I just found the video above, recently posted. It shows you the area of Erling Skjalgsson’s home. This is apparently part of a series, in which the modest videographer says nothing at all himself, relying on a few captions and some short narration (possibly by an AI voice). It’s rather leisurely in pace.
I’ve talked about Sola Ruin Church here before. I’ve been there, I think, three times, the last time in 2022, and it always gives me a thrill to be that close to Erling. The stone church was built after Erling’s time, but quite plausibly may stand on the site of an earlier wooden church – which is how I portray it in my novels. I like to think Erling was buried near the altar, though we have no positive information on that.
The church was demolished by the Germans during World War II, to prevent its use as a landmark by English bomber pilots. However, the Germans were thoughtful enough to number all the stones, making it possible to rebuild it pretty much exactly as it had been, after the unpleasantness had passed. It’s used as an event site today.
The “Domsteinene” are also known as “Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead,” though they go much further back in time than that. I seem to recall I used them as the site for some unspeakable heathen rite, in one of my novels.
Bear in mind that the area was much less wooded in Erling’s time. Even so, it’s more rugged than I describe it – I generally wrote from memory, and I guess my memory has a tendency to flatten out terrain.
An awful image of Erik the Red, from the 1688 book, Gronlandia, by Arngrimur Jonsson. Good, free pictures of Erik are hard to find.
I’m not sure whether this is good news or bad news, but my productivity on this blog is likely to be reduced a little for the next five months. I’ve snagged a new translation job, one that promises to be a bit of a challenge.
I can’t tell you what the job is at this point, because it’s a private thing for a scholarly project, and nobody has given me permission to talk about it. If I find out differently, I’ll let you know.
But I will say I’m translating a very long biography from Norwegian to English. I’m not actually certain I can meet the hoped-for deadline. But I’m gonna try my best. That means less time reading for pleasure, and fewer reviews on this blog, I fear.
What I’ll post instead of reviews I have no idea.
But tonight I’m going to post about Viking names.
As you may have noticed if you’ve read about the subject, Vikings used what’s called the “patronymic” in naming. A patronymic is not a family name in the sense we undertand them, but simply an indicator. Thorvald’s son Erik is called Erik Thorvaldsson. Erik’s son Leif does not inherit the surname Thorvaldsson, but is rather called Leif Eriksson (you may have heard of him). The surname is just a pointer – I’m talking about this Leif here, not that other Leif over there.
But the Vikings also liked to add nicknames. This brought the identification to what we information professionals like to call “a further level of granularity.” Which means it involves more detail; it’s more specific. Erik Thorvaldsson was known as Erik the Red, which was likely to single him out even better than the patronymic did.
But an interesting thing sometimes happens with these nicknames (though not in Erik’s case). Sometimes they replaced, in practice, the person’s original name. Take for instance Thorleif Skjalg, the father of Erling Skjalgsson, hero of my Viking novels. (Skjalg probably means “squint-eyed.” I like to think of Charles Bronson.) Thorleif Skjalg was so identified with his nickname that his son ended up being known as Erling Skjalgsson rather than as Erling Thorleifsson. And Erling went ahead and named one of his own sons Skjalg. So the nickname became a proper name.
Another example is Snorri Goði, a historical personage who appeared as a character in my novel West Oversea. (Goði is Icelandic for Priest or Chieftain.) His original name, according to the sagas (he appears in several), was Thorgrim. But even as a child he proved so difficult to handle that he got the nickname Snorri, which means (I believe) tangled or complex (related, I further believe, to our English words snare and snarl). And the name Snorri went on to become a fairly common Norse name. (The first European child born in America, according to the sagas, was named Snorri Thorfinsson.)
First of all, business. Feel free to check out the new listing I have on Booklisti. They asked me to make a list books of my own, and one of books that I wanted to recommend, for any reason. A fascinating look into my fascinating mind. For which the world, of course, has been eagerly waiting. Feel free to share it with seekers after truth and beauty.
Updating my personal situation, I’m delighted to report that my air conditioning is operative again – at last. (Just in time for a heat wave.) I haven’t checked precisely, but I think I was without it for about a month. Roughing it. Living as my ancestors did – or as I did when I was a kid, to tell the truth. I’m old enough to remember when air conditioning was still a luxury in northern states.
The problem, as I’ve explained, was that my home warranty company (which shall remain nameless) preferred to go the cheap-but-lengthy route of repair over replacement. I suppose there must be some way to register a complaint on their webside, but if there is, it’s pretty carefully concealed from the customers.
I’ve tackled another long book, which will delay my next review. I can give updates as I go, though. I’m reading The Wife, volume 2 of Sigrid Undset’s Kristin Lavransdatter (I reviewed the first volume a little while back). A passage that caught my interest today was this one, involving a visit by Kristin’s father, Lavrans, to her and her husband Erlend’s new home at Husaby (near Trondheim):
…they were accompanied by two gentlemen whom Kristin didn’t know. But Erlend was very surprised to see his father-in-law in their company—they were Erling Vidkunsson from Giske and Bjarkøy, and Haftor Graut from Godøy.
Like any crank, I know things most people don’t – about matters of no interest to anyone else. What sparks my attention in this passage is the estates this Erling Vidkunsson owns. Giske was the home of Thorberg Arnesson, who married Erling Skjalgsson’s daughter Ragnfrid (as described in my novel King of Rogaland). And Bjarkøy was the home of Thore Thoresson (remembered by history as Thore Hund, Thore the Dog), whose brother Sigurd married Erling’s sister Sigrid. The fact that this man (who’s likely a documented historical character – there are plenty of them in these books) carries Erling’s name suggests he’s a descendent of these people, and thus a descendant of Erling himself.
That’s all. It just pleases me to discover Erling connections in my reading.
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.
Today was one of those useful but frustrating days when I’m forced to learn stuff instead of write. I’ve come to another change of scene in The Baldur Game, my work in progress, and so I spent my writing time this morning watching YouTube videos. Which is easy work, but it leaves me with a guilty sense that I’m dogging it.
I posted about this on Facebook yesterday, but I’ll expand on it here. I’ve reached the stage in the story where Erling Skjalgsson has finished his time in England and is going home to Norway. But when shall he travel? That’s the problem.
Snorri says in Heimskringla that Erling returned to Norway in late summer after participating in King Canute the Great’s Baltic campaign. My problem is, why so late?
Historically, we have one fixed date in all this narrative that historians have been able to pinpoint for us. We know that Canute participated in the coronation of the Holy Roman Emperor Conrad II in Rome in March of 1027. So the whole business of the Baltic Campaign and the Battle of Holy River has to be fit in around that. I expect that this is one reason so many variant dates have been proposed for the campaign. Snorri seems to place it in 1026, which means Canute must have gone back to England, wintered there, and set out for Rome very early in the year.
But why would he do that? He’s just defeated Olaf of Norway and the King of Sweden. He’s forced Olaf to abandon his ships and return to southern Norway overland. One would think he’d want to deliver the coup de grace right away, while Olaf was on the run. Instead, he interrupts his war to run off to Rome.
However, I can see an argument for Snorri’s dating – indeed, I’ve adopted it for my story. Canute gets this invitation from the elite of Europe to come join them at the big party. It would not only allow him to be seen dining with the top Influencers, but it gave him a chance to get papal blessing for his Anglo-Danish empire. He must have been painfully aware that many European royalty viewed him as an ambitious freebooter, a barbarian who’d usurped a throne (like Conan). But this trip would show them. And if he got the pope’s blessing (which he did), it would permit him to return to his war refuting Olaf’s claims to be fighting on God’s side. (William the Conqueror would benefit from a similar endorsement later in the century.)
This is a very interesting development from a political perspective. Prof. Titlestad writes, in that classic (and well-translated) book, Viking Legacy, “The (probably informal) agreement between Canute and the pope in 1027 testifies to the fact that the age of free Viking warfare was over.” Canute understood that the old plunder economy could not persist. From now on Scandinavian kings must be part of the European Christian “club.” Private enterprise raiding had to go. The kings would be playing in the big leagues now.
But if Canute sailed for Rome in early 1027, why did Erling delay his return to Norway until late summer? One would think he’d want to go home and take back possession of his estates, fortifying his military positions and shoring up his alliances with Olaf’s enemies.
But as I thought about it, I realized that, even if Erling left in spring, he would probably go home by way of the Orkney and Shetland Islands (the usual route for Norwegians). And Shetland was ruled at that time by Jarl Thorfinn the Mighty, along with his half-brother Brusi. They had both acknowledged Olaf of Norway as their overlord, but there’s reason to think Thorfinn wasn’t entirely happy with the arrangement. I’ll have to delve into The Orkneyinga Saga to figure out how to mix Erling and his crew up in those matters, trying to get Thorfinn to turn on Olaf.
As a bonus, I had a flash of inspiration today about King Olaf’s character and destiny. This will – if I do it right – bundle the themes of the whole Erling series up in this climactic volume.
I only wrote a few words today, but it was a good writing day anyway.
Statue of St. Olaf on Nidaros Cathedral, Trondheim.
Tonight you’ll get a bit of authorial journaling, since nothing better occurred to me. The other day I topped 40,000 words on my work in progress, The Baldur Game. I’m adapting saga material here (whether historically factual or not), and I don’t think I can do much harm describing some of the challenges involved.
The Battle of Helgeå (Holy River) happened some time in the period from 1025-1027 AD. Snorri Sturlusson, in Heimskringla (the sagas of the Norwegian kings) seems to place it in 1026. I actually spent some time analyzing the chronology and decided to use the same year – mostly because it fitted my plot. But I think it’s a good guess. We know King Knut the Great was in Rome for Conrad II’s coronation as Holy Roman emperor the following year.
The battle itself seems to have actually happened (contemporary chroniclers mention it), but the details are sparse and debatable. Snorri tells an elaborate tale about a sophisticated stratagem Olaf used to trick Knut (and Erling too, of course, since he was in Knut’s fleet), but the actual practical effects seem minimal, even in Snorri’s account. It’s treated as a great victory for Olaf, but in fact it only bought him a chance to escape – ultimately without his ships, which he left in the Baltic (Denmark, as I keep reminding people, controlled the Baltic outlets, the source of its power), going back to Norway overland and wearing his shoes out.
I’m not going to detail Olaf’s clever battle stratagem here. Wouldn’t want to spoil it for you; you can just wait for the novel. (Or read Heimskringla.) It doesn’t really work with the physical features of the topography at the mouth of the real Helgeå, which is one reason scholars have proposed alternate locations.
I’ve decided to stay with the traditional battle site, in eastern Skåne (part of Sweden today but Danish at the time). I’ll have to contrive some kind of fantasy device to epic-afy the whole business, but I intended to do that anyway. So far this first draft is a little light on the fantasy element, and my readers expect some mermaids and monsters. (I have to keep reminding myself that this is not a problem. I always tell aspiring writers that they need to remember that a first draft is just raw material. Doesn’t have to be perfect. Doesn’t even have to be good. It’s what you start with. Somebody (I don’t recall who) said, “Stories aren’t written – they’re re-written.” The revision process is as important as the first draft – maybe more important. It depends, I suppose, on what kind of a writer you are.)
I’m still less than half-way through writing this draft, but I’m OK with that. This is meant to be my big book. My epic. My War and Peace, or Atlas Shrugged, or something. I’ve begun work and I’m making steady progress. I possess few virtues, but finishing projects is something I do seem to be able to do.
June 15: I experienced a certain measure of distress this morning, when I found that the zipper on my jeans had broken. Einar convinced me that there was no shame in wearing my Viking pants, so that’s what I did. I greatly missed my pockets, however.
We used Einar’s girlfriend’s car, and they drove me to Stavanger. We left right on time. It was a pleasant drive, interrupted by several tunnels of varying lengths (under fjords) and a ferry ride. We arrived in Sandnes, home of Mari Anne, a local historian, and her family, precisely on schedule. We were treated to a tasty lunch. To my amazement, we had buns to make sandwiches with, and no knives or forks. So everybody ate their sandwiches with their hands. You’d have to know Norwegians to know how surprising that was to me. In my experience, Norwegians always cut sandwiches up with a knife and fork. I can only assume they were going the extra mile to make me feel at home. (Only the same thing happened everywhere I went. I can only conclude it was a conspiracy. The idea that I’m mistaken about Norwegian eating habits is obviously absurd) I got to meet their nephew who is staying with them, and who is keenly interested in Vikings. This gave me ample opportunity to hog the conversation.
They took me to a store called Dressman (“Dress” in Norwegian means “suit,” so don’t get the wrong idea). There, in spite of the fact that you rarely see a Norwegian as fat as I am, we were able to find a pair of black chinos that fit me. This was a great comfort to me in my old age.
Then they took me on a tour. We saw the ancient stone circle popularly called Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead, though it’s certainly much, much older than Erling. A sort of Stonehenge thing, but the stones are much smaller and there are no capstones. Its original purpose is a mystery, but it provides plenty of scope for speculation.
“Erling Skjalgsson’s Thingstead,” as it’s called.
We went to Sola Ruin Church, which can plausibly be considered the site of the place where Erling worshiped (though not in this building, which must be later). If this is where Erling’s church stood, I’d wager he must be buried under the floor. Nearby, I assume, his farm lay, though no archaeological evidence has been found in that well-worked soil. So I greeted Erling again on his home ground.
The Sola ruin church. The Germans actually dismantled it during the war, but thoughtfully numbered the stones. So after the war it was simply reassembled, like an Ikea kit.
Then they showed me the two stone crosses at Tjora, whose age is uncertain but which are certainly among the earliest memorials of Christianity in Norway. There were originally four, but now only two stand, and their location has been moved a bit. Still and all… they are unquestionably early medieval.
The stones at Tjora. Unquestionably Viking Age. Certainly dating to Erling’s time; perhaps to Haakon the Good’s.
We also saw a weathered petroglyph near a farm fence.
Then back home for a delicious supper. They brought out a bunch of books about Vikings to discuss. And I tried to book bus tickets to Haugesund on the Norwegian mass transport web page, with great frustration, as I discovered that my credit card, which I made sure to be acceptable in Norway, is not usable over the internet (validation issues). A resolution was found, but not one that pleased me greatly.
The longest night of all the year, as the poet tell us. The winter solstice. St. Thomas’ Day. And the anniversary of the death of Erling Skjalgsson of Sola, hero of my Viking novels, at the Battle of Boknafjord. It’s a tribute to Erling that we know the precise day of his death, thanks to the saga writers. There are a lot of eminent medieval characters, especially that far back, whose dates are unknown or disputed (indeed, we can only guess when Erling was born).
Anyway, I like to honor the day.
In other news, after many months I finally have an essay in The American Spectator today. It’s often said that our times are beyond satire. In my case they seem to have overloaded my capacity for wry commentary. But I found one thing to write about at last: In Praise of Younger Sons.
Remember, after today the days get longer.
Colder, but longer.
Whenever I think about that paradox, it seems to me somebody didn’t read the small print.
I have to attend a Sons of Norway meeting tonight, and I was asked to do a lecture. So I’m in haste. And I haven’t finished a book to review.
Hence, the video above. I was looking for one thing, but found it didn’t exist. Instead I accidentally found this video, which I think is kind of nice. This is Sola, Norway, where Erling Skjalgsson lived, in case you’d like my fictional descriptions improved on.
The circular stone array is some kind of ancient ceremonial spot. I think I used it in one of my books.
The stone church you see, with stones numbered and parts of the walls made of glass, is the “Sola Ruin Church.” It was mostly demolished during World War II, but someone thought to number the stones so they could be reassembled, which was done. I’ve been there. Picked up a small stone from the yard and took it home with me. I keep it at my elbow when I write.
This is a very old church – probably 12th Century – but not old enough to be Erling’s. In my novels, I assume Father Ailill’s church stood on the same spot.
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.
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