Landscape of Desire

Overing, Gillian R. and Marijane Osborne. Landscape of Desire: Partial Stories of the Medieval Scandinavian World. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1994. 141 pgs.

If you have read The Saga of Grettir the Strong, you can surely imagine what it would be like to spend the night on Drangey Island, the remote location where Grettir met his death. Can you imagine what it would be like to spend the night there all alone--the only person on the island? Marijane Osborne longed to do just that, and did. Most people who spend the night on the island are there to hunt puffins, or gather puffin eggs, and they likely choose to do this in small groups. Not Marijane; she was all alone. She hoped to dream of Grettir, and wondered if she might encounter his ghost. If you are wondering if she did, then you will want to read this book.

Osborne and Overing, scholars in the field of Medieval studies and literature, write this book from a sociologist's perspective. They are intrigued with self, place, and stories.

We map our world, our spaces and places, with our bodies, even as our body is inscribed by them.

...place is above all a negotiative activity, whereby we may extend, develop, or invent our dialogue with the past.

The authors travel the paths that Grettir, Gudrun, Gunnar, and others may, or may not, have followed. Their discoveries along the way make for interesting, introspective reading. The photographs in the book are few, but they are very evocative; included are some really amazing photos of Drangey. Having climbed Drangey Island in 2006, I was fascinated to read an account by someone who had a similar, compelling longing to stand where Grettir stood, and to see what he saw.

Do you have any Icelandic coins in your possession? One of the illustrations in the book prompted me to take a look at mine. The illustration shows the four quarters of Iceland (Western, Northern, Eastern, Southern) and the four mythological figures that represent each geographical section (bird, dragon, giant, bull), and describes how these symbols are pictured on the Icelandic ten-krona coin. Sure enough, my coin depicted those same images.

I mentioned to John that one of these coins would make a nice necklace, and even inquired about that when Antonia and I visited a favorite shop that has jewelry made out of foreign coins. Imagine my surprise when my anniversary present (4th of July! 28 years!) turned out to be ... an Icelandic one-krona necklace! As it happened, John purchased it months before I read this book and got the idea, which is pretty weird. And when I examined it carefully, I found a different version of the same motif. The coin on my necklace is from 1965; the current design is below .








So, I have read The Saga of Gisli, Son of Sour, Grettir's Saga, and Landscape of Desire. Next up: Lisa Brewer's thesis.

Saga of Gisli, Son of Sour

The Saga of Gisli, Son of Sour. Translated by Ralph B. Allen, illustrated by Rockwell Kent. New York: Harcourt, Brace and Co., 1936. 148 pgs.

Gisli Sursson's Saga, translated by Martin S. Regal. Pgs. 496-557. In The Saga's of Icelanders: A Selection, preface by Jane Smiley, introduction by Robert Kellog. New York: Viking, 2000. 782 pgs.




To paraphrase Pete ("I've never met a dessert I didn't like"), I've never met an Icelandic saga I didn't love. But I haven't read them all yet.

Gisli came up next on my list as the logical beginning of what will be, for me, a trilogy. Part two, which I have just begun, is Overing and Osborn's Landscape of Desire, which features a chapter on the Saga of Grettir. Part three is a Master's Thesis, written by Lisa Brewer, "No one guessed who I was when I came here this morning: Humor as political subversion in the Medieval Icelandic outlaw sagas of Gisli and Grettir, 2008. Overing, of Landscape of Desire, is Brewer's thesis advisor. So you can see that the third part of my reading trilogy ties the first parts together, and that I would want to read Gisli's saga before embarking upon Lisa's thesis.

I had purchased a first edition of Gisli because of its woodcut illustrations by Rockwell Kent. The illustrations are over-the-top heroic style, and very attractive. I found the text stilted and archaic, however. I struggled through it, and at some point it occured to me that I had another edition of Gisli in my copy of The Sagas of Icelanders (if you don't have a copy, you can purchase a used copy for only $10. or so--what a deal for a nearly 800 page hardcover book!). When I finished the Ralph Allen edition, I turned to the newer translation in The Sagas, by Martin Regal, and found it much more readable. My quotes, however, are from the Allen translation.

Gisli is different from many of the saga heroes in that he is a true hero in a more modern sense of the word. Many of our other saga friends, such as Grettir and Egil, could more accurately be called antiheroes.

Gisli is exceedingly fair and kind in spirit; he is also forgiving. Gisli holds himself to a higher standard of behavior and generosity than he does other men. As his brother Thorkel puts it,

Unlike is Gisli to other men in patience; much better he acts than we.

Gisli's relationship with his brother Thorkel is always problematic, despite Gisli's continual efforts to improve things. In a telling exchange, Gisli says to Thorkel:

... if anything should chance to happen in my lifetime of such moment that it seems to thee equally as great as this appears to me, thou shouldst then promise me this, to act with the same restraint as thou now askest of me.

I don't mean to give you the impression that Gisli was a mild-mannered, peaceful man. On the contrary, he was a great warrior. But he was also an extremely fair man. There is humor, pathos, and poetry in this saga, and I encourage you to read it. As for me, it is a beguiling foretaste of the next two readings in my "trilogy."

Grettir's pool

Shannon asked where the hot pot picture was taken (Icelandic Shrine, previous post). After taking the boat to Drangey Island and hiking all around, we knew we would have to follow it up by a visit to Grettir's Pool.

It was remote and private, the water felt great after our hike in the chilly fog, and the countryside surrounding it is lovely.

Drangey has magnificent views and is a wonderful way to experience the Saga of Grettir up close.
















The fjord is just over the rock wall if you choose to cool off...

An Epic Climb

Up early, with butterflies in my stomach. John and I go to buy groceries, and process some more laundry. While in Hofsos we wash 5 loads, driving the car back and forth from our house to the apartment with the laundry facilities. It would have been much more practical to have had the use of a bicycle for going back and forth...Hofsos is so small, and the locals must be hard pressed to think of an explanation for why these crazy foreigners could possibly need to made so many shorts trips in a car, right in town!


Still foggy. With a growing sense of relief I call Farmer Jon. (Why is he called Farmer Jon, when he is a boat captain? That's because he owns a farm on the fjord, an ancient one called Fagranes, where the body of Grettir is supposedly buried. Grettir's head is elsewhere.) Farmer Jon, his sons, and other assorted relatives man the boat when it goes out, in addition to farming. Similarly, Valgeir's daughter got us settled in our lodging because Valgeir and Gudrun, her parents, were out on their farm doing end-of-summer farm chores.

I ask Farmer Jon's son if our trip will be postphoned due to the fog. "We will go, absolutely," he says. We quickly pack our warm clothes and lunch, and drive around the fjord to the harbor, in such a rush that there isn't time to worry. We pull away from shore in a small boat with about 20 other people on board.

The trip is windy, cold and wet. Water splashes into the small craft; my jeans are soaked before we even arrive at Drangey. The trip takes a little more than an hour. I am feeling really keyed up, between excitement at seeing the sight I have longed to see the most in Iceland, and a great deal of nervousness regarding the dangerous climb ahead. Gabe and Pete compare notes along the way.

First we glimpse the tall escarpment next to Drangey, then Drangey itself rises majestically out of the mist. We hear an incredible din...the sound of millions of birds swooping and calling. The cliffs of Drangey are whitewashed in huge swatches. After sailing alongside a number of craggy inlets our boat pulls up to a dock, where we are dwarfed by the vertical cliff at our side.

Our guides up Drangey are Farmer Jon's son and his nephew. Jon himself is about 75 years old, and has made the climb thousands of times. He may be old enough to enjoy staying back on the boat this trip, but he is still "frisky," as Bill Holm describes him...after all, he has a son who is 20 years old. We thought Steinn was Jon's grandson but Holm enlightened us: "that's his son, the sly Fox!" Steinn and Ajalti shepherd us up the cliff, carefully providing assistance or confidence to those of us who are feeling less than heroic.

John describes the path:

...daunting, but not as frightening as we had feared. The slope is steep, and wooden boards are dug into the earth, or primitve stairs, switchback up. Ropes are fastened to poles a good way to give some security. An iron rod is driven into the cliff at one tight turn to grip. The last 40 or 50 feet take us up a steel pipe ladder that is vertical.

A short way into the climb we encounter a little alcove/altar in the rock, with a large bronze plaque that has the Lord's Prayer in Icelandic. One of our party is a baker from Reykjavik--the only supplier of natural sourdough bread in Iceland--and he drops to his knees and crosses himself as he prays (he has completed this climb previously, so presumably knows the need for divine intervention). I ask Steinn if it must be prayed in Icelandic and he reassures me: "I think He speaks many languages."

We arrive at a large meadow. All of the island is covered in lush green grass that you sink into up to your knees. Wildflowers and colorful mosses are everywhere. To our surprise, it isn't just one or two meadows atop the huge cliffs: it is one followed by another which you reach by climbing little hills. There are about five meadows in all, but in each one you can see just the one that you are in. I had thought that the best view of the day would be arriving back at the harbor alive, but I was wrong. The best views of the day are on Drangey!



The group of us wanders from meadow to meadow, and we gradually regroup in the grassy area that contains the rocky remains of outlaw Grettir's abode. A plaque informs us that here he lived, and died in the year 1037. We sit or lay down in the grass and listen to Steinn relate the story of Grettir.

Steinn is an art student who wears Buddy Holly-style glasses. (Cousin Ajalti is an appealing 15-year old, following in Steinn and Jon's footsteps--fast becoming a competent guide and storyteller himself.) Steinn's sense of humor is dry, and his descriptions are sometimes quaint. When he talks about Grettir's half-brother being put in prison, he calls it a "dirty basement." He refers to the bewitched log with runes that was Grettir's undoing as "bad wood." Steinn is competent in 4 or 5 languages, and easily switches from one to another as he tells the story in 2 languages, with asides and explanations in several others. I sit rapt at his feet. I know the story and anticipate each event as he relates it. It completely chokes me up to find myself here, in the place where Grettir once lived, hearing his story told in person by someone who grew up climbing these cliffs and hearing this story. Steinn does the tale perfect justice in his telling of it.



As we continue our walk along the periphery of the island I think that it would be impossible to be any happier than I am right now. The clouds are low, so that we can seldom see the water below. While it is unfortunate not to see the 360-degree views of the huge fjord, it is wonderful in a different way. The height isn't so scary, and we feel warm, cozy and enclosed in our own little world on the island.


We see Haering's Hlaup, and as we sit in the meadow to rest and eat, John sketches the Hlaup, or Leap, where Haering escaped Grettir and found death on the rocks below. Steinn compliments John's art. In return, we teach Steinn and Ajalti cool US slang such as "the Whole Steamboat" and "Boy Howdy!" No doubt these will come in useful for them when they want to impress female tourists.


At one point Steinn reaches in a little hummock where birds nest and pulls out a baby fulmar, all white. "He spits a vile-smelling vomit on you," he informs us. When we ask if the mother will return to the nest after he has handled the baby, he gives a philosophical "who knows" shrug.

Ajalti is spending the next week on the island with his father, puffin hunting (which they do with nets at the end of long poles, catching the birds as they fly). They will stay in a little hut on one of the meadows, which has several bunks, a kitchen and a loft. Everything must be hoisted to the top of the cliffs via a winch and long cable from the dock. There is a guest book, which we sign. We get much closer to puffins, here on Drangey, than we ever imagined that we might. They are everywhere here, by the hundreds of thousands.




The descent is worse than the ascent, but not by much. We see seals on our boat trip circling the island on the way back, and more birds.

When we get back to harbor in Saudarkrokur, we feel we can't miss the opportunity to drive 20 km up the coast to Grettir's Laug, or pool, which is a natural hot spring. It has been nicely fixed up with stone benches inside and out. It is right on the edge of the shore. After Gabe and Peter get steamed in the pool, they actually get into the ocean to cool off! (Not for long, though.) There are two sod roof cabins with bathrooms, kitchen, and changing areas as well. All this, out in the middle of nowhere!


We call back to Solvik restaurant in Hofsos, afraid that we will arrive too late to be able to dine there. They assure us they will stay open to await our arrival. We don't want to miss Bill Holm's recommendation of the best fresh trout around. We aren't disappointed: it IS the best fresh trout around, and probably one of the best meals we will have in Iceland.

A perfect day. The reason why I came to Iceland. Heaven!

Saga of Grettir the Strong
Translated by Bernard Scudder, Edited with an introduction and notes by Ornolfur Thorsson, Penguin, 2005.





Illustration: Grettir the Strong
from a seventeenth century manuscript
in the Arni Magnusson Institute, Iceland

This saga takes place in the eleventh century, and was probably written near the end of the Middle Ages and the beginning of the Renaissance, around the 16th century. It is possibly one of the bloodier sagas, with people being killed for all of the typical reasons: insults, revenge, theft, revenge, a little temper tantrum, fights with trolls and ghosts, revenge. But there is more of it in this saga, because Grettir...well, Grettir just isn't very socially adjusted. He is the strongest man in Iceland and much of Norway, but he never learns from his mistakes. He can sometimes forsee his future, but is unable to change it. Which is to say, he is unwilling or unable to change himself. What more dire future could a person face?

Grettir takes a "saga tour" of Iceland during his long period of outlawry; many vignettes of historical places, figures and tales are interwoven into Grettir's story. It contains violence, magic, feats of strength, passion and lust, and humor. The bulk of the story is made up of Grettir losing his temper, killing someone (or many someones), and being driven off somewhere else because, surprisingly, he makes people nervous. However the last quarter of the book really picks up as Grettir begins his exile on Drangey Island with his brother Illugi and servant Glaum.

Drangey Island is the ideal spot for an outlaw. In Grettir's time it was jointly owned by several landholders, and populated only by sheep. The only way to ascend the steep cliffs that protected the island from intruders was, and is, by way of a ladder. Grettir and his companions attained the summit, pulled up the ladder, and had enough lamb to last them several years, to say nothing of natural spring water and a limitless supply of birds for meat and eggs. The landowners were entirely helpless to rescue their sheep or their land, or to evict Grettir.

The story of how Grettir was overcome and outwitted involves many individuals over many years. It culminates in a crone, or witch, who places a curse on him. When Grettir realizes what she has done, he hurls a rock over the cliff of Drangey at the woman, resulting in this typically wry dialogue:

A great shriek was heard. The rock had hit the old woman on her thigh and broken it.
Then Illugi said, 'I wish you hadn't done that.'
'Don't find fault with me for that,' Grettir said, 'but it disturbs me that it didn't hit her hard enough, because a crone's life wouldn't be too great a price to pay for both of ours.'
'How could she pay for us?' asked Illugi. 'That wouldn't make us worth much.'

Although this saga deals primarily with outlaws and warriors, near the end of the story some selfless and honorable characters emerge, in some surprising places. Another really intriguing aspect of the tale is that so many of the physical places where events occured are identifiable places that can be visited, such as Grettir's Lift, Drangey Island, Haerring's Leap, and Grettir's Pool.

We plan to visit them all, just a few weeks from now.