She was trying to write a short story, about her favourite tale in Norse mythology: the binding of Fenrir. She had - in her opinion - her astounding beginning, which she couldn't change a word to, no matter how she envisioned the thing. Past that, she kept rewriting the story and it never came out right.
She kept reading versions of the tale, frustrated each time, but sometimes gaining some new insights. She read once 'although Tyr was in agony' and liked the image. It spoke to her. From all she read, it seemed she was the only one to care for Tyr. Everybody spoke about the mirth of the Aesir, no one of Tyr's pain, except, again, this word 'agony'. It had been the only time.
Hoping for tips - any tip - she looked everywhere, until she stumbled on the following title: 'What to do with your ideas?' She knew the answer at once: throw them away!
But then, it kept gnawing at her... It probably meant she ought to write the story. Sighing, she began her umpteenth draft, also starting with that dashing opening line: I can still see them slapping their thighs in laughter, I can still hear their whoops of mirth while I was cradling my bloody arm.
They all cared about Fenrir, because Fenrir was to destroy Odin at Ragnarök. Who cared about Tyr, the warrior losing his right hand? Who cared that he had fed Fenrir before the Aesir decided to bind the gigantic wolf? Who cared that he had been the only one to always step forth and face Fenrir? And he wasn't even the one who ultimately faced him...
Why did nobody see the irony of the tale? God of war and justice, Tyr cared for the wolf because it was just - and because the Aesir didn't want Fenrir to die, but they were too coward to affront him - yet he betrayed him for protecting his kin - who never thanked him for his action. Or if they did, the skalds never told.
It was driving her mad. She wanted to tell of Tyr's bitterness, to tell this tale of honour, courage and betrayal, but the words failed her. She wanted to hint at a similarity between Tyr and Fenrir, both betrayed by their kin, both betraying each other, Tyr by sacrificing his hand, Fenrir by severing it. So her second line had to be: The wolf was looking at me and we read our loss in each other's eyes.
She knew of his recurrent thought, but always, his noble character prevented him to precipitate Ragnarök. She knew the many details of the story, the names of all the chains they tried to bind Fenrir with, but it was too much detail. Tyr himself didn't care if the chain was named Lading or Drome. She knew how the wolf had been securely tied in the core of earth, the name of the rocks, but it was trifle detail compared to the rest. She knew how the Aesir hid their cowardice behind so told respect for their holiness and peace-stead.
She had read the Eddas, written down the symbols for the right and left hands, the meaning of the wrist in Old Norse and yet she found she couldn't tell of everything. So she opted for telling the tale with a neutral voice and only in the last part would Tyr really begin to express his thoughts.
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