Metafiction, Myth and Language: A World in Words (and Pictures)

 In a work that is devoted to deconstruction , it seems ironic to be writing of a structuralist underpinning to one significant part of the Saga , but it is a framework so obscure that it needs some elucidation, and was written into the narrative as a direct reference to Old Norse and Old English scholarship itself. I came across the theory of the “Valkyrie-diptych narrative structure” in the 2013 paper on the alleged presence of Valkyrie-figures in Old English literature , by Philip A. Purser, which I studied at length last summer and which influenced greatly the writing of the early form of the Saga at that time. Whilst I later took much issue with Purser's interpretations , I was intrigued enough by this narrative framework that it's worth quoting Purser's paper in full:           "In 1984, Helen Damico forwards the notion that a type of narrative structure, which gained great currency in twelfth- and thirteenth-century Icelandic and Scandinavian literature, was re

 A most excellent curatorial tutorial today pulled things in a totally unexpected - but possibly inevitible - direction, given the themes of deconstruction, subversion and metatextuality which have been at the forefront of things lately. It all started when we dismantled the glass display case to get some stones inside...and then we started moving things around... Currently it's all about utilising the space, and subverting the expectations of what a traditional museum ought to look like, even down to whether the explanatory texts ought to be placed alongside their corresponding exhibits - and in a sense also echoing early 20th Century criticism of Beowulf  (which Tolkien confronts in his famous essay The Monsters & the Critics ) that the 'marginal elements' (i.e the monster fights and the dragon) are given centre-stage (because, obviously, any 'serious' epic must not trouble the reader with such trivia - despite the plethora of sea-monsters, one-eyed giants and

  The Ylfu – the ‘elves’ of my world – whilst ensconced in their mighty subterranean barrow beneath their ancient city Dofran (the OE name for Dover, complete with ‘steadfast white sea-walls’), are more precisely informed by Welsh culture, especially the bardic tradition, which underlines the poetry recited in the court of Yldfreah (the name which our narrator gives to the Ylf-lord – his name literally ‘Old lord’, which is more of a title really – cf. the Old Norse fertility god, Freyr, and probably one given to him by the narrator as a reference to his own linguistic culture). Hence the very Welsh-derived lament which the Ylfish bard Meloth sings in honour of the leader of Gifli’s expedition: 'The Song of Haeleth of the Dawn’s-Light' ‘Seven we were, and seven we fell, seven in strength, by honour bound now none but names, now none remain, to light the lands of multitudes. For while we stood, we held our ground and seven by seven foes in rage could not bear battle at our shield

  As depicted above - this afternoon's exercise in trying to pin down the family tree and inter-familial relationship of the gods and the various progenitors. Some progress from my initial sketches of last year but still a fair few gaps remain: where does Ullek, the Rockcats' father (in truth, parent - since, according to Womba, Ullek can be 'both man and wife', much like Hretha) fit in? Nithmund, the rat-god, is still very vague (as perhaps such a grim character ought to be) and I have wondered if his role as guardian of decay, plague-bringer, gallows-friend and general king of corruption is not partly served also by Smorian, his step-daughter, who is queen of the dead and the underworld. But then, the roles of, say, Hekate and Hades are quite distinct and separate in Greek mythology and it occurs to me that Nithmund's function is one still rooted in the living world, with an effect upon those he touches: Smorian, on the other hand, is simply a harvester of souls,

(A change to today's planned post, since for some reason Blogger (Google) has chosen not to allow me to upload any images. Instead, some written reflections upon one of the themes during the main narrative - that of the land itself, not just specifically of the small, mythical nation 'Gyldland' of the title, but of all land everywhere - including ours.) The title of chapter XXIV, ‘The Visitors’, is a deliberate ploy: at first, as it is presented, a trio of hostile animal and bird-headed spirit-beings announce themselves to King Hodar’s camp at night in a blaze of baneful light, bearing dire warnings. Yet as the chapter concludes, it is clear who the real ‘visitors’ truly are – the heroes themselves, and by extension all sentient races, who have merely ‘lease’ upon the land which has been defended and guarded by these nature spirits ‘since day first dawned’. The lives of kings and heroes are temporal – the land is eternal, and so its guardians. While rather unfairly picking