"Die, defenceless, primitive natives!" - Colonialism and the Sci-fi Beowulf

I have not written a blog post in a long time, but there is nothing like a really terrible book (and an hour to spare until the pub...) to inspire some new rants on a public platform. 

That book would be The Legacy of Heorot (1987) by Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle, and Steven Barnes. 

The plot revolves around a group of colonists who have settled on one of Tau Ceti's planets and eventually discover the grendels - large amphibious komodo dragon type creatures who are really fuckin' hard to kill. 

The biggest problem with this novel (and with many Niven novels it seems) is the unrelenting celebration of traditional masculinity, embodied in the protagonist; Cadmann Weyland. It is only through Cadmann's superior intelligence (despite pretty much everyone but him being scientific geniuses??) and manliness that Avalon can be saved. He is a boring, brooding piece of man muscle who is so manly that even his handwriting is "strong". While all the other idiots (again, actual geniuses!) initially doubt Cadmann ("Paradise . . . they don't need me at all" - BOO-FUCKING-HOO CADMANN), they eventually come to realise his superiority and in cringe-worthy fashion, extol his heroism. 

While the other characters are equally as shallow (the promiscuous Argentinian man for example - never seen that stereotype before), it is Cadmann's hyper-masculinity and the patriarchal system that is pushed by this that is at the core of the novel. While some of the women start out as relatively equal, as the novel progresses, it is clear that  only men can play at war, and the ladies just gotta hole up and produce some babógs to keep the human race going. And hey, they are all too busy whinging over men to help out anyway.

On an initial reading, the novel appears almost as a critique of Imperial America - there are, after all, some POV descriptions from the grendels which conjure up some feelings of sympathy, and there is also that somehow unironic phrase that you see in the title of the post ("Die, defenceless, primitive natives!"). I mean, that is so unsubtle that it has to be satire? Apparently not? 

The chances of this being some sort of retelling of the Western frontier and a comment on the killing of natives through ecological imperialism or other means (the grendels are eventually starved out and I thought, hey, maybe this is some sort of parallel to the US killing of bison in order to suppress the Native American peoples...) seemed quite plausible, and quite hopeful, but apparently not (Niven was after all, an advisor to Reagan on his Star Wars laser project). Besides these few vague references to sympathy (whether felt by reader or character), any reservations we may have about the colonisers' right to the planet are pretty much thrown out the window. There is no retrospective thought at the end of the novel - the grendels are wiped out, everyone is happy, and Cadmann is a fuckin' ledge. 

At the end of the day, the novel upholds the right of an Imperial power to dominate the rest of the world, and at that, every other world too. At the same time, the novel also celebrates the traditional patriarchal framework and allows this as the only possible means to achieve victory, and therefore expansion and evolution. In other words, this novel belongs in the Victorian era. 

"Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" and Zemeckis's Beowulf

At a rather (extremely) basic level, Laura Mulvey's 1975 "Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema" argues that classical cinema casts the female figure as spectacle, as erotic object, and the male figure as narrative and spectator. Audiences are encouraged to identify with the protagonists of film, which, in classical Hollywood cinema (and arguably still today) are overwhelmingly male.

"Unchallenged, mainstream film coded the erotic into the language of the dominant patriarchal order" (835)

Women in classical cinema are looked at and displayed, and connote "to-be-looked-at-ness", while men are the "bearer of the look". Woman is spectacle, but her presence works against the development of the story, and therefore narrative, that which is propelled by the man.

Mulvey notes that the woman on display simultaneously acts as both erotic object for the characters within the film, but also those without, namely the spectator. The spectator often shares his view with the male in the film (see image above) but not always; the device of the show-girl "allows the two looks to be unified technically without any apparent break in the diegesis" (838). On top of this, "the male figure cannot bear the burden of sexual objectification", and so, he is most often the one who controls the narrative, and forwards the story. The male protagonist becomes the spectator's surrogate, and his appeal is related back to the perfect, powerful, complete "ideal ego conceived in the original moment of recognition in front of the mirror" (838). 

Because of this identification with the male star of the film, when the women eventually falls in love with the protagonist and possesses her, "the spectator can indirectly possess her too" (840). 

However, the female figure possesses, in psychoanalytical terms, a deeper problem in that she stirs up anxieties regarding castration due to her lack of a penis. In order to rid themselves of this anxiety, the protagonist must either control her (through demystifying her - devaluing her, punishing her, saving her) or through fetishising her (often through close ups and fragmentation of her - making her completely an object, and therefore powerless). Of course, the problem here lies in the Freudian theory that women are obsessed with the lack of a penis, which, I personally do not think is true (I don't dwell on it at least!). But, we can still view this in terms of power, cocks aside. 

So, where does Beowulf come into this? Well, with Grendel's mother of course. 

Looking at Zemeckis's Beowulf as a whole (as well as the Anglo-Saxon poem), the main story focuses on the titular character of Beowulf and his heroic deeds. Unlike the poem, however, Zemeckis's film introduces women as extremely sexualised figures, most notably Grendel's mother. While the 2007 film also introduces us to the character of Ursula (Beowulf's mistress, and seemingly another female figure for Beowulf to have sex with, as opposed to doing much in terms of narrative development), Grendel's mother is where we can really see Mulvey's theory in play. 

If the above image does not connote "to-be-looked-at-ness", then I don't know what it does. Everything about Grendel's mother's figure is spectacle (and spectacular), from the voluptuousness of the CGI'd body (which is actually the body of model Rachel Bernstein - adding an extra layer of objectification here) to the gold paint and the stiletto-ed feet (very Anglo-Saxon).

Grendel's mother acts as both erotic object for the male gaze within the film (Beowulf) and for that without - the audience, which is made up mostly of teenage boys (its target audience), begrudging Anglo-Saxon scholars, and students panicking the night before their Old English literature exams. As with Mulvey's show-girl conjuncture, these two views are unified when Jolie walks towards both Beowulf and the audience simultaneously (as in the above image). On top of the already-implemented threat that she poses, the extra anxiety of castration comes into play, and is played with in the film. While Mulvey puts forward two options of escape for the male; control or fetishisation, neither of these options appear in Beowulf. Rather, Beowulf gives in to Grendel's mother's temptation - it is obvious that she is the one in control - and this is further emphasised in the image of Beowulf's strategically placed sword and its melting, a sequence which can be understood as both ejaculation and castration. 

This castration motif brings to mind scenes from I Spit on Your Grave (1978), above, where the heroine, Jennifer, seduces one of her rapists and castrates him in the bathtub The only difference here (as well as in Litchenstein's 2007 Teeth) is that the protagonist is female, and the castration actually happens (severed penis and all in the case of the latter!). 

As the film plays out, we are reminded of the ultimate power being in the hands of Grendel's mother. However, she is still presented to us as an overtly sexualised figure, one which is no doubt meant to be an object of erotic desire for members of the audience. And while she is the ultimate winner here, she is not ever depicted as a positive figure, but rather manipulator, and as the big bad female seducer who will mess up your life and turn your children against you. In this way, she remains a sexual object and spectacle, but one which, as with Anita Sarkeesian's 'Evil Demon Seductress', may simultaneously be hated, and some of this hatred appears to come from the fact that the audience have identified with the wronged male protagonist. 

On nicera mere: This week on Room Raiders

Besides being in a perpetual state of terror over the IRC (which looks something like this), I am also coming to a close on the first chapter of my thesis. My current point of focus is the mere, and trying to articulate an argument that allows Grendel's mother to still be human while living here (because apparently it's not normal to live in a cave surrounded by sea-monsters??).

Firstly, I will start off by saying these are rather general musings - I will probably (hopefully) look back on these in a month's time and think "Christ...what rubbish", so do excuse the sloppy execution and rather basic arguments!

Anyway, we first receive an in-depth description of the mere by Hrothgar, where, in a semi-hysterical speech after the death of Æschere (before Beowulf is like "grow up, buddy - it is always better to avenge lost bros than to mourn them"), he says this: 

"They inhabit a hidden land - wolf-slopes, windy headlands, dangerous fen-paths - where a mountain stream flows downward beneath the cliff's mist. It is not far from here in miles that the mere lies. Over it hangs rind-covered groves - a wood held fast by its roots hangs over the water - there, each night, one may see a troubling wonder; fire on the flood, No living children of men know the bottom of that mere . . . That was not a pleasant place! From here, surging waves rise up dark against the clouds when the wind stirs up loathsome storms, until the sky darkens and the heavens weep" 

(1357-67, 1372-6, my own translation)

Virgil Burnett's depiction of the mere

It is a slightly confusing description - is this prime real estate by the sea (headlands, cliffs) or inland (in a forest in the mountains?). Well, it seems that where exactly the mere is, isn't necessarily the important thing, rather the nature of the mere. For one thing, if you invest in this property, you get your very own light show every night and you never have to worry about a hart jumping into your gaff. 

The description of the mere has often times been compared to Blickling Homily XVI, describing Saint Paul's vision of hell (which is also reminiscent of the IRC), which, to be fair, does have quite a few similarities, including a description of water flowing down, of frosty groves, of dark mists, and also the presence of nicras or 'nicors' (immature laugh), apparent sea-monsters.

Hieronymus Bosch's Christ in Limbo - Hell doesn't really look like this in the homilies, but I just love Bosch

It has been suggested that the mere in Beowulf has some borrowed content from this homily, or at least that they had a common source - it has also been argued by Carleton Brown, however, that the Homily borrowed from Beowulf  and the Visio S Pauli, as it shows shared elements from both of these, while Beowulf only shares elements with the Homily. It really depends on the dates of the two - the MS which the homilies appear in is dated to 971, while Beowulf...well, this is still and forever will be argued about, so let's not go down this fen-path. Either way, I think it is possible that Beowulf could have been a source for the homilies - it is, after all, generally agreed to be an oral poem, only written down later, so it seems conceivable that the homilist may have been influenced by the poem. 

Then again, it is also somewhat agreed on that elements of Beowulf would have been added into the poem, such as biblical references to Cain and the Flood and also of course to God. Whether we choose to view the description of the mere as a later addition... well... I guess that is something that is up for debate. 

A much more intriguing comparison, I think, can be made to Grettis saga Asmundarsonar, the story of a hard-ass Icelandic outlaw who loves to fight. I'll take him over Saint Paul any day!

Or...well...maybe not.

Anyway, while these Icelandic texts date to the 13th and 14th centuries, they are based on events which occurred a few centuries beforehand. So, Grettir gets up to all sorts of antics, but most important is what happens in Chapter 66; Grettir is hanging out one day when a troll-woman enters and starts fighting with him - she (like Grendel's mother) is really bloody strong and she gets away (after getting her arm chopped off...like Grendel) and disappears down a cliff. Grettir decides to follow her down. Grettir comes to a waterfall surrounded by cliffs, and he swims beneath the current to enter a cave. He then proceeds to fight a male troll, whom he kills, and whose guts flow out of the waterfall to make a lovely bloody mess (which reminds me of Chuck Palahniuk's short story Guts), which in turn makes the priest who has accompanied Grettir to think Grettir is dead (much in the same way that Grendel's blood which is said to bubble out of the mere makes Beowulf's thanes think he is dead). 

So...there seems to be an awful lot of comparisons here. Could the mere in Beowulf be a waterfall? The surging waves and the mist rising up to darken the sky could well be the mist rising from a waterfall. The churning waters which are described both when Grendel returns to the mere after his fatal fight with Beowulf and after his corpse is decapitated could merely (pun intended) be the churning waters of a waterfall. And similarly, Beowulf swims downwards to reach a dry cave - much like he would have to swim beneath a waterfall's current to reach behind (or you know, walk around or through the water as they do in films...). 

Of course, problems must also arise with this comparison, especially the countries of origin (Iceland vs England/Denmark) and the dating of these stories. It is possible that it is rather from  a common source or sources that these stories share their similarities. And this is something I am going to have to explore in more depth (pun intended).

Henry Justice Ford - Andrew Lang's Crimson Book of Fairy Stories

But what about the sea-monsters and the fyr on flode.....I'm going to end this one on a cliff-hanger (again, pun intended), and write about those things in a future post! 

Grendel the þyrs

The second part of my "Grendel's Gigantism" post is here already...despite concerns that it would take me a year to get my lazy ass to write it, Easter has proven so mind numbingly boring and awful that I may as well do it now.

I may as well also mention that, in my time spent holidaying (avoiding) from this blog, I have two published articles. And yes, I am totally just bragging here.

1. The Grendel-kin: From Beowulf to the 21st Century - Boolean Journal, UCC, November 2015
2. The Monster in the House: Grendel's Mother and the Victorian Ideal - Sibeal Feminist and Gender Studies Network, March 2016

Grendel by Charles Keeping

In my last post I spoke about Grendel's gigantism in relation to the term eoten, A second term used of Grendel is þyrs, once again, generally translated as "giant" or "ogre" or "demon" or bla bla bla. þyrs is generally agreed to be a pretty negative term, both in Old English, Old Norse, Old Saxon and Old High German sources. All these cognates appear to have descended from Proto-Germanic *þurisaz, which itself, according to the Etymological Dictionary of Proto-Germanic, was perhaps a God of war or sea-monster, as evidenced in the Iku-Turso or Turisas of Finnish folkore, a giant who appears to reside in the ocean. The Iku-Turso appears in The Kalevala, Finland's national saga.

Iku-Turso - Minna Sundberg

þyrs doesn't appear many times in the Old English corpus, which is pretty damn annoying when you want to develop some sort of in-depth understanding of its conception in Anglo-Saxon England. But saying that, the few examples that do exist are pretty clear-cut and damning. þyrs appears also in Maxims II to describe a creature which dwells alone in the fens - Ðyrs sceal on fenne gewunian ana innan lande, and again appears in Wright's Anglo-Saxon glossses to describe Cacus, Orcus and cyclopes . . . 

Hercules killing Cacus - Sebald Beham (1545)

Orcus Mouth 

Polyphemus, Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein, 1802

. . . all of which you can see, don't look like the most upstanding folks. Furtermore, if we look at Old Norse þurs, it only gets bloody worse. In two Rune Poems, the Icelandic and the Norwegian, the word þurs is associated with some very bad things indeed;

–Þurs vældr kvinna kvillu; kátr værðr fár af illu, “Giant causes anguish to women: misfortune makes few men cheerful” (Norwegian Rune poem, Dickens 25)

–þurs as kvenna kvöl ok kletta búi ok varðrúnar verr, “torture of women and cliff-dweller and husband of a giantess” (Icelandic Rune poem, Dickens 29) 

In general, it appears that they were associated with female anguish - perhaps rape? They are also associated with malevolent magic in the Poetic Edda's Skirnismal. As well as being a rune (þ) associated with hostile magic and woman-torture, the þursar also appear to be a race in mythology. Although often lumped together with the jotunn, it should be noted that the þursar had pretty much nothing going for them - they were a shower of bastards really, it seems. They were completely antagonistic towards the deities (especially Thor) and were also known for being a bit thick. Cleasby and Vigfusson, in their ON dictionary cite the phrase hár sem risi, sterkr sem jötunn, heimskr sem þurs, “tall as a risi, strong as a jötunn, stupid as a þurs” (498).

As with all mythological figures worth their while, they appear as a beer

While the OE þyrs isn't necessarily completely comparable to the ON þurs (we don't really know how much influence ON mythology and paganism had on Anglo-Saxon England, besides a few similarities like Woden and Odin), it still seems like a pretty shitty figure - even if we forget the ON sources, there is still its appearance in Maxims II - living alone in the fens is NEVER GOOD, and its connection to ancient Greek and Roman mythological baddies also does not help this term's case.

But...does this mean that Grendel is a giant? That he is a þyrs? Well, it is important to note that it is not the poet or the narrator who names Grendel as one of these creatures, but rather Beowulf, the lad himself. This may lead us to the possibility that maybe perhaps maybe not, it is not meant as a definitive term for Grendel - perhaps it is a means for Beowulf to belittle his foe. And as I noted in the last post, Robert E. Kaske believes eoten is used in this way of the Frisians in the Hildeburh passage. Similarly, Alexandra Hennessey Olsen believes that the use of þyrs changed to that of an insult for large, dim-witted men. Perhaps this really seems like grasping for straws, but it does seem to me to be a conceivable alternative (although this is coming from someone who thinks that doing a PhD in Old English will lead to job opportunities, harhar, kill me now please).

folio 139v, ðing wið þyrse

næfne he wæs mara þonne ænig man oðer

It has been too long (pretty sure I said that last time) - for the past few months a sense of guilt over not updating this thing has crept into my dreams and shadowed my life, resulting in an existence of anguish and marginality ... yeah, not really. But I was reminded that I do actually have this blog, so thought I really should get back to it, seen as it apparently helped me in forming ideas?

So, at the moment I am currently working on a paper that I will be delivering next month at Borderlines XX in Trinity College Dublin, dealing with Grendel (NOT GRENDEL'S MOTHER WHAAAT) and his gigantism. For this I am just going to talk about the word eoten, and will continue on with this topic in further blog posts (in like a year based on the rate I'm going).

Grendel by J.R Skelton

When people think about Grendel (as they often do), the images that come to mind are much like J.R Skelton's ape-like hula skirt Grendel shown above, or the Grendel of Zemeckis's 2007 work, which tends to remind me of some sort of whingy snot-covered ent from LOTR - ugh. Basically, Grendel is fugly, and generally sort of huge, and one of the terms which supposedly proves this, is eoten. 

Eoten itself is generally translated as "giant" or "troll", or something along those lines, when it comes to its reference to Grendel and also often in its appearance in the list of creatures who sprang from Cain - just sprang out of him. When reading a translation of the poem, which to be honest most people do, this is grand. But then you realise the Jutes who appear in the Hildeburh Fragment...well, they might not even be Jutes! They may be Frisians. Shit, they may even be god-damn GIANTS. The appearance of the word eoten in the Hildeburh Fragment has thus caused much debate - firstly cause, well, what the hell are the Jutes doing here, we thought this was a feud between the Danes and the Frisians? What. Secondly...well, if eoten means Jutes...how can it also mean giants? Did the Jutes spring from Cain? IS GRENDEL A JUTE (it seems like today is a regular all-caps day)?

Zemeckis's giant snot-monster

A few theories seem to stand out for this eoten problem:

• R.W. Chambers is of the opinion that the scribe was just some dipshit who wrote down the wrong word - he meant to say eotnum, not eoten, the fool. So basically, in Chambers' mind, the Jutes are at the Battle of Finnsburg
• R. E. Kaske says that the Jutes are not ever mentioned in this piece and the word eoten is actually just an insult for the Frisians - not one that means Jutes, but one that means "giant". Kaske refers to jotnaheiti, "giant-terms" being used in Old Norse as insults for ordinary men.
• David Williams says that the word eoten is used as a reference to Cain and his murder of Abel, and that he is likening them to Finn and Hnæf - presumably he sees the eotenas as figures associated with Cain - possibly the giants of Genesis, the Nephilim. 
• Signe M. Carlson, then, argues that eoten means neither Jute nor giant, but means "blood-thirsty one", a theory which I quite like!

Carlson argues that eoten is related to etan, "to eat" (which it also is in Proto-Indo-European), and so, rather than referring to height, is actually just a term referring to blood-lust. Grendel is blood thirsty, and so, you could say, are the Frisians; they kill the shit out of the Danes.

Arthur Rackham's Giants and Freyja

It may also be useful to look to Norse mythology and the jotunn, or jotnar, the giant-race prevalent in many myths. In general these lads are pretty hostile towards the gods, but it must be noted that this isn't always the case - some of them are related to the Gods, some are described as beautiful (Skaði), and importantly, some of them aren't tall. It may even be argued that the name jotunn is also related to Proto-Indo-European *etan, and refers rather to gluttony or blood-thirstiness as opposed to gigantism.

Lastly, we also the eoten appear in relation to the sword Beowulf uses to kill Grendel's mammy - okay, sure you may say Beowulf is a strong lad, he can pick up any sword he wants. But...Wiglaf and Eofor also have eotenisc swords, and they are never said to have superhuman strength as Beowulf is...unless there are shitloads of lads with superhuman strength running around Denmark, but this I doubt. If the swords are pretty easy for someone (granted, a warrior) to pick up, surely the eotenas must not have been of huge stature and strength either? Yes? No? 

Anyhow, those are my thoughts on the word eoten. I always find I start off strong with these posts and then gradually everything just goes so downhill the more fed up I get. Hopefully sometime in the next year I will write about þyrs and Grendel's connection  with the Nephilim and whether these also make him unnaturally large. Gōd-sped.

Gaiman and the Golden Grundwyrgenne

It has been too long, but alas, my brain cells had run dry and my spirit was broken from the cataclysm known as the IRC, most famously depicted in Albrecht Dürer's The Four Horseman of the Apocalypse. 

Saying that, it hasn't been all bad, as I got to speak at the EMICS Stories and Storytelling in the Medieval World in University College London last April, where I spoke about Zemeckis's -let's be honest - god-awful adaptation of Beowulf, which this post is going to be about.

Despite the film's absolute over-indulgence in CGI, cringe-worthy quotes, and frat-boy-inspired antics, it must be said, the 2007 adaptation is one of the most engaged with the actual poem, and with scholarship surrounding the poem. This can't be too surprising, seen as the film's script was actually written by Neil Gaiman and Roger Avary. Neil Gaiman is a pretty adored author who obviously goes to a shitload of effort when researching his work (as we can see with American Gods) and he also has written two short adaptations of Beowulf  (Bay Wolf and The Monarch of the Glen which can be found in Fragile Things and Smoke and Mirrors). Roger Avary then, co-wrote the screenplay of Pulp Fiction and Reservoir Dogs and the screenplay for that mad bastard, Bret Easton Ellis's The Rules of Attraction - an impressive enough CV.

So it's safe enough to say the film's storyline was in good hands. Minus the terrible dialogue which included Hrothgar naming Unferth as "violator of virgins" and the mind-numbing song that would appeal to teenage boys and (hopefully) nobody else.

The most obvious thing that stands out in this Beowulf when comparing it to the Anglo-Saxon poem, is the sex. Especially the Grendel's mother sex. And the fact that she's a naked, high-heel-footed, golden, reptile (but sexy reptile) thing. Pretty much along the same lines as Graham Baker's less well-known 1999 adaptation, which was so bad that it was sort of okay (let's not get ahead of ourselves).

Despite this being an extremely sexualised view of Grendel's mother, and one which can be described as a great example of what Anita Sarkeesian calls the "Evil Demon Seductress" (think Megan Fox in Jennifer's Body, or Scarlett Johannsson in Under the Skin, or that roboty wan in one of the Transformers films - a trope which generally allows audiences to sexualise and demonise women at the same time), there is the possibility of there being a deeper meaning to this portrayal (not that the young men this film was obviously targeting gave even one solitary crap!).

As with most adaptations, it says something about its own time, the 21st century - a time where the main concerns are not anything like those of the Anglo-Saxon's, but circulate more around the self, with anxieties about sexuality and masculinity. Zemeckis's film could have left out the sexual element included, but heroes always get the girl (even if she's not really a girl, as in this case), and if Beowulf wasn't seduced by naked-golden-Ridley-Scott-Alien-Angelina, then there would be no doubt people would think, "what a fag, like, I'd totally nail her". Anxieties about homosexuality still exist, and the film-makers do not want to put Beowulf's sexuality into question. And if there's anything we can learn from films, it's morals (the couple always die first in the horror film, guys, so ABSTAIN. And the black guy always dies too...so...don't be black?). And because we live in a society where people are still shit-scared of sexually- and otherwisely powerful women, those women must be demonised, while the chaste Wealhtheow's of the world are revered.

But, there is a faint glimmer of hope. There lies the possibility that Jane Chance's article "The Structural Unity of Beowulf: the Problem of Grendel's Mother" had somewhat of an influence - in this article, Chance argues that there exist sexual undertones in the scene of Beowulf and GM's battle, with each other fighting for a dominant position astride the other and the ripping of chain mail and trying to penetrate each other with daggers and rolling about and, god, I gotta open a window. Seriously though, it's possible.
Of more importance is the sword, which in the poem, melts when Beowulf decapitates Grendel's corpse, but in the film, melts ("into gory icicles") when Grendel's mother caresses it, in the most obvious sexual innuendo in film history. And the poem itself seems to treat the giant's sword in the same way - it is described as being "a blade that boded well . . . an ideal weapon, one that any warrior would envy, but so huge and heavy of itself on Beowulf could wield it in battle" (from Heaney's translation). Like, seriously.

Maybe a stronger argument for the depiction of GM as a golden sex beast, is because of its (possible) influence by the work of Frank Battaglia, which seeks to view Grendel's mother as an ancient earth goddess, Gefjon (related perhaps to Freyja and Nerthus). Grendel's mother does look a bit more like a goddess than a monster (or normal woman as I like to argue!), right? And besides, in Caitlin Kiernan's novelization of the film, she mentions Nerthus, and other Germanic and Norse gods, for whom GM has been presumed to be. Despite appearing to be a rather obscure source of inspiration for a film, it seems to fit pretty well. I think. Whatever.

So, although at first the portrayal of GM is kind of ridiculous, and kind of roll-eyes worthy at first, it appears that some thought did actually go into her appearance, besides whatever would make the most money (although I'm sure this was priority!). It goes to show that some of these films can't be presumed to be uneducated pieces of garbage (most anyway!), and they are interesting to study in relation to their engagement with the poem. Basically, every adaptation has something to offer, whether in how it uses the poem to express its own concerns, and how it chooses to engage with the poem and with scholarship.

Fridaye funne

Hit is Frigedæg, se dæg Frigge.

Ich am lyke the poeme Beowulf Undateable
— Chaucer Doth Tweet (@LeVostreGC) October 10, 2014

It's a slow abstract-writing and IRC day. But if things go well, I will be presenting at a conference soon, and if things go really well, my PhD will be funded (but there's less chance of that happening than if someone found out the exact date of Beowulf's composition.

The Victorians and the ides aglæcwif (and I delve into the murky mere of tutoring)

Students re: cases

I have (just about) survived my first week of tutoring Old English to second years, and....well, let's just say, I had expected university students to be a bit more communicative. Instead, it appears to be a "who can hold off responding the longest" competition. Am I just paranoid?....am I just stoned? If only I could go back to the times when listening to a Green Day album was the most productive thing I did in a day.


Whilst trying to maintain my sanity, the rest of my life must go on (my life being thesis, sleep, painting, thesis, sleep, staring into space, thesis). And the other thing my life appears to revolve around...Grendel's mother. Again?! Yes, again.

grendles modor ides aglæcwif

Today, I ask 'why'. Why has Grendel's mother been turned into the "monstrous ogress" with the "talons" and the wolfish ways and the gold paint and the scales and the everything?

I have pretty much established that she was not demonised by the poet himself, not even her actions (see previous posts!). Not even Beowulf and Hrothgar think she's doing something terrible. The only people who do think that, are the translators and scholars who decided secg means "warrior" for Beowulf, but shit, look, it's also used for Grendel's mother... eh, it probably means "creature" in that instance. Just put down "creature"...or I know, I know, "monster". Yeah, that's as accurate as we're gonna get here.

So, I recently started delving into this a bit deeper, wondering who the hell is the bane of my existence (and at the same time the reason I'm doing a PhD in this subject...thank you), and, well, I guess there's a few possible reasons.

The most obvious of these is that, firstly, she is the mother of Grendel, and is therefore assumed to be monstrous. Whether or not Grendel is as monstrous as he is assumed to be, this is not enough proof for his mother to be monstrous. Secondly, she is an antagonist, therefore is bound to get the short end of the stick (is that the phrase?? Hard end of the stick? The ugly stick?) when it comes to translating her.

Berit Åström argues that the reason for her characterisation, and for other women's dismissal, lies in the fact that in the 1800's (when Beowulf was first given much attention), history was viewed in a linear fashion - meaning that, in their opinion, the centuries got progressively more civilised. The Anglo-Saxon era then, must have been all about power, glory, and manstuff, meaning that female figures in history got ignored because they were presumably unimportant to the Anglo-Saxons. 

I think Åström was on the right track here - after all, for a period that treated women so horrendously, of course women were treated even worse by the Anglo-Saxons. I can picture a Victorian scholar musing over how much they'd progressed in their treatment of women in that 800 year gap. "Sure at least we're not as bad as those old Anglo-Saxons! Edith, get me some tea, woman!"

But there's most likely more to it than that. After all, the Victorian era was pretty renowned for its sexism, its lack of women's rights, and its strict confines to what femaleness meant.
Being a time of staunch Christian belief and conservative morals (carried on from the Middle Ages), the bible was a pretty big reference book on how to behave. Unfortunately for women, the bible is also a pretty misogynistic text.

Which are you?

And basically, when it comes to the bible, really only two kinds of women are prevalent. You can choose to emulate the Virgin Mary, submissive, willing to carry God's child (even though they hadn't even gone on one date yet - sluuuut) or you could emulate Eve, the one who overstepped the boundary and went against God's will (the patriarchy, man!). You can only be one or the other. You're either all good, or you're a FUCKING WHORE.

For the Victorians, this Virgin-Whore, Madonna-Eve complex was present, especially for middle and higher class women (while the working class made shit in factories and spoke in strong cockney accents according to TV). But it was probably more present in an angel-demon dichotomy. For some strange reason, in the 1800's, the ideal woman started to be seen as an angel - whereas before this, angels were muscled, androgynous figures with spears (or freakishly muscular babies). The ideal woman's role revolved around marriage and childbirth and the homestead and shutting the fuck up. And somewhere along the line, the terms 'angel' and 'domesticity' seemed to become almost synonymous, as Auerbach argues (in Woman as Demon). This possibly started with Coventry Patmore's poem "The Angel in the House", which was basically “a convenient shorthand for the selfless paragon all women were exhorted to be, enveloped in family life and seeking no identity beyond the roles of daughter, wife, and mother” (Auerbach, 69).

Cover of Norton edition

And so, those women who were not the ideal, who were not submissive and domestic, were often to be seen as monstrous (not necessarily Alien or those terrifying things from The Descent (shiver) type monstrous) or often were described with imagery harking back to the Fall, categorising them as snake-like. Basically, unfeminine actions like physical exertion and having an opinion made you monstrous.

Furthermore, a 'discipline' that was very popular in the Victorian era was that of physiognomy - basically, the assessment of someone's character by their outward appearance. Fierce scientific stuff, really! Yet its impact appears throughout Victorian literature (and still somewhat today), in works of Dickens, Brontë, Wilde, Austen, and more, and was also influential on art. Even if you look at old illustrations of suffragettes, they are often characterised as ugly women (who probably couldn't get a man anyway - why does this sound familiar! Still!). Bad guys were, and still are, often made to look like bad guys. And women who did not fit the ideal of the angel in the house (prostitutes, spinsters, feminists, female authors, fallen women), were often illustrated as ugly

Physiognomy in 19th century illustration - maybe the guy on the left has a fiery temper, harhar.

So...what the hell did these moral crusaders do when it came to Grendel's mother and translating her for a modern audience? Well, they could not have that blasphemy going unchecked (A woman? Fighting? Killing? Never!), so the easiest way to deal with it is *BAM*, tell everyone she's a monster and make her reaaaallly ugly!
Who knows if she was actively changed or subconsciously believed to be representative of a monster anyway? Perhaps a bit of both? Don't ask me anyway.

This is something I hope to immerse myself more in, and at the end of the day, it's all a bit of guessing and a bit of speculation. Any other opinions (opposing or otherwise) are very welcome.

Wife of Cain

Okay, first of all, the suggestion that Grendel's mother is Cain's wife is a ridiculous one (but hey, what can we expect from yahoo answers), but I have decided that if in the very unlikely event I start a death metal band, it will be called Wife of Cain. WIFE OF CAAAAIN.

And yes, I downloaded a font to make my dreams more solid. It's a slow study day. It's almost as illegible as some Anglo-Saxon manuscripts. 

Back to the issue at hand then... well first things first, Cain is obviously not Grendel's wife because...well...time. For us measly human beings, we perceive time as linear, and Cain could not have existed both for numerous generations before the Flood and the many many years after the Flood that Beowulf is set. Cain, you are NOT the father! If that's not a condescending paragraph then I don't know what is! Please accept it as the lowest form of humour. But you must admit, that would make for a great Jeremy Kyle episode, eh? I think it could even push for a two hour Christmas special.

*facepalm* Cain by Henri Vidal

As a side note, do you know how hard it is to find a decent artistic depiction of Cain where he's not bating the shite out of Abel or walking into exile? 

Now, to start taking things a bit more seriously. The issue on the table today is Grendel's relationship to Cain, and whether or not she is descended from him as Grendel is. 

Firstly, Grendel's mother is never described with such devilish language as Grendel is. Grendel, throughout the poem, is called Godes andsaca ("God's adversary"), a feond on helle ("enemy from hell"), he is fag wið God (not what you're thinking, but "hostile with God"), he is helle hæfton (a "captive of hell"), and when he finally dies, him hel onfeng ("hell received him"). I mean, he has a pretty strong connection with hell here, and it seems he's not on the very best of terms with God (although I imagine raping and pillaging put the Danes not too far down the naughty list also). Grendel is a bad guy, he commits serial murder for no exact reason, except that he was possibly feeling a bit left out or the scop's mainstream music choices just weren't to his taste, but basically he is like Historic Denmark's high school shooting perpetrator. 

The story of a mother's struggle to control her son, spawn of Cain, eotan

On the other hand (not Grendel's other hand anyway, harharr), such language is never used of Grendel's mother - she is called sinnige ("sinful, guilty"), sure, but that's about as far as the narrator calls her that has any relevance to God. She doesn't commit rampant murder like her son does, and her only crime is to avenge him...which in Old Norse society was not a crime - she follows the rules of wergild, an eye for an eye sorta thing - but that's about it. 

As to her relation to Cain...well, we know Grendel is related, because it is said twice in the poem, and referenced once more. Whereas Grendel's mother, although we are told se þe wæteregesan wunian scolde cealde streamas siþðan camp him wearð to ecgbanan angan breþer fæderenmaege ("She who dwelt in terrible waters and cold streams since Cain raised the sword against his brother, his father's kin"), once Cain is mentioned, the narrator says þanon woc fela geosceaftgasta wæs þaera Grendel sum ("from him awoke many spirits, Grendel among them"). Edward B. Irving argues, “the total effect of this passage, illogical as it may seem, is to suggest that Grendel is a lineal and faithful descendent of Cain in a way that his mother is not . . . she appears in no theological context” (Rereading Beowulf 71). Of course, this is up for speculation, but it does seem rather odd that the poet says Grendel was among his descendants, yet doesn't say his mother is. 

Again on line 1352, when we are told that the Danes knew about two figures mooning about the marshes, Hrothgar tells us of Grendel's mother, then of Grendel, and only says Grendel walked in the tracks of the exile (Cain). If he meant for Grendel's mother to be related to Cain, could he not have just said so, the way he is constantly telling us that Grendel is? Come on, man, stop beating around the god-damn bush!

Sticking to this paragraph, WHY THE HELL DID HROTHGAR FAIL TO MENTION ABOUT GRENDEL'S MOTHER? Well...one possibility is because she was not a monster and therefore not a threat to Heorot. Either that or Hrothgar is a fucking dope. But I am going with the former, because hey, let's give him a bit of credit. Sure, the poem is full of some unbelievable things, but I think Hrothgar's a guy I could trust.

So....how is Grendel related to Cain? Well...there's quite the possibility that there is a father. I mean, that's how reproduction works right? And seen as all the evidence (in my humble opinion) points towards Grendel's mother being human, then I don't see how there couldn't be a father....except...if...wait.. maybe it's an immaculate conception... and Grendel is Christ, and Beowulf represents the Jews. Oh god, I think I'm definitely onto something here, shove over Frederick Klaeber. On a more serious note... no, she isn't analogous to the Virgin Mary, and no, I don't think she impregnated herself (unless she's a komodo dragon). So yes, I think there's quite the possibility that a father exists. I know Seamus Heaney calls them "fatherless creatures" whose "ancestry is hidden in a past of demons and ghosts", but if there's one thing I try to express in my blog-posts it's "ixnay on the anslatorstray", because what is said is:

no hie fæder cunnon, hwæþer him ænig wæs acenned dyrna gasta

Which I will now use my super translating skills (yep, don't trust me either, I'm one of them *theme music to The Twilight Zone*) as "They do not know the [or 'a'] father, or whether any mysterious spirits were born before him". So, it's possible. This, coupled with the fact that Grendel's mother is never explicitly mentioned in any theological contexts, suggests that a paternal link to Cain could well exist.

See, Grendel has a hunk of a daddy in Gunnarsson's adaptation

Then, on top of all that (yes, even more is coming, God hilpeþ þu), there's the whole thing about the melting of the giant-sword. Well, it only melts after Beowulf beheads Grendel. It could have just conveniently been waiting for him to behead him before Grendel's mother's blood decided to set in, but...no. No? 
On top of this, after Grendel is beheaded, the water in the mere goes a bit 2012 apocalyptic on us - the water turns bloody and turbulent - ". . .the turbulent water saw blood drifting up, a churning foam; the spreading stain was dark, lake-wide" (Chickering) - much like a scene from Jaws. And yes, this is sometimes attributed to Grendel's mother's death also, but good woman herself, M.W Hennequin notes that the mere does the same thing the night Grendel returns home to die - “There the lake water boiled with blood, terrible surgings, a murky swirl of hot dark ooze, deep sword-blood". 

And one last thing (I promise....for any of ye still left reading...ie, nobody), she is never described as an eoten ("giant", or possibility of "blood-thirsty one" - see Signe Carlson). Both her and Grendel are called micle, "large" or "great" (literal or metaphorical), yet a few lines later Grendel is described as being the one who is "bigger than any other man" and "misshapen/ wretched-looking" and it is only about Grendel that it is wondered hwæþer him ænig wæs acenned dyrna gasta. 


Just saying.

In which I continue to defend the mihtige grundwyrgen

Grendel's mother by Virgil Burnett

Yes, I'm back at it, back to defend Grendel's mother's glory - DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR.

In my last defence of Grendel's mother I didn't go into very much detail about a number of terms (partly because of mid-post fatigue and partly because I probably didn't have that much evidence - yet in my heart I knew, I knew, I was right (this is up for speculation of course)).

In general the only scholars who have really looked into Grendel's mother's character and questioned her monstrosity and some of the outlandishly wrong translations that were applied to her (such as "most evil monster" for secg (warrior/hero) by Crossley-Holland - like, wut?), are limited to Christine Alfano, M.W Hennequin, and Signe M Carlson (although she (/he? - someone please confirm this for me!) focuses more on Grendel's character). Sherman Kuhn in his study of aglæca also helped to clear up issues surrounding the monster/hero/formidable one/blahblah disaster there (something I wish to return to again, despite the fact that it has been DONE TO DEATH). 

Anyway, a few terms haven't really been given so much attention as brimwylf, grundwyrgenne and secg so I kind of wanted to return to those words and try make a convincing case for how they are not monstrous terms, despite what translators keep telling us (BTW I found three translators who translated  aglæcwif as it should be - George Jack, Dobbie and Wrenn - unfortunately, all these are glossaries and not full translations - booo). 

I will begin at the point where I began to slack off in this blog post with . . .

wif unhyre (2120) - A few examples of this terms translations are as follows: "ghastly dam" (Heaney), "monstrous woman" (Chickering), "the gruesome she" (Alexander), and "inhuman troll-wife" (Tolkien). Inhuman troll-wife? Really, Tolkien? Not that his dismissal of her is very surprising seen as he completely forgets about her in Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics. 
But if we look at wif unhyre and split it up, we have wif, which is “i. woman, a female person . . . iii. a married woman, a wife . . . iv. a female” (Bosworth-Toller). Of course this dictionary also adds a separate entrance for wif , "a being in the form of a woman", under which we find Grendel's mother as an example, along with a reference to Bald's Leechbook for the charm "For a Sudden Stitch". These wif however, are not actually physical beings, but metaphorical wif. I don't think Grendel's mother really belongs in the same category as beings that don't even have a physical form, and more so beings that do not even exist except in a cute "oh sure that sudden stitch you have is just some little women throwing spears at you", especially when there's not enough evidence for her being something other than human (in mine own opinion). 

Anyway, if we take wif as what it means for every other sense of the word (ie WOMAN), we can move on to unhyre, which is shit tons more complicated. 
It is often used in this case (and other cases) to imply monstrosity, but I believe it actually means "terribleness" or "cruelty" or "ferocity". Because there are many instances where it just would not make sense if it were to mean "monstrous". Unhyre appears in Genesis A to describe Ishmael - Se bið unhyre, orlæggifre, wiðerbreca wera cneorissum – “He shall be rough, warlike, hostile to the races of men” (2287 Mason), or alternatively “He shall be fierce, battle-greedy, and an enemy to the men of his generation, his own kin” (Hostetter). Wouldn't it be fierce feckin' odd if the author of Genesis A was to describe Ishmael as monstrous or ghastly or inhuman or gruesome? Eh, yeaah, it would. 
Aaand, it appears in An Old English Martyrology as unhyran cwelres, cwelres beaing "executioner" - Cruel, terrible, grim, (anything besides monstrous) fits way better here. Unless they were a very open-minded culture and perhaps hired a panotti or maybe even a sciopod. Because yes, although it could mean "monstrous" in the sense that murderers are monstrous, then that also applies for Grendel's mammy. 
Again, the word appears in The Meters of Boethius in Meter 29 – on wintres tid, weder unhiore, “in time of winter, when fierce is weather” (61), as it is translated by Sedgefield. Again, rough, fierce, terrible makes much more sense here.

A page from the OE Genesis in the Junius MS 

It is also handy to look at Icelandic and Old Norse and all the languages that share similarities with Old English, and the Icelandic word uhyrr stands out as a possible relative, itself meaning "frowning" or "unfriendly looking". 
And it's also great to look at its possible antonym, heoru, hyre, or heora, defined as "pleasant gentle or mild" (B-T). It appears in Beowulf on line 1372 (Nis ðæt heoru stow – “that was not a pleasant place”), in Genesis A (Culufre fotum stop on beam hyre – “the gentle bird stepped with her feet on a tree” (Hostetter)). Surely the antonym of "pleasant" or "gentle" would be "unpleasant", "cruel", "awful", "grim" and not "monstrous". 


I think I wrote enough there to last at least however long it takes me to build up the motivation for another post. 'Til then, here are some great medieval manuscript images

Also.....eh....

Can translation ever convey the original adequately?

My simple answer is....no!

I think the whole range of translations, along with the articles about these translations, even for Beowulf alone, is proof enough of this. Of course, nobody ever knows when it's a language like Old English, and until someone invents a time machine and returns to the Anglo-Saxon era, then we never will, and even then, it would still be impossible to truly convey the exact meaning and feel of the original. And who knows how much you'd even learn when the most readily available drinking source was ale.

Source

When reading translations of modern literature, like Haruki Murakami or Mikhail Bulgakov, I actually spend a lot of time thinking how I will never know if this is how the author wanted to convey it exactly (so deep)...and I know it can never be perfect, for the simple reason that languages are different and have different sounds, and cultures are different and have different meanings and values. The English translation of Norwegian Wood, for example, is beautifully written, but it's not going to sound anything like the Japanese. How can I know myself, that that is what Murakami wanted to convey exactly. This is especially true for works that put a lot of emphasis on words and use particularly poetic language - yes, we can recreate the alliteration, but then we lose the exact meaning - so which do we pick - we lose something in the end. When I read translations, I often think that yes, this is so-and-so's ideas and story, but it's not necessarily their language. Does that ruin these books for me? Not really, but it is something that is in the back of my mind. First world problems, eh?

As Jay Rubin, the translator of Murakami's English publications states: "When you read Haruki Murakami, you're reading me, at least ninety-five percent of the time". And at that, Rubin has the advantage of being able to discuss translating with the author, whereas for things like Beowulf, we can't exactly phone up the scribe and ask him "what exactly did you mean on line 1294? Oh, is that so? Cheers lad, nice one". Imagine how more accurate Beowulf translations would be if the author was still alive? And yet it would still not be able to accurately convey everything because, at the end of the day, if we can't accurately translate a godamn author who is alive and living in the 21st century (even if it is Japan, and we all know how weird Japan is), then what hope do we have? Nada. And at least if we want to read the 'most accurate' translation of Bulgakov's The Master and Margarita or Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, we can look up the hundreds of threads and blog posts about it, and yet, even when that language is still in use today, we can still never be satisfied.

The much awaited Tolkien translation, to be released this May. Yipee

Some translators of Beowulf may decide that taking the route that recreates the metre and the alliteration is the best, most accurate way to go, others will decide that a literal prose translation is the best way to go. Others may try to find a middle-ground. But in the end, nobody is really going to give us Beowulf as it was received by the Anglo-Saxons.

No matter what way someone goes about it, there's always going to be some criticism of something being lost in the process. It can't be faithful in every single way - it cannot maintain all alliteration, all metrical idiosyncracies, all syntax etc, while still maintaining the most accurate and literal translation of the language itself. As a French critic once said, translations are like women, they can be beautiful or faithful, but not both (certainly, he was full of crap). As a female, I like to think of beautiful but unfaithful translations as the Jude Law's of translation.

And even if there was some way of doing this, we still cannot understand the poem how Anglo-Saxons would have. We simply don't have the same culture or beliefs anymore (although maybe if you lived in one of those modern day Viking communes in Norway you might have a better understanding!). A good example, as John D. Niles points out, is the problem of the word cuþ, "known". He asks "how can a translator express the emotive force" that this word had "for an Old English speaker, who seems to have viewed the unknown as something terrifying and who placed exceptional value on the comforts of familiar surroundings". For a culture that (most likely)believed in dragons and panotti and blemmyae, the "known" had a completely different significance!

Even if we think of this issue from an Irish point of view and look at Irish writers like Flann O'Brien (Brian O'Nolan) for instance, whose writing has a particularly Irish feel about it (the syntax, the humour). Is it possible for another culture to 'get' it as much as an Irish person would 'get' it? I'm not so convinced. 

Good feckin' luck to ya

Niles, John D. “Rewriting Beowulf: The task of Translation.” College English 55.8 (1993): 858-878. Print.