Sjónhverfingar hefi ek gört þér:
The Meanings of the Útgarðaloki Narrative in the Context of the Prose Edda
Samantha Rideout
05.98.07- Heimildir um norræna goðafræði
Marteinn Sigurðsson
3 March 2007
The Prose Edda, according to its own testimony, was put together with the intention of
instructing young poets, “þeim er girnask at nema mál skáldskapar ok heyja sér orðfjölða með
fornum heitum eða girnask þeir at kunna skilja þat er hulit er kveðit” (Edda 103). It follows naturally from this that “Gylfaginning was probably included [in the Prose Edda] because so many
skaldic kennings require a knowledge of heathen mythology” (Faulkes, “Snorra Edda” 601).
However, there must have been further reasons for the inclusion of the Gylfaginning, since not
every narrative that it contains serves to explain a kenning. For instance, some parts of it may
have been included in order to sketch a broad picture of the mythology, “from the creation of the
cosmos through the ongoing conflict between gods and giants to the destruction of the cosmos”
(Lindow, “Thor” 170). This broad context would have equipped the readers to better understand
those myths that are directly related to kennings.
Approximately one sixth of Gylfaginning tells the story of Þórr’s encounter with Útgarðaloki (Lindow, “Thor” 170). Yet, there are only two kennings found in the Prose Edda for which
this story provides a narrative background. These two kennings relate to the very beginning of
the story, when Þórr wins two servants in a settlement. They are “Rösku bróðir,” a kenning for
Þórr’s servant Thialfi, and “dróttin Þjálfa ok Rösku” a kenning for Þórr (Edda 111). The central
plot of the story, Þórr’s frustrating journey with Skrýmir and his contest with Útgaraðaloki’s retainers, does not illuminate any kennings in the Prose Edda 1. Nor, as many researchers have remarked, does the story immediately strike one as a myth of cosmic significance, in the same way
that Ragnarök does, for instance (Lindow, “Thor” 304). Both Margaret Clunies Ross and John
Lindow defend Þórr’s encounter with Útgarðaloki from the claim that it does not fit in with the
rest of the Prose Edda by arguing that it does in fact have a lot of mythical import. Clunies Ross
sees it as a demonstration of the vulnerability of the gods in the face of the particular natural
forces which oppose them, a vulnerability which will ultimately lead to their demise during Ragnarök (Clunies Ross Prolonged). Lindow sees Óðinnic qualities in Útgarðaloki and argues that
the story contrasts the characteristics of Þórr and Óðinn and illustrates their hegemony in separate areas (Lindow, “Thor” 181). It is my intention to argue that whether the story of Útgarðaloki
Although Margaret Clunies Ross points out that it does explain “Þórs fangvina,” a kenning for old age which appears in Egils saga (Prolonged 266).
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has grand mythical proportions or not, there is another way to justify its inclusion in the Prose
Edda. Namely, it serves to illustrate, in a narrative mode, key principles of the Prose Edda, including “nygørving,” the illusory nature of poetry and mythology, and the way to unravel the illusions which they contain.
In showing how this is so, I will be using the term Prose Edda to refer to the version contained in the Codex Regius, because it has been nearly completely preserved2, and because it is
the one on which most editions are based. I will leave aside questions about whether any given
part of the text was envisioned by Snorri Sturluson or was interpolated later by someone else.
Instead, I will approach the Codex Regius Edda as a work which, regardless of the history of its
parts, can be read and interpreted as a well-constructed and more or less coherent whole.
Names, their Referents, and “Nýgørvingar”
One of the main concerns of the Prose Edda is how names are used (DePins 7). This concern informs not only the treatise on poetic language – Skáldskaparmál – but also the other sections (DePins 7). In the prologue, for example, the people of the world have forgotten the name
of God. Nevertheless, they conjecture his existence through what they understand about His
creation and assign names to the different parts of it: “En því truðu þeir at hann [God] réð öllum
hlutum á jörðu ok í lopti, himins ok himintunglum, sævarins ok veðranna. En til þess at heldr
mætti frá segja eða í minni festa, þá gáfu þeir nöfn með sjálfum sér öllum hlutum, ok hefir þessi
átrúnaðr á marga lund breytzk, svá sem þjóðirnar skiptusk ok tungurnar greindusk” (Edda 3).
Everything, then, has an “original” name. These names were invented by ancient humans to correspond with, and help them to remember, the truth which they perceived with the earthly wisdom which God granted them. These names changed and multiplied over time as languages diversified. A common idea among grammarians of the twelfth and thirteenth century was that “it
was the first coinage of a word that determined its “significatio” or meaning. The “significatio”
of a noun, for example, was regarded as the “essence” of the thing signified...” (Clunies Ross,
Skáld 32).
The beginning of the prologue is missing in this manuscript, but 17th century copies of the manuscript allow us to
see what it probably contained (Faulkes, “Snorra Edda” 601).
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Some learned men, therefore, were concerned with hunting for “the circumstances in
which words were first coined,” so that they could understand their original meanings, and the
truth to which they referred (Clunies Ross, Skáld 32). This is the type of scholarly inquiry to
which Gýlfi is referring when, after hearing Þriði list off dozens of Óðinn’s names, he exclaims:
“það veit trúa mín að þat mun vera mikill fróðleikr sá er hér kann skyn og dæmi hverir atburðir
hafa orðið sér til hvers þess nafns!" (Edda 35).
Since every name had a true and original referent, medieval grammarians were able to
distinguish between language which called everything by it’s name and language which did not.
Typically, the former was seen as ordinary language and the latter was classified into “tropi”
(tropes) (Murphy 151). Thirteenth century grammatical works (e.g. the Doctinale of Alexander
of Villedieu, or the Graecismus of Evrard of Bethune) treated tropes and other figures of language prescriptively, specifying which ones were acceptable, and under which circumstances
(Murphy 150). An influential view was that of the classical writer Donatus, who compiled a list
of figures which he felt were “a departure from a linguistic norm, but one that can be justified in
particular circumstances... [namely] for reasons of either embellishment or necessity” (Clunies
Ross, Skáld 30). Donatus’ views on grammar were “dominant throughout the medieval period up
to the thirteenth century and persisted even longer...” (Clunies Ross, Skáld 30).
Figurative language, of course, figures heavily in skaldic poetry. The Prose Edda implicitly supports the poets who “hafa látit sér sóma at yrkja eptir þessum heitum ok kenningum”
(Edda 103). However, like Donatus, the Edda does not give poets free license to manipulate
names in any manner they like. It begins by giving the kennings and heiti of old poets an authoritative status, going to great efforts to provide explanations of how these ways of referring to
things originated. By doing so, it proves that the old kennings are not an arbitrary and therefore
improper use of language. For instance, the idea that “rétt er at kenna hana [a woman] svá at
kalla hana selju eða lág þess er hon miðlar, en selja eða lág, þat eru tré. Fyrir því er kona kölluð
til kenningar öllum kvenkenndum viðarheitum,” however unlikely it may seem to us as a true
explanation of the origins of kennings which refer to women as trees, does at least provide a link
between these kennings and language which is “rétt” (Edda 143). Ultimately, all “rétt” language
should be linked back, however indirectly, to the true name of it’s referent. This link, more often
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than not in the Prose Edda is based on the incidental characteristics of people or events. Emphasising this link was important in an intellectual climate in which poetry was sometimes accused
of being “inaccurate” because of its use of “false figures” (Cormack 38).
It therefore makes sense that although the Prose Edda is not against the development of
new kennings, it does specify that they should be extensions of the ones that were developed in
older poetry: “En þessi hafa svá farit sem önnur ok kenningar, at in yngri skáld hafa ort eptir
dæmum inna gömlu skálda, svá sem stóð í þeira kvæðum, en sett síðan út í hálfur þær er þeim
þóttu líkar við þat er fyrr var ort... ok þykkir þat vel alt er með líkindum ferr ok eðli” (Edda 145).
The Prose Edda’s position is that poetic language is bound to change and grow, and that this is
legitimate just so long as there is a logical continuity between old terms and new ones. This continuity ensures that all kennings can be traced to their intended referents, assuming that the appropriate knowledge is available to the audience of the poem.
Similarly, the names of the gods can be traced back to the Turkish names of the people in
the royal line of Troy. The continuity between the names of the historical people of Troy and the
names of the gods is made possible by the fact that, after a large northward immigration, the language of the Turks eventually developed into what is now the language of the men of the north.
The last chapter of the Gylfaginning tells us how the link between the names of the gods and the
names of the people of Troy was forgotten: because Hár, Jafnhár and Þriði did not explain the
etymology of the names of the gods to Gyfli, he and those with whom he shared the myths took
them literally and did not perceive the truth to which they were actually referring. The Edda
brings this lost link to the attention of its readers and demands that they decipher the names of
the gods in the mythology; they should mentally replace the words “Þórr”, “Miðgarðsormr”, and
others with the names of those to whom these names are being used to refer: Ektor, Achilles, and
so on.
If one does so, then one can see that although the myths appear on the surface to be about
fantastic battles between gods and giants, they are in fact an allegory for the battle of Troy. Thus,
the sum of the myths of the Gylfaginning work in the same way as the kennings called
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“nygørvingar”3 do in the sixth stanza of Háttatal. 4 This stanza refers to a sword striking someone
in battle, but because all of its kennings develop the same image, it can be read literally as a description of a snake biting someone. Another example of “nýgørvingar” from the Edda is referring to a battle as “land vápnanna” and to weapons as “hagl eða regn þess lands” (Edda 188).
Both “nýgørvingar” and the mythology of the Æsir substitute the referents’ true names with other
names which can nevertheless be traced to the correct referent. They both proceed to tell a story
that a) is coherent when the words that it uses are taken literally and b) is true when it is interpreted as an allegory about the secondary referents of the words. Perhaps it was the will to establish this parallel that motivated the commentator in Háttatal to insist that “Þá þykkja nýgørvingar
vel kveðnar ef þat mál er upp er tekit haldi of alla vísulengð. En ef sverð er ormr kallaðr en síðan
fiskr eða vöndr eða annan veg breytt, þat kalla menn nykrat ok þykkir þat spilla5 ” (Edda 259).
The story of Þórr’s contests with the retainers of Útgarðaloki is also like “nýgørvingar.”
When it is taken literally, it is about Þórr’s defeat in contests with men named Logi and Hugi,
and an old woman named Elli. In this case, the names of these characters are actually the true
names of their referents: fire, thought, and old age. Knowing the referents of these names allows
us to see the truth which is allegorically represented in the story: that it is impossible to consume
things faster than fire, to travel faster than thought, or to resist being overcome by old age. The
fact that the stories of the Æsir, a series of kennings called “nýgørvingar”, and Þórr’s contests
with Útgarðalóki should all be interpreted allegorically is probably not a coincidence. In the
middle ages, allegory was a respected tool in the exegesis of classical myth and poetry, and it
was often used to find higher meaning in them (Cormack 33). By repeating and reinforcing the
The Cleasby/Vigfusson Old Icelandic-English dictionary defines “nýgörfing” as “a new trope or figure of speech...
not founded on ancient usage or mythological tales but drawn from the imagination of the poet” (549). This understanding of the term is based on Skáldskaparmál chapter 33, where it is used in this sense. More recently however,
Anthony Faulkes has translated “nygørvingar” as “allegory.” Likewise, Torfi Tulinius understands that generally, the
term is used to mean “extended metaphor” (Tulinius 195). This understanding is supported by several examples that
are called “nygørvingar” in the Prose Edda (e.g. Skáldskaparmál chapter 50 and 69).
3
To read the sixth stanza of Háttatal, see appendix A. The commentary that accompanies it reads thus: “Þat eru
nýgørvingar at kalla sverit orm ok kenna rétt en slíðrirnar götur hans, en fetlana ok umgørð hams hans. Þar heldr til
ormsins náttúra at hann skríðr ór hamsi ok til vatns. Hér er svá sett nýgørving, at hann skríðr hugar stígu, þat eru
brjóst manna ” (Edda 258).
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5
This passage is prescriptive and not descriptive. In fact, many of the old poets did not follow this rule (MacraeGibson 171).
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concept of allegory in the Útgarðalóki narrative, the Edda emphasised the respectability of the
mythology and poetry of the north.
“Sjónhverfing”, Mythology, and Poetic Language
The word “sjónhverfing” (optical illusion, false apperance) appears three times in the
Prose Edda. It is said that the Æsir prepare “sjónhverfingar” in preparation for the visit of Gýlfi:
“En æsir voru því vísari að þeir höfðu spádóm, ok sáu þeir ferð hans fyrr en hann kom og gerðu í
móti honum sjónhverfingar” and again when they recieve Ægir: “en æsir vissu ferð hans ok var
honum fagnat vel ok þó margir hlutir görvir með sjónhverfingum”(Edda 10, 94). The other time
that the word “sjónhverfing” is used is in the passage quoted in the title of this essay, when Útgarðalóki reveals the truth to Þórr.
Þórr is deceived by appearances throughout the story of his encounter with Útgarðaloki;
he continually fails to recognise the true nature of what he is seeing. First he mistook a gigantic
glove for a building. Then he thought he was hitting the forehead of Skrýmir with his hammer
when he was actually hitting a mountain. When he met Útgarðaloki he did not realise that his
traveling companion Skrýmir had been the same person. He thought he was drinking from a
rather small horn when in fact he was drinking from the ocean. He did not understand that Útgarðaloki’s followers, Logi, Hugi, and Elli were not two men and an old woman but were in fact
literally what their names indicated, and he thought that the Miðgarðr serpent was a cat. The
concept of “sjónhverfing” links the deluding of Þórr with the frames of Gylfaginning and
Skáldskaparmál, which is an indication that the deluding of Þórr was intended to illustrate the
Edda’s overall interpretation of the Æsir.
By the time that the Prose Edda was written, hagiographic literature had established a
tradition of representing pagan gods in general, including the Æsir, as demons: fallen angels who
took Satan’s part in the ongoing conflict between God and Satan (Baschet 452). They had deceived ignorant people into thinking that they were gods, and deserving of worship (Dronke
155). In hagiographies, “the apostles and saints work to convert pagans to the new religion, but
at the same time they are confronted with powerful pagans who would have them worship the
old pagan gods... such confrontations are often the high points of the narratives, as the Christians
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expose the emptiness of the pagan gods, often converting pagans by this exposure” (Lindow,
Norse 437). For instance, in a fragment of an Old Norse-Icelandic life of St. Erasmus from AM
655 4o, the saint visits a temple of Þórr and prays that God will destroy the idol that stands there.
At once the optical illusions in the temple disappear and Þórr’s true demonic nature is revealed:
“En við bæn guðs vinar fell líkneski Þórs ok hvarf allt enn þar var eftir dreki ógörligr ok særði
marga heiðna menn” (Lindow, Norse 440). Generally, in medieval saint’s lives, demons “may
create illusions in our minds, giving impressions of wondrous things as a stage magician does,
but these are only marvels (mira), not real miracles (miracula). The Devil can take any shape he
likes or manipulate nature, though only within natural laws. When his deeds appear to contravene nature, it is either an illusion or else a natural event beyond our ability to understand” (Russel 181).
The Prose Edda, as we have seen, perpetuates the idea that the Æsir were skilled at creating illusions. It also continues the tradition that they had effectively deceived people into thinking that they were gods. However, it does not express the notion that this deception is demonic or
that the Æsir are a group of demons. Only one of the Æsir, Loki, is represented with demonic
qualities6. Óðinn, who is identified explicitly with Satan himself elsewhere in medieval Icelandic
literature7, is described in the Edda in terms that would befit the God of Christians: “Lifir hann
of allar aldir ok stjórnar öllu ríki sínu og ræður öllum hlutum, stórum og smám...Hann smíðaði
himin ok jörð ok loftin ok alla eign þeira... Hitt er þó mest, er hann gerði manninn og gaf honum
önd þá er lifa skal og aldri týnask, þótt líkaminn fúni að moldu eða brenni að ösku” (Edda 12).
Various scholars have proposed that the narrative of the Gylfaginning deliberately emphasises
similarities between pagan mythology and Christian mythology, presumably in order to raise the
prestige of skaldic poetry by suggesting that Christian truths had been partially and imperfectly
grasped in the mythology of the Æsir (Dronke 174, Faulkes, Pagan 305, Clunies Ross, Skáld 93).
After all, the Æsir were, according to the Prologue, the wisest among those to whom God had
For example, he is introduced like this: “Sá er enn talðr með ásum er sumir kalla rógbera ásanna og frumkveða
flærðanna og vömm allra goða og manna... Hann hafði þá speki um fram aðra menn er slægð heitir og vélar til allra
hluta” (Edda 43). The name “frumkveða flærðanna” (originator of deceits) brings Satan to mind, as does Loki’s malice toward the Christ-like Baldr.
6
7
E.g. Óláfs saga Tryggvasonar
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granted natural wisdom after His name had been forgotten.8 This is a major difference between
the stories of the Æsir and demonic deceptions, which are falsehoods, rather than anticipations of
the truth.
Another difference is that the narrator of the Edda portrays the crafting of illusions as an
admirable skill, and a sign of power and wisdom: King Gylfi is said to be “vitr ok fjöllkunnigr”
when he prepares his disguise to visit the Æsir (Edda 10). They are said to be “vísari” than he is
when they see through his intent to deceive them, and prepare illusions of their own (Edda 10).
In doing so, they manage to come across as greater kings than Gylfi; he is impressed by their gigantic hall. Similarly, Þórr believes Útgarðalóki to be a far greater man than he is, at least until
the deception is revealed. Útgarðaloki knows that his illusions are a source of power which can
help him to prevail over the brute strength of Þórr: “Ek mun enn annat sinn verja borg mína með
þvílíkum vélum eða öðrum, svá at ekki vald munuð þér á mér fá” (Edda 73).
It is not that Þórr was not given a chance to figure out what was really happening. It is
possible, for instance, that Útgarðalóki’s cat was traceable to it’s true identity, the Miðgarðr serpent, via an underlying traditional kenning: “It is worth pointing out that the þulur... list köttr or
“cat” among the names of giants... And although the kenning is not as far as I know attested, a
cat of the sea, stretched and coiled, would of necessity be the midgard serpent in verse...” (Lindow, “Thor” 180).
The name of Útgarðaloki himself can also be interpreted as a kenning. We know little
about Skrýmir from outside of this story, but he may have had a reputation as as a trickster. In
fact, this story alone would be enough to warrant such a reputation. The name of Loki, of course,
would be associated with trickery. As for the determinant of the kenning, in Gylfaginning we are
told that “Hon [the earth] er kringlótt útan og þar útan um liggr inn djúpi sjár, og með þeiri
sjávarströnd gáfu þeir [Óðinn and his brothers] lönd til byggðar jötna ættum. En fyrir innan á
jörðunni gerðu þeir borg umhverfis heim fyrir ófriði jötna, en til þeirar borgar höfðu þeir brár
Ýmis jötuns og kölluðu þá borg Miðgarð” (Edda 19). Since the inner shore of the earth is called
The idea that poetry or mythology could be interpreted as a prefiguration of God’s revelation in Christ can be
found in literature from throughout the middle ages and into the fourteenth century. Boccacio’s Geneaologica deorum gentilium, for example, tells us to “study the obscurities in poetry according to the same rules for interpreting an
event like the Exodus from Egypt- first as a historical occurrence; second as a moral deliverance of the soul from the
bondage of sin; and last as a prefiguration of the passage of soul from this life into the eternal paradise” (Gellrich
45).
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miðgarðr then it is reasonable to assume that útgarðr is a name for the outer shores of the earth,
where the giants live. If Þórr had thought of this, then he might have seen that Útgarðaloki was
the same giant named Skrýmir who had accompanied him on his voyage.
The narrator’s admiration for the ability to create illusions could have something to do
with the fact that creating illusions is, in the Útgarðaloki story, an implicit metaphor for composing poetry. Just as illusions give the appearance of one thing to another, poetry gives the name of
one thing to another. Ultimately, the ability in which Þórr is found to be lacking was not strength,
drinking, or wrestling, but rather, understanding poetic language (Lindow, “Thor” 180). It is as if
he is inside of a poem without realising it. He competes with Hugi, Logi, and Elli without understanding the allegorical nature of the contests. He does not decipher the kenning in Útgarðaloki’s
name or (if there was one) in the name of the “cat.”
Another instance of illusion in the Edda, although the word sjónhverfing is not used, is
when Brynhildr is fooled into thinking that Sigurðr is Gunnarr when he rides through the flames
to win her hand. In this story, Sigurðr and Gunarr exchange both names and appearances with
each other. Yet Guðrún recognises the true identity of the man who rode through the flames because the ring which he gave Brynhildr, known as Andvaranautr, was known to have been in
Sigurðr’s possession. It was part of the compensation for Otter, which he had acquired when he
killed Fafnir. Sigurðr’s trick reminds us of the way that Bragi explains kennings at the beginning
of Skáldskaparmál, because he takes the name and appearance of someone else, yet he is identifiable by his possessions, one the things that Bragi says can be used in a kenning to determine
the referent. Thus, a parallel between illusions and poetic language is made yet again.
Bragi says, on two occasions, that divine kennings are based on substituting the name of
one Ás for another: “svá má kenna allar ásynjur at nefna anarrar nafni ok kenna við eign eða verk
sín eða ættir” (Edda 132). However, only a few of the divine kennings in Skáldskaparmál do so,
and most of them involve the name Týr, which is problematic because it can also be an improper
noun meaning “god” (Clunies Ross, Skáld 97). Since the concept of substituting the name of one
Ás for another did not describe existing poetic ways of referring to the Æsir very well, we may
well ask how and why Snorri (or another author) came up with this concept. An answer can be
found by looking at the implications of the fact that the myths of the Æsir are allegories for the
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events at the battle of Troy. These events took place in the ancient past, and many of the people
who were involved in them were killed. The people who later impressed the Scandinavians with
their god-like qualities were not the actors in the battle of Troy, but the Æsir who immigrated
with Óðinn to the northern lands, many generations after the battle had ended. Snorri therefore
had to explain how the myths of the Æsir could, at the same time, represent both the battle of
Troy and stem from the Æsir whom the Scandinavians had encountered and eventually deified.
His solution to this problem was the idea that, as part of their deception, these Æsir had assumed
the names of the heroes of old: “En æsir setjask þá á tal og ráða ráðum sínum og minnask á þessar frásagnir allar er honum váru sagðar, og gefa nöfn þessi in sömu, er áðr voru nefnd, mönnum
og stöðum þeim er þar váru, til þess að þá er langar stundir liði, at menn skyldu ekki ifast í, at
allir væri einir, þeir æsir er nú var frá sagt og þessir er þá voru þau sömu nöfn gefin” (Edda 93).
When Snorri insists, in contradiction to the available examples, that the name of one Ás can be
the base word of a kenning for another Ás, he may be trying too hard to establish a parallel between the way that kennings work and the way that he interprets the mythology.
Yet, it is not going too far to say that there is a certain parallel between how the Æsir referred to themselves with the names of the characters of their stories, and the craft of a poet, who
by times refers to people and things with words which ultimately and truly belong to other referents. When, in parallel episodes, Þórr is fooled by Útgarðaloki and Gylfi is fooled by the Æsir,
we are warned that, like illusions, poetic language and mythology can be deceptive. However,
when we have access the right background knowledge, we can understand them and appreciate
the craft involved in them, and it is this background knowledge that the bulk of the Edda is dedicated to providing.
Repetition and Meaning in the Prose Edda
As literary structuralists have maintained, repetition of the same type of relations
throughout a work engenders meaning: “les véritables unités constitutives du mythe... sont... des
paquets de relations, et que c’est seulement sous formes de combinaisons de tels paquets que les
unités constitutives acquirèrent une fonction signifiante. Des relations qui proviennent du même
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paquet peuvent apparaître à intervalles éloignés 9...” (Lévi Strauss 234). In the Prose Edda, the
events of mythology are to history as “nýgørving” is to the referents of a poem: they are coherent
but fictional when they are interpreted literally and true when they are interpreted allegorically.
The same relation is found yet again between Útgarðaloki’s retainers and the abstract concepts
which they represent. Given the fact that allegory was widely used in the sympathetic Christian
analysis of pre-Christian texts, this “group of relations” has the effect of reminding us that the
heathen traditions, including mythology and skaldic poetry, do not have demonic origins, but are
derived from history and natural revelation instead.
A second group of relations in the Prose Edda is that poetry is to words as mythology is
to the names of the gods. In addition, in both the Útgarðaloki narrative and the story of how Sigurðr won the hand of Brynhildr for Gunnarr, the relation between poetry and words is compared
to the relation between visual illusions and appearances. They both obscure true identities of
things and therefore have potentially misleading results. However, the two narratives illustrate
how poetic paraphrases can be traced to their referents, if one is knowledgeable enough, Guðrún
being the example of such a person and Þórr being the counter-example. This means that skaldic
poetry does not use arbitrary or incorrect figures of speech, even though it is possible for audiences who are slow-witted like Þórr to misunderstand it. It does not break the rules of grammar
any more than an illusion breaks the laws of nature.
There has been a certain amount of suspicion concerning the origins of the Útgarðaloki
narrative. Some scholars believe that it has been imported from abroad and adapted by Snorri
himself (Lindow, “Thor” 172). If this hypothesis is true, then we have all the more reason to believe that the narrative was consciously placed in the compilation for a particular reason. Even if
the Útgarðaloki narrative was an “authentic” myth, it was still chosen from among all the available myths, and told in a way which, when combined with other passages from the Prose Edda,
created additional meanings in the Edda and subtly helped to defend skaldic poetry against possible attacks from grammarians and theologians.
“The real constituent units of myth are... groups of relations, and it is only when they are arranged as combinations
of such groups that the constituent units acquire meaning. Relations belonging to the same group can make their
appearance far apart in the narrative” (translation mine).
9
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Appendix A
Sviðr lætr sóknar naðra
slíðrbraut jöfurr skríða
ótt ferr rógs ór réttum
ramsnákr fetilhamsi.
Linnr kná sverða sennu
sveita bekks at leita
ormr þyrr vals at varmri
víg-Gjöll sefa stígu.
(Edda 258).
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