Susan Signe Morrison, Grendel’s
Mother: The Saga of the Wyrd-Wife. Winchester, UK; Washington, USA [sic]:
Top Hat Books, 2015. Pp. 226.
Reviewed by: Jana K. Schulman (jana.schulman@wmich.edu)
Susan Morrison’s familiarity with and love of Germanic
literature can be found on every page of her novel about Grendel’s mother, the
unnamed aglæcwif and ides introduced in the poem Beowulf.
In the Anglo-Saxon poem, Grendel’s mother enters Hrothgar’s hall to
avenge her son and take back his arm. This is not to imply that the poem says
nothing else about her: we know that she is in idese onlicnæs, in the shape of a woman, and we learn that she is a
far superior fighter than her son when she poses a significant threat to
Beowulf. In their fight, though Beowulf has a difficult time, he is able to
decapitate her. That, short of Beowulf’s recapitulation of the events that took
place in Denmark to Hygelac and his court is all that the Beowulf-poet relates of her. Like John Gardner’s novel, Grendel, that gave Grendel a voice and a
story, Susan Signe Morrison gives a voice—as well as a name and history—to
Grendel’s mother in this novel that tells the story, from beginning to end, of
a female foundling from across the sea.
Called Brimhild by the couple that adopts her, Brimhild’s
story unfolds against the backdrop of the Scylding court. Juxtaposed with the court is the sea, with
all that it promises, in terms of fish, travel, exploration, and raids. These are a seafaring people. Brimhild
herself goes to Hrothgar’s court when she is old enough; there she comes into
contact with a new religion, though not for the first time, politics, class
consciousness, and violence. Morrison’s novel shines in its depiction of
Brimhild as idealistic, hopeful that violence—in the form of raiding
specifically and cycles of violence generally—is not requisite for her society.
In Beowulf, we see the women of the
poem in the context of the masculine economy, trying to work within masculine
expectations of feminine behavior. The
poem is nostalgic for a time when heroism was appreciated. In Grendel’s
Mother, we have a story where a woman is confronted with the truth of the
hall: that without cycles of violence warriors become slothful, that a great
hall like Heorot cannot even be built without gold and treasures obtained in
battle or from a conquered people. The novel makes a reader think about the
costs of heroism for everyone in a so-called heroic society.
Unfortunately, Morrison is too self-conscious, too aware of
what she wants to accomplish; this historical novel, so-called adult fiction,
is chock full with references to other Germanic literature: Norse poems such as
“Þrymskviða,” (“The Lay of Thor”) “Völundarkviða” (“The Lay of Volund”), “Hávamál”
(“Sayings of the High One”), Norse prose such as the Saga of the Volsungs and Þidrek’s saga;
and Old English poetry such as “Widsið,”
“The Wanderer,” “The Wife’s Lament” as well as others. One can commend Morrison
for her desire to bring these other stories to her readers, but there are references
without context with the result that the story is overwrought. Chapter 22,
titled the Angel of Death, which itself is a reference to Ibn Fadlan’s report
of a Viking funeral and a woman so called, opens with Brimhild, Grendel’s
mother, and Freawaru, Grendel’s half-sister and lover, mourning Grendel. The
narrator tells us “they suffered more than Gjaflaug, Herborg, and Gullrond,
those widowed ladies each claiming she was most unhappy” (155). If the reader
does not know who these women are, which the reader will not know unless she
has read the poem “Gudrunarkviða in
fyrsta” (The First Poem of Gudrun”], then the comparison of the level of grief,
of the depth of sorrow, does not register.
It is only in the list of Proper Names, found at the end of the novel,
that Morrison explains the reference and the significance of the comparison.
Furthermore, Morrison has chosen to incorporate
alliteration, a requirement for Germanic poetry, into her prose. While it is
possible that a little alliteration might have worked—after all, Ælfric has
rhythmic prose sentences that have occasional alliteration—Morrison’s
alliteration has no discernable pattern and is all too frequently over
done. Consider the following 17 word
sentence: “Hale heath heroes will harass halls, gone will be golden gables, bone-rings will burst in the blaze.”
Five words alliterate with h, 3 on g, and 3 on b, with 11 words out of 17 bearing alliteration; there are just too
many words in this sentence that alliterate, forcing the reader to focus less
on the story than on a stylistic choice. Alliteration has, moreover, made for
some infelicitious word choices, resulting in incongrous or offputting imagery:
“foe’s female” (74, ‘female’ used because it alliterates, but one would have
expected a word such as ‘wife,’ or ‘mate,’ or ‘bride’, given the context); the
phrase “embraced by Hrothgar’s fleshly fetters” (78, a reference to Hrothgar’s
arms—‘fetters’ works here as he has embraced Brimhild to hold her still, but
‘fleshly’ resonates weirdly); and “a fighter lowed a lacivious laugh” (93, according
to the dictionary only cattle low, raising the question of how the reader is to
think of the fighter).
In addition to the problems with the alliteration, there are
some odd turns of phrase: “had it off” (44); “wielding his metal friend”
(141-2, a reference to a sword, but off-putting, off sounding to those who know
Anglo-Saxon or Old Norse); “dragon fell” (155, a reference to dragon skin, but
not explained) just to name a few. Morrison also incorporates basic kennings
into her novel: “gannet’s bath” (111),
“whale’s back” (115), “victory-twig
(152, not explained in the glossary, but a reference to a sword), just
to name a few.
A Note to the Reader, found at the end of the novel,
explains Morrison’s reasons for writing the novel and provides some background
about Beowulf. There are also Sources
for Quotes, a Bibliography (for both the book and further reading), a Glossary,
and a list of Proper Names. Unfortunately, there’s no table of contents that
lets a reader know that these aids are there. I found all of these useful
resources only when I had finished the book. I was also struck by the
references to older translations for the eddas.
Morrison refers readers to Jean Young’s translation of Snorri’s Edda, i.e., the Prose Edda, when Anthony Faulkes’ translation is newer, complete,
and much better than Young’s; she cites Lee Hollander’s 1964 translation of the
Poetic Edda, when Carolyne
Larrington’s more recent translation is more readable and, in my mind, far
better.
Jana Schulman
Western Michigan University
