Category Archives: history

The Hobbit and History is out. Do you have your copy yet?

In the second chapter of the collection – “From Oakenshield to Bloodaxe: The Viking Roots of Tolkien’s Dwarves”, you learn about the thirst for vengeance in Tolkien’s dwarves and in historical Viking culture. Thorin Oakenshield was hardly unique in holding a grudge against those who had brought his family down. Medieval leaders waged bloody and devastating wars to right wrongs against their families. Consider the case of Ívarr the Boneless, a ninth century Dane who led a massive army to seek vengeance for his father’s death.

Ívarr the Boneless was a Viking warrior. His epithet may seem odd and has inspired furious debate. Did he have a degenerative bone condition, perhaps osteogenesis imperfecta? Was he extraordinarily limber and the byname a sort of joke about his flexible maneuvering? Or maybe the story began in some great act of daring, just as Thorin Oakenshield takes his epithet from his quick thinking on the field of battle.

Historically, Vikings weren’t only concerned with warfare and vengeance. They were also great traders, explorers and ambitious settlers. Some ventured as far afield as Newfoundland and Istanbul, and Viking hoards have been found to contain such exotic treasures as Arabic coins and a statue of Buddha. As a recent exhibition at the British Museum reminded us, the Vikings were more than bloodthirsty marauders, they were poets, artisans and adventurers. But the Vikings were also devoted to their families and friends. Insults against a friend could spark a bitter rivalry. Attacks against a relative often spurred the Vikings onto war.

As Colin Gibbons notes in The Hobbit and History, Ívarr lost his father, Ragnar Lodbrok to a cruel and vindictive opponent, King Ælla of Northumberland. The Scandinavian king was reportedly executed by being cast into a snakepit. His sons were incensed at their father’s ill-treatment and mounted an invasion of the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms at the head of what is sometimes know as the “Great Heathen Army”. From 865-869, Ívarr rained ruin upon his English enemies. He and his brothers saw Ælla pay the final, horrific price for his execution of Ragnar. After conquering much of the Anglo-Saxon lands, Ívarr turned to Ireland, conquering there. By the time of his death, likely around 873, he and his brothers had triumphed over their enemies.

So, too, Thorin Oakenshield seeks vengeance against those who have wronged his family – Smaug who seized their royal stronghold and others as well. His thirst for vengeance is as strong as that of any of these historical Vikings. Learn more about the parallels between the Vikings and the dwarves when you read The Hobbit and History!

The Hobbit and History comes out on Tuesday. Order your copy or pick it up at your favourite retailer soon. In the meantime, read today’s historical snippet. Chapter One by Marcus Schulzke, “The Faces of the Five Armies”, examines historical parallels from the Middle Ages and Renaissance that help you better understand the dynamics of Tolkien’s battling forces in that culminating conflict. Given that the third movie in Peter Jackson’s adaptation is all about this, with reports that the battle itself will take forty-five minutes of screen time, it can only help to get Dr. Schulzke’s smart perspective on the topic.

Today’s blog post goes a bit farther back in history to look at another parallel for Tolkien’s riveting “Battle of the Five Armies” taken out of biblical history. This image is from a fifteenth century German universal chronicle and it depicts the defeat of five kings of southern Canaan as told in the Book of Joshua, 10:2-27. In the Bible, Joshua was following Moses’ lead to take the Holy Land for the Israelites, even if that meant deposing and destroying its current Canaanite inhabitants. After successes in the north, Joshua met renewed resistance from a coalition of five kings: the kings of Jerusalem, Hebron, Jarmuth, Lachish and Eglon. Their coalition reflected many common interests: culture, religion and fear of the death rained down upon the Canaanites by the increasingly powerful Israelites. These five kings plotted against Gibeon, a city that had made a covenant with Israel. The Gibeonites appealed to Joshua who, supported by the Lord, marched south against the five kings.

This was a long and deadly battle, made longer by miraculous intervention. A devastating and targeted hailstorm wreaked havoc with the coalition against the Israelites, killing many in the five kings’ armies. According to the Book of Joshua, God manifested his powers, again, on the side of Joshua and the Gibeonites: illuminating the battlefield long past the normal stretch of hours.

Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the valley of Ajalon. And the sun stood still, and the moon stayed, until the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies. Is not this written in the book of Jasher? So the sun stood still in the midst of heaven, and hasted not to go down about a whole day. (Josh 10:12-13)

The five kings sought refuge in a cave where they were walled in by their foes, only to be released and executed after Joshua’s forces had eradicated all of their armies, seizing the five cities for Israel.

Some coalitions are strong, like that of Joshua and the Gibeonites, united by the power of the covenant. Others, like the coalition of the five kings, are weak. Some coalitions are supported by great magic – the miracles that the Lord provided Joshua and his army or the wonders that a great wizard and even a little hobbit with a magic Ring might possess. Some coalitions find their dark support – Ba’al or Sauron – insufficient to the task. And sometimes five or more armies might all meet upon the field for a very long day and more to hash out the future of their world.

Do you want to know what I’ve been doing the past few weeks besides checking proofs for my next article in Rethinking History and next month’s The Hobbit and History as well as teaching a lot and grading even more? Getting ready for Laurentian University’s latest iteration of Women’s History Week!

Here’s the poster advertising all the talks that you can attend during Women’s History Week at Laurentian University, October 27-31, 2014:
Going strong for over twenty years, Women’s History Week explores the diverse and intriguing topics of women’s history as shown in the scholarship of Laurentian faculty and students. This year our theme is Women and Popular Culture. From antiquity to the present-day, drawing on history, literature, political science and classics, Women’s History Week has a lot to offer.

I’m giving the keynote address, Tuesday evening in downtown Sudbury on Women and Game of Thrones. Have you always wondered if Martin’s women in their manoeuvring for power were at all historically plausible? Join us at the Fromagerie at 7pm and see! We also have a roundtable on Wednesday, the 29th, on literary and media representations of indigenous womanhood along with classroom talks throughout the week.

PDF Poster for Women’s History Week, 2014

In Martin’s Game of Thrones series, the character of Daenerys Targaryen casts a long shadow. From the moment that rumours of her wedding to Khal Drogo come to King Robert’s ears back in Westeros, he is determined that she should die. Was it because he saw the young woman, herself, as a serious threat to his throne? No. Robert Baratheon’s fears were tied up in Daenerys’ possibility to bear a son who would challenge the Baratheon kingship as he makes clear in this first season conversation with Ned Stark.

This is a familiar conception of women and political power for medieval historians. The great conflict of the Hundred Years’ War between England and France derived from a difference of opinion on female inheritance. When Charles IV died in 1328 without any direct male heirs, there was a legitimate question about who should succeed. King Charles’ closest male relative was his nephew, Edward III of England, son of Isabella of France. Edward’s claim was rejected in favour of another cousin whose royal French descent had never been sullied by passing through female lines – Philip VI, the first Valois king.

The principle invoked by French jurists and courtiers in support of Philip’s claim was a tradition in French history known as Salic Law. An early medieval Frankish law code, the Lex Salica included a provision which held that “of Salic lands, no part of the inheritance shall come to a woman but the entirety of the heritable land shall come to the man.” What exactly was Salic land and what was meant by “the inheritance” wasn’t exactly clear. Hotly contested and even amended over the centuries to allow female inheritance, the principles of Salic Law were revived in the fourteenth century to exclude Isabella’s lineage from claiming the French crown. When England’s Edward III failed to accept this judgment, war ensued but it was never on behalf of putting his mother on the throne. (Knowing what we know of Isabella who was implicated in the death of her husband, Edward II and luridly termed “The She-Wolf of France” in some histories, her son might well be forgiven for wanting to bypass Mother Dearest.)

Principles of inheritance in Westeros seem very much in line with this particular medieval mentality that land and rule were manly concerns. We are told of a bloody and devastating civil war between two branches of the Targaryen family known as the Dance of the Dragons. The death of King Viserys left two possible contenders: his elder daughter, Rhaenyra, and her younger half-brother, Aegon. Their dispute tore apart the kingdom and the resolution of the civil war relegated women to the last-chance position of inheritance, a view almost as drastic as the Salic Law. (Read an excerpt from Martin’s “The Princess and the Queen, or the Blacks and the Greens”, forthcoming in Dangerous Women published by Tor (December, 2013).)

This devastating civil war bears close resemblance to another infamous episode in English medieval history – the Civil War of Stephen and Matilda. Lasting from 1138-1154, this cousinly conflict devastated England so utterly that one contemporary chronicler swore that it was as if “Christ and his angels slept”. Although not so closely related as their Westeros parallels, Matilda (the old king’s daughter and recognized heir) and Stephen (her cousin whose royal right came through a female line) represented similar choices. More medieval English nobles preferred Stephen to Matilda (who was sometimes termed arrogant) but many were loyal to Matilda, if only to honour their oaths to King Henry I. Matilda was relentless and effective: her husband’s campaigns brought Normandy under her control and, for a while, she held power in England, too. But the divide was too deep to paper over. The anarchy ended only when Stephen agreed to recognize Matilda’s son as heir – the future Henry II.

Matilda and Isabella were sidelined from the succession, but that is not a role that Dany is ready to accept. Perhaps it is because she believes herself to be the last Targaryen after her brother’s gruesome death? If so, she might well be expected to meekly step down in favour of one of the other claimants being groomed, such as Young Griff, or an eventual son as Robert feared. I believe that Daenerys is not just putting herself forward as the last of her line but that she has come to believe in herself as a legitimate, even the predestined ruler, with no apologies needed for her gender.

Consider this snippet from Dany’s conversation with a hostile mercenary captain, Prendahl, who disputes her ability to wage a campaign:

“Woman?” She chuckled. “Is that meant to insult me? I would return the slap, if I took you for a man.” Dany met his stare. “I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, khaleesi to Drogo’s riders, and queen of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros.” – A Storm of Swords

Here, Daenerys stands against the historical notion that a woman was only a vessel of royal inheritance. Daenerys Targaryen sees her self-worth more than in her presumed position as the last of the Targaryens. She adds to those distinctions others that are hers and hers alone: the Unburnt, because she survived her husband’s funeral pyre which hatched the dragons which she sees as her children (and also as vindication of her Targaryen right to rule). From these virtues, it is a short step to assert her role as queen of the Seven Kingdoms, not in trust for an unborn son, but in her own right.

However, just as with the Ghiscari captain’s disdain, Daenerys has much to overcome to make that last boast into a reality – the widespread prejudice in Westeros and beyond against a woman’s right to rule. For this last challenge, history offers other interesting parallels, from the military exploits of Joan of Arc to the self-assured reign of Elizabeth Tudor. Which model of women and inheritance will win out in George R. R. Martin’s world? History cannot say, but it shows that Daenerys’ problems will not end on the battlefield but can extend on indefinitely with the entrenched prejudices against women’s rule.

In 510 BCE, a Roman woman by the name of Lucretia was threatened and raped by the king’s son. Daughter of the chief magistrate of the Roman kingdom and wife of a governor, Lucretia demanded justice of her father and then committed suicide while the men of the court debated their plan of attack. It took another man, Brutus, to rally his fellow Romans around Lucretia’s death, bring down the tyrant Tarquins and establish the republic.

Lucretia killed herself because her reputation had been, in the thinking of the time, irretrievably damaged. Sextus Tarquinus’ attack had certainly damaged his reputation (and that of royalty in general as far as Romans would be concerned), but, on a personal level, it had created an unendurable shame for Lucretia. She preserved her honour by taking her own life.

That choice would have seemed foolish to Cersei Lannister. When her reputation was threatened as news of her incestuous affair with Jaime came to Ned Stark’s attention, she incredulously spurned his suggestion that she flee with her children. As Cersei notes, in the game of thrones, you win or you die, and she intends to win.

To Cersei, reputation was important but only in terms of preserving the outward trappings of good reputation, not the inward satisfaction of rectitude. Lucretia’s choice would have been unfathomable to Robert Baratheon’s queen who channelled her anger at Robert’s obsession with Lyanna, his long-dead betrothed, into the promotion and preservation of her Lannister legacy on the throne. Cersei was not focused on her personal relationship with that royal power – that was the purview of her father, Tywin Lannister. This lands the queen in trouble when, after Robert’s death, Tywin is all too eager to marry her off again, no matter how unhappily, if it will secure the Lannister family.

Cersei’s unhappy experience with her own desires discounted against the concerns of family ambition resembles that of many medieval and early modern noblewomen such as Lucrezia Borgia. This Lucrezia, known to popular memory as a poisoner and accused of incestuous relations with her brother Cesare, was three times married in pursuit of family ambitions. Today, scholars are reopening the debate about Lucrezia’s independence of action in her family and with regards to her marriages, such as in Diane Yvonne Ghirardo’s recent “Lucrezia Borgia as Entrepreneur” Renaissance Quarterly 61:1 (Spring 2008): 53-91 who quotes a contemporary observer as characterizing the duchess as “a very intelligent woman, astute”.

That description seems tailor-made for another ambitious courtly woman in Westeros: Margaery Tyrell. The Tyrells control a different type of wealth than the gold of Casterly Rock: in this case it is the gold of Tyrell grain that makes them rich. As Matthew Yglesias claims, thanks to both the immediate appeal of foodstuffs, a renewable and vital resource, especially in hard times, as well as the savvy use of their resources made by Margaery and others, House Tyrell is wealthier than House Lannister.

Coached by her ruthless grandmother, the Queen of Thorns, Margaery marries Robert Baratheon’s equally ambitious younger brother, Renly, hoping to secure the seven kingdoms as his consort. When Renly is assassinated, Margaery is heartbroken not at the loss of her husband but at the loss of her opportunities as this conversation with Petyr Baelish proves. She doesn’t just want to be “a queen”, she wants to be “the queen” and Renly was her best bet until his death. Now Margaery must rethink her plans.

Both Margaery and Cersei have to watch their reputation, however, as their political power is subordinated to that of the men in their lives and their relationships are dependent upon remaining lily-white in the public eye. Margaery’s managing of her brother, Loras, her first husband, Renly and her second suitor, Joffrey, are all that give her hopes of gaining that ultimate prize in royal status. Cersei must subdue the truth of her incestuous affair to stay in her position as queen mother or face certain and utter condemnation should the truth ever leak irretrievably. In any case, neither woman has the wherewithal to pursue the throne directly as Danaerys Targaryen prepares to do.

What are the historical cautions for a Targaryen queenship? Stay tuned for the next installment here at this blog!