Welcome to The Edda or Whatever, where I’m spilling the tea on Norse mythology. We’re breaking down the Prose Edda, a Medieval Icelandic textbook that also low-key recaps most of what we know about the Norse gods today, but we’re doing it with a little bit of style and a whole lot of sass. (Not to mention ass!) If you’ve ever wondered, “Wasn’t Þórr like the frat bro of the Norse gods?” (he was) or, “Didn’t Loki get dicked down by a literal horse?” (he did)… Then shut up, I’m getting to it.
How About Them Apples
This week’s section of the Prose Edda is called Skáldskaparmál. It translates to something like the Language of Poetry, which is your casual reminder that the Edda was meant to be a poetry textbook. It looks like the author, Snorri Sturluson, has finally gotten to the educational shit. Even though poetry stuff is kinda my vibe, I’ll skip most of it because I know you’re probably a normal person. The good news is that all the weird words are based on Norse mythology, so the stories wedged in between are total bangers.
The section begins with Ægir, one of several Old Norse deities of the sea but also maybe a giant, who is invited into Ásgarður, the fortress of the gods, for drinks. Like Thirsty Thursday, but with the entire Norse pantheon. He’s sitting next to Bragi, the god of poetry, who gives him some goss about the other gods. Apparently, a giant who’s also an eagle tricked Loki into giving him food and then Loki got pissed and stabbed the eagle. It flew off with Loki, saying he’d only be released if he lured the goddess Iðunn away from Ásgarður for some unknown reason.
Loki is basically a walking red flag, so of course he agrees. He tells Iðunn — who is famous for her apples — that he found some even better ones that she just has to check out. When she does, she is carried off to Giantland by the eagle, which happens to actually be a giant named Þjazi. Without them apples, the gods instantly get old af, and heaven forbid they have gray hair, so they force Loki to bring Iðunn back. When Þjazi chases them back into Ásgarður, the gods kill him. Then his daughter claps back.
Feet it or yeet it
Þjazi’s daughter Skaði marches into Ásgarður heavily armed and dripping with armor, ready to crush some skulls. They offer to compensate her for the death of her father by allowing her to marry a god, but she is only allowed to choose which one by looking at their feet! It’s like that hilariously trashy British reality show Naked Attraction, except it stops at their feet. So, more like Ankle Attraction? Skaði’s horny for the himbo god Baldur and tries to choose him, but she fails and accidentally picks the old, crusty sea god Njörður. Like the Hemingway novel, he is both The Old Man and the Sea, and probably just as boring.
This is not enough for Skaði. She insists they do the impossible: make her laugh. So Loki ties one end of a rope to a goat and the other to his nutsack, then plays tug-of-war with his fucking balls. That is not my spicy version of it; that is the honest-to-goddess literal translation of the Old Norse text. Naturally, Skaði lols and now she’s the goddess of skiing. As a little treat, Óðinn rips her father’s eyeballs out of his face and turns them into stars. Isn’t that sweet?
Of course Skaði and Njörður’s marriage doesn’t last — but it doesn’t sound like too bad of a settlement to me. Earlier in the Edda, it’s mentioned that Skaði hates living in the sea because she can’t stand the seagulls, and Njörður hates living in the mountains because of the howling of the wolves, so they go their separate ways. She wanted a trophy husband but she got the ultimate sugar daddy, complete with a happy divorce. Honestly, who needs a Pink Ferrari when you can become the goddess of your favorite hobby?
Poetry and ho-etry
Next Ægir asks Bragi about the origin of poetry. There is no one better to explain poetry than the god of it himself.
Bragi explains that there was once some beef between the two different groups of Norse gods, the Æsir and the Vanir. In order to settle it, they all spat into a big bowl and mixed it together. That gives me the ick, but I hear spitting is actually a pretty common fetish so to each their own, I guess.
This spit blob turns into a wise man, but he randomly gets murdered by dwarves. They mix his blood with honey and turn it into a magical mead that gives the power of poetry to anyone who drinks it. It is eventually sealed up inside a mountain for safekeeping, guarded by a giantess named Gunnlöð. Óðinn transforms into a snake to slither through a hole in the mountain (totally not a metaphor or anything) and they Netflix and chill for no less than three days.
Óðinn must be pretty damn good in bed, because Gunnlöð offers him three drinks of the magic mead to reward his services. He slurps it all up (not a metaphor), transforms into an eagle, and flies off with it. He makes it back to Ásgarður just in the nick of time to spit it out (only literally) and share it with the other gods, but he dribbles out a little bit on the way (don’t worry about it). So let’s just say that Óðinn gave ‘em the old “hawk tuah” and that’s how poetry was invented.
Morals of the story:
1. An apple a day keeps the ravages of age away. (Only applies to Norse gods. Sorry.)
2. You are the goddess of your own favorite hobby and you don’t even need a sugar daddy to give you that!
Read more Edda or Whatever here, and buy Grayson’s book The Sagas And Shit in the Grapevine store.
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