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Cross-references would also be welcome in the four essays dealing with Gumundar saga biskups. The essays are diverse in their approaches and the questions they ask, but there are points of intersection, and especially since they are the results of a conference, it would be interesting to see some interaction among the authors. On a practical note, there is a need for a consistent, standardized form of citation. Citation of the saga, with its four versions and various editions, is admittedly complex, but the standard critical edition contains all four, and the editors could have imposed its use along with a short title or abbreviation system to be used by all. As it is, the articles use forms of citation so varied that a reader unfamiliar with the subject might not realize that they refer to the same text.

Three authors, af Klintberg, Cormack, and Kuldkepp, discuss Selkollu ttr, a story embedded in the B and D versions of Gumundar saga. Again from an editorial point of view, there is too much repetition in the retelling of the ttr itself. Familiarity with the contents of Selkolluttr is needed to follow the discussions, but lengthy summaries by af Klintberg (61-62) and Kuldkepp (109) and a full translation by Cormack (76-79), all in a row, are too much. Perhaps Cormack's complete translation could have preceded all three essays: the reader would then have had it in mind and the other authors could have referred to it. Selkolla ("Seal-head") is a being ("ghost," "troll," "woman") who at times appears with the head of a seal. Seals, wary creatures that can escape into the depths, are sometimes regarded as archetypal symbols of repressed psychic content. It would interesting to apply rmann Jakobsson's subjective approach to this uncanny figure: what is the experience of those who encounter Selkolla? Is Selkolla real or imaginary? The articles engage the ttr in a variety of ways. Bengt af Klintberg examines the interplay of folklore and hagiography in the text, for example, in the etymology of the name Selkollu-kleifar ("Sealhead-cliff"), the place haunted by Selkolla. Was the cliff named after the being that haunted it, or did Selkollu-kleifar (a place-name that occurs elsewhere) give the name (and perhaps the attributes?) to the local troll? He makes a good case for the latter.

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Margaret Cormack examines the traditions surrounding Selkolla in stories from the Middle Ages up to the twentieth century. Her article includes full translations of folktales printed in the slenzkar jsgur collection as well as the ttr in Gumundar saga. She concludes that little can be determined about the form or meaning of the tale before it was recorded in the saga, which transforms it into a moral exemplum, and argues that the more recent versions have their roots in the literary text, which subsequently became a source for a secondary tradition of new oral folktales with a life of their own. Mart Kuldkepp provides a name for this process: "remediation," a theoretical term not yet in the dictionaries that refers to the incorporation or representation of one medium in another medium. One could use this term to say that Cormack shows how a now-lost oral folktale was remediated in a moral exemplum (that was remediated) in a literary saint's life, and from there remediated in new oral tales that eventually were remediated in printed folklore collections.

Kuldkepp likewise regards the ttr as a remediation of a lost folktale, but from there his investigation diverges: his interest is the remediation of the hagiographical exemplum in Selkolluvsur, a fourteenth-century skaldic poem that was subsequently appended to the tale in the D-version of Gumundar saga. Kuldkepp's comments on this late, little-studied poem will be of special interest to skaldicists. His complicated theory about the function of the poem in the saga is thought-provoking, but not entirely persuasive: he argues that the remediation of the troll-tale in the saga somewhat lowers the learned tone, but that the subsequent remediation of the ttr in the elegant, archaizing skaldic poem (which is then remediated in the saga) elevates it again and gives a kind of literary respectability. As he reads it, the ttr smacks of superstition and associates Gumundr with folk heroes like Grettir, while the recasting of the story in skaldic poetry, the "highest" in the hierarchy of vernacular genres, shifts the association to Christian heroes like lfr Tryggvason--thus strengthening the case for Gumundr's canonization.

Kuldkepp's comparison of Gumundr and Grettir provides a neat segue to Marteinn Helgi Sigursson's study, which focuses on these two heroes. Grettis saga, set in the early eleventh century, was composed no earlier than the fourteenth, while the versions of Gumundr saga, composed in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, chronicle his life straddling the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Though Grettir was born after the conversion of Iceland, the saga reflects elements of traditional religion that associate Grettir with gods like inn and rr as well as with the trolls they fight against. Gumundr, like Grettir, is a marginalized folk hero, and it has been noted that Grettis saga contains material that may have been remediated from Gumundar saga. Marteinn suggests that the reverse may also be true: traditional material about Grettir may have been used in the composition of Gumundar saga. He does not claim that there is textual borrowing among the sagas, but he shows how traditions around the two heroes point to a typological relationship: they interact as type and antitype. Were the saga authors consciously appropriating this Christian hermeneutical method?

Arngrmur Vdaln's contribution traces the development of an Icelandic worldview in learned literature. He is especially interested in the contrast between center and periphery: Icelanders, like Englanders, were acutely aware of living on the outer edge of Christendom (with Rome or Jerusalem at the center). He notes that this idea in Old Norse texts has received little attention, seemingly unaware of Lars Boje Mortensen's collection, The Making of Christian Myths in the Periphery of Latin Christendom (2006), which would have been relevant to his study. He surveys medieval Icelandic encyclopedic texts that describe "the Other" as objectively exotic, as well as and chronicles and genealogies that seek to link the peripheral to the central. He acknowledges that "the monster, as the antithesis to us, also resides within us" (160), but his focus is on the geographical Other, so real that it can be pinpointed on a mappamundi. One could ask to what extent these beings fall within the realm of the supernatural--the medieval authors tended to regard them as exotic races that live beyond the (geographical) pale, certainly bizarre, but all part of the variety of creation.

Finally, Philip Lavender's article on Illuga saga Grarfstra draws together many of the topics presented in the other essays. The eponymous Grur is a reclusive, peripheral-dwelling troll who eventually is revealed as the princess Sign under a curse--hence leading to interesting reflections on the troll inside. This widely-ranging saga has been regarded by many as a something of a mess, but Lavender makes a case for its careful and artful composition. He agrees with Dav Erlingsson that the saga is a remediation of a Faroese ballad, which in itself is remarkable. Inserted into the ballad story is a tale about a female troll, which has usually been considered extrinsic. Lavender argues that it is a meaningful addition and the key to understanding the saga's often-disregarded female characters.

Whether you're basking in the sun with the sound of the waves in your ears, swinging gently in a backyard hammock, or just lounging in your favorite armchair, summer is the time for adventurous, stirring reads that transport us to exotic times and places. The perfect beach book, whether literary or pulpy, offers three key components: narrative momentum, an evocative setting, and a touch of shock value. We've curated a list of ten timeless summer reads, plus five fresh, new titles.

We are equal opportunity readers! Our ideal summer read can't be categorized. Whether historic drama, international adventure, or captivating courtship, all we ask for is an unputtdownable book that we can get lost in. That's not too much, right? Here are ten such winners spanning the last century. (BTW, many of these have been made into movies, so you can watch after you read!)

Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

The mother of all procedural mysteries, this brilliant detective novel has lost none of its appeal over the last eighty-plus years. If you haven't yet read Christie's seminal work, prepare to have your mind blown.

Sea of Poppies by Amitav Ghosh

The vast sweep of this historical saga spans the lush poppy fields of the Ganges, the rolling high seas, and the exotic backstreets of Canton. But it is the panorama of characters that bring breathtaking life to the troubled colonial history of the East.

Around the saga of Savitsky and the artists, the filmmakers weave the cultural and political context of the times, juxtaposing beautiful and colorful images from the collection with rare Soviet archival film and stills. Ben Kingsley, Sally Field, and Ed Asner voice the diaries and letters of Savitsky and the artists, bringing to life a dramatic journey of sacrifice for the sake of creative freedom.

Granted, for a brief moment in the 1960s, the accelerating gains of NASA made almost any space saga seem plausible. My own family not only bought the feverish dream, we lived it, especially when my engineer father was assigned by Lockheed to work on RIFT, a short-lived nuclear-powered rocket to the moon. At his send-off party, nobody let worry about a possible radiation catastrophe intrude on the swinging mix of martinis and Herb Alpert tunes. Hey, if astronaut Alan Shepard was already golfing on the lunar surface, why doubt Stanley Kubrick's vision of the far-off year 2001, with Pan Am shuttling vacationers to the moon? e24fc04721