Composed of a pair of awkward, unrelated, dark tales of the ancient Norse and the creatures of the icy sea, SIRENS OF THE NORSE SEA isn't a particularly dynamic or engaging read but certainly not for lack of effort. Whatever the reason for the creative team's impetus to tell two independent, complete stories that always and unnecessarily hint at more, the final product is a narratively immature but structurally progressive attempt at generational storytelling.
The first story carries more dramatic colors and better (more believable) character dramatics as it tracks the accidental betrayals of a young man who hungers for peace between his village and the sirens of the nearby North Sea. The story quickly builds and its energy rightly expands as young Sveld gets in over his head but refuses to give up. His men are dying in an age-old conflict. Can he put an end to it? And closer to the heart, can he resolve the flailing loyalties of the half-troll warrior woman with whom he shares his bed? Sveld's single-minded ambitions blind him to his own sins, and so curtain his ability to discern the light from the dark when circumstances turn sour.
With such complex and interwoven, human missteps native to small villages on the brink, resolution is often difficult to conjure on a whim. Regrettably for readers, the creative team manifested a fairly easy solution: kill off any character inconvenient to the narrative. Perhaps this is an oversimplification, but the truth is that readers have scarcely acclimated to the culture of the sirens, scarcely grown to trust the will of the village chief and his foolhardy son, and scarcely tendered their suspicion of the clever half-troll's self-hatred before a raucous sea battle brings the story to an end. The tale, to a severe point, is grossly unfulfilling.
The second story packed into SIRENS OF THE NORSE SEA settles into the haughty and ugly terrain of a vengeance so involved and a self-hatred so thorough it puckers the character development a little too deliberately. Here, a siren girl named Freydis seeks violence against all she encounters: the filthy humans who manage the land with poor governance and ineffective regional relations, and the unsympathetic sea cretins from whom she descended who would sacrifice their own to appease an ancient and half-forgotten myth.
Freydis, growing a mermaid's tail in the sea but human legs when brought on land, is somehow part of the universe of the graphic novel and yet apart from it. The young woman's bravado is credible, but is somehow entirely misplaced considering this constitutes all she is: the best fighter, the most ardent negotiator, and the most virulent explorer-character in the whole story. In other words, a competent lead character is great and all, but when she's merely a "strong female protagonist" for the sake of proving that strong female protagonists exist, then she's effectively useless. Freydis is distrusted as an ambitious woman (on land) and abandoned as a creature of fate (in the sea). She's one fragile archetype pissing against a landscape of other fragile archetypes.
SIRENS OF THE NORSE SEA reads as one might presume a themed anthology would: a handful of tales from another world whose resolutions may or may not prove valid, but their lessons ring true nonetheless. The book's different writers and different artists, for each of the two stories, reinforces this disunity. There are highlights and points of intrigue to both, but neither of which are enough to surmount each tale's narrative deficiencies.
The artist for the first story, Phil Briones, introduces dramatic colors and kinetic action to reel in readers (e.g., sea battles are exquisite and treacherous), even if the story itself carries more plot holes than is preferable (e.g., yanking free a barbed spear from the front). Meanwhile, the artist for the second story, Marco Dominici, renders his work way too close to the uncanny valley to be worth rereading. The lettering for both could be better (the kerning, specifically, is atrocious).
Elsewhere, the writing, or in the least, the translation work, carries a number of linguistic anachronisms or common lexicographical follies. For example, characters yell "Run!" while on a boat in the middle of the sea, one character uses the word "parley" about six centuries too early, a merwoman uses the idiom "take a step back," and halfway through the second tale, readers encounter an info dump that wreaks havoc on the story and throws everything into chaos. However coherent SIRENS OF THE NORSE SEA professes to be, it is thoroughly and unequivocally imperfect.