(1891) 4.5 stars. First let me number myself among those who picked up this book because of Stanley Kubrick, who really wanted to film it. It was a fun exercise trying to picture the treatment he would've given the scenes. My guess is that, as Barry Lyndon satisfied some of what he wanted to achieve with the Napoleon script, The Shining--with its snow, and gore, and clairvoyants, and flashes of eerie and violent imagery--did for Eric Brighteyes.
A welcome departure from his 50-odd novels about lost races in Africa, Haggard here tries his hand at an Icelandic saga, but in the form of a novel, "clipped," as he says in his intro, of the peculiarities--the myriad characters, subplots, genealogies etc.--that make the real thing so heavy going for readers. (Haggard compares this trait unfavorably to the artistry of Homer. However, he calls the sagas second only to Homer. If interested, see those of Njal or Grettir).
The novel may appear episodic at first but is in fact picking up the pieces as it goes along for a classic structure, so that by the end the hero is at one of his lowest moments right when he can get his revenge. I was slow to warm up to this book, but once I did, about 60 pages in, I got more and more invested. Even at this early date Haggard is quite the pro, and does a number of things that I thought conventionally successful, such as:
*Giving his hero a berserker sidekick. (It's always fun to have a crazy friend on your side). And of course the fugue state he goes into when he goes berserk, snapping out of it only when the butchery is over, is extremely cool.
*Having Eric's mother defend him when no one else would. You don't want your hero to get too low. That scene was good and necessary and it also made sense that a great man like Eric should have such a strong mother.
But the author's most surprising success--surprising since it's so hard to do--is the love story. It's so pathetic that you can't help but ache for the lovers a little.
This is a barren, punishing world, without free will. The Vikings are straitjacketed to their fates, and reminded of it in relentless premonitions and warnings (even a decapitated head tells Eric how he will die). I became interested in how the characters cope with this. Slowly you begin to discern the hero's perspective, and admire him for it, not resisting or trying to avoid his doom, but resigned instead to enjoy whatever reward is allotted to him, even if it's only an hour in his dear love's arms. In the end, the ever-gloomy Haggard suggests repeatedly, we're all fated to die anyway, so what difference does it make.
Eric and Gudruda's long-awaited reunion is sweet and well imagined. It's very effective, and affecting, that Haggard has the pair at last take heart and try to buck their destiny. The sickbed scene and their marriage are also touching and sad. Perhaps I should've expected this in an homage to Viking sagas but Haggard gives you, and his doomed heroes, a glimpse of the transition that was going on during this period, when the land was about to be converted from Odin to Christ. And with this Haggard does offer the lovers some final hope amid the unremitting fatalism, floating the prospect of a future together in heaven. It's a hard-hearted reader who doesn't eagerly accept this version of a happy ending for them.
To give the feel of bygone days, the author commits to a somewhat bygone tone, whose restricted register hobbles what I consider his greatest gift--that beautiful prose of his, so deft yet potent. It's similar to what Longfellow did to himself when he modeled Hiawatha on a Finnish epic. The grandeur sapped the color from his pen. Something about those Viking sagas is death to the English tongue. For this reason I can't give the novel 5 stars, and might not revisit it as I would his others, even though it's stronger than his others in many ways.
Marginalia:
*The book is dedicated to the daughter of Queen Victoria, also called Victoria. Apparently her husband the German emperor was a big fan and read Haggard on his deathbed.
*Vikings were litigious!