Hávamál degendered – gettin’ all wise up in this longhouse

Taking the gender out of the sayings of Odin is a little… odd.

I’m doing it because I think there is a lot to take from the verse, and I’d rather be able to share it will all my friends, without that weird frisson of hyper-masculinity. But it must be said that the culture and language that it came from is highly gendered. Removing that removes an essential part of the character of the text as an historical document.

But, to my mind, the Hávamál is more than dry verse for academic scholars (and trust me, some of my best friends are scholars of this field). It’s the equivalent of the Tao Te Ching, a way to live with yourself and others, richly poetic and full of meanings.

All I’m trying to do is make that meaning more applicable to all. Is this wise? Well, funny you should ask…

Hávamál degendered – magic and beer

The Hávamál has 164 verses, generally broken down into eight sections. The first, Wisdom for Wanderers and Counsel to Guests, is a rather impressive 79 verses.

But there are tighter sub-divisions in there as well, and they make for much more digestible chunks of wisdom to mess around with. Especially when you really don’t know what you’re doing! Here are two sections on magic (whoo!) and drinking (how dry does Odin like his martinis, I wonder?).

So anyway, here’s Wonderwall. I mean…

Hávamál degendered – a new take on the wisdom of Odin

So, I’m bit of a lazy pagan. Well, Heathen, really, which means…

It’s a long story.

Anyhoo, the faith that means the most to me is Asatru, which is the worship/appreciation of the Norse pantheon. Seen an Avengers or Thor movie? Yeah, those jerks.

Anyhoo-hoo, it’s the Autumn equinox tonight, which means a blot – feasting or drinking in good company (and yes, my flatmate and I did watch Thor: Ragnorok, ’cause that’s just FUNNY) – and contemplation of the winter to come.

So for me that means contemplating Hávamál – the sayings and collected wisdom of Anthony Ho… I mean Odin. It’s life advice for the thinking person’s heathen, and it’s really quite illuminating.

It’s also a text from a different time, and heavily skewed toward the masculine (and don’t get me started on how intensely gendered Old Icelandic is… WHOA. I am pretty much ignoring that). So I did some googling, and you know… there’s not a lot of effort been made to bring the text into the 21st century, in a way that is as open as the modern iteration of the faith. Which is an interesting endeavour, and in some further research…

Well, it gets complex.

Days

Days when your feet are lead
And you walk through the pressure of crush depth.
The air in your lungs feels distant.
Someone else’s breath…

Days when the thing coiling
In your heart, cold and tight,
Slips tighter still
Every sight an offense, a cause for fright…

Days when every angle offends
And every sharp edge is an invitation.

Days when all you can think of are
Military tactics, and how you can survive an ambush.
L-shaped attack, fire in front and flank.
Do you dig in or push through?

Days when light is fear and motion too much.
Days when leaving the dark of your room feels like death.

Days where you do it anyway.

Days that end, only to begin again tomorrow
Knowing they’ll stretch on,
and out, and through
And over you.

Days.

Like this one.

Tolkien-sorta-Friday: Dwarves – what even?

It’s been a month since my last post. I figured a bit of break from writing was due, and now I’m back at work after nearly three months of long service leave and… well, I’m probably going to be writing even more in my day job than ever before, so that’s going to make writing in my own time a little bit tougher.

I’ll try, but… if things are quiet, that’s why.

BUT!

I posted one of my #TolkienFriday* rants a little while back, and that’s something I do pretty regularly on Twitter, and I want to make more of an easily accessible record of them, so I’m gonna post each one here.

It’s now an actual thing!

You know, I’ve been writing for nearly thirty years. I’ve had a lot of material published over that time, but as a journalist… yeah, you kinda expect that. And I’ve written games for conventions that have clocked in far larger word counts, too.

But The Courthouse, my Civil War novel, is now something rather unique for me, because I just published it on Amazon’s Kindle service.

This feels… really quite odd. And also, really, really cool!

The Courthouse: Author’s note

Truly, I have stood on the shoulders of giants. However, it must also be pointed out that I have very likely made poor use of them.

This novel was written for NANOWRIMO, or the National November Writing Month (of course, it was finished well after the month finished, but hey, it’s still damn finished!). One of the aims of this event is to not only complete a 50,000 word novel, but to start the month with a fresh idea and a completely blank slate. Most of the historical authors that I look up to would blanch at such a thought – these are people whose research is immaculate, who reference detailed histories, consult modern experts, and, very often, even have an intimate knowledge of the ground their characters are covering and fighting over.

(Not) NANOWRIMO: The Courthouse, Chapter Thirteen

It was not a deep grave. The only marker was Abraham’s musket. The only words my own poor wishes that he and Israel were together in a better place, where there was no war.

If there were other rebels in the town – ones with murderous intent, anyways – their rough handling as the regiment moved through, followed by the whole of V Corps, had dissuaded them of making any more mischief. We left Prince Edward Courthouse behind after dark, and we jogged down the road in the quiet shadow of night.

The woods sighed. A brief rain shower slicked the road some, turned the green leaves to brief silver in the weak moonlight. But that was all that troubled us.

(Not)NANOWRIMO – The Courthouse, Chapter Thirteen

It is strange to think of those days.

I sit here, and I am talking to you, speaking history. Turning events that turned the nation on its ear into just… words.

Did you know, that before the war, politicians and statesmen, and other folk who cared to think of such things, said ‘the United States are’; but after the war, they say ‘the United States is’.

I still do not understand that transmutation. It is a thing mystical.

Wave-watching and Barrow-bashing

I spent my last day in Cornwall watching the weather*.

The wind is up today, blustery, blowy, and strong. Yesterday, at the very summit of Chapel Carn Brae, it felt like it was enough to blow me off the crumbling barrow walls that decorate its summit. If I were there today, I think it might.

But I’ve just been watching the weather; from my table, where I’m typing this, and from the door, watching rain clouds roll in from the Atlantic, and then roll away again. Walls of wet grey cloud, obliterating the sea, sheets of rain puckering the ocean and turning blue water to grey. And then, in minutes, the kind of blue sky that makes you think the weather’s clearing. A rainbow just appeared, just off Cape Cornwall.

Didn’t last long, but it struck my heart…