Poul Anderson

Two similar books were published in 1954. The first, in the US, was Poul Anderson's The Broken Sword . The second, in the UK, was JRR Tolkien's The Fellowship of the Ring . Both these romances drew on familiar Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon sources, but Anderson's was somewhat closer to its origins, a fast-paced doom-drenched tragedy in which human heroism, love and ambition, manipulated by amoral gods, elves and trolls, led inevitably to tragic consequences.

When I read it as a boy, Anderson's book impressed me so powerfully that I couldn't then enjoy Tolkien's. Both stories involved magical artefacts of great power whose possession inclined the users to drastic evil. Both described Faery as a world of ancient, pre-human races no longer as powerful as they once were. Both had characters who quoted or invented bits of bardic poetry at the drop of a rusted helm. None the less, I couldn't take Tolkien seriously. Aside from his nursery-room tone, I was unhappy with his infidelities of time, place and character, unconvinced by his female characters and quasi-juvenile protagonists.

Anderson set his tale firmly in the early part of the second millennium, in England's Danelaw, when "the White Christ" was threatening the power of all the old gods. He described how, without witch-sight, one might mistake elvish castles and towns for high, bleak mountains and boulder-strewn fells. He made it easy to believe that Yorkshire limestone could be the sparkling escarpments of Alfheim. His women were as sharply drawn and thoroughly motivated as his men.

What's more, Anderson's Eddic verse was better. Admittedly, he didn't fill his book with maps, chronologies and glossaries. He had no wise, all-knowing patriarchs. His only longbeard was sinister old Odin, using all his skills to survive. Anderson's human characters belonged to the 11th century and were often brutal, fearful and superstitious. Their lives were short. Their understanding of the future was a little bleak, with the prospect of Ragnarok just around the corner. To be on the safe side, even Christian priests accommodated the Aesir.

The Broken Sword opens with a bloody reaving. A land-hungry Dane cruelly destroys a Saxon family. Soon afterwards, riding out under a still, full moon, Earl Imric, ruler of all Britain's elves, encounters a Saxon witch, the sole survivor of the massacre. The witch craves vengeance against the Danes and tells Imric about the conqueror's new-born, unbaptised baby. Knowing the value of humans, who can handle iron, Imric quickly returns home to create, with a captive troll princess, a changeling he can substitute for the baby he calls Scafloc. Imric thus sets off a chain of terrible events foreshadowed by the gift brought to Scafloc's naming ceremony by the Aesir's messenger, Skirnir. The gift is an ancient iron sword broken into two pieces. Ultimately, the sword must be rejoined. This portends no good for men or elves. Meanwhile, the unwitting Danes name their troll-child Valgard. The boys grow up. Merry, graceful and brave, Scafloc is a credit to his adopted people. Equally strong, Valgard is a brooding brute. Scafloc becomes Alfeim's darling. Valgard be-comes a cruel berserker. Seduced by the witch and given greater power by Odin, Valgard soon adds fratricide and patricide to his crimes.

With Jacobean relish, Anderson thickens his plot with betrayal, rapine and incest. Our human capacity for love and hate is used to further the ambitions of Aesir and Faery alike. An elvish expedition to Trollheim alerts them to the threat of a troll army massing to destroy Alfheim for ever. Valgard discovers the truth of his own origins and joins the trolls. Fatally, Scafloc falls in love with a woman he rescues from Valgard. Inevitably, as the elves are vanquished, he embarks on a journey to reforge the broken sword. Ultimately all will be defeated by their own passions. Any victories will be bitter.

Tolkien's saga reflected the sentiments of sacrifice typical of post-first world war fiction. Anderson's seems to echo the existential mood of the west after the second world war. The Broken Sword has an atmosphere in common with the best 40s noir movies, themselves a reaction to the overblown romantic rhetoric of Nazism. With Mervyn Peake, Henry Treece and even TH White, Anderson influenced a school of epic fantasy fundamentally at odds with inkling reassurances.

In 1971, Anderson revised his book and weakened it. Victor Gollancz, which has done such an excellent job with its series of fantasy masterworks, has had the sense to publish the 1954 original. To read it is to understand much of the origins of an alternate fantasy tradition exemplified by such writers as M John Harrison, Philip Pullman and China Miéville, who reject the comforts of the Lamb and Flag and determinedly stick closer to deeper mythic resonances.  (Michael Moorcock, the Guardian, 2003)

There’s a certain irony that a novel whose primary theme is based around a Danish engineer being taken out of his own time and thrust into a fantasy world feels so out of place for when it was written. Anderson’s seminal fantasy work, Three Hearts and Three Lions, was first written as a serialised novella in the 50s, an era of classical science-fiction fantasy the most pervasive of which has to be Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. The contrast between the books is stark. Whereas Tolkien’s epic feels formal and serious, Anderson’s is simply (to use a Fifties’ expression) a ‘blast’.

The premise of the book seems clichéd now—an engineer, fighting in the resistance against the Nazis, is transported to another world. This realm is a pseudo-medieval place with features of European folklore and Arthurian legend. It is clear he is known in this world, but his own recollection is patchy and largely dormant. Gradually he recalls his own history and involvement with Morgan le Fay, and recognises a quest that awaits him.

It’s tricky reading the above and thinking this will offer anything new to the modern fantasy reader. It won’t. It will, however, give you a sense of where our wondrous genre came from. The story is naturally episodic, each chapter feeling like part of an ongoing TV series, and the hero, Holger’s, journey throws him into a series of encounters with giants, cannibals, faeries, witches and trolls. Throughout the quest all his modern sensibilities attempt to rationalise the world(and you can tell Anderson’s SF influences here). This is both overt, such as when he uses thermodynamic principles to defeat a dragon, and covert, where his very twentieth century (OK, very 1950s) opinion on women influence the quest.

There are some stereotypes and clichés within the book—the depiction of the women slavering after Holger is pure male fantasy – but they augment rather than detract. Its humour and style are so far removed from LOTR that you can hardly believe they were written at the same time. Anderson’s prose is wonderful – it is energetic and fast, with his descriptions of the world superbly done. The Holy Knight that Holger becomes was a major influence on the Paladin class in the role-playing game, Dungeons and Dragons, as were many of the monsters in the novel (notably the troll).

Any grumbles? The story is very linear in its execution, but given it was a serialised novella in its inception that’s not surprising. The dialect that Anderson uses for the dwarf Hugi, and the swan-may, Alianora, grates a touch, coming over as a sort of crap Glaswegian style. I did start to warm to it in the end, although it would have been more readable written without it. In summary, this is a classic of the genre by an excellent writer, with major influences for the half a century since it was created. It would be a great book to shove under the noses of those who think fantasy is all Tolkien-derivatives. It was a book out of its time in many ways. (Ross Kitson, Fantasy Book Review)

The High Crusade is the story of a band of English villagers led by Sir Roger de Tourneville.  As his men are training to battle the French during the Hundred Years' War, their small Lincolnshire village is visited by a spaceship.  Rather than cower in fear, the Englishman attack the Wersgor, eventually killing all save one and taking their spaceship to use against the French and Saracens.  However, Branithar, the surviving Wersgor causes them to fly to the Wersgorix colony world of Tharixan, expecting his race to be able to destroy the technologically inferior Englishmen. 

The majority of the novel deals with Sir Roger learning to deal, frequently in an underhanded way, with the Wersgorix and their subjugated races as he sets about building his own intergalactic empire.  At the same time, he must deal with a minor rebellion in his own ranks as Sir Owain, one of his knights, tries to return to Earth.  Depicted as the hero throughout the novel, Sir Roger is also shown as being ruthless in his attempts to gain the upperhand, whether dealing with his own subjects or his enemies. 

The High Crusade is an excellent adventure story, placing the heroic (human) characters against overwhelming odds in an hostile universe. While the novel doesn't necessarily hold up to close rational scrutiny, Anderson's tale is told in an engaging manner that allows the reader to fully immerse themselves in his universe and suspend their disbelief as much as any Hollywood blockbuster in which the hero overcomes overpowering forces. His aliens are intriguing, not least because of the orthographical games Anderson has engaged in.

While The High Crusade was told from the point of view of Friar Parvus, "Quest" is from the pen of Sir Thomas Hameward, which allowed Anderson to play with a different writing style. This story has the descendents of the original crusaders searching the galaxy for the Holy Grail.  While the idea that the Grail may have been removed from Earth seems silly, a fact mentioned in the story, Anderson applies the Medieval mindset to formulate a reasonable excuse for the Grail's interstellar placement, and the story, while short and a little abrupt, makes a nice coda to The High Crusade.

Anderson's story of a group of Medieval knights let loose on the galaxy and demonstrating their innate superiority is a throwback to an earlier style of writing with different concerns and sensibilities than our society fifty years later, yet reading it, the novel still has an enjoyability and a freshness which makes it enjoyable. The addition of "Quest," a little known story (although it was reprinted in the 2002 Anderson collection Going for Infinity) will give reader who are already familiar with The High Crusade a new story and, perhaps, a different view of that familiar tale. (Steven H. Silver, SF Site)

The King of Ys is a historical fantasy -- it is set in our world just before the fall of the Roman Empire and it mixes in the legend of the mythical city of Ys which was built below sea level on the coast of Brittany. Many of the characters in The King of Ys (Roman emperors, Christian saints, etc) are based on legendary and real historical figures and Poul and Karen Anderson include plenty of footnotes which explain the legend of Ys and the culture and religion of the 5th century.

In Roma Mater, we meet Gaius Valerius Gratillonius, a Roman centurion stationed at Hadrian's Wall. Because of his loyalty to would-be-emperor Magnus Clemens Maximus, the commander of the Roman troops in Britannia, Maximus assigns him to be Rome's prefect in Ys so that Gratillonius can keep it loyal while Maximus goes for the purple. Ys, though part of the Roman empire, has been left to itself for years because it's spooky. According to rumors, Ys is ruled by nine witches who, among other things, control the weather to keep Ys safe from enemies intending to invade by sea. These nine "witches" are the God-chosen wives of the King of Ys who is a nasty tyrant. His nine wives use their powers to ask the Gods to bring them a deliverer -- someone to challenge the king.

And so Gratillonius and his small troop arrive in Ys and soon he finds himself king. Along with inheriting the crown, Gratillonius gets the nine witch queens, too. As he sets out to reform Ys, which has suffered under the former rule, he has a lot of unfamiliar stuff to deal with: the responsibilities of a king, the different culture, a strange land and people, clashes in religious beliefs (he covertly worships Mithras who has been denounced by the newly Christian Roman Empire, and the Ysans worship three pagan gods), and satisfying nine wives who vary greatly in age, beauty, intelligence, and appreciation for men.

At first, Gratillonius balances all of this mostly successfully, and he begins to restore the prosperity of Ys. He is well-intentioned, but he can't help but occasionally go wrong as his own beliefs conflict with his people's and their gods'. One problem is that the Ysan's believe that their gods will destroy Ys by flood if they are not obeyed. So, there is a conflict between the Ysans' expectations of Gratillonius's duties at their religious rites, his desire to keep alive the worship of Mithras, and his admiration for the Christian leaders he knows. The other big problem is that when one of his wives dies, the gods choose the replacement from the priestesses who are all descendents of the previous kings and queens and the gods don't seem to care too much about age, mental ability, or consanguinity. So, not only are there nine wives, but their family tree looks more like an M.C. Escher drawing than a tree, and this kind of behavior isn't congruent with the worship of either Mithras or Christ. (But it does make for some interesting reading.)

The first two books, Roma Mater and Gallicenae, progress rather slowly and there's not much action -- and this is really my only complaint about The King of Ys. But, by the end of Gallicenae, we've seen the ways Gratillonius has had to struggle to obey the Ysan gods, and we can be rather certain about what they're going to throw at him next ... and we know he's going to defy them this time. And, we've seen some plot threads being developed (warriors preparing overseas) that are presumably being carefully set up for use in the next novel.

In the third novel, Dahut, things really come to a head, and the fallout is spectacular. The reader then realizes and appeciates how carefully the Andersons have planned and crafted this work from page one. Well done! The fourth book, Dog and Wolf, deals with the after-effects of the events in book three, develops the characters further as their lives have drastically changed, and comes to a satisfactory conclusion.

Besides being a fascinating and original tale with real historical feel, The King of Ys is beautifully written:
"The armies met south of the River Ruirthech. That was a day when clouds blew like smoke, low above the valley, underneath a sky the hue of lead. Rainshowers rushed out of them, drenched men, washed their wounds and their dead, passed away on the keening wind. All colors were dulled except those of blood and gold. Shouts, horn calls, hoofbeats, footfalls, clamorous wheels, clash and rattle of weapons, were somehow muffled. But blows fell as heavy and sharp as always."

My favorite parts were Gratillonious's internal thoughts about his wives:
"He gazed back. Over the years she had added flesh to flesh, though her frame was quite large enough that as yet she did not appear quite gross. Her features remained good in their heavy fashion and her hair was still a burnished red-brown. It was untidely piled on her head, like the raiment on her body. He had grown used to that....Well, she had her righs, and she was by no means a bad person, and a man ought to shoulder his burdens without whining about them."

And there is poetry -- even whole chapters of poetry!
"Would you know the dog from the wolf? You may look at his paw,
Comparing the claw and the pad; you may measure his stride;
You may handle his coat and his ears; you may study his jaw;
And yet what you seek is not found in his bones or his hide,
For between the Dog and the Wolf there is only the Law."

Near the end of the story, Gratillonious meets a young soldier who is in nearly the same situation he was in when he left Britain 25 years before. Shocked, he looks back and realizes that he's not the same man he was then -- he would make different choices now. Through love and loss, we learn what's important -- that's a good story.( ~FanLit.net)

Operation Chaos If you've never read anything in the unusual genre of science fantasy that blends science fiction and magic, this is the place to start. It`s one of the classics of the unique genre.

This book consists of four connected novellas published between 1956 and 1969 in The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction: "Operation Afreet," "Operation Salamander," "Operation Incubus," and the three-part "Operation Changeling." Anderson added linking material for book publication in the 70s.

Heroes Steve (a werewolf) and Virginia (his witch wife) fight against a demon being used as a superweapon in World War II, stop an elemental college prank gone amok, confront a succubus/incubus on their romantic getaway, and enter the hell dimension to save their daughter. The tone changes between the different segments: the college story is riotously funny and played almost strictly for laughs, while the lengthy final novella emphasizes heavy science, a deadly-serious quest, and thought-provoking satire on religious zeal gone wrong. But ultimately, I'm not complaining: this is top-notch science-fantasy and an example of what an incredible talen the late Poul Anderson was. His logical approach to fantasy makes magic and the supernatural into scientific forces that operate in his fictional universe the same way that modern technology operates in ours. The world of Operation Chaos is recognizable as 20th-century America, except that magic is this world's science, and is treated in the same way that scientific theories and inventions are in our own. Anderson handles this difficult conceit to near perfection, writing fantasy with the techniques of science fiction. Operation Luna is a sequel to Operation Chaos, written some 30-40 years later. It is set in a contemporary universe where magic (or goetics as they call it) works. It is a scientific culture, and the laws of physics apply. Familiar and strange principles combine to create some hilarious sections. One does tend to question the presence of streets in a world where everyone flies around on brooms and carpets. The main characters are Steve Matuchek and his wife Virginia. Steve, an engineer and werewolf, gives a first-person account. Virginia, a beautiful and powerful witch who is the real brain of the pair, has no qualms about using her looks and sex appeal as well as her skills. She even travels to another universe to find a tax attorney. She and Steve must deal with good, evil and mischievous spirits, rival practitioners, NASA, the FBI and the IRS. Also in the mix is their daughter, Valeria, who was 3 years old when she was taken to hell (alive!) She is now 15, gorgeous, nubile, a budding witch and ready to play an active role. There is an overly talkative sword, an ancient dwarf and other interesting characters and scenes in a humorous treatment of the serious subject of space travel development and the evil attempts to stop it; brilliant!  (Amazon)

Hrolf Kraki's Saga Poul Anderson took the Viking saga of Hrolf Kraki and crafted this magnificent fantasy novel from the legendary king's story. Hrolf was a sort of Arthurian equivalent of the northern folk tales and myths, but Anderson brought him to life in this novelized retelling of his exploits. Like much of northern mythology the story is dark in spots, dealing with such items as murderous sibling rivalry, incestuous relationships, and the common every day brutality that must have been common in the era that was rightly called "the Dark Ages". Even so, Anderson captured the heroic nature of the story, as well as the courageous outlook of the original saga recorders. The story is a myth retold, rather than historical fiction, although the opening framework sequence is set in historical times with a woman being asked to recount the old myths to a royal gathering during a feast time. Anderson also pens a good introduction which gives some of the historical and legendary background to the tale. Tales, rather, as the saga is actually a series of stories about several of the warriors who end up in the service of Hrolf. A final battle and glorious defeat mark the end of the story. Like much of Northern mythology there is courage and hope even in the face of tragedy and loss. The parallels to some of Arthurian legend seemed rather marked to me, and made me want to go back and reread some of those tales. (Amazon)

A Midsummer Tempest This story is truly one-of-a-kind; a labor of love (being dedicated to the author's wife) as well as a tour de force. It can be savored on four levels: first as "simply" a fine and original fantasy novel; second as a clever and "natural" (that is, unforced) interweaving of characters and locales from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream and The Tempest, with a light seasoning of Arthurian themes; thirdly as a masterful adaptation of the language rhythms of a Shakespeare play (with the chapters/acts divided into "scenes"); and finally as an extraordinary, subtle (that is, unobtrusive) integration of poetry (again a la Shakespeare) into prose narative. For example, chapters or "scenes" occasionally end with a rhymed couplet, but that is only the most obvious of the many Excellencies. All four levels are seamlessly incorporated in a most extraordinary manner. The first time I read this book - in 1974 - I was halfway through before I began to realize what the author had achieved. Thus lovers of fantasy can thoroughly enjoy the story, while connoisseurs of the English language will find additional reasons to rejoice. This book is a gem - a masterpiece. I have treasured my paperback copy for 27 years. (Amazon)

The Merman's Children An ambitious elaboration of the Danish legend echoed in Matthew Arnold's ""The Forsaken Merman,"" here lavishly extended with history and other scaffoldings. Fleeing the ruined Jutish met-kingdom of Liri, the tribe of King Vanimen find their way to the coast of Dalmatia, already peopled with its own ""uncanny beings."" Meanwhile the king's half-human son and daughter, exploring westward in search of treasure and their lost people, encounter marvels ranging from the Great Selkie of Sule Skerry to the Inuit of Greenland. The leitmotiv of the narrative is the inevitable decline of ""Faerie"" as the Christian West swallows up the ways of the elder ""halfworld."" For sheer, imaginative sweep, this is surely one of Anderson's most remarkable books, though the writing often strays into purple commonplace and leaden sentimentality. (Kirkus Review)

The Demon of Scattery This book is actually not much more than a novella, with close to four dozen of its 193 pages taken up by a wealth of Hugo-winning artist Alicia Austin's curiously stiff and two-dimensional line drawings. How's the damn story? Actually quite good, though it never veers too far from a fairly predictable course. The tale opens in the 9th century, as a trio of viking ships arrives at the island of Scattery off the coast of Ireland, having already had a fairly successful run of raping and pillaging throughout the Isles. Led by the grim yet valorous Halldor, the Norsemen waylay a group of hapless monks in a lonely tower, but Halldor's son, Ranulf, is nearly killed in the brief meleé when one lucky novice drops a very large rock on his head. Ranulf's life is saved by Brigit, a nun captured by Halldor on a previous raid; impressed by Brigit's nobility in the face of all she has had to suffer (what do you think vikings do to women?), her willingness to aid her captors, and admittedly intimidated by her devotion to her Christian God, Halldor promises Brigit her freedom if Ranulf recovers. Though of course, Halldor has no qualms about taking Brigit for himself.  But Brigit's faith in Christ is wavering even as she seems to have instilled some in Ranulf, and her crisis only increases as Halldor's ships return to the island one day after having sailed off to sack an abbey some miles away. After an anguished monk commits suicide at having felt abandoned by Christ, a desperately embittered Brigit has a supernatural encounter with a pagan goddess, her namesake, that spurs her towards fulfilling her vengeful desires upon the vikings. (Needless to say, this story will probably piss off Christians, and is thus not recommended to them.)

It's fairly easy to figure out what transpires next just by looking at the cover of the book, and yet the sequence is still exciting. But even as the story can be criticized for its predictable turns (the scene in which Brigit draws Halldor into her trap practically screams "plot point"; there's really no reason for him to agree to go along with it), it still makes for pleasurable reading due to strong characterization given to Halldor and Brigit, who come across as believable people — especially Brigit — rather than mythic archetypes simply filling stock roles in a stock legend. The prose is crisp and very accessible, except for an incongruous prologue that is written in an annoyingly pompous high-myth style and really has no reason to be in the book. There are also a couple of appendices, detailing the historical and mythical roots of the novel; neat stuff. (Thomas M. Wagner, SF Site)

Conan the Rebel Due to the machinations of the evil sorcerer Tothapis, Set the reptile God cruelly rules Stygia. Set warns Tothapis that a threat to their well being comes from the alliance between Conan and Belit, who met in sword to sword combat, felt an attraction and joined sides. Belit leads pirates trying to free her people from the reptiles rule while Conan lays back providing strategic advice to her. Everything changes when Conan finds the Axe of Veranghi. Instead of just advising, he begins to take charge. Along side Belit, Conan leads her force in combat as they close in on a final confrontation with the reptile God and his wicked minion including the powerful Tothapis. The great Poul Anderson takes readers on a journey into the Cimmerian world of Robert E. Howard. Though a fine tale, purists will feel this is not Mr. Howard or even the Marvel comic. (Amazon)

The Devil's Game Seven people--including a porno star, a mercenary soldier, and a woman who cannot afford the treatment to save her child--come to Havener's Island to play a deadly game with a million tax-free dollars as the prize. But they are unaware their host is following the instructions of an inhuman creature--and even Havener doesn't know the real purpose of his demonic master's game.

War of the Gods Veteran pro Anderson offers a Dark Age saga based on Old Scandinavian mythology and the exploits of the legendary Danish King Hadding (cf. Bernard King's Starkadder, 1989). Following a disastrous war of the gods between the Aesir and the Vanir, the Vanir Njord becomes an implacable foe of the Aesir and their chief, Odin. So Odin arranges for Njord's avatar to be born in the world of men as Hadding, son of King Gram Skjoldung of Denmark. To ensure his safety, young Hadding is sent to live with a family of jotuns, or giants. Meanwhile, Svipdag, King of Geatland and Svithjod (Sweden), invades Denmark and kills Gram. Later, helped by a disguised Odin, Hadding overcomes Svipdag, but the latter's son Uffi retains control of Geatland and Svithjod, and the blood feud between them drags on for years. Eventually, after many further adventures, Hadding will relinquish his kingdom to his hotheaded children and give himself to Odin, thereby ending the dispute among the gods. Anderson writes in a modern Anglo- Saxon, full of words that long ago vanished from English; and if readers are sent scurrying to consult dictionaries and encyclopedias--so much the better. A brilliantly accomplished yarn that smolders bravely without quite catching fire. (Kirkus Review)

Mother of Kings is a direct reworking of tales about Gunnhild Ozuradottir, the historical wife of tenth-century Norse King Eirik Haraldsson Blood-Axe, who bore him nine children before his murder. Spanning a grim, unforgivingly primitive landscape reaching from Iceland to arctic Norway, down to England and east to Russia, it is mainly about Gunnhild, a child of a minor Norse warlord, who barely escapes a rape and then persuades her father Ozur to let her study sorcery with a pair of Finnish wizards. When the wizards become far too friendly, she makes a pact with Thorolf Skallagrimson, brother of the scheming, brutishly violent Egil (whose sagas are the earliest source for Gunnhild), to slay the wizards. Thorolf introduces her to Eirik, whom she glimpsed in a vision and quickly marries. While Eirik plunges into increasingly treacherous maneuvers for control of the unraveling empire of King Harald, Gunnhild uses her sorcery and increasingly astute political savvy to survive a series of intrigues. Though powerful beyond her dreams, Gunnhild fails to control her fractious brood and flees to the Orkney Islands. Episodic adventure in a visceral, peculiarly archaic language (“Soon after the knarr turned in there, it was sail down, oars out and Skeggi at the tiller”) with far too many similarly named characters. Still, a worthy effort through it all. (Kirkus Review)

Anderson obviously loves the old sagas himself and most of his fantasy stories use a similarly laconic, poetic style like the sagas. Uniquely among Anderson’s neo-sagas, The Last Viking has no fantasy elements, and almost all the characters are real people.  Anderson does a great job interpolating what various people might have thought and said, and the battles are usually vivid and exciting.

The Last Viking tells the story of the incredible career of Harald Hardarda, the king of Norway whose death marks the end of the “Viking era”. Anderson managed to make Hardrada, who could easily be cast as a villain, into a heroic, if not too sympathetic, character, that we can root for.  Knowing ahead of time that his enterprise in England is doomed, and having grown fond of Harald and his loyal followers along the way, make the final chapters especially engrossing.  The last stand of one of his warriors on Stamford bridge itself — an incredible but apparently true event — channels both the grim comedy of Gimli & Legolas’ contest on the walls of Helm’s Deep with the tragic end of Boromir.  But I suspect this has more to do with the common sources of both Tolkien and Anderson than anything else.  (Another one of the characters in this saga took part in the battle of Maldon, pointing to another common reference point for Tolkien and Anderson.)

Harald Hardrada did just about everything a Viking could hope to do in his life time, and travelled most of the Viking world (he never made it to Iceland, Greenland, or Vinland, but he adventured in Russia, the Eastern Roman Empire, and the Holy Land, not to mention ravaging Denmark, England, etc.).  He encounters characters that range from the utterly despicable to the noble, and as I’ve found in all of Poul Anderson’s stories so far, both the heroes and villains are entirely human and can be both sympathetic and abominable … like real people, I suppose. I ploughed through these three volumes of The Last Viking (The Golden Horn, The Road of the Sea Horse, The Sign of the Raven) in the last couple of weeks (using just the free moments I have at lunch breaks and so forth) and strongly recommend it. (Mike Monaco, Swords and Dorkery)

This is a collection of Poul Anderson's short fiction that focuses on his fantasy output. The book is divided into three sections: "Historical," "A-Historical," and "It Could Happen To You." Out of the first section the opening piece "House Rule," was truly fantastical on every front telling the story of a strange tavern that exists outside of normal time and space called the "Old Phoenix" which is populated by a host of fictional characters and historical characters, to say more would ruin the tale, and I would not wish to do that at all. The other two pieces from the "Historical" section were simply not to my taste, but mileage I know will vary.

The next section: "A-Historical," contained five tales, and two of these feature a wonderful traveling bard known as Cappen Verra (The Valor of Cappen Varra & The Gate of the Flying Knives)- must reads for any fan of fantasy short fiction. The rest of this section is made up of two interesting takes on standard themes present within the fantasy genre, "A Logical Conclusion," dealing with two individuals, one a book publisher and one a barbarian type undergoing the old switcheroo, and "The Barbarian," a fun twist to the barbarian tale- neither were truly great, but both worth reading. This section closes out with a great essay entitled "On Thud and Blunder" which any aspiring writer of sword and sorcery fiction would do well to read, as it truly provides some great pointers on accurate world building, many of which are oft ignored.

The final section: "It Could Happen To You," contained five short pieces of fiction, another essay on the craft ("Fantasy in the Age of Science"), and ended with a well put together afterword ("An Invitation to Elfland" by Sandra Miesel). As far as the tales in this section "Bullwinch's Mythology" and "Superstition," were average falling short of the standard Anderson caliber, and "Pact" was quitte good providing an interesting twist on the old "deal with the devil" theme. The two pieces that really stood out in this section were "Interloper," which provided a truly interesting take on the world of fairies and elves, and "The Visitor" which was a hauntingly beautiful tale about a dream and tragic loss, both I would consider must read short stories.

All in all if you are a fan of Poul Anderson then this is simply a must read as you well know that he is a great writer in any field he chooses to plant words. I would also recommend this book to any fan of the fantasy genre in general as it provides many interesting takes on themes found within the genre. Namaste. (Matt, GoodReads)