Reading the ambitious "inspirational reading" list at Huge Ruined Pile led me to believe that an "Appendix Nu" would be a useful addition to the canon. Appendix Nu would include the body of myth, legendry, historical narratives, and early works of fiction that inspired modern fantastists. The assembly of Appendix Nu would have to be a group effort in order to close any lacunae that would inevitably result from our cultural biases (I am not using this term pejoratively- my own biases are toward Greek and Roman legends, Norse Sagas, Irish and Welsh legends, and the picaresque tales of the Iberian peninsula- with a passing familiarity of the epics of India and some of the Mesoamerican material).
Oh, my poor, neglected blog... it's been a busy month, juggling two jobs with other social obligations. So, with little time for posting, I'll use that old "post a video" gambit. Inspired by James Maliszewski's Tamoachan retrospective, here's a beautiful animated video of the Quiché Maya epic Popol Vuh, which details the creation cycles leading up to the present day, and the exploits of twin god-heroes Hunahpú and Xbalanqué. One of the highlights of the narrative is the slaying of Vucub-Caquix (Seven Macaw), the "sun" of the previous creation cycle, and his monstrous sons Zipacná and Cabracán, personifications of earthquakes. Another high point in the narrative involves the descent of the twin heroes into Xibalba, the underworld, in which they engage the deities of the dead in the ritual ballgame. Anyway, enough of my yapping, here's part one of Patricia Amlin's beautiful animation, with visuals based on Mayan ceramics:
Yesterday, I had a brief conversation with two tourists who have been stranded in New York due to the Eyjafjallajökull eruption. What could be more evocative of Ragnarok than the eruption of a volcano which had been buried beneath a glacier? Ice and fire, hrímþursar and Múspellsmegir, the two elemental forces between which Iceland is sandwiched, both impinging on the lives of the children of the Twenty-First Century.
Given the relatively scant mention of the Sons of Muspell in extant Old Norse literary works, I am inclined to agree with Bertha Phillpotts' thesis that Surtur gained prominence in Norse mythology after the colonization of Iceland. At any rate, Surtur appears to be a completely different sort of supernatural being than Logi, the personification of fire (note the gorgeous illustrations at the linked site!) with which Loki engaged in an eating contest in Utgard-Loki's hall.
The nym I am blogging under is a tribute to tenth century Icelandic viking and poet Egil Skallagrimsson, who was immortalized in the saga which bears his name. Much of the content of the Icelandic sagas is very matter-of-fact (genealogies and minutely-detailed recollections of political and social events in the the Norse world), there are occasional glimpses of outré subject matter, recounted in the same generally dispassionate tone as the mundane events. The presence of half-trolls and shape-changers in the community, uniped attacks, and struggles with undead are told with a tone suitable to a newspaper's "Community Events" column.
In Egil's Saga, there is an account of the exhumation of Egil's bones, and the following description of his skull:
The skull was wondrous large, but still more out of the common way was its heaviness. It was all wave-marked on the surface like a shell. Skapti then wished to try the thickness of the skull. He took a good-sized hand-axe, and brandishing it aloft in one hand, brought down the back of it with force on the skull to break it. But where the blow fell the bone whitened, but neither was dinted nor cracked.
This seemingly outlandish description was cited by some scholars who wished to dispute the veracity of the saga, but UCLA professor Jesse L. Byock proposed that Egil suffered from Paget's Syndrome, a condition which causes abnormal bone growth. The picture on the blog is that of the skull of an individual with Paget's Syndrome.
Skapti the priest, Thorarin's son, a wise man, was there at the time. He took then the skull of Egil, and set it on the churchyard fence. The skull was wondrous large, but still more out of the common way was its heaviness. It was all wave-marked on the surface like a shell. Skapti then wished to try the thickness of the skull. He took a good-sized hand-axe, and brandishing it aloft in one hand, brought down the back of it with force on the skull to break it. But where the blow fell the bone whitened, but neither was dinted nor cracked. Whence it might be gathered that this skull could not easily be harmed by the blows of weak men while skin and flesh were on it.