Snorri Sturluson

Snorri Sturluson, the man responsible for much of what we know of Norse mythology, is a fascinating figure in his own right. It's rare that we have any information about the people who passed down their culture's myths so we are quite lucky to know as much about Snorri as we do.

I can't recommend more highly Song of the Vikings: Snorri and the Making of Norse Myths by Nancy Marie Brown. As far as I'm concerned, this is the authoritative look at Snorri.  It provides a fascinating look at Icelandic history, and Snorri's crucial role in it along with very compelling arguments for why we owe Snorri credit for keeping Norse myth alive.

If I ever get a chance to teach a course on just Norse Mythology it would include Song of the Vikings alongside the Eddas.

I also recommend Brown's blog God of Wednesday which, along with links to her other writings, it contains a lot of beautiful pictures from her own travels in Iceland.

In his time, Snorri became the most powerful man in Iceland, but he wasn't always the smartest politician -- which lead to his untimely and inauspicious death at the hands of Norwegian soldiers.  Rather than facing death like Odin (whom he liked to compare himself to) riding into the mouth of Fenrir, Snorri was killed unceremoniously while cowering in his home.

Here is the Jorge Luis Borges poem about Snorri's death. I wonder if Snorri was as disgusted with himself in his final moments as Borges clearly is.
[This translation and seven of Borges other poems can be read in pdf here]

Snorri Sturluson
(1179-1241)

"You, who left to posterity an unsparing
Tribal mythology of ice and flame,
You, who made fast in words the violent fame
Of your forebears, their ruthlessness and daring,

Were stunned to feel, as the mythic swords towered
Over you one evening, your insides churning,
And in that trembling dusk that bides no morning
It was revealed to you you were a coward.

Now in the Iceland night the heavy seas
Tower and plunge in the salt gale. Your cell
Is under siege. You have drained to the lees

A shame never to be forgotten. Now
The sword is falling above your pallid brow
As in your book repeatedly it fell."