Edward L.
Risden, Alfgar’s Stories from Beowulf.
E-book: Witan Publishing, 2013.
Reviewed by
A. Keith Kelly, Georgia Gwinnett College (akelly@ggc.edu)
Revisiting
the Middle Ages in order to find inspiration for the creation of something new
is not a rare technique among authors.
Revisiting the Middle Ages to create something new that also seems like
it is an authentic part of the Middle Ages, however, is a bit less common. The latter is precisely what Ed Risden
endeavors to accomplish in his book Alfgar’s
Stories from Beowulf—and with notable success. In this relatively short book—it comes in at
134 pages—Dr. Risden offers readers four original works of fiction (with a
smattering of poetry embedded throughout), each connected in various ways to Beowulf.
“Grendel’s Mother” retells Beowulf
from the somewhat removed and intensely personal perspective of the more celebrated
monster’s mother. “Lay of the Last
Survivor” is the tale of a man devoted to a blood feud that leaves him bereft
of hearth, kin and even his humanity. “Scyldingasaga” serves as a prequel to Beowulf, reaching back to the exploits
of the hero’s renowned ancestors, Scyld and Beow. The final tale, “Freawaru’s Lament,” expands upon
a story hinted at in Beowulf about a
woman whose peace-weaver marriage leads to life-long tragedy and grief. The four tales are framed by the character of
Alfgar, who is a poet, or scop, in
the service of a monastery around the year 1000 (he asserts that his grandfather
served King Æthelstan). He is regaling a
young monk in the scriptorium with stories that are a marked departure from the
Christian tales prescribed by the abbot.
The young man listens eagerly and even consumes valuable parchment to
record Alfgar’s words. There is the
suggestion that Alfgar may be the teller of Beowulf
itself, and the young monk the reason it survives in manuscript form. The interaction between these two characters
bookends the tales, serving as Prologue and Epilogue.
Dr. Risden’s
book really operates on three levels: one, as a work of carefully studied
medievalism that echoes elements from Beowulf
and early Anglo-Saxon/Scandinavian culture, two, as a resonance of what might
best be termed an Old English or Old Norse voice, and three, as a stand alone narrative
work to be considered on its literary aesthetics. As a notable medieval scholar it should come
as no surprise that Dr. Risden provides rich material in accomplishing the
first. The second level of achievement
is much more challenging, and Risden’s success there is noteworthy. There exists—in three of the four stories at
least—a real echo of the voice found in the early medieval epics and sagas. The only shortcoming of the book, and this is
not a failing but merely a limitation, lies in its aesthetics as a work of
contemporary literature. In large part because of how well Risden captures an archaic
style of story-telling, some readers less attuned to the medievalisms in the
book may find the narrative style of Alfgar’s
Stories sparse and underdeveloped.
As a work
of aesthetic fiction, “Grendel’s Mother” is the strongest in the collection and
it should appeal to the widest variety of readers. Risden’s choice to place it
in the primary position was well-advised as it is both haunting and compelling
to the reader, and will undoubtedly be recognizable because of its direct
connections with Beowulf. Risden’s tight, first person narrative delves
into the psychology of the monstrous mother, and the entire piece is spun out
as an internal monologue by a beast that lacks the ability of speech but who
possesses a complex identity. She is a
reclusive figure who is descended from Cain and powerfully connected to the
natural, pagan world—while her beginnings were somewhat human, by the time of
the story she has become something of an earth spirit who is strongly connected
to the water as well. Tormented by her
own muteness and the violent, abusive passions of her son, Grendel’s mother in
the end must seek the path of vengeance prescribed to all who have had a
kinsman slain. The presentation of her
character invokes sympathy and pity, and not a small amount of respect as she
fulfills the role of the devoted mother as well as the avenging kinswoman. The first person perspective, that is so well-suited
to psychological reflection, is reminiscent of John Gardner’s Grendel, and it is likely that Gardner’s
novel served as an inspiration for Risden.
This tale is the most appealing in the book from a literary perspective,
though on the other hand it contains fewer medievalisms than the other
stories.
While
“Grendel’s Mother” is the leading literary achievement in the work, the “Lay of
the Last Survivor” is arguably the most successful as a work of literature and medievalism. With allusions to “The Wanderer” and Volsunga Saga, and a surprise connection
to Beowulf at the end, this tale is
rich with the spirit of early medieval Germanic culture. The opening scene demonstrates all too well
how fragile peace can be in a society dedicated to family honor, warfare and
vengeance. From a bloody beginning the
account follows the character of Ormr, who over a life-time treads a path of
violence in pursuit first of revenge, then glory, then material gain until he
is literally the last man left alive from two feuding tribes. From that point Risden goes on to explore
what becomes of the life of a man who has devoted himself to the destruction of
life and the attainment of material things once all are slain and those things
have lost all satisfaction. The result
is a loss of humanity that becomes more than metaphorical. In addition to its connections to several
medieval sources, the “Lay of the Last Survivor” shares resonances with a
number of Tolkien’s works—not surprising given Tolkien’s fascination with the
same material that inspires Risden, and the latter’s interests in the works of
the renowned author. The story covers a
wide swath of years and the pace of the narrative is consequently swift. Missing throughout most of the story are
narrative features such as dialogue, character development and detailed
descriptions of action, place or person.
The style is rather that of an oral storyteller spinning out what is the
story of a whole lifetime in the span of an hour. This heavy reliance on exposition is
precisely what marks Alfgar’s Stories
as being what meadhall tales might have actually been like. The story is stark in theme, tone and presentation,
concerned more with the medieval ideas conveyed than the modern art of fiction
writing. While the tale itself is
fascinating, the result of the style is one that creates a sense of
authenticity that will appeal to some, and leave others perhaps a bit wanting.
In both
“Scyldingasaga” and “Freawaru’s Lament” Risden picks up threads of stories
found, but not expounded upon, in Beowulf.
The former is simply, and quite entertainingly,
the story of Scyld Scefing, his son Beowulf the Dane (referred to in the tale
as Beo), his son Halfdane and
ultimately, though not treated in the work itself, Hrothgar. As heralded in the opening lines of Beowulf, Scyld and his son are
remarkable heroes, giant-slayers and templates for “good kings.” The story, with its mythical beasts,
legendary accomplishments and fast pace smacks of the Old Norse fornaldarsögur, as is appropriate for
their characters and content. There is a
celebratory feel to the exploits of these figures of a legendary past that
echoes the enthusiasm of the Beowulf
poet. In contrast, “Freawaru’s Lament” picks
up on the tragic undertones of Beowulf’s words to Hygelac concerning the
marriage of Hrothgar’s daughter to Ingeld of the Heathobards. Beowulf’s remarks—beginning at line
2025—forecast a bleak outcome and Risden’s tale carries through on that
promise. In an effort to weave peace
between the Danes and the Heathobards, young Freawaru is married to Ingeld, the
heroic warrior king. In spite of
Hrothgar’s intentions, however, the peace is broken. Ingeld ends up lost, wandering the world, and
Freawaru is as steadfast in her devotion to finding him as she is bound to the
grief caused by the loss of her family.
As someone on both sides of the feud she is the ultimate tragic
figure. While the view of the past in
“Scyldingasaga” is as glorious and joyous as its heroes, the view of the future
in “Freawaru’s Lament” is as desolate as the broken heart of Freawaru herself. This split view of the past and the future
echoes the northern pagan beliefs themselves—the concept of a glorious past and
the bleak future of Ragnarok. The
dichotomy likewise captures a very real sense of the tensions and struggles of
the Christian/pagan world of the northern Germanic peoples around the year
1000. And though both texts also move
quickly and somewhat sparsely in terms of narrative craft, they offer
tantalizing and once again compellingly authentic looks into the literary past.
The book
closes as it opens, back in the scriptorium with Alfgar speaking to the young
scribe. While there is the promise of
more tales to come, the entrance of Father Alaric—one of the most austere and
pious of the monastery’s denizens—brings to an abrupt end the stories of
Alfgar. Admonishing the story-telling as
a waste of time, Alaric condemns such heathen tales, echoing Alcuin’s words of
centuries earlier, “What has Ingeld to do with Christ?” This epilogue, by describing the disdain for
the past, offers a counterpoint to the prologue, which expressed a youthful
enthusiasm for the old stories. Again,
these contrasting views present the dichotomy between past and present, pagan
and Christian, that must have been a real struggle for the English at the turn
of the millennium. It also, in an
indirect way, highlights the strengths and limitations of Risden’s book. As an echo of a medieval past—in tone, in
themes, in voice, and in style—it is a distinctive and captivating
achievement. As a work of contemporary
fiction—which its author may not even intend it to be—it is certainly unique,
but perhaps some will view it as being a bit scant in its narrative craft and
stylings. As a work of medievalism it is
inarguably a success.
A. Keith
Kelly, Georgia Gwinnett College
