Nancy Marie Brown’s The Real Valkyrie: The Hidden History of Viking Warrior Women is exactly the kind of history book that makes me wonder how much of what we think we know about the past is actually history, and how much is simply interpretation that has been repeated for so long that we stopped questioning it. Brown takes one extraordinary Viking burial and uses it as a doorway into a much larger discussion about women, warfare, gender, archaeology, mythology, and the ways historians have constructed the Viking Age.
At the center of the book is the famous Birka burial known as Bj581. When the grave was excavated in Sweden in 1878, it was immediately interpreted as the burial of a powerful male Viking warrior. And honestly, I can understand why the assumption was made when looking at the grave goods: there was a sword, axe, spears, arrows, shields, knives, horses, riding equipment, and gaming pieces. Everything about the burial seemed to scream “warrior.” For generations, Bj581 was held up as the quintessential Viking warrior’s grave.
Then came the discovery that completely changed the conversation.
In 2017, DNA testing established that the remains belonged to a woman.
That revelation is the foundation of Brown’s book, but what makes The Real Valkyrie so fascinating is that she doesn’t simply say, “Look, women were warriors too.” She asks us to examine why we were so certain that the person in this grave had to be a man in the first place.
This is where the book becomes much bigger than a discussion of one Viking woman.
Brown explores Viking archaeology, burial practices, Norse mythology, Icelandic sagas, Viking settlements, trade routes, warfare, queens, female rulers, textiles, clothing, social structures, and the legendary Valkyries. She also looks at how women appear in the surviving Norse literature and how those accounts have been interpreted through centuries of changing cultural assumptions.
One of the most interesting arguments in the book is the idea of “sexing by metal.” For a very long time, archaeologists essentially looked at the objects in a grave and assigned gender accordingly: weapons meant male, jewelry or household objects meant female. It sounds almost absurd when you put it that way, but this method had a tremendous influence on how Viking society was reconstructed. Brown points out that this approach meant that graves containing weapons were routinely classified as male, even when the skeletal evidence was ambiguous.
And this is the part of the book I found most important.
Modern advances in archaeology, osteology, and especially DNA analysis are allowing us to go back and question those earlier classifications. Bj581 is not simply an interesting exception. It demonstrates that the assumptions used to categorize thousands of archaeological remains may themselves have been flawed. If a grave that was considered the ultimate example of a male Viking warrior can turn out to belong to a woman, then we have to ask how many other graves were interpreted incorrectly.
That possibility completely changes the way I think about archaeological history.
Brown also challenges the simplistic idea that Viking society divided neatly into men who fought, traded, and traveled and women who stayed home, raised children, and managed the household. The surviving literature contains numerous stories of formidable women, while archaeological evidence increasingly complicates the traditional gender divisions imposed on the Viking world.
I particularly enjoyed the way Brown brings the woman from Bj581 to life by calling her Hervor, after the legendary warrior woman of Norse literature. The historical evidence can tell us certain things about her—her approximate age, her physical remains, the objects buried with her, and even clues about where she may have originated—but there are enormous gaps. Brown fills some of those gaps with imaginative reconstructions based on the archaeological and historical evidence. It gives the book a more intimate quality and allows us to imagine the person behind the bones rather than treating her simply as an archaeological specimen.
At the same time, I think one of the most important takeaways from this book is that we still have a long way to go.
The discovery of women in warrior graves has revolutionized our understanding of Viking women, but it does not mean we suddenly have all the answers. We still have to be careful about taking one extraordinary burial and using it to make sweeping claims about every woman in the Viking Age. A woman buried with weapons tells us that female warriors existed. It does not automatically tell us how common they were, what percentage of warriors were women, or exactly what social expectations surrounded them.
And that uncertainty is actually what makes this subject so exciting to me.
History is not finished. Archaeological discoveries, DNA testing, improved methods of analyzing skeletal remains, and new interpretations can completely change narratives that once seemed unquestionable. The most fascinating thing about The Real Valkyrie is not simply that Viking women could fight. It is that we apparently spent generations overlooking evidence that could have told us this much sooner.
For me, that is the real significance of the Valkyrie.
She represents not just a warrior woman, but a historical blind spot. She reminds us that the past does not always fit the categories we want to put it into. And while The Real Valkyrie goes a long way toward correcting the image of the Viking world as exclusively male and militaristic, I finished the book feeling that this is only the beginning. There are undoubtedly more graves, more women, and more stories waiting to be reconsidered.
We just have to be willing to look at them differently.