Vikings vs. Social Democrats

My knowledge of 20th century Scandinavian political history is relatively weak. I began at the beginning, and so of course, as yet, I know more about Vikings than Social Democrats. It only makes chronological sense.

So I tell myself. I don't believe me. This is the truth: I know less about Tage Erlander than Erik Bloodax because Vikings fascinate me much, much more than modern statesmen. Maybe this speaks poorly of my character, but so would denying the truth.

Indeed, I dread trying to learn as much about modern politicans, economists, activists and social reformers as I already know about ancient Norsemen. I could die of boredom.

Which may be as good as admiting this multibiography needs another author.

But since I couldn't stop now if I wanted to, here are the names of several Social Democrats newly under consideration for the Scandinavian 81: Tage Erlander, Karl Hjalmar Branting, Ernst Wigorss, Gustav Moller, and Knut Wicksell. They're all Swedes. Along with Gunnar and Alva Myrdal and Olof Palme (and, in Norway, Gro Harlem Brundtland) they seem to bear important responsibility for developing and implementating the modern Scandinavian welfare state.

None of them, insofar as I have any reason to believe, ever killed anyone with an ax.

Pop-culture Vikingology

This post currently consists of notes towards an essay in occasional progress on Vikings in popular culture.

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Everyone knows that Vikings didn't really wear helmets with horns on them. Less well known is that everyone else knows it too. At least, anyone who's ever had even the slightest interest in the subject. I think I knew it when I was ten. From now on, when someone takes it upon himself to "inform" me of this fact, I'm going to feign surprise. "I'll be damned," I'll say. "Really?"

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The Vikings was an old movie I used to watch on Saturday afternoons when I was a kid. I screened it again recently, expecting it to be terrible. It's not terrible. It's no Spartacus. It's certainly dated. But it's not terrible.  Certain scenes I recalled quite vividly; this would have been one of my very earliest encounters with the concept of Vikings, and it's fair to say it made an impression on me.

May years later, although still a long time ago, I saw The Long Ships, apparently an attempt to capitalize on the success of The Viking. The most memorable thing about it is that it stars Sidney Poiter as a Moorish prince. 

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As every indignant fanboy knows --and never ever (ever, ever) gets tired of reminding you-- it was the humble genius Jack Kirby who created the Marvel Universe, and the cheesy hack Stan Lee who stole the credit. That may be. But vis-a-vis the Marvel Comics’ version of Norse mythology, I think the issue, really, is who deserves the blame. For demoting Thor, the great Norse god of thunder, into a clean-shaven, cape and spandex clad superman--who battles evildoers alongside such stalwart allies as Spiderman, Captain America and the Fantastic Four, speaks in ghastly faux-Elizabethan English (why?! ), and, by hurling his magic hammer and hanging on to the wrist strap, can fly—was, in my opinion, a very bad idea. No one, at least, could possibly argue that Marvel Thor was among the better notions from the men (or just one man) who invented Ben Grim, Galactus, the Silver Surfer, the X-Men, the Celestials, Doctor Doom, the Watcher, and dozens upon dozens of far more compelling fantasy characters and concepts.

I am tempted to call Hagar the Horrible the nadir of pop-cultural depictions of Vikings. (I will admit to having been a fan as a stupid kid.)

Three Views of Jormungandr

In Norse mythology, Jormungandr, the world serpent, is one of the three monstrous offspring of the god Loki. Jormungandr's siblings are Hel, the grim goddess of the underworld, and Fenris the wolf, who is so massive that his jaws fully opened stretch from the earth to the vault of the sky. As for Jormungandr, he  lives in the sea and encircles the entire world, biting down on his own tail through the ages. A favorite of mine since I was a child, Jormungandr provides a metaphor central to structure of the Scandinavian 81. I will use his image for the homepage of  the accompanying Wiki (which already enjoys a rudimentary existence), as well as the cover of the book-- if on the off-chances that this thing a.) ever gets finished, and b.) published. (At the rate I'm proceeding, it will require several lifetimes.)

Aesthetically pleasing images of Jormungandr have proved surprisingly difficult to locate online. I like these three, but none of them quite suits my purposes. The first is closest to what I envision. I don't know how old it actually is, but it strikes my eyes as closely modeled, at least, on ancient sources. (It also  reminds me of Tolkien's artwork.) But the third Jormungandr is my favorite. I consider it the most skillfully rendered.  I enjoy particularly how Jormungandr seems less to be biting his tail than spewing it out, as a dragon spews fire: he vomits himself into existence. I don't know whether this is the artist's inspiration or based on some mythological precedent. Either way, I love it.  

The current plan is to commission an artist to create an original image of Jormungandr, based perhaps on some combination of these three. As with most of my plans, I've been negligent about implementing it. 

On a related issue, I'm told I'm running a legal risk by posting images such as this online. I may receive a cease and desist order, along with a bill, if I'm not careful about what I download. Apparently this holds true whether or not my blog makes money (or "is monetized," as they say).  Most of the images so far have been from Wikipedia.  I feel fairly safe about these; surely Wikipedia's images, if anyones, are in the public domain. The only exceptions so far, I believe, are these images of the world serpent, which I got found with a google search.

If I do get sued, expect a series of blog posts about it.

Saxo Gramaticus

Today "The Danish history Books I-IX" by Saxo Grammaticus. His chronicle of the kings of Denmark, as I understand it, is at least as propagandistic as Snorri's of the kings of Norway, but a very different flavor of propaganda. Snorri was a Scandinavian, Grammaticus a European. He wrote in Latin, and aimed to portray the Danish kings as embodying Roman virtues. It should be interesting to compare Grammaticus and Snorri covering the same events.
By the first day of summer, I intend to bid the Viking era a wistful farewell, and to move into the Scandinavian medieval period. It contributed far fewer outstanding individuals to history; and yet and the same time, they are among the most extraordinary of my extraordinary Scandinavians. I'm eager, and daunted, in particular, to tackle the subject of queen Margreta. She united Scandinavia, for the first and only time in history, under her sceptre, as much by popular acclaim as military conquest. I cannot find evidence of a biography about her in English; a Swedish historian claimed that there hasn't been one in Swedish. This amazing woman deserves to be far better known than she is, a situation that I hope, by means of the Scandinavian 81, to do my part to rectify.

Distinguishing Haralds

King Harald Finehair allegedly unified Norway, for the first time, in the ninth century. He’s not to be confused with Harald Bluetooth, king of Denmark, who lived in the tenth. Neither Harald Fairhair nor Harald Bluetooth should be confused with Harald Hardrada ("the Ruthless"), who died invading England in the eleventh.

Two of these Haralds remain candidates for the Scandinavian 81. Finehair was a recent cut. If I‘m to consider him, then I must consider his near- contemporaries, Eric the Victorious, who unified Sweden, and Gorm the Old and Thyri the Restorer, who unified Denmark. There's no room for them, even though these monarchs are arguably more important than Harald Finehair, since Sweden and Denmark went on to occupy greater roles in world history. Norway, for most of its existence, was just a colony of one or the other.

Vikingology

By tomorrow evening I intend to have highlighted and summarized the lives of all of my Vikings who feature prominently in Heimskringla. So far, I've only finished Rollo and Sigrid.  (Who both take up comparatively little space in this work.)

I’ll never be a Vikingologist. The literature, even just in English, on this subject is enormous, and always growing. I’ll never have time to absorb all there is to know. Only so many of my eminent Scandinavians hail from this gory epoch. Moreover, with so much scholarly attention devoted to it, Vikingology is surely vibrant controversies between rival schools of interpretation. My remarks, therefore, are bound to dissatisfy at least some of the experts. I’m bound to commit inaccuracies, over-generalizations.      

Perhaps the scholarly attention devoted to the Vikings is disproportionate to its actual historical importance. It’s not like they the Mongols, after all, or the British.

The search for the Search for Odin

As far as I can tell, Heyerdahl's Search for Odin (Jakten pa Odin in Norwegian) has yet to be translated into English. This saddens me, the more so because the book drew "forceful and detailed response from leading academics," which allegedly verged on the personal. The Heyerdahl controversies fascinate me, this one most especially. 

Was Heyerdahl a visionary who saw beyond the confining dogmas of archaeological orthodoxy? A smasher of received prehistoric paradigms, predictably crucified by the scientific establishment for his many heresies? Or, was he an imaginative, eloquent, physically courageous kook who took intellectually unconscionable liberties with evidence and logic?  And does the answer, for my purposes, even matter?

One interesting fact about Heyerdahl, he's been, so far, my most frequently suggested Scandinavian. (But he was on my list from the first.)        

Yngling Saga

No-one except Thor Heyerdahl, according to a most erudite friend, takes seriously Snorri Sturluson's contention the "Aesir" came to Scandinavia from the Black Sea region.  Why not?  Grant that  elements of Yngling Saga are (perhaps) obviously fanciful: Snorri's etymology of "Aesir" as deriving from "Asia;" the fact that some of his early Norse kings (particularly "Odin") were potent sorcerers; and so on.   What remains?   The legend of an ancient migration.  Couldn't Snorri's account be based on oral or even written traditions that, in turn, are rooted in historical reality?  Why is it far fetched to imagine that some Scandinavians, at least, are descended from a tribe or tribes wandering from the Black Sea?  They had to come from somewhere.

Ilium, once, was also just a myth, until it was proved true.  Or true enough.

I prefer to believe that "Odin" was a real person, or an amalgam, that time and liberal retellings of his deeds gradually elevated him to the status of a god--indeed, the greatest of gods--and that the Christian Snorri, intentionally or not, struck close to historical truth by demoting him back to a mere king.