An Open Access Review Journal Encouraging Critical Engagement with the Continuing Process of Inventing the Middle Ages

August 6, 2016

Morrison: Grendel's Mother


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.

I tried to read this novel simply as a novel, but I had real difficulties moving past what I have noted above.  In addition, I found archaic word choices and the occasionally didactic tone problematic, even out of place. Certain things were predictable (such as who Brimhild’s father was) and others unexpected (but possibily uncalled for—such as the doubled incest story).  What I found most insightful and thought provoking about this novel, Grendel’s Mother: The Saga of the Wyrd Wife, was that it asked me to rethink Anglo-Saxon culture as a whole, particularly in terms of violence and its repercussions.

Jana Schulman

Western Michigan University

August 5, 2016

Mintz: Arthurian Tales


Leon Mintz, Arthurian Tales: Ambrosius Aureliani. Pontiac, MI: Erie Harbor Productions, 2010.

Reviewed by Ann F. Howey (ahowey@brocku.ca)

Arthurian Tales: Ambrosius Aureliani by Leon Mintz is the first book in a projected four-book series. It tells the story of Ambrosius Aureliani (the legendary King Arthur’s uncle) through the first-person narration of Merlinus (Merlin). In this review, I will primarily address its strengths and weaknesses as a work of fiction; that might seem an obvious statement to make, but while Mintz’s book is a novel, it is also an argument for a certain interpretation of early medieval history, as the paratexts make explicit; it would be entirely possible to review it from the standpoint of historical plausibility alone. Reviewing it as fiction reveals real strengths, such as the pacing of certain battle scenes, but also weaknesses in dialogue and characterization, and these problems underscore a dilemma of medievalism: how to create a plausible, “authentic” past in the language and cultural idiom of twenty-first-century readers?

The novel covers the entire span of Ambrosius’ life, from his infancy to his death in a woodland skirmish with Attila the Hun. The narrator Merlin is only fourteen years older than Ambrosius and is involved in Ambrosius’ destiny originally as part of a conspiracy that switches the infant son (Ambrosius) of Princess Placidia and King Adaulphos with a dying child. Merlin spirits the true heir of the empire to Armorica and then to Britain, where Ambrosius is raised as a son of Constantine, and as brother to Cai and Geraint. When Ambrosius’ foster mother is forced to flee with him years later, she takes refuge at Merlin’s estate in Aureliani; once Merlin returns from his travels in the Far East, he becomes a mentor and advisor to Ambrosius. They return to Britain with Bishop Germanus, and Ambrosius eventually takes a leading role in the defeat of Grallon (Mintz’s version of Vortigern). Ambrosius returns to Aureliani to marry, essentially abdicating his role as High Commander of the Council to Euthar Pendragon (revealed later to be Ambrosius’ twin brother). Euthar eventually sends his son Arthur to be fostered with Ambrosius and Merlin, setting up the events of novels to come in the series.

As that brief summary suggests, Mintz has incorporated many events traditional to Arthurian legend: the invitation/invasion of the Saxons, Vortigern’s death by fire in a fortress, the poisoning of Vortimer, and the removal of the Giant’s Dance from Ireland to England. Some events, such as the conception of Arthur, are reported very briefly, as they happen away from the main characters of this novel. All of these events are situated in a continental, imperial context, so the novel also incorporates many events of Roman and continental history (the drowning of Ys, the presence of Attila, and many others). The novel is thus ambitious in its scope: even in 350 pages, it is a lot of material to cover.

That emphasis on bringing many historical events together is elaborated in the paratexts of the novel. A section called “The Making of Arthurian Tales” is followed by a Chronology, lists of sources, and rationales for seven key elements of the story. Sources include medieval chronicles (Geoffrey of Monmouth, Nennius) and other primary texts (Gildas’ The Ruin of Britain, for example), as well as various non-fiction sources on Arthurian legend and the time period (Leslie Alcock’s Arthur’s Britain, Geoffrey Ashe’s The Discovery of King Arthur, and many other texts that promote historical theories for King Arthur); no literary texts are mentioned, however. Although the most explicit argument for a particular interpretation of history is reserved for the paratexts, the sense of the novel itself as an argument persists, in part because of the attempt to be encyclopedic in the inclusion of events and historical characters, and in part because of the framing of the novel (in the initial Note from the Author as well as the concluding paratexts) as part of a scholarly historical debate rather than as part of a literary tradition.

The tension between the demands of fiction and the demands of historical argument is not entirely resolved. The descriptions of various battles create effective pacing and suspense, particularly those where Ambrosius begins to come into his own as a warrior and leader. In other respects the novel seems choppy as it moves quickly from one encounter to another (the short chapters contribute to this sensation); historical details, rather than characters’ experiences, have priority. Because Merlin is a first-person narrator who is away from Ambrosius periodically, the early years of Ambrosius in Britain have to be summarized in conversation, as do Ambrosius’ experience of marriage and the loss of his wife in childbirth later in the novel. Consequently, the novel keeps the title character distant from the reader; Merlin recounts facts of what has happened, and although he can remark on the physical symptoms of grief or anger that Ambrosius displays, he cannot provide the emotional experience of Ambrosius’ romantic attachment and heartbreak (to give one example). The novel’s narrative strategy, therefore, works against the creation of fully realized characters because of its focus on events and because of Merlin’s lack of knowledge of the inner feelings of other characters.

The insistence on historical accuracy (or at least plausibility) creates another dilemma: that of language. In dialogue, in particular, demotic expressions and twenty-first-century cultural idioms at times clash with the epic register of many of the other scenes. This dilemma is not unique to this novel, but is rather typical of fictional medievalism. How can one represent the thoughts, feelings, words of a people so removed in time from us in a way that suggests historical authenticity while being intelligible to twenty-first-century readers? For some authors, the solution is an “historical” Arthurian novel that is actually a hybrid, including some elements of fantasy; Mary Stewart’s Merlin trilogy of the 1970s springs to mind, where historical detail combines with fantasy elements such as Merlin’s powers of the Sight. The fantastic elements absolve the text from the need for strict accuracy; in contrast, Mintz’s emphasis in this novel as providing “a historically plausible, ‘World-Restorer’ scenario for King Arthur while utilizing a vast majority of the sources in a synchronized manner” (Note from the Author) suggests that all aspects of the novel, including language and characterization, will be historically accurate. Consistency in register, it seems to me, is key to maintaining the sense of “authentic” history; unexpected shifts in register bring me, as a reader, out of the fictional world and simultaneously undermine characterization.

My reception of the novel no doubt is influenced by my preference for fiction over history, and Ambrosius Aureliani, I would argue, privileges history. Ultimately, this first of the Arthurian Tales suggests the ambition of the project and the dedication of its author to creating a historical account of Ambrosius’s rise to power, but the potential of those events as fiction is not fully realized, at least in this installment.

Ann F. Howey
Brock University

August 2, 2016

Bettina Bildhauer, Diane Watt, et al., Embracing the #femfog


Embracing the #femfog: Session at the International Medieval Congress, Leeds, UK, July 6, 2016, organized by Bettina Bildhauer, chaired by Diane Watt

Reviewed by Debbie White (d.white.2@research.gla.ac.uk) 


Embrace the #femfog: Diversity, Medievalism and Moving Beyond Frantzen
 

As a first-timer at IMC 2016, I arrived on the Sunday evening in Leeds not entirely sure what to expect, armed only with the alarmingly thick programme, a notebook and more spare pens than I knew what to do with. One of the highlights of the conference, however, was a session which was not included in the programme; a late addition to proceedings focused on ‘embracing the femfog’, which took place on Wednesday lunchtime. The eight panellists, all of whom spoke articulately (and impressively for academics, kept to time!) were Helen Young, Elaine Treharne, Robert Stanton, Christina Lee, Dorothy Kim, Jonathan Hsy, Liz Herbert McAvoy, and David Bowe, and the session was chaired by Diane Watt.

Perhaps due to its late scheduling, the demographic of the room was noticeably skewed towards the younger end of the scale, and as I observed at the time in a somewhat tongue-in-cheek tweet, ‘There are more people with brightly coloured hair than there are white men in this room.’



It is perhaps inevitable that an event such as this would attract an audience consisting of those most affected by the issues under discussion, but the danger that accompanies this is that it becomes a matter of preaching to the choir (as useful as having a safe space in which to share experiences with those who have undergone similar things can be); the Frantzens of this world remain unaffected and their views unchallenged, and the anger of those who see our field and our identities under attack risks being unheard. Fortunately, Twitter came into its own, and #femfog became a trending topic; for those who were not there, I’d highly recommend investigating the record of proceedings as found on Twitter, for a snapshot of the passion and energy in the room. It has been helpfully storified by Shyama Rajendran, and can be found here:

 

For those who are unaware of the impetus behind this session, a quick overview of the events that led to it; #femfog began trending on Twitter in January, after posts were found on Allen Frantzen’s blog which would not have been out of place on Reddit. They spoke of the ‘femfog’, the ‘sour mix of victimization and privilege that makes up modern feminism and that feminists use to intimidate and exploit men ...’ and the need to ‘clear the fog of feminist propaganda’. The offending posts have now been removed, but they contained references to ‘red pill’ and MRA culture, and were entirely dismissive of feminism as a personal, political, and academic necessity. Frantzen’s comments had been posted some time before they were discovered and given a wide airing on social media, but in an interview with the Chronicle of Higher Education, he defended his arguments, claiming that his opponents merely accused him of ‘hating women’ rather than engaging with the substance of his ideas.[1]
 

Frantzen’s blog attracted such levels of attention in part because of his status as a respected academic and medievalist, and particularly as someone who has worked to bring queer studies into medievalism. The seeming lack of understanding of intersectionality made the discovery of the blog all the more shocking. 


As Dorothy Kim noted, Frantzen is not merely a private citizen; his status as an academic gives his words weight, whether published in a blog or in more traditional modes. This is particularly true as the blog on which these views were published also included a list of his academic scholarship, as though this gives credence and weight to the misogyny spouted. However shrouded in his academic achievements, however, the similarities of the language used by Frantzen to that found in MRA culture, and associated with phenomena such as gamergate (the controversy around harassment and sexism in gaming culture, which began with sexist attacks, death threats and harassment of games developer Zoe Quinn) or Roosh V (an American blogger and self-proclaimed ‘pick up artist’ who has been criticised for his misogynistic ideas and promotion of rape) cannot be ignored.


Such views are not merely online ramblings; they have an effect far beyond an isolated series of blog posts – they are rather reflective of a wider culture within academia and society in which women routinely face harassment and may struggle to find their work accepted, especially for those working within fields which deal with gender, race, sexuality or disability. These range from microaggressions (examples were given of male scholars rolling their eyes at women using the language of heteronormativity in academic contexts) to sexual harassment at conferences and academic events, the scale of which was uncovered in work undertaken by the Society for Medieval Feminist Scholarship. Of the 432 respondents to their survey, 70% reported being on the receiving end of harassment, and the culprits were often repeat offenders. Such a statistic is likely to surprise no one who has experience of being a woman or non-binary person in academia.


The discussion at the IMC panel revealed that many women medievalists have faced such struggles, and swiftly turned to ideas of how improvements can be made, especially for those of us at the beginning of our academic careers, who are often most vulnerable to structural injustices and have the least power to speak out against them. Mentoring, and the importance of role models and support structures, was seen as an important step towards addressing some of these issues. For young scholars starting out in the field, older women who have experienced some of the same battles and hurdles can be of vital importance, and many of the panel and audience members spoke fondly of their own experiences of mentoring and being mentored. This extends beyond the ‘gender question’ of course, and sexuality and race in particular are areas where seeing role models who reflect one’s own identity is an invaluable part of being supported in developing oneself as an academic. Discussions on Twitter in the aftermath of the sadly time-limited panel also highlighted disability and class as areas in which diversity is noticeably lacking in the field. Anglo-Saxon studies in particular was highlighted as being an overwhelmingly white field, and Helen Young spoke of the rarity of encountering any openly queer women in her first ten years of academia. This applies both to the subjects of our study and to those who are teaching and writing; diversity must appear both in the pages of our textbooks and on our presentation slides and in the names on the front of those textbooks. Perhaps due to my own focus in my research on women religious, I was fortunate enough to make it through the entire conference without attending a single all-male panel, an experience that may not be either universal or representative of the IMC, but the majority of panels I attended were all-white. Jonathan Hsy noted the importance of interrogating attitudes within one’s own community, particularly a call for gay men to look for, call out, and rid their communities of misogyny, but also a reminder for white academia to be vigilant against racism and whitewashing.


Alongside mentorship and diversifying the field, both in terms of the subjects of our research and the people in our classrooms, other practical options for action were discussed. One important issue raised was the need for conferences such as Kalamazoo and Leeds to have clear codes of conduct related to harassment and for appropriate action to be taken in the event of such being reported. Refusal to participate in structures and institutions which continue to permit harassment and misogyny was brought up as an important weapon at our disposal, though with the important caveat that withdrawing participation is not necessarily a tool equally available to all; a PhD student or ECR may find they have fewer options at their disposal than a more established senior colleague. Again, here is where the importance of mentorship and of cross-generational support structures and solidarity cannot be overestimated; the call goes out to those senior, established scholars amongst us to use what power they have within the institution for those of us with less of a voice. There was a noticeable absence on the panel of a PhD student, and this was brought up in the discussion; the reason for this was that the burden of labour can fall disproportionately on younger scholars and this was judged to be an unfair position to put somebody in. The risk of speaking out against misogyny in the field is by nature far greater for someone in a more precarious employment situation or who has not yet had the opportunity to establish themself. 


The discussion concluded with a focus on kindness; being kind to others and being kind to yourself. We are often encouraged to be competitive, especially as jobs become harder to find – at one point post-Brexit, there were more openings for leaders of political parties in the UK than there were vacancies for positions in medieval history. I can barely go a week, it seems, without another article appearing on my social media timeline about the difficulties of finding a permanent academic job. This creates an atmosphere of competition, in which the values of mentorship and solidarity can be forgotten in the surrounding angst. Academia can be a punishing environment for anyone, and particularly for those with mental health conditions. This can be amplified when fighting against viewpoints such as those espoused by Frantzen and others - for it is important to remember that he is not an isolated case; his thoughts are not his alone, and while his blog was the catalyst for the femfog discussion on Twitter and at Leeds, it is clear that they are simply part of a backdrop of misogyny and harassment which goes much further than any one individual or institution. Despite what may seem like a rather depressing and demotivating thought, I left the femfog panel feeling uplifted – the shared passion of scholars to create a field which is diverse, welcoming, kind and supportive was impossible to ignore, and my hope, a hope which I believe is shared by most of those in the room, is that that energy is not left behind in July 2016, but will be taken forward to academic institutions across the world, and shared with those colleagues who were not present, to make it a reality. As Jonathan Hsy said in his ‘tweetable summary’ of his thoughts, ‘keep on fighting, whoever you are and wherever you are’. 


Debbie White
University of Glasgow
 
[1] http://chronicle.com/article/Prominent-Medieval-Scholar-s/235014