announcing NorsePlay's blog!

As promised, NorsePlay has a new home here:

So if you've followed my Norse Mythology-related content on G+, NorsePlay is where it'll be re-housed post-G+ and enthusiastically continued. If you've liked the NorsePlay-headed entries here, do follow that focus on NorsePlay. Just hit the blue Follow button on the left hand side of the NorsePlay page.



Given my Heathen Worldview and that I'll still be writing both blogs, Dark Entries will probably still have some minor overlap of this material, but in the main NorsePlay's where you want to be for your Norse-centric post needs. Thanks for following here still and now on NorsePlay!

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or in the comments below.

importing content to Dark Entries, the new NorsePlay, & the closure of GooglePlus.

While I could vent for a whole entry about Google's short-sighted betrayal of millions of loyalist users in closing GooglePlus this April, I've contacted the owners with solid advice to keep their underappreciated but quite good online network up, and signed a petition, which is the best follow-through I can do.



Lacking an established VR-based Internet 3.0 site to setup a cyberhome on, I've decided to instead take a break from social media until new acceptable networks have improved structures for interactivity, custom fine-scalable filtering tools, and most importantly permanent nodes for users & their content. Until that evolves, I'm instead using my already established & dependable blog for my online presence.



Words aren't going anywhere no matter how sophisticated digital expression gets.



Thanks to the Google Plus Exporter (so much gratitude to coder Alois Bělaška), I'm shifting one of my G+ collections' content from my profile to here, and a second collection into a new subject specific blog. This means a few years of my most worthwhile & thoughtful social media back content will be integrated into these blogrolls. If you've followed me on both Dark Entries & G+ you'll be witness to the redundancy, but I know the re-runs hold up. If you only follow me here, there will be many new to you but backdated entries to enjoy, share, & comment on.


Dark Inscriptions, my microblog sounding-off reactionary smallform version that compliments this one, will add ~100 entries here, and adorn this Dark Entries blog which you already know & love. While I'd reserved this blog for mostly longform pieces as per my journalism degree background, this merging will change that format in future to both short & full posts here. Hit the follow button in my Blogger-specific subscribe box and stay tuned.


When launching my new NorsePlay blog, there will eventually be 400+ curated shortform posts, re-posts of the few longer NorsePlay entries from here, plus a longform writer's statement about the importance of NorsePlay to start it off with. If you've followed my Norse Mythology-related content on G+, NorsePlay is where it'll be re-housed and enthusiastically continued. If you've liked the NorsePlay-headed entries here, do follow that focus on the forthcoming new blog. I'll announce when the new site publishes in a new post here soon.



This dual archive of content will appear gradually, as each backlogged post will need a slight manual format adjustment to fit Blogger's pages, so rest assured you won't get a megaflood of notifications once you subscribe to either or both of my blogs.

[Well, now the G+ closure narrows that choice down, really.]

While this change is born of disappointment in GooglePlus' lack of vision & self-imposed defeat, the relocation to here will give my content more standalone stability. And the pro-active & specific audience it deserves -- that's you. Thank you all for your new & continued readership & personal enthusiasm.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or in the comments below.

NorsePlay: A Yank At Valhalla.

Not to let the hokey Twain-ist title fool you, Edmond Hamilton's A Yank at Valhalla delivers a Norse-inspired genre mash-up in fine pulp style.

[Original pulp from January 1941.]

Part lost civilization fantasy, part science fiction, Hamilton plays with the idea that behind mythology lies a greater truth.

Physicist Keith Masters, during an exploratory survey flight, gets blown into a hidden area of the arctic where he discovers the secret lands of the Norse Gods.

[An Ace double version from 1973.]

Stylewise, the many typos (a pulp given) are unexpectedly balanced out by some lovely .50-cent word selections, and it's neat shifting gears as a reader between scientific terms and medieval descriptors. This integrated juxtaposition aside, a lot of the presentation is stirring with cries of "Our swords for Asgard!", impressive feasting hall settings, and saga worthy melees & martial battles.

[UK re-titled version from 1950. And Freya's going to fall out of that top at any moment.]

While the start isn't as fast as Lester Del Rey's The Day of the

Giants (1950), they share a conceit that a mid-century modern man can think more clearly and problem solve better than an immortal, which here is still a false conceit, and one finds Masters a few times saying things like, "Score one for my science!" to convince us, but not successfully. Anachronistic of this, Masters flies a "rocket plane", which is more than bleeding edge technology in 1940, even for a well-

funded polar expedition.

[Interior art from Fantastic Story 1953 January pulp.]

We suspect this early NorsePlay also possibly influenced Ian Cameron's Island At the Top of the World from 1961 where a polar foray stumbles onto a Viking civilization survival. And

the mix of high-tech with ancient dress reminds us of Stan Lee & Jack Kirby's Thor, which began in 1962, where the science is implied, but not overt, and one wonders if either of them read this beforehand.

[More interior art from Fantastic Story 1953 January pulp.]

In terms of what was going on in 1940, we have an American character with no horse in the race between the Aesir & the Jotuns, getting involved for various circumstantial reasons in what may very well become Ragnarok. This raises the question if Hamilton possibly wrote this as an appeal for a

U.S. entry into WW2. While the text always has the battles as being against the odds, the Viking ethos of combat being a necessary facet to support civilization and that risk being celebrated is prominent in the novella.

[This same side-saddle valkyrie on colourless Bifrost art was also used for a later NorsePlay: Lester Del Rey's The Day of the Giants, except it was re-titled When the World Tottered.]

With pulp motifs, A Yank at Valhalla also presents the idea of the hidden subterranean. Using the dwarves (here labeled the Alfings) and a radioactive Muspelheim as a pre-surface dwelling and advanced technological world, this presages The Shaver Mystery's pulps/memoirs by half a decade:

"This was no mere cavern, but an enormous hollow such as many have believed was left under the planet's surface by the hurling forth of the Moon." (p.96)



In a current young adult novel landscape of Riordan's Magnus Chase and Armstrong's The Blackwell Pages, where overweening teen sass underqualifies as optimism, going back to an early NorsePlay like Hamilton's A Yank At Valhalla yields more imaginative treasure.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+. 

in The Red Room of Requirement with The Pottermouthed Girls.

In a very special episode of Ruminations From the Red Room, host, dear friend, and person of exception Mitch +George Proctor allowed Dark Entries the privilege of inviting +Gwyen Raamat & +Melissa Kailani Negelspach, the duo known far & wide as The Pottermouthed Girls to podcast about most people's favourite wizardboi & his world.



Listen to us here.



Mitch's blurb:

We speak with Gwen and The Unicorn, champions of the Geeks Who Drink,
masters of the Potter knowledge, and keepers of the words. The ladies
join Guillermo to sit, and wax poetic, philosophical, and literal on
J.K. and her work. Comparisons are unavoidable to greats like Professor
Tolkien, and we work together to sort out our feelings, and fandom. It’s
really just a get to know you, to prep for next time when the gloves
really come off.

Gwyen the Valkyrie & Melissa the Unicorn are the people I know who are most passionate about the wizarding world. They read the books annually, keep up with the Pottermore site, and can probably cast all the spells in their sleep faster than you can think Avada Kedavra. Ergo, we knew it was going to be the goodness when we sat behind Mitch's three magic (and one less than magic since Mitch gave me the one from the muggle's back alley dollar store) mics to use our literary divination skills.

[I will beat you for Slytherin!]

We fan-out, and much more importantly, we examine why HP's a global cultural phenomenon and not just another kids' book series that people trade in for gas money once they graduate from high school.



Also we discuss the vacuum of a post-Saxon mythology for England that Tolkien attempted to fill, how Rowling successfully built upon that, and how these NorsePlays rest on the most fantastic foundation of all that is Norse Mythology & Lore.



So put on your house colours (green & silver rule, fool!) and strap on your extendable ears for a pleasant time on the Red Room Express Train.

[Ride or die!]

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.

NorsePlay: I invented the warhammer clamp.

In the Norse Lore, Thor has the convenience of a warhammer which, thanks to dwarven craftsmanship, reduces in size to fit in his pocket or be worn as a pendant (yes, anyone wearing a Mjölnir necklace could be that Odinson among us, so watch yourself). Yet, short of some atomic-chain matter folding nano-technology, bearing a warhammer for the rest of us tends to be rather cumbersome.

Many have stated that necessity is the mother of invention, or argued that war is the father of innovation. The medieval warhammer was invented as an anti-armor weapon, something that crushes & claws into plate steel. Aside from keeping this weapon in hand, or tucking it into your belt, there historically was no other easier method of carry. But why hadn't those knights & soldiers who'd worn a scabbard or quiver on their backs thought of something similar for their warhammer?



Five-hundred years later, Guillermo the IVth finally invents the warhammer clamp, adding his name to the Valhalla-worthy warriors of melee weaponry's historical innovations.

[The warhammer in clamp! And me in my wedding tunic!]

[Grabbing the haft for draw.]

[Drawing the warhammer.]

[Swinging over-the-shoulder for the strike!]

Mark that game changer on your calendars.



It started as a going-to-sleep exercise. I'd lie there and think of how exactly one could wear a warhammer on their back for a quick over-the-shoulder draw, and also be able to snap it back in place once done pounding your attacker into submission. Sometimes I'd slip into a dream thinking about it. Other nights, the mental exercise would cause my eyes to snap open, and instead I'd run for my desk to draft something out. As a writer, you learn that if you don't put an idea down when it comes, you will lose it, and I applied that preserving sensibility to this process.

[Warhammer dimensions.]

My awesome high finish warhammer from +Sabersmith Inc has a hammered/scalloped haft, which is advantageous for grip, but presented a challenge for a clamp. The first two PVC pipes I dremeled into what would've been working shapes for a standard smooth handle finally worked on my third attempt, which had higher ends for holding an irregular surface, a scoop in the middle for flexibility to allow for a draw, and curved outsides to prevent scratches & not get caught when the hammer was drawn/replaced.

I then drilled & mounted the clamp onto a T-shaped plastic sheet reclaimed from two pieces of old computer keyboard that I Gorilla Glue'd together.

The next problem was the width of the head versus the smaller diameter of the handle while mounted. I'd thought the plastic backing would just flex and curve down for the wider head when clamped, but no, it required immersion in boiling water to soften and reshape into a specifically angled spatula to allow for the warhammer's head. (Thanks to my prop-making friend +Tory Middlebrooks for this helpful tip.)

[Note the finished spatula shape, and the judicious use of Gorilla Glue between the layers, which requires some restraint & predictive skills as it expands to four times its volume when dry.]

With the hardware of it crafted, I then had to learn some basic sewing (since I took Spanish in both junior high & high school and not Home Ec.). Making a pattern, acquiring a yard of nice faux leather upholstery, and some high gauge waxed thread, I cut a front, back, and baldric loop. The front pleather required some careful assessing of how wide to make the slot to slip over the clamp portion. Before the first part of the stitching, I used Gorilla Glue to seal the edges of the loop. Using a ruler & a white gel pen, I then measured & marked the holes, punched them with a bookmaking awl I had, and did a double running stitch for the baldric loop on the back piece, then whipstitched around the outside halves after first Gorilla Glue-ing them down & together to the plastic hardware.

[The finished back with a loop for the baldric to run through. The loop had to be long for a solid mount of the "T" on one's back, otherwise it might twist and the clamp wouldn't release when one needed it to.]

[The front side with warhammer in place.]

Making a pattern of the finished tube clamp, I cut a sheet of adhesive backed black felt to cover it (see above and the third photo in this post for detail) and protect the hammer from scratches, then added one thin strip of adhesive backed foam rubber for extra grip on the four top insides of the clamp to prevent slippage while in states of excessive motion (i.e. jogging, running, rappelling, or horseback).

[With baldric belt running through the back.]

Sometimes in older issues of Marvel's Thor, we see him with the hammer's handle peeking out over his shoulder, but we never get to see the scabbard-like hardware as the head's always under the red cape, so the artist never actually had to present a working solution like this one.

[View from the front with accessible handle over the shoulder.]

[The last thing you might see before getting sent to Hel.]

I'm no engineer, so this project was challenging for me. I'd get super angry when things didn't come together the first time, as I'd spent alot of time thinking and re-thinking possibilities, trolling hardware store aisles, considering so many materials, looking at textiles, weighing the idea of maybe using rivets or grommets, and playing with the options over & over in my head, yet still buying things that didn't work or I didn't need. It wasn't like writing where the tools & words are superfamiliar and it feels like play at times -- this was strange & rather like work.

I felt maybe this was a small taste of what Sindri & Brokkr felt when making Mjölnir, the vision of knowing what you want to make but putting in all the effort into figuring out exactly how to make it as the horsefly of doubt & setbacks tries to break your concentration. It turned out to be three times what I thought it would be in costs & time, but it was worth persevering on until the victory of invention. I'm glad the plastic dust is out of my lungs and kitchen, and I can now carry my warhammer hands free and always at the ready.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.

NorsePlay: Neil Gaiman's "Norse Mythology".

Neil Gaiman faced the daunting task to adapt the narrative holy of the holies, the ur-book stories, the most ancient tales known to man from which all other tales have since flowed from: Norse Mythology.



As we told a childhood friend of Neil's last month, Neil is a fearless writer, that before Neil there wasn't a great movement in the fantasy genre to use the Gods as actual intimate first & close third-person protagonists.

[Neil Gaiman being fearless!]

We look back at his record for this daring talent with reading pleasure: The Sandman (his breakout World Fantasy Award-winning graphic novel series expanding the being of Greek deity Morpheus), American Gods (heavily featuring Gods from various pantheons), and Odd & the Frost Giants (a NorsePlay story for children of all ages). And now, in a tribute to pay back what originally inspired him, Gaiman offers us his version of Norse Mythology.



In his introduction, Neil points out and mourns the loss of many stories in the Norse Lore, with only hints of more left behind in epithets and kennings:

I wish I could retell the tales of Eir, because she was the doctor of the gods, of Lofn, the comforter, who was a Norse goddess of marriages, or of Sjofn, a goddess of love. Not to mention Vor, goddess of wisdom. I can imagine stories, but I cannot tell their tales. (p.14)

You big tease, Mr. Gaiman, as we're pretty sure you could draft some. (And go check out "The Almighty Johnsons" for an interesting take on these goddesses.)



One can't help but hear Gaiman's comfortable English accent while reading. (If you're unfamiliar, listen to this.) Some authors make a total hash of reading their own work (talking to you, departed Douglas Adams), but the words here just rise off the page as though you're listening by a campfire. 



The bar for comparison will always be D'Aulaires' Norse Gods & Giants, but Gaiman instead grew up with Roger Lancelyn Green's Myths of the Norsemen. This early inspiration aside, he sources Snorri Sturluson, the Poetic Edda, and Rudolf Simek's Dictionary of Norse Mythology for his current retelling.

[Fenrir-fraught German edition cover.]

There's an open-endedness to the Norse Lore which allows the teller to detail in the blanks as they see fit. Everyone takes the opportunity to do so, and in this Gaiman is no different. Just when you thought you'd heard all the names for the Gods, he comes up with some original epithets, which is a skaldic achievement.



Charming anachronisms, born of Gaiman's penchant for contemporary urban fantasy (i.e. Neverwhere), make their way into his version of the Eddaic material. For instance, the giant that survives Ymir's flood of lifeblood does so by "clamoring onto a wooden box" (p.32), and smithy dwarf Brokk threatens Loki with converting his head into "A thinking machine (...) Or an inkwell." (p.55) The fact that these modern day items can flow backward and find a place inside these stories only reinforces the Norse Lore's timeless essence.



Other interesting additions and modifications in Gaiman's version include: the cosmic giant Ymir being made neither sex yet hermaphrodite, the detail of runes inscribed on the sides of Utgardaloki's bottomless challenge horn, the rationalization of Odin, Vili, & Ve wanting to create better worlds to live in & thus sanctioning the necessary sacrifice of Ymir to provide realm-building materials to do so, the prick of "Baldur's bell-like laughter...", a new character of Thyrm's conniving sister at Thor's marriage, and Mjölnir winning the the dwarven crafting contest because of its ability to protect, as Gaiman emphasizes that value far above the other entries.



Gaiman also specifically assigns the Vanir's Frey & Freya with the creation of Kvasir, which dovetails nicely into their role as both generative/creative gods and as the members of the post-war tribal exchange.



As the book continues, one can't help but notice Gaiman's enjoyment of writing Loki as a foil for events, especially seen in his extended embellishment of Loki's seduction of the giant's draft horse into something rather sensual.

"The Mead of Poets" is a brilliant standout. The dwarves who kill Kvasir are recast from spiteful miscreants into alchemists, which makes more sense for the murder's resultant beverage. And Bolverkr's underhanded wooing of Gunnlod's done as well as any modern lothario running game on a girl on any given club night.



"Hymir and Thor's Fishing Expedition" partly gets retold as a bad stepfather story, as Tyr's giantess mother marries the abusive & inhospitable Hymir, and we get a taste of Tyr's oppressive early home life.



Hel's half-dead side is descibed as looking into the "pale eye of a corpse" (the exact phrase Gaiman re-uses later for midwinter's brief and distant sun). Gaiman's previous empathetic personification of Death in Sandman may have been partly influenced by her Gothic-forbearer Hel:

"I am only myself, Hel, daughter of Angerboda and of Loki," she said. "And I like the dead best of all. They are simple things, and they talk to me with respect. The living look at me with revulsion."

One can't help but admire Hel's forthright manner, and despite the horror of her condition, she wins us with her self-acceptance, and also wins Odin when he gives her a fitting place in his cosmic scheme of things.



Gaiman reorders events to make more narrative sense. Odin raises the long dead wise woman völva only once, far later in the stories after Balder experiences his plague of nightmares. Gaiman also takes the liberty of making the völva Loki's lover & monster mother jötunness Angrboda, which makes her belligerent & doom-filled revelations to Odin more motivated. This shuffling of prophecy toward the end of things gives the reader a feeling that Ragnarök's too late to stop by the time Odin hears of it, which eliminates the usual planning versus destiny questions of why can't it be avoided if the Gods know about it from so early on in the stories' throughline.

[Hungarian edition.]

Like in Sandman, and in his introduction, Gaiman falls prey to the common slanderous reduction of Thor to a box of hammers ... which ignores Thor's verbally deft outwitting of dwaven Alvíss (actually meaning "All-Wise") to save his daughter Thrud from his amorous attentions, and Gaiman omits this story in his collection. 

A huge deviation in "The Story of Gerd and Frey" is that Gerd's refusal of Frey's proposal is completely skipped. One wonders if the coercion aspect was found to be distasteful by the author, but that's negated anyhow for most modern audiences by her finding mutual happiness with Frey at the end. He is a God of love after all, and being selected by love itself for marriage would be the ultimate compliment.

A serious missed-opportunity occurs in "The Last Days of Loki" when the "Lokasenna" usually takes place. During this episode Loki calls out all the Gods on their transgressions and shortcomings in an attempt to show them they're as mischievous as he is and hypocritical to boot (which is false since Loki's brand of mischief also harms everyone and is born of a darker motivation). Unlike Gaiman's previous writerly use of Loki, he skips the potential of this famous verbal tennis match entirely, which we found disappointing.

[Domestic cover with nordic landscaping.]

During "Ragnarok: The Final Destiny of the Gods", there's a dying exchange between Heimdall & Loki, and a gorgeous post-Ragnarok ending that movingly capstones the book.



Bottom-line: Does Gaiman significantly improve the telling? No, but his telling is respectful, adorned with thoughtful things only he would do, crafted with the fuzzy edges of myth gathered & woven into smoother narratives, poetic yet accessible, and, in many passages, beautiful & wondrous. In that meritorious achievement, Gaiman fulfills the role of that Green version he grew up with, and this new version will be the lens through which the current generation first encounters the All-Father, the Trickster, and the Thunderer. Snorri would be proud.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him viaLinkedIn or G+.

NorsePlay: Lester Del Rey's "Day Of The Giants".

Long out-of-print and originally published in a shorter version titled When The World Tottered in 1950, Lester Del Rey ambitiously tackles the Twilight of the Gods in his 128-page novella.



Most authors take the easy way out by instead writing a story about nearly avoiding doomsday, but Del Rey rises to the challenge and gives the audience the lead-up and final battle ... but perhaps not just as prophesied. A predecessor to Greg van Eekhout's Norse Code, Del Rey delivered Ragnarök fifty years earlier in the genre.



An inexplicably long winter strikes, vexing weathermen, and causing worldwide privation, the results of which start communal breakdown & vigilantism in Leif Svensen's small rural town. Only because of their ancestors' stories do Leif & his recently returned prodigal brother Lee even think to reference Fimbulwinter, and when a mysterious hitchhiker also happens to mention the prophesied world-ending final winter, do the pieces begin to fall into place. 

[Airmont Books takes a very misleading artistic licence with the cover art.]

Mismarketed as sci-fi given the completely errant War of the Worlds-style flying saucer attack cover, Day of the Giants is more contemporary fantasy fare, which takes a protagonist of the current day & inserts them into the warp & weft of a magical & ancient hidden under-verse. Leif & Lee are the wildcards that get shuffled into the deck that changes the game of Ragnarök.


The text has a fair share of awkward sentences and typos. But Del Rey was amazingly prolific & possibly didn't have or make time for copy editing in the rush-to-print days of quick 'n' dirty sci-fi pulp, so compared to his contemporaries, it's good on a storytelling level.

[Earlier Armchair Fiction two-fer edition, Valkyrie on Bifrost art by Robert Gibson Jones. Note the odd choice of pairing with Richard Shaver (go look up The Shaver Mystery ... which could have something to do with the Svartalfar, trolls, or huldrafolk, if one applies the lens of Norse Lore to Shaver's cthonic encounters).]

While Del Rey gives protagonist Leif a lot of then-modern American common sense & know-how, we find fault with the idea that any 20th century man would be technologically more savvy than the Gods, especially given they're cited to be 50,000 years old in the story. That they would not advance, even with a very restrictive cultural adherence, stretches credulity.



On the other hand, there are some really creative additions to the mythology that add to & fill in some blanks:


• That the Valkyries used an Alfheim magic to breathe an "elf seed", or regenerative flesh, into their chosen fallen, which is then drawn out to regenerate the hero whole back in Asgard. The new "elf flesh" then allows them to fight, die, and be reassembled at battle practice day's end.


• Freya's falcon cloak is in origin elf-made (perhaps given her brother's rulership of Alfheim?).


• Thor's hammer Mjölnir has magnetic properties which allows it to disarm others if it passes by an enemy's metal weapon. (*Yoink*!)


• Decades before the Marvel Film's "Thor" & "Thor: The Dark World" adaptations, Bifrost is not only a dimensional connector to earth/Midgard, but to all the Nine Worlds.



These extrapolations show Del Rey did a fair amount of thinking and his Edda homework. While there are some mistakes, reassignments of lore roles, and willful omissions to skip lengthy background explanations for the novella format, Del Rey garnishes his text with some lesser-used epithetical Gods' names, place references, and details that would make Snorri Sturluson proud.

[Avalon 1959 hardback cover art by Emsh. Note the misspelling of Del Rey's surname.]

In Del Rey's 1950s Atom Age, technology & the modernist future were ideals to be pursued, the new secular science replacing the old religious beliefs, and here he uses the Gods as a foil for that moral: Some traditions need to be re-examined if they stop a more useful progress. Yes, that's totally unfair to retroactively impose that ideal on the Norse Gods, especially since they inspired cultures that invented seafaring & navigational innovations to travel the world over, themselves bore the first smart weapons (i.e Gungnir, Mjölnir, & Sumarbrander) into battle, and created fish nets. But again Del Rey presents the Gods as nearly frozen in their personas & ways, so only in the context of his book can he get away with it.



Despite this then-contemporary misapplication, Del Rey's Day of the Giants is a fun read, his imaginative addenda to the lore is inspired, and seeing the details of the story NorsePlay'd out in the fateful tale of Ragnarök is rather worth it.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.

The Norse Gods Remixed.

The hard truth is that at the end of the post-conversion night, what we mostly have left of the Norse Gods are the Eddas.


And the fact is you want more NorsePlay.



We know from the Eddas' passing references there were tons more stories. And from within an oral tradition, all these tales were surely told & retold in many differing versions with emphasis placed or displaced depending on the audiences' points of interest or the skald's creative leanings. So when Norse Lore believers/followers/fans get bent that so-and-so told it "wrong" or added/subtracted things, there's an ancient & liberal precedent being celebrated with these differences.



In this vein of expansive storytelling license, there's obviously Marvel's 1962 to now superhero take, but during that period Norse lore has been remixed by other daring authors, which we will survey here: Dennis Schmidt's Twilight of the Gods (1985-1987) trilogy as prequel/re-interpretive, and Michael Jan Friedman's Vidar Trilogy (1985-1988) as sequel (all pre-Neil Gaiman's American Gods [2001] & Odd and the Frost Giants [2008]), and well in advance of some conventions of Marvel and internet Rule 63 by decades. A post-Gaiman/Marvel selection also worthy of mention is Greg Van Eekout's stand-alone novel, Norse Code (2009). The first we'll review in detail, while the last two we'll briefly encapsulate.



Twilight of the Gods:

[Borr versus Surt!]

[Voden at Mimir's Well!]

[Unlike the other two, this cover art has nothing to do with the book.]

In a time of legend a la Robert E. Howard's Conan, where all ancient civilizations abide, so the Nine Norse Worlds instead get recast as other kingdoms and the world at large is itself known as Yggdrasil, the books' map going from northern Europe down to northern Africa, around an as-yet-to-be-flooded smaller Mediterranean. For example the desert dwelling Mesopotamians are the hot kingdom of Muspelheim, which makes for an interesting theory and opens one up to rethinking how strictly the stories we know & love are interpreted.




One theory about the Norse Gods is that instead they were prehistoric heroes who were then gradually euhemerized into divine beings, which is the bold step Schmidt takes with his version, but there's enough magic & supernature in his ancient world to go around.



The story starts with Borr going on an ambitious raid with Surt, and later follows Borr's son, Voden (the obvious Odin analog), on his wandering quest for knowledge, explaining along the way the stories behind his huge catalog of names, something any reader of the Eddas has been bound to wonder but never gotten an answer to. This name accruing thread is a clever & winning conceit.



Samples of interesting changes:



• Volund the Smith instead escapes from his captivity in the Jotun's northern kingdom down into Asaheim.



• The forest-dwelling Vanir are explored fully, their matriarchal society & rituals revealed. Lead by a queen Vanadis & counsel of nine Distingen priestesses, it seems their womanly superiority complex proactively causes friction with their northern plainsmen Aesir neighbors.



• Wicked deceiver Gullveig is not repeatedly speared by Aesir men and burned, but literally gang raped & thrown out, thus irreversibly "burned".


• The Mesopotamian underworld dragon Tiamat is likened to Norse Niflheim-dwelling Nidhogg, which shows how two different peoples can view what may have been ostensibly the same cosmological creature.



Schmidt is no religious studies slouch in these choices, having written an Eastern philosophy-based space opera as well, and integrates shamanic experiences, astral travel, and anthropology in his tellings. Legendary figures from other cultures also appear contemporaneously alongside Voden on his learning curve. Of note is Lao Tzu who wanders into the second book and becomes one of Voden's mentor figures. (And for you "purists" who think the Norse developed in a vacuum, think again -- they traveled the world, met Buddhists, got decorative arts & early shipbuilding from the Celts, and set up house in coastal Portugal.) And with all the dark Mesopotamian demon-summoning know-how, one questions if Schmidt had much exposure to Simon's version of The Necronomicon (1977) ... ?



Delightfully unexpected explanations for the myths we know are given, a joy of revealing the reasons behind the stories throughout all the books:

The water churned and splashed, sending a fine spray high into the air. If one crossed the ford at a certain time of day, when the sun was in the right position, a magnificent rainbow arched across the sky. ~ [p.55, on Bifrosti's Ford (the analog to Bifrost, the rainbow bridge to Asaheim.)]

There are moments where the philosophy floats on the very top of the story, but always as a pertinent aspect of world/character-building as opposed to a deep abstraction.



Included is a homage to Dune (1965) with highly detailed ritual knifefight in Jotun culture, a veiled but profound reference to William Carlos Williams' "The Red Wheelbarrow", and even a nod to the cult film Phantasm (1979)!



While The First Name & Groa's Other Eye seem more well paced with Schmidt re-visioning the murder of Ottar & the marriage of Thor, the stories seem more heavily piled on in the third book as the end approaches as though a checklist were referred to more in the last part of the author's process. One wonders if Schmidt had given himself the leisure of a fourth book whether this might've resulted in pacing those stories deserved, but this middling issue's a small one.


Schmidt's ambitious trilogy covers Voden's story from child to epic hero/magician/legend/apotheosis. At any time one wouldn't look twice at these books which appear just like any other pulp paperback gathering dust to be thrown out for new stock at a used bookstore, but we implore you that if you are a fan of Norse Mythology and fantasy in general, these long-hidden gems should be rescued and added to your library's treasure hoard.



Vidar Trilogy:

Michael Jan Friedman fearlessly remixes the Norse Lore by writing a sequel to the story long after the Eddas end. Odin's son, Vidar, survives Ragnarök and reacts to the war to end all wars by leaving the Aesir behind for a more creative & peaceful life on Midgard. We find our god of vengeance, now inconceivably old but still eternally young, making & selling sculpture as a bohemian artist in NYC. Of course, his past comes back to slowly but surely interfere with his new life.



As things unfold, we discover that Vidar spent much of his intervening lifetimes as a skald, and the narrative is interspersed with flashbacks that show the "true" versions of the great events of Norse legend he remembers from actually being there, versus the ones we got in diluted & altered form told by others, and these variants prove interesting, revealing the gods as different from the ones we know ... .



There are shades of Roger Zelazny's The Chronicles of Amber (1970–1991) in the Aesir, which adds an interfamilial complexity worth discovering.



Norse Code:

[Yes, a smart neo-valkyrie would select a katana.]

Greg van Eekhout's one-novel take on Norse lore finds our present world in strange days: political unrest, extremely weird weather, and the evident erosion of society itself. But the covert NorseCODE genome project knows better, and valkyrie Katy Castillo secretly finds & gathers the descendants of Odin for recruitment into the Aesir's final army that will hopefully save us all.



Along the way she finds wayward god Hermod, now a sort of vagrant wanderer L.A. dude who she enlists to help her go off the reservation and find out what's happened to her sister. There's a modern black humour reminiscent of wry Scandinavian sensibilities, while prophetic world doom quickly races them to the book's very rewarding end.





Unlike the lately released Rick Riordan's Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard or the less developed The Blackwell Pages trilogy by Armstrong & Marr, both for the lucrative young adult market, the above selections don't go for a shallow modern adolescent commentary, but celebrate & admire the original material while building soaring structures with newfound aspects on top of the Eddaic foundations.



This Norseplay shows the unshakeable constitution of these influential stories, their polyvalent nature, and the timeless endurance of the Gods.

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While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.