Re:View - Neil Gaiman's 'Norse Mythology' (2017)

The Marvel Cinematic Universe's Thunder god in action in Thor: Ragnarok (2017), a franchise that for many serves as the only window into the nine realms.

The most admirable quality in Neil Gaiman’s retelling of the Norse myths is its freshness. Most of these stories had no more form than the sparks thrown up by the campfires around which they were told back in the day, and are even older than your nan’s nan. It shouldn’t feel so paradoxically modern, playfully subverting all preconceived notions of what these stories are, or should look like. Most of us, especially today, remain completely unaware of the impact these rediscovered stories made on popular culture when Roger Lancelyn Green first wrote Myths of the Norsemen, published in 1960. What is more incredible, is that even then, the public remained completely oblivious. The interpretations of Jack Kirby and Stan Lee were merely accepted as the truth of the myth, so to speak. The heroic, blonde thunder-god Thor. The scheming, wily villain Loki. The futuristic, technologically propelled Asgard. This is where Norse Mythology comes into the picture. It serves as a reminder of the original, undistilled tales, a cultural throwback illuminating the stories of the past, in an attempt to encourage new artists to push their own work forward, this mythological heritage their framework. It’s release also couldn’t have been more timely, with the stories selected for this compendium reflecting themes of physical self-punishment, betrayal, and even interracial love. One can’t help but wonder if the choice to retell the Norse myths in particular was arbitrarily personal, or sociopolitically deliberate. I suppose that’s all intended to be part of the experience.

Gaiman is very clearly stepping out of his comfort zone with this work. Not in terms of genre, but in style, and tone. The simple fact that he is rehashing pre-existing material somewhat restricts his usual writerly proclivities, but he uses this to his advantage. He creates almost a blank slate for his writing style. Through literally retelling these great myths, he presents the stories like Aldi: no frills. He gently elucidates the meaning of each, patiently planting seeds which germinate future events. There is no lyrical description, or much linguistic flair, but a style more akin to Homer’s Odyssey. There is often little ambiguity in the geography of each setpiece, and one can form an image of what is happening in the text without too much trouble. The presence of metaphor is decidedly lacking also, meaning that close to all subtlety derives from the myths themselves, which is a bold move on Gaiman’s part. However, the selected tales deliver in spades the emotions and messages that they set out to communicate. Each story has its own identity. They can evoke the heartiest of laughs to the sharpest shot of tragic empathy. All due to the events that occur, the order in which they do occur, and nothing else. The subdued style should definitely prove enticing for readers new to Gaiman’s work.

The author at his photogenic best during an eponymous Masterclass,

However, I mentioned prior that there is often little ambiguity in the mise en scene, but when the minimalism in Gaiman’s writing does cause a few logical ambiguities, it is nothing if not jarring, yanking one out of the book’s flow. What might have been key details are left out, resulting in an incomplete picture of what is happening. There is a particular scene where Thor is fishing the Midgard Serpent which twisted my brain into moderate confusion. A more personal issue that I have with this same writing style is that while it is to be so reserved, there is ample room for literary embellishment, and to focus on the daily lives and activities of the inhabitants of Asgard, Midgard, and the other seven worlds. This would be mostly indistinguishable from the main myth at hand, but would provide a sense of scale and intimacy, from which the compendium would benefit. Although, if Gaiman is pursuing accuracy as a hook, which he most certainly is, this grievance immediately loses quite a bit of consequence or leverage.

Another outstanding feature are the gods and goddesses themselves. Each and every one is vivacious and expressive, with a particular standout being Loki, who proved to be a rather complex and tortured spirit, nonetheless retaining a humorous touch. Much like Stephen Fry's 'Mythos', Gaiman endeavours to humanise his divine subjects by shackling them to mortal foibles. The characters and the world they inhabit, which Gaiman has deftly re-realised, progress individually through the cyclical journey of the text. One is almost tempted to say that these legends were meant to be novelised in the way they are here. There’s a real rustic and uncomplicated quality to the emotional voyage the reader embarks on here, and details which seasoned earlier passages come to have drastic consequences for the flavour of the climax, a blood-soaked ballet Tarantino would be proud of. Gaiman presents a boldly defined tapestry of plot threads in this lore, which he gradually weaves into the skein of Ragnarok, before exploding them outwards again with the rebirth of all nine realms. It turns out to be immensely gratifying and rewarding storytelling. The new does present major differences to the old, giving purpose to the original universe, a kind of anticipation for the next chapter in this epic saga, a Dark Ages peasant's MCU.

Perennial nuisance to Mount Olympus, Kratos, now sets his sights on the Norse pantheon, pictured here facing off against Baldur in 2018's God of War. These tales and figures of yore have rarely been so prominent in the mainstream.

It is almost blasphemous to try and identify criticisms and flaws in ancient mythology, given they inspire so much writing today. I might as well be a pre-pubescent subredditing edgelord, kissing the feet of Nickelback whilst tearing Hendrix a new one, without seeing any kind of contradiction in that whatsoever. Consequently, I shall only ruminate over the specifics of this retelling. The central flaw becomes apparent only when one has finished the novel completely. The journey of the world and its inhabitants is rather bare bones. Big tree grows from big man’s corpse, a few superheroes fly around and punch things for a bit, then everything is consumed in flames and basically everyone dies. Yes, some characters receive ampler development, such as Loki, but not so much other lesser-known gods such as Frey, and Tyr. The tradeoff is that the pacing and plotting are as tight as a drum. Simple but elegant, a whisky on the rocks.

Gaiman says himself in the introduction that there are many more stories that he has not included. This decision baffles me, as, at a sparsely populated 300 pages, Norse Mythology is a comparatively light read when squared up against contemporary fantasy fiction (I’m looking at you Sanderson). It leaves considerable room for more detail and authenticity, room to either further deepen iconic figures such as Thor and Loki, or flesh out underused individuals, such as Thialfi, the farmers’ boy who can run like the wind. Gaiman acknowledges that he is constricted by the material lost to time, which would most likely explore the backstories of characters that appear all too briefly. This does not exactly excuse the peripheral tales that he jettisoned from the meta-myth, presumably to appeal to younger readers. I suppose if the biggest gripe one can find with a piece of art is that you want more of it, the complaint hardly exposes a flaw.

In overview, this rendition of the classic Norse myths is one to be treasured. Every page is bursting with imagination, vibrant personalities, and suitably grandiose, yet honest storytelling, leading me to believe that this will one day hold the same lauded cultural status as the Roger Lancelyn Green original.