My biography of the Icelandic writer Snorri Sturluson, Song of the Viking: Snorri and the Making of
Norse Myth, has just gone into production at Palgrave-MacMillan. The
official publication date is October 30. (Loud cheers and hurrahs!) Here’s an attempt
I made to explain Snorri’s importance. Clever readers will also see that it
explains the name of this blog, “God of Wednesday”:
Peter Jackson’s long-awaited film of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit is in production in New
Zealand.
“Das Rheingold,” the
first episode in the Metropolitan Opera’s thrilling new production of Richard
Wagner’s four-opera cycle, “The Ring of the Nibelungs,” is being sung in New
York tonight.
What do these cultural blockbusters have in common, besides
dwarves, dragons and awe-inspiring technological wizardry?
The obvious answer is a magic ring.
Tolkien categorically denied any connection. In a letter to
his publisher in 1961, he slammed the Swedish edition of The Lord of the Rings, the sequel to The Hobbit. When the translator opined, “The Ring is in a certain
way ‘der Nibelungen Ring,’” Tolkien scoffed: “Both rings were round, and there
the resemblance ceases.”
The translator’s theory was “a farrago of nonsense,” Tolkien
wrote. “He is welcome to the rubbish, but I do not see that he, as a
translator, has any right to unload it here.”
Yet connecting the two artists is neither rubbish nor
nonsense. Both Tolkien and Wagner based their fantastical worlds on the
writings of a thirteenth-century Icelander, Snorri Sturluson.
In 1851 a German translation of Snorri’s Edda and parts of the Poetic Edda was given to Wagner. A later
German poem, the “Nibelungenlied,” is often thought to be Wagner’s inspiration,
particularly since his “Ring,” first performed in 1876, became the ultimate
expression of Germanic folk culture. But a point-by-point comparison shows
Wagner to be more indebted to Snorri.
In the 1920s, while teaching at Oxford, J.R.R. Tolkien tried
to add Snorri to the English canon.
He argued that reading Old Icelandic was more important than reading
Shakespeare—Icelandic was more influential, more central to our language and
our modern world.
Snorri, son of Sturla, was a lover of poetry, a writer of
history and saga, and a teller of myths. One of the richest chieftains in
Iceland in the early 1200s, he could call up armies of thousands. He himself
was not a fighter, but bought favors or won them at law. He had few scruples,
and could out-argue anyone. He was fat, troubled by gout, given to soaking long
hours in his hot tub while drinking stout ale—not a Viking warrior by any
stretch of the imagination. Shortly after finishing his classic books in 1241,
he was murdered cowering in his cellar: He had betrayed Iceland’s other
chieftains and made a pact with the king of Norway, selling out Iceland’s
independence so he himself could be called an earl. And then, rather foolishly,
he had betrayed the king.
Yet his work lives on. He may be the most influential writer
you’ve never heard of. His Edda may
be the most important book you’ve never read.
A 1909 translation calls it “the deep and ancient wellspring
of Western culture.”
All the stories we know of the Vikings’ pagan religion—the
Norse myths of Valhalla and the Valkyries, the World Tree Yggdrasil, the
Rainbow Bridge, Ragnarok or the Twilight of the Gods—come from Snorri. He is
our major, and often our only,
source.
Without Snorri, we would know next to nothing about the god
for whom Wednesday was named (Odin, Wagner’s Wotan). Ditto Tuesday (Tyr),
Thursday (Thor), and Friday (Freyja or Frigg).
The history of Scandinavia in the Viking Age (roughly 793 to
1066) we know almost entirely through Snorri. With his vivid portraits of kings
and sea-kings, raiders and traders, he created the archetype of the Viking: the
tall, blond, independent warrior who laughs in the face of death.
And from Snorri’s books springs modern fantasy. All the
novels, films, video games, board games, role-playing games, and on-line
multi-player games that seem to
borrow their elves, dwarves, dragons, wizards, and warrior women from The Lord of the Rings have, in fact,
derived them from Snorri and the Icelandic literature Tolkien so loved.
In 2013 The Hobbit
is forecast to arrive on the big screen. If you miss tonight’s “Das Rheingold,” you can guarantee your seats to next
season’s complete “Ring of the Nibelungs” performances by subscribing to the
Met’s 2012-13 season. When the magic of the rings envelops you, give a thought
to an Icelander from long ago. Because of Snorri Sturluson’s wizardry with
words, our modern culture is enriched by Northern fantasy.
How interesting. I love it. I have known bits and pieces of these connections, but didn't realize their depth. I'm intrigued to learn more. Look forward to your book coming out.
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