Monday, October 14, 2024

Guest Post Series: Dennis Wilson Wise, "The New Poets of Rum-Ram-Ruf: Troubles in SF Poetry—Part II"

The excellent series of guest-posts from Dennis Wilson Wise, of which the most recent is here, continues looking at contemporary artists working with alliterative verse. Editorial intrusion remains minimal, mostly inserting relevant links.

Check back for the next post in the series soon!


[Last week in Part I of “Troubles in SF Poetry,” I discussed a poem by Poul Anderson and how he resolved the issue of creating a science-fictional context for a poem in an alliterative meter. Here in Part II, we now discuss Marcie Lynn Tentchoff’s “The Song of the Dragon-Prowed Ships,” with a brief excursion into a few lines from Math Jones’s “Lenctenlong.”]

𝔚hile researching Speculative Poetry and the Modern Alliterative Revival, when I first encountered “The Song of the Dragon-Prowed Ships,” I instantly knew that here was one of the most throat-catchingly good SF poems yet to appear in an alliterative meter.

Tentchoff herself is hardly new to verse-craft. Back in 2000, her long Arthurian poem, Surrendering the Blade, won Canada’s prestigious Aurora Award, but her love for all things Norse goes back even further. She’d grown up reading Poul Anderson, for instance, but at Simon Fraser University she also took classes in Middle English, Old English, and Old Norse literature…and there she learned the deft intricacies of skaldic meter, which she puts on virtuosic display in “The Song of the Dragon-Prowed Ships.”

It does rather forecast things...
Image provided by Wise.
From that title, you can probably guess our main protagonists will be Vikings, those notorious seafarers famed for their longships with dragon-headed prows, but these particular Vikings face a problem. Much like Alexander who wept because he had no more worlds to conquer, Tentchoff’s “red-grimed / reavers of doom’s grieving” have conquered nearly all the lands their terrifying longships can reach.

Yet here we encounter no half-hearted skaldic metrics such as those found in “The Scothan Queen” by Anderson. Here, Tentchoff is dróttkvætt meter’s master, and she marshals all the considerable power of that form to articulate the existential despair of her Vikings, their frustrated lust for great and dangerous deeds of glory.

As she says:

Dark-eyed, we sat drinking,
daunted by scalds’ taunting,
songs not worth the singing,
sighing for dreams dying…

More than anything else, the dróttkvætt form is best designed for praise. It excels when flattering kings, but aggressive marauding pirates need their own encomiums, too. Yet in a world where opportunities for such marauding have declined, we can readily imagine how Tentchoff’s poor, mocked Vikings are feeling quite sorry for themselves.

As is traditional.
Image provided by Wise.
Luckily, that’s when the aliens arrive.

Now, for anyone not previously aware that this is a SF poem, the sudden appearance of alien star-farers can seem as genre-jarring as From Dawn to Dusk (1996), the film that starts off as an excellent prison-break movie before inexplicably—and hilariously—turning into a gore-ridden vampire flick. Despite her suddenly materialized aliens, though, Tentchoff employs a more believable premise Poul Anderson. For example, in “Tiger by the Tail,” I can’t for the life of me figure out how any “barbarian” people can successfully steal interstellar technology. Simply using it would require vast educational and social resources the Scothani simply don’t have.

Anderson mostly punts on that problem, but Tentchoff finds something a little more workable even while borrowing his “steal alien technology” idea. As her Vikings sit at home, crying into their mead, an alien starship crash-lands into port. Other than “strange-made,” we’re offered no description of these aliens. Apparently, though, advanced technology hasn’t translated into robust physical fitness, so once Tentchoff’s bored Vikings get over their initial shock, they make quick violent work of the survivors.

A few aliens show some backbone during the fight, however, and, as a reward, instead of killing them, Tentchoff’s Vikings turn them into thralls…a perfectly normal Viking thing to do. But it’s these alien thralls who then build and staff a new starship capable of transporting the Viking victors to the stars. Thus Tentchoff ends her poem on a surprisingly upbeat note—at least if you’re a blood-thirsty reaver:

Seek we now the skypaths,
sailing till blades fail us,
raiders, star-ship riders,
red-drenched moonbeam treaders.

So if your friendly neighborhood skalds are making fun of you, the solution’s simple—capture a couple alien thralls capable of building you a few dragon-prowed ships of the interstellar variety. You’ll never need to weep for lack of worlds to conquer. The galaxy is a big place.

This little seven-stanza dróttkvætt poem is thus remarkable not only for Tentchoff’s dazzling use of skaldic meter, but also for how she combines our medieval past (Vikings) with a technological future (aliens) in a way both reasonable and that aligns thematically with her chosen form. “The Song of the Dragon-Prowed Ships” is a smart SF poem smartly handled.

At this point, I can’t resist mentioning one more excellent poem that, although not technically SF, still combines an ancient Norse past with folks leaving the cozy confines of our native planet. Although I’ll later dedicate an entire entry to Math Jones, whose “Mother’s Song” is one of the finest texts in the Modern Alliterative, his skaldic poem “Lenctenlong” deserves special praise in its own right.

Like Tentchoff, he’s writing in the dróttkvætt meter, and “Lenctenlong” praises a Yuletide present—a shield—given to him by Thorskegga Thorn, a friend. On this shield, Thorskegga has painted four scenes from Norse mythology, and the third depicts the comic tale of when Thor accidentally hooks the Midgard Serpent, Jörmungand, on a fishing trip gone awry.

The incident goes down like this. Thor and the jötun Hymir go out fishing, but Thor, not always the best of listeners (and holding a grudge again Hymir), disregards his companion’s advice by going farther and farther out to sea … where, conveniently, there are no witnesses. At any rate, Thor has baited his fishing hook with a bull’s head, and the Midgard Serpent decides to take a nibble. Determined to catch the monster at all costs, Thor then sets his feet on the ocean floor. This starts to split their boat asunder, which so terrifies poor Hymir that the jötun cuts Thor’s fishing line. According to Thorskegga’s image, Thor still manages to kill Jörmungand by splitting its head in half with Mjöllnir. Unfortunately, Thor is then so irritated by Hymir’s punk line-cutting move that he—incurable scamp that he is—pushes Hymir overboard. To his death. Ha ha. See, Norse mythology is hilarious.

What’s important about this tale for our purposes, however, is how this section of “Lenctenlong” ends. Jones writes,

…Now,
the heirs of Heimdall fare
o’er leagues with lifting steeds
to lands beyond Jörmungandr,
have e’en moored in the meres
of Mundilfari’s son.

Unless you know Norse mythology well, this passage will probably seem puzzling, but the three big references are that “heirs of Heimdall” is a kenning for mankind, “Mundilafari’s son” is a kenning for moon, and that Jörmungand—the world-encircling serpent—can also mean Earth. So just as Thor during his fishing trip has fared boldly on the world’s welkin, so someday, Math Jones hints, humanity will fare even more boldly into the lands beyond Earth, sailing on space-faring vessels to the seas of the moon—the Mare Humorum, the Mare Imbrium, and so on.

In other words, spaceflight.

Between Jones and Tentchoff, SF poetry therefore finds powerful expression through skaldic meter. Yet for a slightly different spin on how SF can meet the Modern Alliterative Revival, we must next turn to the incomparable Rosemary Kirstein.

[Here ends Part II of “Troubles in SF Poetry.” For my discussion of Kirstein in Part III, tune in next week.]

Monday, October 7, 2024

Guest Post Series: Dennis Wilson Wise, "The New Poets of Rum-Ram-Ruf: Troubles in SF Poetry—Part I"

This triumphant return of the series of guest-posts from Dennis Wilson Wise, of which the most recent is here, continues looking at contemporary artists working with alliterative verse. As before, editorial intrusion is minimal, mostly inserting relevant links.

Check back for the next post in the series soon!


𝔉or this entry, indulge me—I’d like to spend a moment on an alliterative poem that, at first glance, looks entirely humdrum. And at second glance too, in fact. Honestly, it’s a real snoozer of a poem. Still, if you remember, I once devoted a whole entry several months back to Poul Anderson, the second most prolific revivalist (after Tolkien) in the 20th century. Several poems from him do range between interesting and outstanding. Off the top of my head, I can name “Route Song of the Winged Folk,” “Autumn,” and his skaldic translations for the fanzine Amra.

Nonetheless, if you picked out any random poem by Anderson, I doubt most people would be impressed. One such “filler” poem is “The Scothan Queen.” This eight-liner appears in loose dróttkvætt meter, and it originated in a short story for the January 1951 issue of Planet Stories, “Tiger by the Tail,” the inaugural Dominic Flandry entry in Anderson’s Technic History series.

Source in image. Image provided by Wise.
Mr. Flandry is your prototypical dashing male pulp hero, and as an agent for the Terran Empire, he often does his best James Bond impression by wooing a new ladyfriend whenever possible. “Tiger by the Tail” is no exception. Here, Anderson’s Scothani are a barbarian tribe who had just recently stolen interstellar technology from another people, and to complete his mission, poor Flandry—always willing to take one for the team—must seduce the queen of the Scothani. (Duty, amiright?) Luckily, Queen Gunli is more of a poetry than a flowers kind of gal, so one measly verse is all Flandry requires to sweep the royal lady off her feet. And since the Scothani are barbarians, naturally he selects a meter in their native bardic form: the alliterative Old Norse court meter, dróttkvætt.

Only one thing, indeed, makes this dull little sexist romp of a poem worthwhile—the sheer fact that it counts as science fiction.

Granted, Anderson never invokes any SF tropes in these scant eight lines of text. Dominic Flandry, though, is clearly a science fiction protagonist dashing about in a science fiction magazine, so that largely determines our genre expectations for “The Scothan Queen.” And moreover, SF poems in the Modern Revival are remarkably rare. The revivalists’ most common genre is fantasy…and it’s not even close. Horror follows at a distant second, and non-genre speculative verse has a strong showing thanks to pagan poets and members of the Society for Creative Anachronism.

SF poetry, though? Not so much. That’s about as common as finding enlightened gender relations in pulp-era interplanetary adventure stories.

The main hurdle, I think, is how strongly most speculative poets associate medieval content with the Germanic alliterative meters. Now, obviously, there’s no strict, logical, or unbreakable connection between poetic form and historical period, but insofar as “fantasy=past” and “SF=future” in most people’s minds, yeah, most revivalist poems are going to be fantasy. Anderson’s solution to this little conundrum is to combine past with future in “The Scothan Queen.” He grants his barbarian people, the Scothani, just enough interstellar technology that an SF magazine could legitimately publish “Tiger by the Tail.” Yet that’s a very specific plot premise that can’t be utilized too often…and as it happens, Anderson’s second SF poem in an unmodified alliterative meter wouldn’t arrive until 38 years later in Boat of a Million Years.

Still, Anderson’s method of combining a poetic form linked to pre-industrial Europe with a technologically advanced far-future society, in due time, found two remarkable heirs. And it’s precisely Marcie Lynn Tentchoff and Rosemary Kirstein whom I would like to discuss next.

So, without further ado…

[Here ends Part I of “Troubles in SF Poetry.” For my discussion of Tentchoff in Part II, tune in next week.]

Thursday, July 4, 2024

Getting Started on #Kzoo2025

ello, all, and may you all be well!

The Tales after Tolkien Society is pleased to report having received the following information from the International Congress on Medieval Studies, namely that the Society's proposal for a session titled Return of the Franchise: Twenty-First-Century Continuations of Tolkien's Medievalism has been accepted. It is session ID 6320, and it has been accepted as a hybrid session--meaning that there will be a physical presence on site as well as openness to virtual presentation!

Please view the official call for papers, here, and consider sending your submission directly to the Society's session, here. Abstracts are due no later than 15 September 2024. In the meantime, the public description of the session is

Seventy years after the release of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, his work continues to circulate and inspire. However, the franchise built around his work has also expanded recently. Whether looking at the upcoming movies, The War of the Rohirrim and Hunt for Gollum, the imminent second season of the Rings of Power show, or video games like Return to Moria and Tales of the Shire, we have seen a marked increase of licensed Middle-earth media over the last few years. It is in this proliferation of Tolkienian works that this paper panel aims to discuss the new iterations and additions to the Lord of the Rings franchise.

Approaches that take in diverse media and/or work from a variety of theoretical approaches are welcome. Proposals from those typically excluded from formal academe are particularly welcome.

Monday, May 13, 2024

#Kzoo2024 Report (with an eye toward #Kzoo2025)

𝔗he Tales after Tolkien Society continued its work at the online International Congress on Medieval Studies hosted by Western Michigan University in Kalamazoo, Michigan. For the 2024 iteration of the event, the Society conducted its annual general meeting; it also sponsored and presented a paper session and a roundtable discussion. Notes about each appear below.

The Meeting

Per §5.1 of the Society Constitution, an Annual General Meeting of the Society was held during the 2023 Congress, taking place online via the Congress. It was called to order on 9 May 2024 at 8:32pm, GMT-4hrs. Presiding was President Geoffrey B. Elliott; in attendance were Secretary and Social Media Officer Rachel Sikorski, as well as Kris Swank and John D. Rateliff.

As previously noted, the agenda for the meeting consisted of two items: determination of offerings for the 2025 Congress and election of the Society President for the term 2024-2027 (as provided for by §4.2.2 of the Society Constitution and subsections). Regarding the first, the Society purposes to focus on session co-sponsorships with groups whose aims are similar to those of the Society, with Kris Swank agreeing to liaise with the Tolkien at Kalamazoo group and Geoffrey B. Elliott agreeing to liaise with the International Society for the Study of Medievalism. The Society will also be proposing a roundtable session, Off of the Printed Prose Page: Multimodal Medievalisms. A second session topic will be held in reserve against need.

Regarding the election of Society President, Geoffrey B. Elliott reaffirmed his recusal from consideration, citing outside concerns, previous terms in office, and the need for new direction. By agreement, Rachel Sikorski resigned as Social Media Officer and was acclaimed as President, appointing Geoffrey B. Elliott to the position of Social Media Officer for the duration of the current term (until 2025), which agreement was approved by the membership present.

The discussion that followed clarified points of action to be taken and understandings of the above agenda items for members present. Clarification of past years' discussions was also made. No additional business was brought up by the Society for consideration.

A motion to adjourn the meeting was made by Rachel Sikorski and seconded by Kris Swank. No opposition being heard, the meeting was adjourned at 9:31pm, UTC-4hrs.

The Paper Session

The paper session, "Alternative Medievalisms against the Tolkienian Tradition," was scheduled for 10 May 2024 at 1:30pm, UTC-4hrs. Kris Swank presided over the session. Geoffrey B. Elliott and Rachel Sikorski presented papers.

Geoffrey B. Elliott's paper, "An Update to 'Moving Beyond Tolkien's Medievalism,'" referenced early work the Society had done before adding to an argument that had been made at earlier Congresses and in print--namely that Robin Hobb's Realm of the Elderlings milieu, by presenting refiguration of North America, expands upon the Tolkienian fantasy tradition in useful ways. A copy of his paper will appear on his personal website, www.elliottrwi.com.

Rachel Sikorski's paper, "Critical Successes: Celebrating and Exploring the Rise of Diverse Settings Within Tabletop Role-Playing Games,” analyzed three recently published sourcebooks/guides—Journeys Through The Radiant Citadel, The Islands Of Sina Una, and Coyote & Crow—in the TTRPG hobby. Her paper focused on the recent push for non-Eurocentric settings and stories in the community and how that market shift is currently being addressed by the large companies in the space, as well as independent publishers and game-makers. An (unabridged) version of her paper will be posted on this blog in the coming weeks.

The Roundtable

The roundtable session, "Tolkien and Twenty-First Century Challenges," featured two speakers. The first, Hafsah Khan (she/her), was introduced as "a second-year MA student in the English department at New York University. She is interested in exploring how imperial structures seep into fantastical landscapes, colonizing the imagination, as well as the way sociopolitical otherizations processes are mimicked in fantasy world-building. She is currently working on completing her thesis which explores constructions of monstrosity and blackness in Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings by examining the geographical and linguistic cultural codes used in association with the Orc race. The second, Brenna Duperron, was introduced as "a recent graduate of the doctoral program in the Department of English at Dalhousie University. Her SSHRC-funded doctoral project, 'Fear Not the Language of the World: Red Reading Literacy in The Book of Margery Kempe,' bridges Indigenous and premodern scholarship, disrupting the borders of orality/literacy in medieval texts. Her next project interrogates the intersection between Indigeneity and fantasy medievalism, and how the genre reasserts settler-colonial frameworks and ideologies."

Following remarks by the featured speakers, robust discussion ensued, taking in a number of topics of interest. Representations of settler-colonial ideologies and complications of those representations were treated at some length, and participants in the discussion offered several useful links for further reading and research:

Noted also was Society contact information. In addition to this webspace, the Society has a presence on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/726754757384460/, at https://twitter.com/posttolkien, and on Discord at https://discord.gg/bckushTH. Please join us!

Monday, April 15, 2024

Guest Post Series: Dennis Wilson Wise, "The New Poets of Rum-Ram-Ruf: Zach Weinersmith and Boulet"

The twelfth in the series of guest-posts from Dennis Wilson Wise, of which the most recent is here, continues looking at contemporary artists working with alliterative verse. As before, editorial intrusion is minimal, mostly inserting relevant links.

Check back for the next post in the series soon! Hopefully, it won't be too taxing an experience...


n the opening paragraph of my metrical appendix to Speculative Poetry and the Modern Alliterative Revival, I raised a conundrum: how do revivalists today officially arrive at an alliterative meter? The question’s a good one. In every case known to me, at least in English, revivalists never “grow up” with alliterative poetics. They don’t – they cannot – know the meter on an intuitive cultural level, not as medieval skalds or scopas did. In other words, the meter has been moribund for centuries, and if young poets today – those crazy kids – experiment with alliteration at all, it is only of the ornamental variety. That’s what tongue twisters teach you: the rum-ram-ruf of sounds jingle-jangling together. Accordingly, if revivalists know what they are doing at all, they deploy a poetic form learned only as an adult.

The cover, from the publisher

Someday, though, I hope to eat those words – or at least chew them slowly. The parties responsible are author Zach Weinersmith and the artist Boulet, the creators of a wonderful new graphic novel for middle-grade readers, Bea Wolf (2024).

This book has been generating a ton of buzz – glowing write-ups in The New York Times, a Hugo nomination for Best Graphic Story – and, as somebody naturally predisposed to notice such things, I’m impressed by the great blurbs on the cover: from the children’s author’s side, Neil Gaiman and “Lemony Snicket” (pen name of Daniel Handler), and, from the professional medievalist’s side, Jennifer Neville and Kevin Kiernan.

Nor are these blurbs the customary pleasantries, either. Bea Wolf combines engaging writing and mesmerizing artwork into a beguiling adaptation of an ancient Old English poem. The afterward, which Weinersmith acknowledges will predominately interest only librarians and future writers, briefly runs through the history of Beowulf and its manuscript, and it even offers a short, solid account of “Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics,” the famous academic essay by J.R.R. Tolkien. I must confess to feeling “called out,” however, in such passages as the following:

There’s a lot more [says Wienersmith] you can learn about Beowulf and about poetry and writing in Old English. In fact, if you can believe it, there are all these people who just sit around all day learning about this stuff, then yell at each other about it in meetings and over email.

I mean, this isn’t un-true, but it seems impolite to say so explicitly.

In any event, for people who know the original poem well, the little things are what make Bea Wolf such a captivating graphic adaptation. Things like the wordplay. Upon opening page one, the text presents readers with a bare-footed child – her face shadowed by a cowl and coat far too large for her – shouting, “Hey, wait!”: a remarkably phonetic translation of hwæt. Moreover, Weinersmith has fun with Old English names. Everyone knows that the original hero, Beowulf, lost a swimming match against an opponent named Breca, but Weinersmith has his heroine – she’s Beowulf, but a girl – play a game of water-dodgeball with a childhood friend named “Becky.” And the hall in which King Roger holds Hrothgar-like court – technically, it’s a tree house – is dubbed “Treeheart,” a pun on Heorot, which in Old English means “hart” (albeit the deer, not the organ).

One of the slyer bits of wordplay involves Roger’s prior connection to Bea Wolf. In the original text, Hrothgar had met Beowulf’s father Ecgtheow through paying the wergild to resolve his blood feud with the Wulfings. Explaining “blood feuds” to children, however, is probably tricky, so Weinersmith picks the better part of valor. Instead, he has Bea Wolf belong to the “House of Heidi,” a queen whom Roger once helped through a puppy rescue gone awry. (Really.) “Heidi,” of course, is a modernized version of Beowulf’s lord’s wife’s name: Hygd.

Besides these clever adaptations, Weinersmith and Boulet skillfully narrate several understated moments from the original text. In Beowulf, when Unferth is rudely questioning the competence of Beowulf, then newly arrived at Heorot, the poet never once mentions King Hrothgar’s reaction to all this. Strangely, he stays silent while one of his thanes, a known kinslayer (Unferth had killed his brothers), insults an honored guest – one, moreover, promising to cleanse Heorot of its monstrous interloper. This silence never strikes my college students as odd until I point it out to them, but obviously, why risk alienating your kingdom’s hero? In Bea Wolf, though, when “Huffer” bring up the heroine’s failed water-dodgeball match against Becky, Weinersmith and Boulet give us the following panels:

Image from the graphic novel, clearly.

Thanks to these, we know exactly what is going on – Bea Wolf realizes she’s being tested, and both her own boon companions and Roger himself are waiting to see how she will react. It’s a marvelous bit of story-telling, and one that takes full advantage of the graphic-novel format.

In order to qualify for the Modern Revival, though, the verse-making is what matters, and this is what makes Bea Wolf such a powerful gateway into alliterative poetics. Of course, alliteration already appears in children’s literature in an ornamental fashion. It’s even more natural than rhyme, in some ways – one need only imagine Harry Potter and the founders of Hogwarts’s wizarding houses: Godric Gryffindor, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff and Salazar Slytherin. Yet revivalism requires structural alliteration, and this is where Bea Wolf goes further than any other book for younger readers.

For instance, Weinersmith’s afterword freely acknowledges that he avoids the finer points of Old English poetics, by which he means Sievers types and the meter’s classic compactness. Nonetheless, several lines in Bea Wolf follow a nearly proper alliterative patterning. Discussing King Carl – the child counterpart to Scyld Scefing – ageing out of his role, the text reads

But time courses on. Coarse hair claimed the kid-king’s chin.
A crack crossed his voice. He called for the pyre.

Although the initial line overloads on strong stresses and alliteration, the second line – complete with caesura – mostly follows a satisfying aa/ab alliterative pattern. Similarly, after a young Roger aids Heidi during her puppy-heist gone wrong (hint: the puppies are actually pigs, and their adult owner isn’t happy about the vandalism), Weinersmith writes,

There would be no pig-related punishment. Parents knew nothing.

Needless to say, the majority of lines in Bea Wolf take advantage of the freedom afforded them by our language, but most impressionists in the Modern Revival do nothing less.

Yet what I find most impressive are the kennings, that special class of poetic compounds prized by Old English and Old Norse poets. Generally speaking, kennings are rarely well done within revivalist verse. They seem obtuse and plodding, at least in Modern English – a jarring poetic diction. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis both avoid them, quite noticeably so, and I myself rarely encounter a kenning that pulls its textual weight. It’s like when a novelist attempts to write dialect by using dialect-specific words instead of (rather than in addition to) the core grammar or syntax. The end result seems superficial and distracting. Same goes for Old English poetic diction.

In Bea Wolf, though, the kennings work. They evoke a delightful mock-heroic style, a comic admixture of the grandiose with the ridiculous. These kennings appear quickly in the text. In the catalogue of great kids who have preceded Carl, we read such things as “Tanya, treat-taker, terror of Halloween, her costume-cache vast,” and “Shawn, peace-shatterer, shrieked he’d never depart the park; his shame-blasted parents bargained” (5, 6). Although perhaps not always true kennings in the technical sense – Old English has a wide array of creative compounds, of which kennings are only one kind – these phrases succeed on a level that other revivalists have not (yet) managed to imitate.

And these kennings do quite well when describing the “age-withered night-walker” who haunts Roger’s hall: the demonic Mr. Grindel, the Faërie-world’s version of a malevolent tax accountant. In a book intended for children, scholars will naturally wonder how Weinersmith will handle the monster’s reign of terror, but we are told that from “Grindel’s family grew all the fun-grinders. The grim-faced joy-gobblers!” (29). Grindel is gloom’s guardian, the teacher of grief; the mustache-mouthed, tie-bound Baron of Boredom. He adultifies every child or creature he touches. He renders them dull, and his worse villainy is tidying up Treeheart and hanging up bland posters that read “Brush Your Teeth” and “Healthy Vegetables are Good for You.”

Aided by Boulet’s vivid illustrations, Weinersmith thus finds a remarkably effective way to portray Beowulf’s original blood-gurgling hall-haunter, striking a note perfect within a graphic novel intended for children. The result is the Modern Revival’s best current opportunity to hook some budding young poet – some future Tolkien or Auden – on an archaic medieval poetics.