So, I’m working away at ‘The Baldur Game,’ which I think is going to be a pretty good book. Better than pretty good, to be honest. Not that I’m unprejudiced. But this one’s a genuine epic — broad canvas, big action, historical figures, battles and obsession. The Viking book I always wanted to write, I think.
So, above, a little video of a tour of Nidaros Cathedral in Trondheim. This is where King (Saint) Olaf, a major character in this book, was buried. I believe his bones are still in there somewhere, but nobody’s sure exactly where (supposedly they were hidden to keep them from relic smashers during the Reformation).
I visited there once, briefly. It was part of a tour in connection with one of the cruises I lectured on. By good luck, they were doing a medieval fair in the Bishop’s Palace area that day. Fun to see.
According to my mother, my great-grandfather, her mother’s father, worked on the cathedral restoration in the 1880s. He came from a farm not far away.
Have a good weekend. My book is coming — possess your souls in patience.
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!)
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.
The Flensted Viking ship mobile (smaller size). Like the creative process, a thing of grace. Mine is dustier.
I have a vague idea that, in the happy long ago of this blog, I sometimes did journaling posts on the writing process. If that’s true (I could be wrong, and the early blog posts, on another host, are lost to history), this will be another of the same.
If not, this is an innovative new idea.
I’m in the throes of Early Novel Ecstasy just now. It’s a little like first love – your emotions run high; wonderful discoveries rush in; all around you, the world seems to organize itself to facilitate happiness and success. You know that down the road there will be disappointments, frustrations, despair and (possibly) failure. But right now it’s fun, and why waste the joy? Having a less good time today won’t buy me insurance against next month’s tailspin.
Last night I went to sleep thinking about a character in the book (Saint Olaf, if you must know). What made him tick? What kind of personality would account for his (sometimes bizarre) personal decisions?
This morning I woke up knowing a little more about him. As I floated into consciousness, I found myself constructing a couple snippets of dialogue that reveal part of the “real” man (as I imagine him).
Moments like that, in my experience, are one of the great pleasures of being a writer. It’s like grace; it’s a free gift and you can’t force it.
As I sat up to say my morning prayers, I looked up at the pictures hanging on the bedroom wall. There are three. I hung them years ago. Over the years, two fell down, and I was too lazy to re-hang them. This past weekend, I did re-hang them. Because my spirit was renewed.
On the left is a publicity still, in black and white, of Clint Eastwood as Josey Wales. Because, in its day, that movie spoke to me as no other ever had.
Next to it is another Western-themed photo taken around the same time, but it’s personal. It’s one of those studio photos that you used to be able to get at fairs and places like that – you dressed up in period garb and had your photo taken in front of a period backdrop. The camera was an antique, the picture a certified counterfeit. This was a picture of me and my college roommate, dressed up as desperadoes, displaying our Colt revolvers. We had it taken ceremonially, to mark the parting of our ways when we broke up the living arrangement .
I learned last week that this old friend is now institutionalized in another state, suffering from morbid depression. I won’t tell you his name, because he’d hate that. But you might pray for “Lars’s friend” if you think of it.
I realized, when I heard this, that somehow, at some time he’d dropped off the list of friends I pray for in the morning. Perhaps the fact that his picture had fallen down behind my dresser was a contributing cause. But the picture’s back up now, and I won’t forget again.
The third picture is a photo of C. S. Lewis, to remind me of my ambitions as a Mythopoeic writer.
Another small restoration in my life is that I mounted my Viking Ship mobile again yesterday. There’s a Danish company called Flensted that makes all kinds of lovely mobiles. I first saw their Viking ship mobile in my dentist’s office when I was a kid, and loved it. Years later, when I was in exile in Florida, I bought one to nourish my fantasies. I had it in my office in the library, but hadn’t put it up in my home since I retired. Wasn’t sure how to do it, as I didn’t want to put a hole in my ceiling. I finally bought a wall mount and got it set up yesterday. A lovely little thing, and very conducive to the writing state of mind.
Oh, that reminds me. I need to get back to the book.
I should have noted the Feast of Saint Olaf (Olav) of Norway yesterday. Or even better, the day before, so you’d be prepared to attend mass, as I’m sure you would have wished. Yesterday was Olaf’s feast day in the church calendar, July 29. However (as I mentioned in a book review a while back) I’ve been won over to the revisionist figure of August 31 for the actual date of Olaf’s death. So today will do.
Besides, I’m not all that fond of Olaf. Or of Olav, either.
The short video above invites you to visit the site of the battle, Stiklestad, near Trondheim (I had ancestors from nearby). However, just now you can’t go to Norway unless you’re willing to submit to a couple weeks’ quarantine. So I don’t really recommend it. The video suffers from the presence of short-haired Vikings, a current plague in the reenactment world. Also, I don’t think the scene of the battle was wooded. (You can’t actually stand where the battle occurred anymore, due to slippage of terrain a long time ago.) But the production values aren’t bad.
Tomorrow is my birthday (won’t tell you which one). And Sunday is a family reunion.
I’ll post on Monday, if I survive and avoid arrest.
Painting of the Battle of Stiklestad by Peter Nikolai Arbo
I must be working on the novel, because I’m not progressing very fast in my reading of Caimh McDonnell’s latest book (which is great, by the way; it’s not for lack of interest). In case you’re losing sleep over my car repair problems, I learned today that the ETA for the replacement part is now June 30. This was, as you might expect, no surprise to me at all at this point.
What shall I write about? How about something I learned from John Marsden’s Harald Hardrada book (favorably reviewed a few inches down)?
It has to do with King Olaf Haraldsson, Saint Olaf (or Olav) of Norway. He appeared in my latest book, The Elder King, and also has a major role in the one I’m working on, King of Rogaland.
I do not like this man. He emerges as a recognizable character in the sagas, and although those sagas are generally intended to promote his sainthood, the writers often had the insight to “paint him warts and all.” And this was a guy with a lot of warts.
Marsden’s book includes an interesting discussion of the date of the Battle of Stiklestad, where Olaf was killed. (Incidentally, I recently learned that one of my great-grandfathers was born on the island of Ytterøy, which is located in a fjord and almost in walking distance of the battlefield [once you get out of the water]).
There’s an anomaly in the standard accounts of the battle. The very first skaldic poems celebrating it (written by Sigvat the Skald, who also appears in The Elder King), tell how a solar eclipse occurred in the very midst of the battle. The problem is, the traditional date for the battle is July 29, but the eclipse occurred August 31. I’ve always inclined to the view that people remembered the battle and the eclipse as extraordinary events, and eventually conflated them. But Marsden points out that Sigvat (who wasn’t in the battle; he was on a pilgrimage to Rome at the time) would have been well-informed about the battle at a very early date. Also, the time of day given for the eclipse in the sagas is spot on.
Marsden passes on a possible explanation, suggested by “the editor of a long-respected English translation of Olaf the Saint’s saga.” This theory involves an error in interpreting a theoretical lost document (which I always consider a tenuous stratagem for scholars), but it works out quite neatly. If the original text of this X Document said that the battle occurred “1029 years and two-hundred and nine days since Christ’s birth,” and you reckon hundreds in the customary way, figuring January 1 as the first day of the year, you get July 29.
However – the Vikings counted in what are called “long hundreds.” When they said 100, they actually meant 120. All figures in the sagas need to be adjusted for that.
If you convert “1029 years and two-hundred and nine days” to long hundreds, and start your count at December 25 (a common date for figuring New Year’s Day at the time), you get the precise date of August 31.
That’s pretty neat, it seems to me. My plan, if I live so long, is to write a book about Olaf and Stiklestad a couple books from now, as a sort of sequel to Erling’s Saga. I think I’ll use this date for it, because that eclipse is a really cool bit of atmospheric staging.
Nicolai Cleve Broch as Saint Olav in the annual Stiklestad Play, near Trondheim. Photo by Leif Arne Holme/NRK, 2004.
Enjoyed a minor writer’s pleasure today, as I worked on the new Erling book.
I went over this one scene I’d added during the last revision. I always feel uncertain about inserted scenes, worrying that the graft might not take (even though most of the time I insert them precisely because I feel something’s missing at that point).
But it did work. Quite well, actually. Not only dramatically, but emotionally. The scene moved me, in fact. Which is always a surprise, like playing a practical joke on yourself.
The scene centered on King Olaf Haraldsson – Saint Olaf. Who is, in the great scheme of the series, the villain. In spite of the fact that he’s the patron saint of my second favorite country, the man was a totalitarian. Also a heretic, in my view, because I consider the use of violence in evangelism heretical. So I approached this project prepared to give him a waxed mustache and a black top hat.
But a funny thing happened as I wrote. I started getting under his skin. The first breakthrough came some years back, when I was talking about Olav’s life with a (longsuffering) friend.
I told him about a story from the Icelandic Flatey Book, not included in Heimskringla (the usual source). Flatey Book explains how Olaf was named after an ancestor, a great king called Olaf Geirstad-Elf, believed to have had supernatural powers. In the old heathen religion, naming a child after a recently dead relation was thought to cause a sort of reincarnation. The new baby was believed to be, in some sense, that ancestor reborn. (Yes, they also believed in Valhalla. And they believed the ancestor slept in his grave mound. Consistency played no part in their theology.) So Olaf was raised believing that he was really a wizard who’d lived before. His foster father Rani even dug into Olaf Geirstad-Elf’s grave mound and removed the ancient family sword, Besing, which was then given to young Olaf.
But Olaf sailed abroad as a Viking, saw a bit of the world, and chose to be baptized a Christian. We’re never told what he thought of his supposed reincarnation, in light of his new faith.
But there’s a story in Flatey Book about how he rode his horse one day past his ancestor’s grave mound. And suddenly a terror came over him. He turned his horse around and galloped off, giving orders that no one should stray near that mound again.
As I told that story to my friend, I suddenly felt I had an insight into Olaf’s psychology. He’d had a traumatic experience there at the grave mound. It instilled in him a terror of the old religion, a fear that he’d be sucked back into the power of a horrific ancestral curse. This helped explain his whole approach to Christianization.
I don’t think I’ll ever be an Olaf booster. His actions are too repellant.
But I think I’m beginning to sympathize with him. A little.
Which leads me to the inevitable thought…
After a thousand years dead, this S.O.B. is charming me! No wonder they made him patron saint!
