| THE SAGA OF BEOWULF |
| ©2008 Fantasy Castle Books All Rights Reserved |
| PUBLISHERS OF HISTORICAL & FANTASY FICTION |
When I speak of completeness and accuracy with regard to this adaptation, I mean nothing more
or less than the telling the whole tale, in its entirety, leaving out nothing of significance, altering only
as much as necessary due to the dictates of the new medium, while putting in as much of what
makes up its character and flavor as possible. Many of these latter derive from the “little things” that
make up a story, the small details, the fine nuances that are overshadowed by “what happens next”
plot points, and it is these that are invariably left out of the less successful adaptations.
With Beowulf this is particularly difficult, with respect both to language and content. The plot is
exceedingly complex in its latter third (more on this later), and requires extensive use of outside
sources to flesh out its many details. Any period piece demands much in the way of research on
matters such as costume, culture, politics, law, geography, horsemanship, steersmanship, music,
sports, games, customs, history. But when that work is a poem, a medium in which the word is
paramount in conveying sense and context, where a single line can translate into pages via
inference, reference, and implication, the matter becomes most difficult. Complicating matters
further is the fact that the Beowulf manuscript has been damaged both by time and fire (with its
resulting influx of water), leaving many words and passages hopelessly corrupt. We are, indeed,
immensely fortunate so much survives.
What follows are a series of notes regarding the nature of this particular adaptation and some of the
decisions and consequent choices involved in the process of undertaking it. Some will be dealt with
at length, some only briefly, but I will attempt to explain my rationale for each, if only to assuage my
own conscience. I do not here intend a full analysis of either the Beowulf poem or manuscript (that
will left to my forthcoming Complete Study Guide to Beowulf), but only so much as relates
directly to the effort of adaptation, with it many requisite dilemmas and dangers.
1. The Timeline
The foremost difficulty faced in unraveling the full plot of Beowulf is in the convoluted timeline laid
out in its latter third. For its first two “episodes” (those of Grendel and the Troll-Hag; comprising
“Part One” of the story) the poem retains a fairly straightforward chronology. But with the
departure of Beowulf from Daneland that approach is utterly abandoned (from roughly line 1925
forward). This is possibly due (at least in part) to the fact that a second scribe took over the
penning of the surviving manuscript at about this point. However, it is not possible to determine at
all decisively what extent of original composition occurred – if any at all – during the inking of the
existing document, or whether it was merely being copied at that time from a prior manuscript, or
even from memory or dictation. Such things are the province of the academic to debate, and the
student to endure.
What we do know from observation is that at this point the poem begins to wander. Certainly the
first scribe made use of episode and digression – the Finnsburg sequence, in particular, is
noteworthy, and will be commented on later – but in Scribe 1’s case these remain always linear in
thought and construction, serving to mirror and comment on the action of the main storyline. And
while Scribe 2 seemingly retains this purpose for the increasingly erratic interweaving of plots, the
timeline no longer maintains a strictly forward momentum, to the extent that the poet gives away the
ending nearly a thousand lines before it comes! Back-story is introduced (some nearly at the end);
references and allusions are made (some almost in passing) to extraneous matter presumably
known to the medieval audience, but neither expressly stated nor developed within the poem (just
consider how much comes immediately to mind at the mention of "a Cinderella story," and think
what of it might be known to a reader fifteen hundred years from now - very likely neither singing
mice nor Bill Murray will be among them); and the poet leaps from one subplot to another (and
often to a third or fourth and back again) in a rapid-fire succession that creates nothing short of a
montage of events, all building relentlessly to the final crisis: an impending and inescapable Fate that
dooms its hero and his clan.
This would all prove virtually inextricable, like some literary version of the intricate interweaving
seen on late Viking-era carvings, a verbal Gordian Knot, were it not for the scant handful of
external sources we possess that bear upon the events mentioned. These consist of both literary
and archaeological evidence, the historian’s fundamental tools in trade, and great respect must be
given to the extensive work done in these and other fields which have helped to shine a light (feeble
though it might yet be) upon a dark and dusty tome.
Thus, relying upon a great many sources, and an even greater degree of inference and deduction, I
first pieced together a detailed outline of events as they stand within the poem, spanning the years
460-575 AD), and then compressed the latter half to mimic the sense of impending doom that lays
ever over the story of Beowulf's deeds. The detailed outline I will speak of at length in the course of
these notes; the compression of time I must deal with now.
I can say with absolute certainty that the single-most difficult decision I faced, with regard to
accuracy of presentation, was altering the timeline. In the poem, shortly after the point at which the
second scribe takes over the work, a jump of fifty years is made, and the latter portion of the story
takes place in Beowulf's elder days. Initially, I had fully intended to retain this aspect of the story,
going so far as to devise a chapter-by-chapter outline covering each successive span of time. This
seemed wholly plausible at first, but when each stage was reached a vast gap suddenly opened up
beneath our hero’s feet and the plot fell to its death. Try as I might I could not conjure up some
means by which to span the years and yet retain the strong sense of forward momentum the events
required. This was due in the main to other choices I had also made (and very likely my own
shortcomings as an author), cumulatively too great to change by this time. Nor did I wish to, as they
each were made for reasons I will shortly give.
The inherent problem of maintaining a compelling narrative over a course of (at one point) 800
pages looms enormous and seemingly insurmountable when facing page 300 or so with the vast
bulk of your story yet to tell. For the reader to be drawn ever on through a hopefully riveting
landscape of events, each step must inevitably and inexorably lead into the next. To jump in gaps of
eight or ten years at a time, from one episodic adventure to the next, simply shatters the dramatic
flow into fractured shards, each of which mirrors only distorted bits of the whole. In order to keep
up a relentless pace – the hoped for “page turner” every author strives for – one plot point must set
up the next, so that what follows is a natural outcome of what preceded it. Consequently, I found
myself continually compressing the timeline. I had neither the desire nor the intention of killing off my
hero at such an early age, and yet it seemed unavoidable (as it should).
In fact, the “fifty winters” given in the poem for Beowulf reign is only a poetic device to designate “a
long time.” Hrothgar rules fifty winters as well. And yet external evidence suggests ages for the
Swedish kings Othere and Eanmund extending into the 530’s, and for Eadgils as late as 575. These
dates are highly conjectural at best, but along with the more accurately verifiable date for Hygelac’s
demise of around 521, give a picture spanning something very akin to fifty winters.
Thus was I for a length of time (seeming nearly as long as fifty winters) distraught over this change.
Yet what was gained, I came to feel, far outweighed the loss of strict “accuracy.” After all, I did not
change the essential storyline, only the length of its unfolding. The sense of one event causing the
next, I believe, creates far greater dramatic tension than exists even in the original.
2. The Setting
One thing more must be said concerning the timeline, and that is its setting in time, or rather, in
history. That some events mentioned in the poem are held to be fact rather than fiction is now no
longer debated. The breadth of time might be (and likely will be) argued for eons to come, but its
essential place in history is not. The early years of the 6th century of the Common Era are the
provenance of Beowulf’s clan, whoever they might have been, for that, too, is fiercely argued.
But 6th century it is (or was), and must remain. This period was a volatile one in the shaping of
Northern Europe, seeing the foundation of the kingdoms of Danes, Swedes, and Franks (or the
French, as they would come to be known), as well as, of course, the final retreat of the Romans
from what would become Europe. In Scandinavia it was, indeed, a dark age, but one bearing rich
fruit. Little is known of the northern lands in those days. Pre-Viking by more than three centuries
yet, they were a barbaric lot carving out a meager existence in a frigid untamed wilderness, non-
literate, but with a rich oral tradition, and as yet, firmly pagan in beliefs. Christianity was further off
yet than their Viking heritage, although Clovis of the Franks was by this time absorbed into its fold,
and so the word of God must not have been unheard of to at least a faction of the Northmen
trading with their neighbors in the south.
But the monastic scribes who likely penned our tale themselves dwelt some five centuries hence,
upon another isle: that of England, land of the Saxon-Angles, in the last years of the 10th century,
well after the Christianizing of that land. Even were the poem to derive by oral tradition from a far
earlier time, full two centuries or more had passed by then since heathen worship was outlawed.
Thus, although the people whose tale the Beowulf poem tells were themselves a pagan nation, the
poem itself imparts to them a Judaic frame (even down to Grendel's ancestry as Cain’s
descendant), putting in their mouths the prayers and praises of an Old Testament congregation
which they themselves would not have spoken.
But it is the story of those earliest of Scandinavians that it being told, and which I am interested in
conveying. For this reason, even though it is now an integral part of the poem as it stands, there is
no Christian coloring to my Northlands, as there would not have been yet at that time. In this case it
was a choice either of being accurate to the poem or to history, and I opted for the latter.
However, Christianity is not wholly absent from these pages, as it was not from the Northern stage,
and I have therefore sought to present it in its proper light.
3. Character Names
Many will say, I am certain, on first reading The Saga of Beowulf, “what is with these dreadful
names?” I couldn’t agree more. In general, I have kept the names as they are in the poem, with but
a few exceptions, which I will discuss here in slightly greater detail than they are in the novel’s
Glossary of Proper Names.
As my stated intention was to bring the story – in its proper time and place – to a contemporary
audience, I have sought to alter as little as possible, retaining the original spelling of character names
(that is, their Anglo-Saxon spelling as in the poem, not their original Danish or Swedish
equivalents), except where this would prove confusing to the modern reader. Thus, I have changed
all instances of Anglo-Saxon cg to Modern English dg as is would have been pronounced, so that,
for example, Ecgtheow in the poem becomes Edgtheow in the novel, and Ecglaf becomes Edglaf,
as it sounds.
Conversely, I chose to retain the Old English sc for Modern English sh, almost entirely as a
personal preference, preferring the spelling Scyld as a more Nordic seeming name than its
equivalent Shyld or Shield. Also, a pronunciation as skilled is not wholly unbearable; although
skeef or the like for Sceaf (sheaf) is a bit unwieldy.
Likewise, I have opted to retain the “ash” symbol (æ/Æ) of old Anglo-Saxon, while altering the
“thorn” (þ/Þ) and “edth” (ð/Ð). This is purely for the reader’s ease of recognition and
pronunciation, as I prefer the archaic characters þ and ð myself. But few modern readers will be
familiar enough with them to prevent it from being a hindrance, while the æ symbol is readily
understood by virtue of its component parts enduring in the modern English alphabet. But for those
who do not know, it is in general pronounced as it is named: ash.
Thus, our Edgtheow will be found in the poem as Ecgþeow, so that what you might at first have felt
cumbersome by contrast seems easy. In the poem, all names containing internal th are spelled with
a thorn (þ): thus, Wealþeow, Ongenþeow; but not initial Th, as in Thryth, spelled as such in poem
(I speak only of the common practice in Modern English translation, as the entire poem is, of
course, written in Old English, where ð and þ are used exclusively).
I have also removed some instances of internal h, as in Wealtheow, spelled Wealhþeow in the
poem, and Othere, given as Ohþere. The extra h simply feels redundant in Modern English.
Three further names have been changed that bear special mention, these being Hæreth, Erik and
Hrolf.
Hrolf is given in the poem as Wulf, the brother of Eofor. But this I felt was just too close to
Beowulf's own name to make him stand out as unique among the Geats. Therefore, in order to
distinguish our hero all the more, I denied Wulf his inheritance and named him anew, albeit with
something similar enough in sound so as not to offend his kin unduly.
Erik I altered in like fashion, but for another reason. His given name in the poem being Hereric, I
simply found this far too cumbersome. Thus, I merely shortened it to something of the nickname he
might likely have been given. Here I err against the tradition of hereditary naming common in the
North, whereby the sons are bestowed with monikers alliterating with their father’s name, H being
by far the most popular among our cast. This, however, not being observed as iron-clad even by
our poet – who neglects, after all, to offer Beowulf a name alliterating with his father’s E – I had far
less difficulty with this than other alterations. Even Eanmund and Eadgils, themselves historical, do
not alliterate with their likewise historic father Othere. However, I did not feel at liberty to alter
names willy-nilly for the sake of it, and so I must apologize for the vast panoply of names beginning
with H, hard as they are to keep straight.
Lastly, and most significantly, we come to our Queen Hæreth. Ours, I say, and not the poet’s, for
the unknown poet named her Hygd, a crime which I cannot forgive. Now, those who know their
Anglo-Saxon well will be aware of how this name was made to fit our Queen, and fit her well it
does in meaning, for it is an Anglo-Saxon word for “wise” (and so here I will also note that
Hygelac’s own name, then, means the opposite, for our Geatish king lacks wisdom: Hyge-lac, that
is, unwise). Yet fit her though it may in sense, I cannot put it in her mouth: the sound of it is far too
harsh upon my ears! Hygd is just about as unbecoming of a name as I could ever curse her with.
The Geatish Brunhild it seems to me, befit for one of manly stature, not our heroine. And so I took
for her her father’s name, and threw hers out: Hæreth he was called, but here it’s she who takes
that soft and sensual name. Now I’ve lived with it so many years I cannot see her any other way.
One more name I might mention here is Elan, wife of Ongentheow of the Swedes. In the poem she
is unnamed. But at the seemingly corrupt (and oft debated) line 62 of the poem the name appears,
albeit very likely incorrectly given. As it stands, the line translates literally as “heard I that elan
queen,” followed by a reference given roughly as “battle-Swede’s bed-fellow.” But who is being
referred to here is obviously unclear. The standard explanation is that the line is incomplete, a few
words or letters having been inadvertently skipped over by the scribe. These are commonly
inserted between “that” and “elan,” so that the line would read “heard I that Yrsa was Onela’s
queen,” Yrsa being supplied via royal lineages provided in external documents, and the later Saga
of Hrolf Kraki (much more on this later). This seems plausible enough, and is now all but agreed
upon. Still, I use the opportunity to give a name to the undubbed queen of that other Battle-Swede,
Ongentheow, whose wife plays such a pivotal role in the Battle of Ravenswood (more on this later
as well).
A great many names have, of course, been invented for the vast number of characters requiring
them. Of these characters, the larger part are invented to people the world and stage upon which
our players enact the tragedy of Beowulf’s rise and fall, while a significant number of the players in
the poem are unnamed. Among these latter are all but one of Beowulf’s crewmen: only Hondscio is
named, and that only in passing late in the tale, long after he has passed unseen across the stage.
The names of Hrolf (Wulf in the poem) and Eofor are given, but not in connection with Beowulf’s
crew. It is I who have assigned them their on-deck duties, not being given explicit instruction from
the poet otherwise. And why, I asked myself, not populate that great ship with the “best of men”
from Geatland as the poet said? Surely, Eofor must be one.
In this latter regard I have extended the invitation beyond the poem’s scope in only one instance:
that of Wiglaf, who appears only in the dragon sequence of the poem (and this, some fifty winters
after Hygelac’s death), but in such a significant capacity that his character all but demanded greater
presence in our tale.
The preceding relate to issues common to the story as a whole. Much more could be said (and
likely will at some point to come), but these are the foremost on my mind at present. Many cruces
of theme and structure, composition and culture, are the subject of ongoing academic debate, and I
will pass over these here and leave them to their proper sphere.
What follows in the next pages are more specific textual and story points that may be of interest to
readers of the novel and students of the poem.
or less than the telling the whole tale, in its entirety, leaving out nothing of significance, altering only
as much as necessary due to the dictates of the new medium, while putting in as much of what
makes up its character and flavor as possible. Many of these latter derive from the “little things” that
make up a story, the small details, the fine nuances that are overshadowed by “what happens next”
plot points, and it is these that are invariably left out of the less successful adaptations.
With Beowulf this is particularly difficult, with respect both to language and content. The plot is
exceedingly complex in its latter third (more on this later), and requires extensive use of outside
sources to flesh out its many details. Any period piece demands much in the way of research on
matters such as costume, culture, politics, law, geography, horsemanship, steersmanship, music,
sports, games, customs, history. But when that work is a poem, a medium in which the word is
paramount in conveying sense and context, where a single line can translate into pages via
inference, reference, and implication, the matter becomes most difficult. Complicating matters
further is the fact that the Beowulf manuscript has been damaged both by time and fire (with its
resulting influx of water), leaving many words and passages hopelessly corrupt. We are, indeed,
immensely fortunate so much survives.
What follows are a series of notes regarding the nature of this particular adaptation and some of the
decisions and consequent choices involved in the process of undertaking it. Some will be dealt with
at length, some only briefly, but I will attempt to explain my rationale for each, if only to assuage my
own conscience. I do not here intend a full analysis of either the Beowulf poem or manuscript (that
will left to my forthcoming Complete Study Guide to Beowulf), but only so much as relates
directly to the effort of adaptation, with it many requisite dilemmas and dangers.
1. The Timeline
The foremost difficulty faced in unraveling the full plot of Beowulf is in the convoluted timeline laid
out in its latter third. For its first two “episodes” (those of Grendel and the Troll-Hag; comprising
“Part One” of the story) the poem retains a fairly straightforward chronology. But with the
departure of Beowulf from Daneland that approach is utterly abandoned (from roughly line 1925
forward). This is possibly due (at least in part) to the fact that a second scribe took over the
penning of the surviving manuscript at about this point. However, it is not possible to determine at
all decisively what extent of original composition occurred – if any at all – during the inking of the
existing document, or whether it was merely being copied at that time from a prior manuscript, or
even from memory or dictation. Such things are the province of the academic to debate, and the
student to endure.
What we do know from observation is that at this point the poem begins to wander. Certainly the
first scribe made use of episode and digression – the Finnsburg sequence, in particular, is
noteworthy, and will be commented on later – but in Scribe 1’s case these remain always linear in
thought and construction, serving to mirror and comment on the action of the main storyline. And
while Scribe 2 seemingly retains this purpose for the increasingly erratic interweaving of plots, the
timeline no longer maintains a strictly forward momentum, to the extent that the poet gives away the
ending nearly a thousand lines before it comes! Back-story is introduced (some nearly at the end);
references and allusions are made (some almost in passing) to extraneous matter presumably
known to the medieval audience, but neither expressly stated nor developed within the poem (just
consider how much comes immediately to mind at the mention of "a Cinderella story," and think
what of it might be known to a reader fifteen hundred years from now - very likely neither singing
mice nor Bill Murray will be among them); and the poet leaps from one subplot to another (and
often to a third or fourth and back again) in a rapid-fire succession that creates nothing short of a
montage of events, all building relentlessly to the final crisis: an impending and inescapable Fate that
dooms its hero and his clan.
This would all prove virtually inextricable, like some literary version of the intricate interweaving
seen on late Viking-era carvings, a verbal Gordian Knot, were it not for the scant handful of
external sources we possess that bear upon the events mentioned. These consist of both literary
and archaeological evidence, the historian’s fundamental tools in trade, and great respect must be
given to the extensive work done in these and other fields which have helped to shine a light (feeble
though it might yet be) upon a dark and dusty tome.
Thus, relying upon a great many sources, and an even greater degree of inference and deduction, I
first pieced together a detailed outline of events as they stand within the poem, spanning the years
460-575 AD), and then compressed the latter half to mimic the sense of impending doom that lays
ever over the story of Beowulf's deeds. The detailed outline I will speak of at length in the course of
these notes; the compression of time I must deal with now.
I can say with absolute certainty that the single-most difficult decision I faced, with regard to
accuracy of presentation, was altering the timeline. In the poem, shortly after the point at which the
second scribe takes over the work, a jump of fifty years is made, and the latter portion of the story
takes place in Beowulf's elder days. Initially, I had fully intended to retain this aspect of the story,
going so far as to devise a chapter-by-chapter outline covering each successive span of time. This
seemed wholly plausible at first, but when each stage was reached a vast gap suddenly opened up
beneath our hero’s feet and the plot fell to its death. Try as I might I could not conjure up some
means by which to span the years and yet retain the strong sense of forward momentum the events
required. This was due in the main to other choices I had also made (and very likely my own
shortcomings as an author), cumulatively too great to change by this time. Nor did I wish to, as they
each were made for reasons I will shortly give.
The inherent problem of maintaining a compelling narrative over a course of (at one point) 800
pages looms enormous and seemingly insurmountable when facing page 300 or so with the vast
bulk of your story yet to tell. For the reader to be drawn ever on through a hopefully riveting
landscape of events, each step must inevitably and inexorably lead into the next. To jump in gaps of
eight or ten years at a time, from one episodic adventure to the next, simply shatters the dramatic
flow into fractured shards, each of which mirrors only distorted bits of the whole. In order to keep
up a relentless pace – the hoped for “page turner” every author strives for – one plot point must set
up the next, so that what follows is a natural outcome of what preceded it. Consequently, I found
myself continually compressing the timeline. I had neither the desire nor the intention of killing off my
hero at such an early age, and yet it seemed unavoidable (as it should).
In fact, the “fifty winters” given in the poem for Beowulf reign is only a poetic device to designate “a
long time.” Hrothgar rules fifty winters as well. And yet external evidence suggests ages for the
Swedish kings Othere and Eanmund extending into the 530’s, and for Eadgils as late as 575. These
dates are highly conjectural at best, but along with the more accurately verifiable date for Hygelac’s
demise of around 521, give a picture spanning something very akin to fifty winters.
Thus was I for a length of time (seeming nearly as long as fifty winters) distraught over this change.
Yet what was gained, I came to feel, far outweighed the loss of strict “accuracy.” After all, I did not
change the essential storyline, only the length of its unfolding. The sense of one event causing the
next, I believe, creates far greater dramatic tension than exists even in the original.
2. The Setting
One thing more must be said concerning the timeline, and that is its setting in time, or rather, in
history. That some events mentioned in the poem are held to be fact rather than fiction is now no
longer debated. The breadth of time might be (and likely will be) argued for eons to come, but its
essential place in history is not. The early years of the 6th century of the Common Era are the
provenance of Beowulf’s clan, whoever they might have been, for that, too, is fiercely argued.
But 6th century it is (or was), and must remain. This period was a volatile one in the shaping of
Northern Europe, seeing the foundation of the kingdoms of Danes, Swedes, and Franks (or the
French, as they would come to be known), as well as, of course, the final retreat of the Romans
from what would become Europe. In Scandinavia it was, indeed, a dark age, but one bearing rich
fruit. Little is known of the northern lands in those days. Pre-Viking by more than three centuries
yet, they were a barbaric lot carving out a meager existence in a frigid untamed wilderness, non-
literate, but with a rich oral tradition, and as yet, firmly pagan in beliefs. Christianity was further off
yet than their Viking heritage, although Clovis of the Franks was by this time absorbed into its fold,
and so the word of God must not have been unheard of to at least a faction of the Northmen
trading with their neighbors in the south.
But the monastic scribes who likely penned our tale themselves dwelt some five centuries hence,
upon another isle: that of England, land of the Saxon-Angles, in the last years of the 10th century,
well after the Christianizing of that land. Even were the poem to derive by oral tradition from a far
earlier time, full two centuries or more had passed by then since heathen worship was outlawed.
Thus, although the people whose tale the Beowulf poem tells were themselves a pagan nation, the
poem itself imparts to them a Judaic frame (even down to Grendel's ancestry as Cain’s
descendant), putting in their mouths the prayers and praises of an Old Testament congregation
which they themselves would not have spoken.
But it is the story of those earliest of Scandinavians that it being told, and which I am interested in
conveying. For this reason, even though it is now an integral part of the poem as it stands, there is
no Christian coloring to my Northlands, as there would not have been yet at that time. In this case it
was a choice either of being accurate to the poem or to history, and I opted for the latter.
However, Christianity is not wholly absent from these pages, as it was not from the Northern stage,
and I have therefore sought to present it in its proper light.
3. Character Names
Many will say, I am certain, on first reading The Saga of Beowulf, “what is with these dreadful
names?” I couldn’t agree more. In general, I have kept the names as they are in the poem, with but
a few exceptions, which I will discuss here in slightly greater detail than they are in the novel’s
Glossary of Proper Names.
As my stated intention was to bring the story – in its proper time and place – to a contemporary
audience, I have sought to alter as little as possible, retaining the original spelling of character names
(that is, their Anglo-Saxon spelling as in the poem, not their original Danish or Swedish
equivalents), except where this would prove confusing to the modern reader. Thus, I have changed
all instances of Anglo-Saxon cg to Modern English dg as is would have been pronounced, so that,
for example, Ecgtheow in the poem becomes Edgtheow in the novel, and Ecglaf becomes Edglaf,
as it sounds.
Conversely, I chose to retain the Old English sc for Modern English sh, almost entirely as a
personal preference, preferring the spelling Scyld as a more Nordic seeming name than its
equivalent Shyld or Shield. Also, a pronunciation as skilled is not wholly unbearable; although
skeef or the like for Sceaf (sheaf) is a bit unwieldy.
Likewise, I have opted to retain the “ash” symbol (æ/Æ) of old Anglo-Saxon, while altering the
“thorn” (þ/Þ) and “edth” (ð/Ð). This is purely for the reader’s ease of recognition and
pronunciation, as I prefer the archaic characters þ and ð myself. But few modern readers will be
familiar enough with them to prevent it from being a hindrance, while the æ symbol is readily
understood by virtue of its component parts enduring in the modern English alphabet. But for those
who do not know, it is in general pronounced as it is named: ash.
Thus, our Edgtheow will be found in the poem as Ecgþeow, so that what you might at first have felt
cumbersome by contrast seems easy. In the poem, all names containing internal th are spelled with
a thorn (þ): thus, Wealþeow, Ongenþeow; but not initial Th, as in Thryth, spelled as such in poem
(I speak only of the common practice in Modern English translation, as the entire poem is, of
course, written in Old English, where ð and þ are used exclusively).
I have also removed some instances of internal h, as in Wealtheow, spelled Wealhþeow in the
poem, and Othere, given as Ohþere. The extra h simply feels redundant in Modern English.
Three further names have been changed that bear special mention, these being Hæreth, Erik and
Hrolf.
Hrolf is given in the poem as Wulf, the brother of Eofor. But this I felt was just too close to
Beowulf's own name to make him stand out as unique among the Geats. Therefore, in order to
distinguish our hero all the more, I denied Wulf his inheritance and named him anew, albeit with
something similar enough in sound so as not to offend his kin unduly.
Erik I altered in like fashion, but for another reason. His given name in the poem being Hereric, I
simply found this far too cumbersome. Thus, I merely shortened it to something of the nickname he
might likely have been given. Here I err against the tradition of hereditary naming common in the
North, whereby the sons are bestowed with monikers alliterating with their father’s name, H being
by far the most popular among our cast. This, however, not being observed as iron-clad even by
our poet – who neglects, after all, to offer Beowulf a name alliterating with his father’s E – I had far
less difficulty with this than other alterations. Even Eanmund and Eadgils, themselves historical, do
not alliterate with their likewise historic father Othere. However, I did not feel at liberty to alter
names willy-nilly for the sake of it, and so I must apologize for the vast panoply of names beginning
with H, hard as they are to keep straight.
Lastly, and most significantly, we come to our Queen Hæreth. Ours, I say, and not the poet’s, for
the unknown poet named her Hygd, a crime which I cannot forgive. Now, those who know their
Anglo-Saxon well will be aware of how this name was made to fit our Queen, and fit her well it
does in meaning, for it is an Anglo-Saxon word for “wise” (and so here I will also note that
Hygelac’s own name, then, means the opposite, for our Geatish king lacks wisdom: Hyge-lac, that
is, unwise). Yet fit her though it may in sense, I cannot put it in her mouth: the sound of it is far too
harsh upon my ears! Hygd is just about as unbecoming of a name as I could ever curse her with.
The Geatish Brunhild it seems to me, befit for one of manly stature, not our heroine. And so I took
for her her father’s name, and threw hers out: Hæreth he was called, but here it’s she who takes
that soft and sensual name. Now I’ve lived with it so many years I cannot see her any other way.
One more name I might mention here is Elan, wife of Ongentheow of the Swedes. In the poem she
is unnamed. But at the seemingly corrupt (and oft debated) line 62 of the poem the name appears,
albeit very likely incorrectly given. As it stands, the line translates literally as “heard I that elan
queen,” followed by a reference given roughly as “battle-Swede’s bed-fellow.” But who is being
referred to here is obviously unclear. The standard explanation is that the line is incomplete, a few
words or letters having been inadvertently skipped over by the scribe. These are commonly
inserted between “that” and “elan,” so that the line would read “heard I that Yrsa was Onela’s
queen,” Yrsa being supplied via royal lineages provided in external documents, and the later Saga
of Hrolf Kraki (much more on this later). This seems plausible enough, and is now all but agreed
upon. Still, I use the opportunity to give a name to the undubbed queen of that other Battle-Swede,
Ongentheow, whose wife plays such a pivotal role in the Battle of Ravenswood (more on this later
as well).
A great many names have, of course, been invented for the vast number of characters requiring
them. Of these characters, the larger part are invented to people the world and stage upon which
our players enact the tragedy of Beowulf’s rise and fall, while a significant number of the players in
the poem are unnamed. Among these latter are all but one of Beowulf’s crewmen: only Hondscio is
named, and that only in passing late in the tale, long after he has passed unseen across the stage.
The names of Hrolf (Wulf in the poem) and Eofor are given, but not in connection with Beowulf’s
crew. It is I who have assigned them their on-deck duties, not being given explicit instruction from
the poet otherwise. And why, I asked myself, not populate that great ship with the “best of men”
from Geatland as the poet said? Surely, Eofor must be one.
In this latter regard I have extended the invitation beyond the poem’s scope in only one instance:
that of Wiglaf, who appears only in the dragon sequence of the poem (and this, some fifty winters
after Hygelac’s death), but in such a significant capacity that his character all but demanded greater
presence in our tale.
The preceding relate to issues common to the story as a whole. Much more could be said (and
likely will at some point to come), but these are the foremost on my mind at present. Many cruces
of theme and structure, composition and culture, are the subject of ongoing academic debate, and I
will pass over these here and leave them to their proper sphere.
What follows in the next pages are more specific textual and story points that may be of interest to
readers of the novel and students of the poem.
| ADAPTATION NOTES, PART I |
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| Specific Notes on the Difficulties faced in the Adaptation of Beowulf to the Novel form |
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| AVAILABLE NOW from Amazon.com |