
The only slightly creepy animated Paul Bunyan statue at the Paul Bunyan Amusement Park in Brainerd. I did not visit this attraction during my recent visit. Photo credit: John Margolies Roadside America photograph archive (1972-2008), Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division.
I’m back from Brainerd. Just a tad over a two-hour drive either way. Not that far compared with other trips I’ve taken this summer.
My hosts asked me at one point whether I (like many other people) had the idea that Brainerd is a town in northern Minnesota. I had to admit I did. Brainerd is, in fact, they explained, just about at the geographical center of our state.
I have a vague idea that I made a visit or two to Brainerd in my youth, but I can only pin one memory down. I know my family visited there when I was a kid, and we saw the animated Paul Bunyan statue (photo above). I also traveled a lot with my musical group, and I have an idea that Brainerd fell victim to at least one of our visits.
But now I’m in a position to recommend the place unconditionally. A beautiful little city in lake country, wooded landscape… and very nice people.
The president of Sagatun Lodge, Sons of Norway bought me a hamburger at a local place first of all (great burger), and then took me to the church where they meet. And here’s an amazing thing – nothing went wrong. I’ve learned to regard it as an inevitability that there will always be some glitch in any PowerPoint presentation. It’s like a law of nature – that’s why I always bring my own projector as a back-up. But their tech guy was there waiting for me, everything ready. I plugged my laptop in and it all worked straightaway. This seemed wrong in some existential way.
The crowd was interested and attentive. Some of them bought books. Then I followed my hosts to their home, where I was shown into a “mother-in-law apartment” that I had all to myself. We had a long conversation before I turned in. I got one of the best night’s sleep I’ve had in some time, and in the morning some neighbors joined us for a delicious brunch before I left. I suspect they may have formed the erroneous impression that I’m an outgoing person. What might have confused them is that I can act outgoing when I feel welcome. And I did feel welcome there.
Another amazing thing – the lodge president, a Subaru owner, explained to me the secret protocol that allows you to unlatch the tail gate with the key fob. As a new owner of a used Forester, I had not known this. Ever been gobsmacked? I was gobsmacked.
Many thanks to the Sagatun folks for their hospitality.
“They’re Taylor Swift fans,” the woman cleaning the floor beside me helpfully explains. “They’re very nice, but they leave glitter everywhere.”
Is County Highway, the new newspaper for America written and edited by living human beings, selling out in its second issue or weeding out its readership by publishing a five-page article on Taylor Swift’s Eros concert in Seattle? I can’t say I was prepared to read it, but I did, and taking two pages before getting to Swift herself was helpful. (I shouldn’t say that, because I don’t dislike I’ve heard of her music. I can still a few lines, but as a 50+ year old man, I feel I have better things to listen to, like maybe K-pop.) Writer David Samuels contrasts the messaging in Swift’s concert with the reality of living in Seattle, where cops have no power to handle public harassers and residents learn to ignore all humans around them in an effort to Do No Harm to the ones who’ve intended harm to themselves. The mostly female concert audience affirmed they were cute and deserved better—yeah, that’s the message the city needs to hear. If only music would get them there.
What’s in the rest of this issue? There’s a lengthy piece on Mule Days, “The Greatest Mule Show on Earth,” in Bishop, California, which used to be “one of the biggest agricultural festivals in America.” There’s an essay on logging in July, another on the equinox, and one about a 1986 cookbook called White Trash Cooking–“A Confederate general and a gay man who liked cole slaw have more in common with each other than with a Yankee.”
There’s an article about interviewing one of the men who claim to know Many Important Details about extraterrestrials and UFOs and is both eager and reluctant to share. If you watched some of the congressional hearings on UFOs several weeks ago, you probably saw this guy. Yes, he knew critical details; no, he couldn’t share them openly.
There’s an interesting piece on how GPS changes the way we understand our environment, our local world. Alex Perez has a humorous story about professional wrestling in Puerto Rico. There’s a chilling account of corrupt dealings with Columbian presidents and the Clinton Foundation.
Perhaps the heart of County Highway can be seen in this quote from the essay, “The Bull Calf,” by Sage Radecki.
Trying like hell to fix something we saw as a problem, when in reality, it wasn’t ours to fix. Nature, in all its beauty and sorrows, is something we cannot overcome. It’s simply something we need to make space for. I’m learning this daily here, on the ranch, in our work in the field and my time tending to the garden.
