There are differing versions of the legendary or mythical characters in this book, Brynhild, Gudrun and Sigurd, the Germanic in the Nibelungenlied and the Scandinavian in the Prose Edda being the best known. Kate Heartfield brings the legend right up to date with feminist themes of women’s power and female sexuality, relying heavily throughout on elements of magic, mostly in the hands of the two women, although of course there is also magic in the dragon Fafnir that Brynhild the Valkyrie fights against. The stock figure of the witch appears in one guise or another, from Gudrun’s mother to an ancient crone who inhabits a lonely tower – her tower has a rôle in the tale later on. All aspects of the narrative are complementary and relevant, which I admire.
The two women reveal their separate stories and their togetherness in directly addressing each other, having promised each other complete honesty. This enables an intimacy of style into which the reader is drawn, appreciating the very different characters and motivations of both women. There is also a male relationship, which is presented lovingly and gently, against the background of men such as Attila the Hun, who might not have been too impressed! The book was well written and a good read. It ticks all the boxes of a 21st century bestseller, and it’s backed up by a great deal of very plausibly authentic detail.
What interested me, even more than the powerful and dazzling Norse myths, was the slow identification of Brynhild the Valkyrie with the city defended by Gudrun. I’m reading Christine de Pizan’s Cité des dames at the moment (the ‘d’ is deliberately not capitalised!) where all the strong, powerful, clever and religious women past and present build a city together, led by three allegorical figures, Reason, Rectitude and Justice. To capitalise the ‘d’ in ‘dames’ would give the impression of referring to these figures only, not to all women, anywhere and in any time period. These women build a city without men; but so far in Christine’s book their lives within it are not portrayed. In The Valkyrie, Kate Heartland does explore the basic human need, male and female, to gather, to plant, to own, to belong, to defend one’s city. I spent last week in Glasgow, a city I very rarely visit. I’m always struck, though, when I do go there, by the friendliness, helpfulness and straightforwardness of Glasgow people. In particular, this time, I thought about the handsome old buildings of the West End, which, despite being built and lived in by Sugar Lords and now by the generally well-off, still somehow belong to all Glaswegians, part of their sprawling, diverse history and present sense of ownership of a rare and splendid thing – a city that acknowledges itself and its people, and finds recourse in a great humanity. In Kate Heartfield’s novel the sense of this need and raison d’être sits alongside the fantasy and the magic of the world of witches and Valkyries. It does battle against Attila the Hun and the Roman legions. Also, an important feature of Brynhild's story is the scars she bears, some self-inflicted, to remember her dead sisters. We bear her scars with her; we bear our own; not with self-pity, but with a resignation and something of pride.
The last section of Brynhild’s adventures has a different focus, one which we all come to, acknowledge wordlessly, sometimes desperately. It works as well as anything could at this level of exploration – I don’t want to say more about it as I hate having the end of a book told to me before I’ve read it! But I left the story with a sense of the importance of home, whether temporary or permanent, actual or imagined, physical or emotional, whether tied to a place or to a person. And that sense carries us from the fantastic world of the afterlife and magic to what we fight for, and what we need, in any time or place.