Queer Themes in Old Norse Mythology

Nate Richardson-Read (19000719)

Dissertation submitted as part of the final examination for the degree of

MLitt Viking Studies
University of Highlands and Islands
(22nd October 2020)
(15,531 words)

1
Acknowledgements

I would like to thank Dr Alexandra Sanmark who first introduced me to the concept of gender

archaeology and who’s teaching was the springboard for my dive into gender and sexuality in Viking

Studies, as well as her support in developing the proposal for this dissertation.

I will also thank Dr Andrew Jennings as my patient and kind supervisor for this dissertation and with

whom I had the first initial discussions around interpretation of medieval literature through a lens of

queer theory.

My thanks also go to Dr Jonah Coman, an invaluable resource in discussions on gender, identity and

trans-inclusivity in medieval studies. May we never be stuck in binary binds.

My final and most heartfelt thanks go to Scott, my husband, without whom I would not have even

entertained the idea of studying this amazing field. Scott’s love and support kept me going even

when I thought I couldn’t. Ek elska ƥik.

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Contents

Tables and Figures P4

Abstract P5

Chapter 1: Introduction P6

Chapter 2: Methodology P9

2.1 Defining Queerness & Queer Theory P10

2.2 Why Queer Theory? P12

2.3 Queer Theory & Old Norse Mythology P14

Chapter 3: Discussion P16

3.1 Transforming Bodies and Queer Supernatural Identities: Seiðr, Shapeshifting and Queer
Deities

P16

3.2 The Mortal Queer: Ergi, Gay Priest Cults and Queer Vikings P24

3.3 All the Better to Marry You, Þrymr: Cross-dressing, Desire and Gender Performance

P32

Chapter 4: Conclusion P40

References P44

Bibliography P48

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Tables and Figures

Table 1: Definitions of terms P10

Figure 1: Hårby figurine P20

Figure 2: In Freyers tempel bei Uppsala / In Freyr’s temple near Uppsala P30

Figure 3: Þórr and Loki in Þrymskviða P33

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Abstract

In this dissertation I intend to draw out and describe the queer themes within the literature of Old

Norse mythology using a queer theoretical framework to examine textual sources. I will examine the

Poetic Edda, Prose Edda, Gesta Danorum, Heimskringla and some of the Icelandic Sagas as well as

Grágás law code texts for comparison of themes. Using queer theory I will provide a re-

interpretation of themes, characters and relationships within specific examples from these texts and

demonstrate the “queerness” therein. Queer theory provides a means of refuting the cis-

heteropatriarchal framework through which much of Old Norse literature is analysed and therefore

works to prevent the erasure of queer individuals from historical sources. With this approach I am

able to demonstrate distinct themes of queerness which relate to transformation of bodies through

magic and shapeshifting, queer relationships and suppression of queerness by medieval Christian

practices and the use of cross-dressing to embody non-normative roles and different gender

expression. The queerness of individuals in the literature is characterised in Óðinn and Loki’s

movement through gender, the relative acceptance of their defiance of norms and the actions they

take. This is also seen for mortal characters in Old Norse mythology albeit with lesser acceptance by

their peers and more risk in view of the Grágás law codes. These themes speak to the evident

queerness in Old Norse myth and also point towards the possibility of a greater understanding and

acceptance of the fluid nature of gender and sexuality in the Viking Age.

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Queer themes in Old Norse mythology

Chapter 1: Introduction

Contemporary understanding of Old Norse myth, and in turn the perceptions of people who lived in

the Viking Age, are often characterised with prominent descriptions of toxic masculinity and

misogyny. These interpretations are based on a binary understanding of gender and are seen

through a cisgender, heteronormative and patriarchal framework of research and analysis (Gilchrist,

1999; Geller, 2009; Ghisleni et al, 2016). Understanding of gender and sexuality in the Viking Age is

limited by the lack of evidence, both archaeological and literary. Often mythology will reflect the oral

traditions and the attitudes of the communities it originates with, I would suggest that in

demonstrating the presence of queer themes within the mythic cycles that a different attitude to

sexuality and gender expression prevailed than that cis-heteronormative scholars have

predominantly assigned to this period.

I intend to study the ‘queerness’ of Old Norse myth and literature, using queer theory as described

by de Lauretis in the 1990s and referring to the subsequent work carried out by queer theorists and

scholars in the field of Old Norse studies (de Lauretis, 1991; Solli, 2008; Jakobsson, 2011; Curtin,

2018; Jefford Franks, 2019). This will enable me to examine the expressions of gender, sexuality and

ultimately queerness in Old Norse literature in an intersectional way by refuting the supposed fixed

nature of these concepts that have been traditionally assigned under a cis-heteronormative

framework (Halperin, 1995; Blackmore, 2011; Curtin, 2018).

Within the field of medieval Scandinavian studies, Jefford Franks and Solli have posited theories

supporting the inherent queerness of Óðinn, often held up as the hyper-masculine war god of

bearded glory and bedding women (oft times with clear issues around consent), using queer theory

and building upon the work of de Lauretis, Butler and Halberstam (Butler, 1990; Halberstam, 1998;

Solli, 2008; Jefford Franks, 2019). Both scholars’ position Óðinn as occupying spheres that are

6
masculine and feminine in nature (but also blurring those boundaries) and practising the magic of

female seeresses yet not losing standing with their peers because of this (Solli, 2008; Jefford Franks,

2019). Jakobsson’s work is able to dovetail into this identity as it is built first by Solli and later

continued by Jefford Franks, where Jakobsson sets Óðinn as ‘mother and patriarch’ categorising

Óðinn as ‘queer’ through use of sorcery, also known as seiðr in the literature, but also bearing heavy

association with Valkyries (valkyrjur) and female spirits known as disir instead of the expected male

berserker-type warriors on the battlefield (Jakobsson, 2011). Remaining in the vein of deities,

Romsdal has discussed the fluidity of Loki’s gender as described in the Eddas and put forward

theories centred on Loki’s ease of movement between genders, acting as both ‘father’ and ‘mother’

in different instances through use of shape-shifting involving giving birth as well as fathering

offspring (Romsdal, 2017).

I intend for this to point towards the possibility of a more fluid attitude towards gender existing in

the oral traditions that predate the literary sources.

Normative interpretations have been taken and used in a variety of ways in modern life, perhaps

most distressingly as symbolism by white supremacists to demonstrate their ‘purity’ over other

minority groups or as tools of cis-hetero-patriarchal ideology which permeates into even the most

mundane aspects of our lives. This symbology is seen in the roots of early Far Right ideologies,

ecofacism and in some contemporary religious movements (Kaplan, 1996; Feldman & Pollard, 2016).

Jefford Franks has analysed the links between the developing Far Right movement during the World

Wars and the Nazi Party, and the extent to which their ideologies drew on early historical work in

medieval Scandinavian Studies and led to the development of ecofacism (Feldman & Pollard, 2016;

Jefford Franks, 2019). Through the early 20th century there have been an increasing number of

people ascribing to Odinism (or Ásatrú) which is a modern religious movement that is racist and

fascist in its texts, as well as extolling the need for racial purity and white supremacy within its

membership (Kaplan, 1996; Kolvraa C, 2019). These narratives are based off cis-heteropatriarchal

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analysis of the sources and research today must seek to correct that. As researchers in this field we

play a role in perpetuating systemic racism that employs perceived ideologies and symbols from the

Viking Age, using them to excuse or support their actions. As I have described above, I seek to

demonstrate that queerness has existed in myth and that it subverts these modern toxic

interpretations of these tales.

I must also acknowledge my own bias in writing this paper as a queer person as I examine the bias of

authors of the literature sources as well as contemporary scholars. I am actively looking for

queerness and striving to find it hidden within the verses and in the margins of the texts I will

examine. This is in of itself creates a lens through which I am reading these sources, informed by my

own experience, knowledge and expectations just as cis-heteronormative scholars have done (and

continue to do) in readings. What I hope to achieve is an offering up of queer interpretations and a

drawing of parallels with queer culture and communities. I will employ modern terms in places to

provide context for the queerness and whilst this risks misinterpretation given how little is known of

Old Norse attitudes towards gender and sexuality, it is important to acknowledge that applying

modern terms enables our community to better understand and engage with our history. In using

modern terms, with evidence drawn from the literature, I can demonstrate how queer people are

reflected in Old Norse mythology. In doing so this is an application of queer theory that seeks to

break down traditional approaches not just in interpretation but also in scholarship and research, to

provide an intersectional and accessible way of demonstrating queer themes. I will also acknowledge

the limits of using modern terminology where we cannot understand the requirements of Old Norse

society’s particular categories of identity.

I have identified the specific texts I will review for queer themes in my Methodology and I have

chosen these to provide a broad range of sources from which to demonstrate the queerness within.

The Poetic Edda and Prose Edda remain the basis of the majority of contemporary understanding of

Old Norse mythology despite the gap between their authoring and the communities they originate

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from. These texts are written for an audience that was in the process of being converted from their

pagan beliefs to Christianity and the manner of the stories reflects those attitudes which also

supports the examination of queer themes through the handling of the ‘othered’ and the

‘monstrous’ in these tales. Gesta Danorum, Heimskringla and the Icelandic Sagas are a mix of

historical and mythological tales in that they are written as histories of Medieval Scandinavia but

woven through with fantastical themes. These texts are of a similar time period to the Eddas but still

remain a useful source for interpreting Old Norse mythology however these stories tend to focus on

mortal lives instead of divine experiences. These particular sources provide some insight into

expectations of the communities at the time and attitudes can be inferred from this, particularly

with reference to the Grágás law codes that serve to enforce how queerness was handled post-

conversion under Christianity.

I have chosen this topic to be able to demonstrate queer identities and themes within Old Norse

myth for both myself and my community. I firmly believe there is a need to build and develop queer

history, the importance of knowing our history as a community and of understanding where we

come from cannot be overstated. This confirms our validity and our existence, and that we have as

much right to take up space as those who have perpetuated a cisgender, heterosexual and

patriarchal normative way of living. Too many studies of the Viking Age ignore the possibility of

queer identities, seeking heteronormative explanations and denying marginalised groups their

histories. Acknowledging and understanding our history, as queer people, is a form of resistance to

the normative assumptions that have erased us and seek to continue to do so.

Chapter 2: Methodology

This paper aims to demonstrate the queer themes present in Old Norse mythology through analysis

of literary sources, including the Poetic Edda, Prose Edda, Gesta Danorum, Heimskringla and some of

the Icelandic Sagas. I will also use some of the Grágás texts to highlight relevant links between the

literature and actuality, in terms of providing evidence of the prevailing attitude of the authors.

9
Examples around transforming bodies, expression of gender and cross-gender roles will be cited as

evidence of queer themes within these textual sources.

2.1 Defining Queerness and Queer Theory

Queer can be, and is, used as an umbrella term for identities that fall out with the currently accepted

norm which tends towards heterosexual activities, cisgender identities and binary gender roles.

Queer theory is an elusive term that describes the analysis of these aforementioned normative

concepts (Ryle, 2015; Curtin, 2018; Holleb 2019). Queer theory is a broad approach, not being a

single discipline, that examines assumptions of what is the norm (for example, binary genders and

heterosexuality) and holds the position that gender and sexuality are constructs (Bjørby & Ryall,

2008; Ryle, 2015; Curtin, 2018; Holleb, 2019). This term also describes the opposition to these

assumptions, defying clear definition and categorisation (Pustianaz, 2018).

Alongside queer, and queer theory, are a number of other terms which will be used throughout this

paper. Explanations for these are included in the table below:

Term Definition
Cisgender Describes an individual whose gender assigned at birth matches with

their lived gender, derived from the Latin prefix ‘cis’ meaning ‘same’.

Transgender Describes an individual in whom their lived gender differs from that

assigned at birth. Deriving from a Latin prefix that is used in loanwords to

mean ‘changing’ or ‘across’. Sometimes used to describe “trans” men

and women.

Heteronormative A term that describes the assumption individuals are attracted to

‘opposite’ genders and all romantic relationships function as

heterosexual. This term is often conjugated with ‘cis’ to form ‘cis-

heteronormative’ to describe the same situation with the emphasis that

sex and gender are the same and can only exist as binary opposites (i.e.

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 ‘men’ and ‘women’).

Cis-heteropatriarchal The basis of this term, patriarchal, highlights the male-dominated

structure of a society and when conjugated with ‘cis-hetero’ refers to

oppression of women within a framework of cisgender and heterosexual

identities which are taken to be the default position. This assumption is

then applied to other cultures and colours the perception therein.

Table 1 (Curtin, 2018; Holleb, 2019; Jefford Franks, 2019)

Queer theory was first coined by feminist scholar Teresa de Lauretis in 1990, when seeking a term

that challenged the restriction and institutionalisation of then gay and lesbian studies in academia

(Curtin, 2018; Jefford Franks, 2019). This approach is rooted in post-structuralism and is more a

broad collection of theories that seek to examine gender identity and sexuality in an intersectional

way (Bjørby & Ryall,2008; Curtis, 2018; Holleb, 2019; Blackmore, 2011).

An early proponent of queer theory, although this qualification has been applied retroactively,

Butler posits that gender is constructed and separate from sex (Butler, 1990). This basis of queer

theory challenges the assumption of a gender binary and highlights that even in a binary system

qualities of ‘men’ are not the sole province of ‘male’ bodies, nor are qualities of the ‘women’

belonging only to ‘female’ bodies where gender is culturally constructed (Butler, 1990). The fluid

nature of sexuality and gender, as proposed by Butler, is criticised as a Western model and doesn’t

necessarily take account of the fluidity in non-Western cultures that already, or did, exist in terms of

how bodies and roles were categorised (Gilchrist, 1999; Ryle, 2015).

In studying the queer topic of female masculinities Halberstam proposes as ‘queer methodology’

that combines several approaches but remains flexible enough to accommodate the findings and

interpretations of queer theory on the basis that queerness is often ignored or misunderstood in

traditional approaches to research (Halberstam, 1998).

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 A queer methodology, in a way, is a scavenger methodology that uses different methods to

collect and produce information on subjects who have been deliberately or accidentally

excluded from traditional studies of human behaviour (Halberstam, 1998)

This lens of queer theory becomes important to interpretation of Old Norse myth when the clear

assumed binaries of sex and associated gender roles are so researched in the Eddas and other

sources. The assumption not only of gender but of clear ‘maleness’ versus ‘femaleness’ in sources

like the Eddas is painstakingly clear, presenting the restricted interpretation of these myths that

queer theory seeks to open up and demonstrate narratives of difference from the norm.

The intersectionality of queer theory enables us to look not just at sexuality but also a means of

examining behaviours and identity that produce it (Blackmore, 2011; Ryle, 2015). The principle of

queer theory in challenging heteronormative assumptions in research means looking at how and

what develops identity, not homing in on one single aspect of an individual past or present

(Blackmore, 2011; Ryle, 2015; Curtin, 2018; Jefford Franks, 2019; Holleb, 2019). The application of

queer theory in archaeology and histography provides a wider and often fluid view of the past, in

particular how we frame the role, gender or sex of burial remains as well as looking at how gender is

performed since it is culturally constructed and what this then tells us about the society that

produces that individual, what processes build towards their identity (Butler, 1990; Moen, 2010;

Blackmore, 2011; Jefford Franks 2019). Queer theory does not focus solely on sexuality and gender

discourse, as a tool that critiques normative assumptions it can enable to analysis of difference in

any situation (Blackmore, 2011).

2.2 Why Queer Theory?

In considering application of queer theory, look to recent discoveries popularised in media of the

apparent gender of burial remains from Late Antique Italy notably the ‘Lovers of Modena’ which

were discovered as intact skeletons buried holding hands denoting an intimacy which was assumed

to be that of a male-female couple, as fits with the cis-heteropatriarchal lens in archaeology. New

12
techniques enabled further analysis which indicated the assumed genders of both skeletons were

‘male’ and prompted further confusion amongst scholars as to the nature of their relationship –

examples included them being ‘brothers’ or ‘kin’ before thought was given to a possible queer

relationship (Lugli et al, 2019). Aside from the conflation of the terms sex and gender in this

particular study, the notion of a queer relationship is seen to be the last resort despite what is

apparent evidence to the contrary because the standard lens of viewing doesn’t allow for this

breaking of boundaries and binaries in older societies, taking queerness to be a modern conceit. A

similar example is seen in remains found on Mount Athos in Greece, in a ‘male-only’ monastery site,

which are believed to belong to a woman – confounding researchers as a number of normative

explanations are sought and avoiding the possibility of a trans person existing in this time period

(Smith, 2019). A fact that could reveal remarkable insight to the manner in which the monastery

functioned and the role of those in service in their society. Assumption of the dominant norm within

this field has been the standard approach since the eighteenth century, extending well into modern

times and has used the excuse of providing a context for the past that relates to features of modern

life (presumably in an effort to provide greater understanding ) but without queer theory, is limited

to the cis-heteropatriarchal paradigm of gender and sexuality as is seen in study of the ‘Lovers of

Modena’ and the remains on Mount Athos (Gilchrist, 1999; Ghisleni, 2016). Ghisleni coins this non-

queer theoretical approach the ‘binary binds’ where interpretation is restricted to binary terms of

‘man’ and ‘woman’ limiting sex to biology and gender to culture in these polarities (Ghisleni, 2016).

Scholarly discussions in online spaces have begun to question the assessment of the Oseberg ship

remains, firstly of whether or not these individuals are female (on the basis of osteological analysis

and assessment of grave goods) but also the nature of their relationship. The current theory is that

these two were slave and owner by virtue of the age difference and goods heaped around each

body, but recent discussions have suggested a different interpretation of the relationship (Halck,

2006). These two individuals, if women, could also have been lovers as opposed to slave and owner,

but this interpretation has not been supported in current research because of the limited view of

13
relationships in this period (Halck, 2006; Ghisleni, 2016). These ‘binary binds’ have limited our

interpretation of archaeological findings in terms of how division of labour and the body has been

viewed in societies as well as colouring our understanding of burial remains and grave goods

(Gilchrist, 1999; Ghisleni, 2016). Gilchrist suggests that the language of binary gender and sex is a

relatively recent development influenced by the work of Freud and Focault with a particular focus on

male sexuality, dominance and repression (Gilchrist, 1999).

Geller applies criticism to cis-heteropatriarchal approaches to analysis of bodies from older societies
because of how interpretation is so heavily influenced with these ‘binary binds’ (Geller, 2009;
Ghisleni, 2016).

Inadvertently, many analysts have naturalised certain contemporary cultural values, which
are not without problems themselves – particularly the ideas that sexual dimorphism
provides the most important biological indicators of social differences and that
socioeconomic organisation is characterised by monogamy, heterosexuality, sexual division
of labour and patriarchal nuclear families (Geller, 2009)

Taking a binary view of gender expression and interpretation actually serves to restrict our
understanding of older societies, particularly how bodies expressed gender and understood gender
(Geller, 2009; Ghisleni, 2016).

2.3 Queer Theory and Old Norse Mythology

Solli’s research parallels discussions around ‘binary binds’ and cis-heteropatriarchal interpretations
in specifically looking at how Old Norse myths are viewed through a cis-heteropatriarchal lens and
draws out the problems of such a framework. Solli’s research highlights the nationalism inspired by
the Viking Age and the focus on ‘sameness’ that was picked up by followers of Nazi ideologies during
the Second World War, through an interpretation of a single heroic nation forged in power, blood
and above all whiteness that matches their ideals (Solli, 2008). The suggestion that Old Norse
societies and practices allowed for a more fluid interpretation of sexuality and crossed boundaries of
gender runs counter to popular perceptions of the Viking Age held even today.

The existence of identities beyond binary genders is known in medieval contexts, such as the
existence of intersex people who were likely treated in a different manner than their modern
counterparts but in a far less medicalised way which suggests they held a clear identity and role
within their societies (Evans, 2018). The very Western model of binary identities cannot be applied

14
to all cultures, examples of such identities out with this model exist in India, Native American
cultures and Thailand (Butler, 1990; Gilchrist, 1999; Jefford Franks, 2019; Ryle, 2014).

Within the field of Old Norse studies, there are two approaches commonly applied to the
interpretation of gender. The first of these is the concept of a ‘third gender or sex’ that lies outside
the accepted binary norm and has been part of scholarly discussions since the 1990s (Moral, 2016).
This approach actually serves to enforce a binary as the normative setting, placing gender variance
collectively in this third grouping rendering it as ‘not normative’ and therefore becomes a form of
othering (Staszak, 2008; Moral, 2016; Ghisleni, 2016; Halberstam, 1998). ‘Othering’ is the process of
defining a ‘them and us’ based less on actual difference and more on perceptions of difference (a
common experience for modern queer communities) that is applied to interpretations in
histography using non-queer theoretical approaches and assumes this othering is the norm (rooted
in cis-heteropatriarchal thinking) (Staszak, 2008; Geller, 2009; Evans, 2018).

The second approach relies on the ‘one-sex’ model theorised by Clover where the concept of a
different approach to gender and gender roles in Old Norse society is suggested but puts power as a
defining metric of gender (Clover, 1993). In this model traits of aggression and strength are
categorised as ‘masculine’ whilst those of weakness and submission are ‘feminine’ and social power
or status determines what trait an individual is awarded regardless of what ‘sex’ they are within
their culture (Clover, 1993). Clover in essence indicates there are ‘men’ and ‘not-men’ determined
by whether they are aggressors or not (Clover, 1993). This approach is criticised by Halberstam who
follows a queer theoretical approach and argues that this determination of femininity as ‘weak’ is
part of a cis-heteropatriarchal framework (Halberstam, 1998). In queer theory masculinity and
femininity is separate from bodies and allows for a more nuanced interpretation of identities beyond
binaries of male and female (Halberstam, 1998).

This examination of identity in Old Norse myth and the interpretation of individuals within the sagas

in a queer theoretical framework will enable the exposure of wider themes of queerness in both

story and society. I refer back to Halberstam’s ‘scavenger theory’ in applying a queer theoretical

framework and how this ties in with my own author bias (Halberstam, 1998). As a product of a

predominantly cis-heterpatriarchal upbringing, my perspective is still influenced by these attitudes

and in re-interpreting the textual sources I am required to actively dismantle assumptions and defy

obvious categories. The scavenger theoretical approach enables me to build up queer themes from

15
previous research and interpretations of Old Norse myth, working to draw a distinct queer narrative

that has been ignored or erased in cis-heteropatriarchal frameworks.

Chapter 3: Discussion

3.1 Transforming Bodies & Queer Supernatural Identities: Seiðr, Shapeshifting & Queer Deities

My starting point for this discussion on queerness in Old Norse mythology will begin with what I
propose as the most obvious example, which is the nature of transforming bodies that is so
frequently referenced in the mythic cycles. Transformation is an inherently queer act as a claiming of
an identity other than what is assigned by society or external forces and voluntary change into a new
role or expression, often in a manner that is not accepted or supported by peers. Transformation is
referenced through magical practice within the Eddas primarily and as such it is also othered, often
resulting in monstrous outcomes. This also begins to form my argument that using magic,
particularly seiðr, is also queer and the experiences of its practitioners in these tales reflect that.

The art of seiðr is described by Snorri Sturluson as a practice brought to the Æsir by Freya in
Ynglingasaga, which covered a number of spheres including divination, shapeshifting, curses,
rendering people senseless and inflicting illness (Bodeur, 1916; Tolley, 2009; Byock, 2015; Price,
2019). Solli posits seiðr as a religious practice in Old Norse societies that was shamanistic in nature,
purporting to achieve effect through ecstatic activity and therefore allowing the practitioner to
transgress norms of gender and sexuality in a manner that held a place within their community (Solli,
2008). This form of magic was deemed acceptable only for women to practice because it carried
with it such shame and ergi, that it was considered ‘unmanly’ for men to be performers of this art
(Jakobsson, 2008; Jakobsson, 2011; Solli, 2008).

In Old Norse ergi is a noun and has the adjective argr, the metathesis of this being regi/ragr and has
a passive verb ergjask which means ‘to become ragr’ (Arthur, 2002; Byock, 2017; Price, 2019). A
number of meanings have been ascribed to this term itself tied in with the concept of nið which
represented a serious insult to a person, accusing them of ergi and its acts (Blain & Wallis, 2000;
Schnurbein, 2003; Callaghan, 2014; Price, 2019). Ergi has been linked to ‘unmanliness’ and taking the
‘female’ role in sex, being a coward and practising sorcery (seiðr) (Bullough, 2000; Price, 2019). The
primary theme of ergi tends towards what has been termed ‘sexual deviance’ which early scholars
have linked to homosexuality, suggesting the practice of seiðr involved sex with the same gender as

16
well as transformation (Blain & Wallis, 2000; Schnurbein, 2003; Callaghan, 2014; Price, 2019). I will
discuss ergi and its implications for queerness in Old Norse myth later on in this paper.

Couple this approach with the link to ergi, and its connotations of homosexuality, then seiðr begins
to emerge as an expression of queerness within Sturluson’s writings of the Viking Age (Price, 2019;
Solli, 2008; Tolley, 2009). Jakobsson applies the term ‘queer’ as a possible translation of ergi, where
others have equated it to ‘homosexuality’ and ‘unmanliness’, I would argue that all of these
approaches fall under a cis-heteropatriarchal view of the sources (Jakobsson, 2011; Solli, 2008).
Queer is then, problematically, equated with ‘deviant’ and ‘immoral’ behaviours including incest and
bestiality which likely reflect Sturluson’s own attitudes on the matter (and therefore, the Church’s)
but are likely are not layered onto these interpretations under queer theory. Rather this is added as
a heteronormative use of the term to describe something as ‘not-normative’ and other than
cisgender and heterosexual (Jakobsson, 2011). In considering the author bias it is important to
remember that there are penitentiaries drawn up in Iceland between the 12th and 13th centuries
which list bestiality on par with homosexuality, certainly confirming the Church’s prevailing attitude
to any behaviour outside the binary norm of heterosexuality but that does not to me suggest that
queerness includes bestiality and incest rather that these definitions are attached as a means of
suppressing, othering and horrifying people away from queerness (Cherici, 1995; Wade, 2020).
Wade highlights that earlier penitentiaries, around 8th century, describe sexual acts between men as
a more serious crime than bestiality which only became later conflated and was used to in fact make
bestiality seem more a more severe crime by comparison (Wade, 2020). The early Church’s concern
with same-sex acts and likely what they represented in deviating from the norm are clear and the
need to prescribe laws against such activities implied they were present to begin with (Cherici, 1995;
Jefford Franks, 2019; Wade, 2020).

The term ‘queer’ as I have already described is applied to situations that defy categorisation and
norms, so my position is that the practice of seiðr by men as Sturluson describes is queer and the
shame as ergi is merely the response to the transgression of boundaries Sturluson defines for the
behaviour of those men which the author also expects their readership to understand as well
(Gilchrist, 1999; Ghisleni, 2016).

In their transgression of boundaries men who practiced seiðr, or seið-maðr, are transformed into an
individual who is at once permitted to do so but also shamed for it (Solli, 2008). In a sense these
seið-maðr move outside of ‘male’ and ‘female’ by virtue of these qualities, permission and shame, to
be defined differently from their community. This has given rise to the ‘third sex’ model, suggesting
there is a single definition outside of binary men and women which the seið-maðr could occupy

17
(Moral, 2016). Solli further supports this model by suggesting that the transgressions of the seið-
maðr were taken further and creating a third entity, known as a seiðberendr, who was a queer
practitioner in that they were further transformed in their activity than either men or women who
practiced seiðr (Solli, 2008). Solli indicates that berendr translates as a crude word for vagina, which
was applied to seið-maðr at a point (Solli, 2008). This model however doesn’t serve to support queer
theory in defying definition or categories, implying there is a third point outside the binary male-
female actually serves to reinforce those binaries to begin with and I would reject this definition
(Halberstam, 1998; Moral, 2016). Heide makes similar suggestion that the act of performing seiðr
parallels penetration by a phallic symbol, suggesting this is why ergi is associated with the act
however this is a very binary assessment of the practice and ignores the transformative (and queer)
nature of this magic (Heide, 2006). Back Danielsson puts forward the theory that seiðberendr is
shorthand for the practitioner and one who expresses both genders of man and woman as part of
their practice reflecting the embodiment of different genders as seen in the Æsir (Back Danielsson,
2007).

Solli moves away from this model, in parallel with Back Danielsson’s theory, with the suggestion that
the seiðr practitioner’s art lay in the process of transformation, in behaving and ‘performing’ as a
woman in order to gain access to powers normally only available to women (Back Danielsson, 2007;
Solli, 2008). The men who did this are thought to have changed their gender by moving into the
sphere of women through thought and action, making their transgression visible and therefore they
increased their capability as a practitioner (Solli, 2008). While these practitioners were subject to
ergi they occupied a position with power as a shaman, Solli argues more so when they were a queer
practitioner (or seiðberendr), with full participation in the ecstatic and sexual acts of seiðr (Solli,
2008).

Applying a modern term such as ‘transgender’ here is unwise since we cannot know the full context
of a seiðberendr’s role or expression and we will likely never know what gender meant to Old Norse
society but this certainly suggests that attitudes towards queerness were not only present but also
part of the mythology, itself inferred from oral traditions, pointing towards a wider grasp of gender
expression than is allowed through previous interpretations of the Eddas.

I would suggest that seið-kona, seið-maðr and seiðberendr are references to how the seið-workers
were classified. Those born into the art or apprenticed into it, those who chose it later in life or in
defiance of norms and those who are transformed by the art, becoming the most powerful
practitioners. This still concerns the gender of the individuals but opens up a wider interpretation of
how gender expression could have been viewed but ultimately runs close to a third gender model

18
however I would apply this only to interpretations of seið-workers as opposed to other parts of the
community. Similar in a way to hijras of India who exist as a subset of Indian culture with specific
customs and norms, albeit as a third gender (Kalra, 2011).

The nature of their transgression of gender and sexuality norms, though the two concepts are
blurred in these interpretations, represents a queer narrative and I would suggest this mirrors a
trans narrative if we are to apply a contemporary meaning to link understanding in queer history.
Drawing on Bleibtreu-Ehrenerg, Solli suggests that in such a society there was no scope to exist
outside of ‘man’ or ‘women’ in the context of seiðr practice and the only way to remain in place was
to transform and – for men – to change gender, to ‘perform’ as a woman and thereby act as a seiðr
practitioner (Bleibtreu-Ehrenberg, 1970; Back Danielsson, 2007; Solli, 2008). This line of reasoning
excludes genders outside of the binary, falling into the ‘third-sex’ model trap which as I have noted
already only serves to reinforce the binary and I would argue doesn’t represent a queer theoretical
approach (Geller, 2009; Ghisleni, 2016; Moral, 2016).

The nature of seiðr is transgressive, already a queer act and expression, and in performing the art so
too are the practitioners. The transformation inherent in the practice challenges gender roles and
expression, which is undoubtedly a threat to the Church (and the author of the literature) attitudes
and so is described in terms of shame and apparently profane sexual acts (Solli, 2008; Tolly, 2009;
Price, 2019). This movement through gender is the experience of queer people and the context of it
mirrors the experience of many binary trans people today, being unable to exist in an undefined
place but then vilified once they arrive at a normatively recognised gender.

Despite the ergi associated with seiðr, it is possible to trace both the practice and the acts of
transformation back to the mythology of the Eddas. Óðinn was known to be a prominent
practitioner of seiðr and is shamed for this by Loki in Lokasenna, the implications of this with respect
to Óðinn’s identity I will discuss here (Solli, 2008; Jefford Franks, 2019; Price, 2004; Price, 2019).

Solli posits Óðinn as a ‘master of seiðr’ but an ‘unmanly’ one, highlighting the tension of an art
deemed the province of women whilst being widely perceived as a hyper-masculine god of war and
death (Solli, 2008). Óðinn is a warrior and leader of men yet also described by Jakobsson as the
“mother” of Valkyries, or valkyrjur, practicing the magic (and possibly performance) of women (Solli,
2008; Jakobsson, 2011; Jefford Franks, 2019).

Jakobsson highlights the dichotomy of this situation with sections of Ynglingasaga (Jakobsson,
2011).

En þessi fjölkynngi, er framið er,

19
 fylgir svá mikil ergi, at eigi þótti karlmonnum skammlaust við at fara, ok
var gyðjunum kennd sú íþrótt.

But this magic,

in its execution, is so queer that men could not practice it without dishonour
and thus the goddesses were taught this art.

(Jónsson, 1932; Larrington, 2014)

In Ynglingasaga Sturluson is quite clear that Óðinn practises this ergi-inducing magic but remains as
the patriarchal Alfather, however Óðinn is more often associated with women (as a leader of
valkyries, or valkyrjur) on the battlefield than sons or men and so Jakobsson has dubbed Óðinn the
‘mother of valkyrjur’ (Jakobsson, 2011). In looking at figurines that have been categorised as
representations of valkyrjur there is a general assumption that they embody typical masculine and
feminine traits, which scholars have indicated can only exist in supernatural creatures (Wihlborg,
2020). That is they are figures of women with weapons, or sometimes drinking horns, which match
expectations of valkyrjur as both warriors and hosts in Óðinn’s hall but Wihlborg argues they also
represent an ambiguity of gender that is said only to exist amongst the deities and similar characters
which is exemplified in the Hårby figurine (Wihlborg, 2020). There is in these assertions a flexibility in
gender that Óðinn exhibits in being the foremost practitioner of seiðr and occupying multiple gender
spaces at once (both as Óðinn and through the valkyrjur), supporting the interpretation of Óðinn as
queer.

20
Fig. 1: Hårby figurine, identified as an armed valkyrjur and dated to the Viking Age (Gilwellin, 2018)

Jefford Franks draws on queer theory and previous work to assert Óðinn as a queer deity by
occupying spheres associated historically with men and women yet maintaining prominence in myth
suffering no loss of status despite the ergi associated with seiðr (Jefford Franks, 2019).

Loki makes such an accusation in stanza 24 of Lokasenna, accusing Óðinn of behaving ‘as seeresses
do’ partaking in their shamanistic practice of seiðr thereby inviting ergi and the associated shame.

En þik síða kóðo

Sámseyo í,
ok draptu á vétt sem völor,
vitka líki
fórtu verþjóð yfir,
ok hugða ek þat args aðal

21
 But you practiced sorcery (seiðr)
on Samsey,
and beat drums as seeresses (völva) do,
in the form of a wise-one,
you travelled over the world of men and in my mind that was ergi in nature.
(Jónsson, 1932; Larrington, 2014)

Scholars in the early 20th century have framed seiðr as a shamanistic practice using ecstatic states to
achieve transformation and other acts of magic (Schnurbein, 2003). Shamanism has been discussed
in relation to ancient practices across a number of cultures and the largest similarities are suggested
to exist between what is described as seiðr in the Eddas and what is known about ancient practices
within the Sámi culture of Northern Norway (Schnurbein, 2003). Transformation is a key part of
these practices either embodied by the practitioner or in terms of sending their spirit out in the
world as an animal, both elements demonstrated by Loki and Óðinn through the Eddas.
Transformation in shamanistic practice is seen in a number of cultures across the world and is not
unique to Sturluson’s interpretations of seiðr. Eliade cites examples of indigenous cultures in
northeast Asia, Indonesia and the Americas where the practice of shamanism is carried out by
women and ‘soft men, similar to women’ (Eliade, 1964). The language to describe ‘softness’ as
bearing similarity to women or femininity, suggesting weakness in relation to masculinity, is
emblematic of the author’s bias and cis-heteropatriarchal frameworks in interpreting the
expressions of gender in these cultures. This does highlight the transformative nature of shamanistic
practices in relation to gender across several different cultures (Eliade, 1964; Schnurbein, 2003).

There are two elements to draw out here, on one hand there is the accusation or assumption that
the ‘profane’ sexual acts that are part of seiðr involve being a submissive or passive participant (itself
a cis-heteropatriarchal assessment of a queer sexual act, applying a binary in a place where there
need be none) and thereby qualified as ergi and on the other is that act of transformation into a
woman. Loki references the former in Lokasenna, as seen in the quote above, and on the face of it
this is taken as reference to a same-sex union (of note the majority of references in literature refer
to same-sex acts between men as opposed to women, a disparity worth interrogating at length in
further study) so Óðinn is accused of being queer (Jónsson, 1932; Larrington, 2014). Taking this
interpretation of Óðinn’s sexuality and comparing this to literature of Óðinn’s liaisons, I draw from
this that we could consider Óðinn as fluid in sexuality and gender expression where multiple spaces
are occupied at once that are ordinarily the province of binary genders. Taking the latter element
about transformation, for Óðinn this is perhaps ‘performing’ as a woman in practising seiðr rather
than fully assuming a different gender given sources that detail Óðinn’s many disguises as different

22
men and women across the tales but not complete transformation as is seen from Loki. I agree with
Jefford Franks and Solli in arguing that these actions make Óðinn queer (Solli, 2008; Jefford Franks,
2018). I would further argue not just queer but visibly and comfortably queer in these tales. Óðinn’s
position as a deity of deities, war and seiðr is not diminished by the attitudes of others towards
queerness, rather they are enabled because of it. Óðinn cannot be all these aspects without the art
of seiðr and the cohort of valkyrjur.

Loki and Óðinn are perhaps the most prolific shapeshifters in the sources and are known to use
these capabilities to transform into animals and different genders, often with the aim of causing
mischief or enacting violence in some manner (Perabo, 2017; Romsdal, 2018; Price; 2019). This is
referenced with regard to Loki in stanza 23 of Lokasenna by Óðinn:

Veiztu, ef ek gaf
þeim er ek gefa ne skylda,
enom slævorom, sigr,
átta vetra
vartu fyr iörð neðan
kýr mólkandi ok kona,
ok hefir þú þar börn of borit,
ok hugða ek þat args aðal

Though I gave to him | who deserved not the gift,

To the baser, the battle's prize;
Winters eight | wast thou under the earth,
Milking the cows as a maid,
(Ay, and babes didst thou bear;
Unmanly thy soul must seem.)

(Jónsson, 1932; Larrington, 2014)

In this stanza Óðinn accuses Loki of behaving as a woman and bearing children, which Óðinn then
goes on to say is argr which has been translated as ‘unmanly’ or ‘perverse’ in research into the
definition and context of this word (Solli, 2008; Larrington, 2014). Romsdal notes that Loki
demonstrates several shifts across genders, often to act out their trickery and then to resolve it at
the behest of others but at no point other than in Lokasenna is the act of changing gender and
performing as a ‘maid’ questioned by the Æsir (Romsdal, 2017).

23
Sturluson writes of such a change in the Prose Edda’s Gylfaginning, regarding the building of a
fortress for the Æsir which Loki arranges in exchange for the builder (a giant) taking Freyja as his
wife. Naturally Freyja and the Æsir are horrified at this and demand Loki resolve the issue, preferably
without Freyja entering such a marriage. Loki’s solution is to transform into a mare and distract the
stallion Svadilfari whom is helping the giant bring stone to build the fortress, in doing so Loki draws
away Svadilfari and the work cannot be completed so Freyja is not required to marry the giant. Later
on Loki gives birth to Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse of Óðinn, as a result of their union with
Svadilfari (Byock, 2005). Loki not only shifts form but also gender and goes on to give birth, moving
between genders and able to embody them completely.

In a similar vein Loki, being responsible for Baldr’s death, then takes the form of the giantess Þökk
who refuses to weep for Baldr as Hel has demanded (Byock, 2005). The angst this causes the Æsir
lies not in the fact that Loki transformed into a woman and took on that role, which if considered
ergi as it would be elsewhere suggests the Æsir had a more relaxed attitude to such shifts, but with
the act of refusing to enable Baldr to leave Hel’s realm.

Gylfaginning describes Loki’s family circumstances and offspring consisting of several partners,
which again is not questioned by the Æsir, and monstrous children (Byock, 2005). On one hand it can
be said that Loki confirms with cis-heteronormative standards in being in a relationship with a
woman (or women) but this erases the inherent bisexuality in Loki’s identity and their fluid approach
to gender particularly as they occupy roles of both ‘father’ and ‘mother’ in different circumstances
(Romsdal, 2017). Polyamory and promiscuity are easily conflated even in modern times but
relationships and progeny with multiple partners were a common feature of these stories, in
condemning such acts in Lokasenna and suggesting these unions had monstrous issue then
Sturluson is applying the Church’s penitentiaries to stifle what may have been a more relaxed
attitude to sexuality in the cultures these myths originate from (Cherici, 1994; Wade, 2020).

I would argue that Loki demonstrates an ease of movement across genders, defying a binary and
holding a gender-fluid identity in the literature. This can be seen in the literal transformations
described where Loki adopts different roles willingly and completely often without question by those
around them. Drawing back to Sturluson’s bias as the author of these tales, the layering of
monstrous offspring and bestiality is that of the Church and likely part of its attempts to other the
queerness that is seen in these myths (Cherici, 1995; Wade, 2020).

The ease and frequency of movement between genders and partners is undoubtedly queer. That is
not to say that both are required in order to be queer, rather that the defiance of later applied
norms demonstrates the queerness in these myths. As these tales’ stem from oral histories, written

24
down by Sturluson and layered with that bias, the widespread presence of gender fluidity in the
stories suggests the possibility of a more accepting attitude amongst Old Norse communities that
has been afforded with traditional interpretations of the literature. As other scholars have noted
queerness appears to exist freely and easily amongst the divine, that is the Æsir, without the same
penance as is attributed in stories regarding mortals which I will discuss later on (Jefford Franks,
2019; Wihlborg, 2020). To exist as a queer deity appears to have been more acceptable to Sturluson
than to have existed as a queer mortal.

3.2 The Mortal Queer: Ergi, Gay Priests Cults and Queer Vikings

Where the deities of Old Norse myth could, as I have discussed already, exist visibly as queer and
survive the ergi associated with such an existence this was not true of their mortal followers. I have
already described the difficult place that practitioners of seiðr hold in the Eddas, where ergi covers
not only their practice of sorcery but also their apparent ‘unmanliness’. A dichotomy carried easily
by Óðinn as a sorcerer and one who moved easily between gender roles, and so I agree with Solli
and Jefford Frank’s assessment of Óðinn as queer (Solli, 2008; Jefford Franks, 2019).

The ergi that mortals suffered but deities largely avoided is given several meanings in literature,
notably having qualities of ‘unmanliness’ which are described in ways to mean effeminate and weak
as well as the practice of sorcery and engaging in homosexual sex acts (Bullough, 2000; Price, 2019;
Jefford Franks, 2019). Focusing on the more physical aspect of ergi, the greatest shame and
dishonour belonged to the recipient (often called ‘passive’) partner in sexual activity as they were
seen to have acted like a woman and for a man this carried considerable ergi (Bullough, 2000; Price,
2019).

Framing this attribution of shame and dishonour to the recipient partner in the act and equating it
with femininity, or being effeminate, demonstrates the medieval Christian church’s bias towards
queerness and women (Cherici, 1995). To quote Jefford Franks, this is what we would in modern
times call “bottom shaming” and is a product of toxic masculinity within queer communities
whereby certain acts are perceived as ‘feminine’ and therefore weak or submissive, in a sense a
modern ergi within queer communities (Jefford Franks, 2020). The shame cast on the recipient
partner in penetrative homosexual sex was significant according to both literature sources and law
codes (Finsen, 1852; Finsen, 1879; Dennis et al, 1980).

This attitude is reflected in the Icelandic Grágás law codes (also known as the Grey Goose laws for
the manner in which they were written down, possibly on goose skins or using goose quills) where

25
even the insinuation of being penetrated in homosexual sex could result in outlawry or death for the
accuser, such was the ergi associated with the act (Dennis et al, 1980; Gade, 1986; Solli, 2008;
Jefford Franks, 2019).

Law codes from early Icelandic and medieval Scandinavia, including West Gotland and early Norway
include specific punishments for homosexuality between men (Gade, 1986; Bullough, 2000; Price,
2019). Gulatingslagen contains a specific chapter on homosexuality, the code itself originated
around 10th century supposedly with King Håkon the Good in medieval Norway and was later added
to by King Magnús Erlingsson and Archbishop Eysteinn in 1164 (Gade, 1986).

En ef karlar tveir blandasc likams losta saman oc verða kunnir oc sanner at ƥvi. ƥa ero ƥeir
baðer ubotamenn. En ef ƥeir synia oc er ƥo heraðrs fleytt. ƥa syni með iarnburði. En ef ƥeir
verða sannr at soc. ƥa a konongr fe ƥeirra halft, en biscop halft.

And if two men enjoy the pleasures of the flesh and are accused and convicted of it, they
shall both suffer permanent outlawry. But if they deny the charge while common rumour
affirms it, let them deny it with the hot iron. And if they are convicted of the charge, the king
shall have one-half of their possessions and the bishop one-half.

(Gade, 1986)

Gade points out that this is the most specific mention of punishment for homosexuality between
men mentioned in the law codes of this period, suggesting it is an isolated mention of a severe
punishment where others mete out severe punishments for bestiality and adultery (Gade, 1986).
This addition to Gulatingslagen is due to Christian involvement and matches with the penitentiaries
from the 8th century onwards (Gade, 1986; Cherici, 1995). Later law codes between the 13th and 14th
centuries are more generalised around “crimes against nature” and were interpreted more in terms
of dealing with bestiality than specifically with homosexuality (Gade, 1986). According to Wade
there were moves by the Christian church to equate homosexuality and bestiality in order to ensure
people understood the severity of the ‘sin’ but the intention was to actually discourage acts of
bestiality (Wade, 2020).

The lack of specific mention, other than some introduction of Christian attitudes towards
homosexuality, in early law codes suggests it was frowned upon rather than explicitly disallowed
although there are mentions in early Gulatingslagen that a slave-owner could receive compensation
for the violation of both thralls and bond-women, which Bullough suggests indicates that both male

26
and female slaves were “sexually available” and the possibility that these acts occurred with slaves
would be contradictory to later amendments made to Gulatingslagen (Larson, 1935; Bullogh, 2000).

As I have suggested already, if there was legislation against homosexuality then it is likely such an
experience existed for these communities but the later addition of specific punishments in law codes
also suggests to me that attitudes towards queerness were more relaxed than current
interpretations would have us believe. Later law codes will have been heavily influenced by
conversion to Christianity (Gade, 1986; Cherici, 1995; Bullough, 2000).

Returning to the myths there are two particular mentions of individuals who read as queer. The first
I will discuss is Grettir Ásmundarson of Grettis saga who was an Icelandic outlaw according to the
saga, which is believed to have been written around the 13th century although the author is not
known (Morris & Magnusson, 1869). The saga details Grettir’s lineage and exploits for the most part
only to focus on Grettir himself much later and his subsequent misfortune following being cursed
with ill luck and then outlawed, to die alone and hunted (Morris & Magnusson, 1869).

Grettir is mentioned in this discussion largely for Grettisfærsla (‘The Handing on of Grettir’) where a
list of sexual exploits is attributed to Grettir, involving priests, farmers, deacons, nobles and the Pope
as a generous mix of different genders of sexual partners (Morris & Magnusson, 1869; Heslop,
2006). This is a list attributed to Grettir with the phrasing ‘Grettir knows to do many more things
well’ (Morris & Magnusson, 1869; Heslop, 2006).

The final sections of this poem are largely a list of what would otherwise be considered ergi sexual
insults to Grettir accusing them of anal sex and extreme lust, more typical of níd, then cursing Grettir
(Heslop, 2006). One interpretation here is that these are insults designed to frame Grettir in a
particularly unfavourable light, the comparison of promiscuity and homosexuality with bestiality
which the Christian church appeared to be fond of is also evident (Heslop, 2006; Wade, 2020).

Grettisfærsla contains a prominent discussion of Grettir’s sexuality although the rest of the saga
focuses on those around Grettir as opposed to the outlaw himself. Grettir’s sexuality here is either
under discussion and insult, being accused of these actions and therefore being subject to law codes
pertaining to these acts but at considerable risk to the accuser for even mentioning this or this is an
accurate accounting of Grettir’s sexual history. Perhaps we could use modern language such as
bisexual or pansexual to frame Grettir’s sexuality here, however the comparison cannot be held as
we don’t know the specifics of how sexuality was viewed at the time apart from what later medieval
authors recorded, rather a fluid approach to sexuality that may have been evident prior to
converting to Christianity. It is undoubtable that the author’s intent here is to paint a perverse

27
picture of Grettir and have their audience interpret this as such rather than produce any form of
queer representation. As I have discussed already, Grettir’s sexual proclivities involve bestiality as
well and this is likely added to enable further focus on the deviation Grettir exhibits (real or
imagined). I have already highlighted the law codes influenced by Christians that apply specific
crimes to homosexuality, suggesting it existed for it to need to be legislated against at the very least
(Larson, 1935; Gade, 1986; Bullough, 2000; Wade, 2020). The curse of ill luck applied to Grettir and
the subsequent death that befalls him is typical of how non-normative individuals are handled in
these sagas. Grettir as an individual is a problematic character as an outlaw responsible for the
death of others but the end of the saga comes with Grettir’s lonely death during pursuit by his
kinsmen (Morris & Magnusson, 1869). Heslop highlights this particular saga for its explicit
description of sexuality, that of Grettir, which separates it from other references to sexual activity
elsewhere (Heslop, 2006). This saga differs from typical níd verses, as Heslop points out, in that the
description of sexuality is not couched in euphemism or interpreted with the purpose of one
individual humiliating another (Heslop, 2006). Grettir’s queerness is possible but written in a way as
to deprive the outlaw of prominence and designed to consider all acts as other and monstrous
through linking polyamory and homosexuality to bestiality. I think it interesting to consider the ‘Bury
Your Gays’ trope we see in contemporary media may have a root in medieval writings, whereby
characters are queer-coded in some fashion and ultimately suffer from a pointed death and serve as
something of a lesson both to other queers (whether elsewhere in the story or in the readership)
and a reassertion of heteronormativity as the queerness is removed, and heterosexuality no longer
subverted (Hulan, 2017).

A further queer-coded character in the sagas is Guðmundr, a chieftain (or goði), who lived in the
tenth century and appears in several sagas. I will focus on Ljsóvetninga saga here which details not
only the níd accusations but also clear reference to Guðmundr’s sexuality (Thordarson, 2007; Tirosh,
2014).

Það er sagt að Guðmundur hinn ríki var mjög fyrir öðrum mönnum um rausn sína. Hann
hafði hundrað hjóna og hundrað kúa. Það var og siður hans að láta löngum vera með sér
göfugra manna sonu og setti þá svo ágætlega að þeir skyldu engan hlut eiga að iðja annan
en vera ávallt í samsæti með honum. En það var þó sá siður þeirra er þeir voru heima að þeir
unnu þó að þeir væru af göfgum ættum.

It is told that Gudmund the Powerful far outstripped other men with his grand style of life. He
had more than a hundred members of his household and the same number of cows. It was
his custom to lodge the sons of distinguished men for long periods of time, and he treated

28
 them so splendidly that they had no work to do other than to be always in his company.
When they were at home, however, it was their custom to work even though they were from
eminent families
(Thordarson, 2007)

This chapter of the saga describes Guðmundr’s rich and extravagant lifestyle, property and holdings.
Tirosh suggests this is part of the allusion to the goði’s ill-suitedness to governing and managing
himself and his estate appropriately, which culminates in the saga’s rendition of Guðmundr as an
unfavourable individual (Tirosh, 2014). Here I want to home in on the line ‘It was his custom to lodge
the sons of distinguished men for long periods of time, and he treated them so splendidly that they
had no work to do other than to be always in his company’. Here is a further suggestion of excess,
and therefore frowned upon, through Guðmundr hosting young men but not expecting them to
work as well as the reading into what Guðmundr would mean by ‘to be always in his company’.
Tirosh draws parallels with the pederasty of ancient Greece as something the author of the saga
would likely have been aware of from reading of classical texts and further serves to paint
Guðmundr in poor light as goði since this would have contravened law codes of the period (Larson,
1935; Gade, 1986; Bullough, 2000; Tirosh, 2014). A more specific reading of a love-affair with
another man is offered by Tirosh, whereby Guðmundr hires a man named Rindill after initially
declaring him to be ‘worthless’ in an effort to deflect suspicion away from himself (Tirosh, 2014). On
his appearance at the goði’s holdings, Rindill is put to farming work which Guðmundr assesses him
as unsuitable for and then invites him to spend time with him in nearby hot springs (Thordarson,
2007). I agree here with Tirosh that this is a clear description of same-sex desire, mirroring examples
in other sagas between heterosexual pairings in which desire and consummation is assumed
because of that where something deviant or immoral is described in Guðmundr’s case with Rindill
(Tirosh, 2014). As Karras points out, we don’t routinely seek confirmation of this desire when a
heterosexual pairing is read so neither should we do this in a same-sex pairing in the same situation
(Karras, 2005). In alluding to Guðmundr’s extravagant behaviour (portrayed as wasteful and
excessive) and his preference for the company of men, as well as his time spent with Rindill in the
hot springs, the cis-heteronormative interpretation is one of humour and dishonour. This approach
frames Guðmundr’s sexuality as a joke and insult, intended to make a spectacle of the goði. Reading
Guðmundr as queer highlight the challenges he experiences in attempting to live authentically,
subject to gossip and insults, and suffering in his pursuit of romance with Rindill.

Friðriksdóttir argues that depictions of masculine relationships in the Icelandic Sagas existed on a
‘homosocial continuum’ with oscillation between outright homophobia and anxieties over
homoeroticism, to affirming bonds between men (Friðriksdóttir, 2019). Within the framework of

29
strict laws regarding níd and the repercussions of this, the framing of these relationships is always
negative. This can be linked back to medieval Christianity’s obsessive concern over sex, lust and
same-sex desire and its efforts to suppress this in areas where attitudes towards these elements
may have been more relaxed (Cherici, 1995; Karras, 2005; Wade, 2020).

Other examples of queer mortals can be found in Saxo Grammaticus’ writings, namely of the
‘unmanly’ worship of Freyr in Gesta Danorum, or the Danish History, describing time spent at
Uppsala and observing their rites (Killings, 2013).

At last he left them and betook himself to Hakon, the tyrant of Denmark, because when
stationed at Upsala, at the time of the sacrifices, he was disgusted by the effeminate
gestures and the clapping of the mimes on the stage, and by the unmanly clatter of the bells.
Hence it is clear how far he kept his soul from lasciviousness, not even enduring to look upon
it. Thus does virtue withstand wantonness.

(Killings, 2013)

Saxo’s clear Christian bias is evident in this writing of ‘heathen’ worship, bringing in suggestions of
ergi as established in law codes of the period (Gade, 1986; Bullough, 2000; Karras, 2005). Dumézil
has suggested that these ‘unmanly’ rites involved the priests of Freyr wearing clothes and styling
their hair in the manner of women (Dumézil, 1973). Saxo’s unflattering description of worship is
unsurprising considering the efforts of Christianity to paint heathenry in poor light and associate it
with the ‘shameful’ acts that Christian influences have ensured appear in law codes (Cherici, 1995;
Bullough, 2000; Wade, 2020).

The practice of seiðr enabled the practitioner to transgress boundaries of gender, something
reflected in the activities of the deities as described by Snorri Sturluson, so it would follow that
worship of the deities would enable the same. Little detail on the precise activities of Freyr’s
priesthood are available but Saxo mentions a priesthood (“sacredotium”) presumably referring to
those identified as men and Dumezil purports they took on the roles or appearance of women
(Dumezil, 1973; Killings, 2013). The apparent ‘effeminacy’ of worship of Freyr would, I suggest,
contrast with the references to sacrifices, largely of animals but occasionally of humans, which the
priesthood was known for and is given particular reference to in Ynglingasaga where recurrent
famine forces the Swedes to first sacrifice their cattle, then offer up their fellows and ultimately
sacrifice their king to end it (Hollander, 1991; Reaves, 2008). The act of bloodletting for ritual or
religious purposes is not given over to the same apparent masculinity that is linked with combat and
warfare, this shedding of blood is feminine and part of the ‘unmanly clatter’. Despite Saxo’s scathing

30
review of the proceedings, it would appear that the gay-effeminate-crossdressing priests of Freyr
were needed to wield their knives and ensure sufficient crops each year as Freyr’s remit included
fertility and growth.

Fig 2: In Freyers tempel bei Uppsala / In Freyr’s temple near Uppsala (Heine, 1882)

Remaining with “professional queers” for a moment we know within Olkofra páttr (the Tale of
Olkofri or ‘Ale-Hood’) there is a brewer named Olkofri, who burns a forest across land belonging to
several goði and is tried for it, and that reference is made to argaskattr which is thought to a
description of a shameful payment for services (Cook & Wyatt, 1993). Breaking argaskattr down will
give argr and skattr, the former has been already discussed and defined where it is linked with
concepts of ‘unmanliness’, sexual deviance and has been suggested to translate as homosexual
(Solli, 2008; Jakobsson, 2011; Price, 2012; Byock, 2017). Skattr refers to treasure, wealth or tax
essentially payment of some description and so one reading of this would be to consider the
meaning of payment for sex with another man, one who was argr hence the definition as ‘shameful
payment’ (Byock, 2017). Argaskattr only appears in this páttr where Olkofri seeks arbitration of his
business and is then given tattered calfskins as argaskattr, obviously meaning to insult the brewer

31
(Cook & Wyatt, 1993). Given Christianity’s dim view of sex work it is unsurprising to find no other
mention of argaskattr in any other saga but we know it is likely from Bullough’s work that male
slaves were as much subject to being argr as female slaves if they were raped but whether sex work
as a profession existed in the manner we know from later and contemporary periods can’t be
inferred from the sagas (Bullogh, 2000).

The law codes, níd and declarations of ‘unmanliness’ all centre around the recipient partner in the
sexual acts as the shamed one. They are described as ‘passive’ and ‘effeminate’, losing honour and
position if even an accusation of this act was upheld let alone whether or not they engaged in. This
focus on the masculine as the powerful and penetrative party as a theme through the literature is
strongly suggestive of Freudian approaches to defining sexuality and gender, this very binary notion
is applied in a place where we have no true understanding of how the originating culture viewed
such things (Halpernin, 1995). The Eddas and sagas remain a product of the Christian church, their
bias interlaced through the oral histories of the Old Norse and as such changing their narrative to
support their patriarchal ideology.

The average ‘Viking’ man could fuck another man with limited repercussions, but his partner was the
one who suffered and became argr. To be argr was a considerable insult to another, where the
accuser was at as much risk of losing station as the person they accused. This was reflected even in
their deities, as Snorri Sturluson writes them, but even their most ‘masculine’ Óðinn would commit
the crime of cross-dressing and become ergi. There is basis for the argument that perhaps it is not a
modern reading of Old Norse myth that is queer but the original author’s writing of it, leaving in
examples of cross-dressing/disguise, frequent bottom-shaming and changing genders. These
examples persist through the mortal and immortal lives of those in the literature as written by
Sturluson and similar authors of the period.

3.3 All the Better to Marry You, Þrymr: Cross-dressing, Desire and Gender Performance

A considerable volume of study has been dedicated to understanding cross-dressing in medieval

literature but my focus here is on the sources for Old Norse myth and how those examples read as
queer (Cherici, 1995; Bullough, 2000).

32
Disguise is a common theme within Old Norse myth, I have discussed this in reference to shape-
shifting and changing gender and will further discuss the nature of cross-dressing using examples
from the literature. Cross-dressing, that is the dressing of yourself in clothes to alter your gender
expression, in these stories changes perceptions and allows the individuals to exist in another
identity which is invariably as the opposing gender on the binary, either as men or women.

Holleb defines cross-dressing as:

“Someone who dresses as a gender ‘opposite’ to their own […] Cross-dressing also assumes a
gender binary”

(Holleb, 2019)

While Holleb’s definition is contemporary, it also acknowledges that cross-dressing is not a monolith
and the language to describe it is in constant flux but I suggest this definition accurately fits the
examples seen in the literature sources. This is largely because the ‘cross-dressers’ wear clothes to
disguise themselves as men and women, operating on a defined binary which many queer
individuals do (as well as do not do). I would put forward that cross-dressing in the sagas and Eddas
can be called queer as it demonstrates movement between genders and the taking on of different
gender roles in the stories, therefore it is a defiance of norms and breaking out from cis-
heteropatriarchal structures (Halberstam, 1998; Blackmore, 2011; Curtin, 2018). Interpretations of
these acts without considering the queerness belie the richness of the characters described and
again we can see the authors almost accidental queering of hyper-masculine individuals like Þórr and
Óðinn, an interpretation that has been missed or glossed over in traditional cis-heteropatriarchal
approaches (Gilchrist, 1999; Blackmore, 2011). Cross-dressing is another act of transformation seen
in the literature and scholars have discussed in detail how the use of masks, props and clothing
enabled people to transform into supernatural and mythical beings during oral performances (Back
Danielsson, 2007).

I find it unfortunate, and disappointing, that most outcomes of this queer expression culminate in
violence towards other individuals, cross-dressing commonly used as a means of misdirection and
subterfuge (Bull, 2019). This examination runs the risk of feeding contemporary rhetoric regarding
queer people and the baseless fears of cis-hetero individuals. Setting aside the argument that being
queer does not inherently make one ‘good’ or ‘kind’, a topic worthy of an entire paper, but rather I
would highlight the frequent vilification of those I have identified as queer within the texts and from
examples I have described. Cross-dressing is used as a tool for rape, misdirection and treated as
comedic which speaks more to the bias of the authors than the oral histories this may be derived

33
from, particularly given the real-world implications for those that cross-dressed. The Grágás law
codes provide specific mention of cross-dressing in Konungsbók and Staðarhólsbók:

Ef maðr felldr ser til velar við kono. eða feR haN i kvenklæða, ok varðar þat fiörbavgs Garð.

If a man puts on a headdress in order to deceive a woman or puts on women’s clothing, the
penalty is lesser outlawry.

(Finsen, 1879; Frankki, 2009)

Ef kona klæðiz karl klæðom eþa scer er scavr eþa fer með vápn breytni sacir. Þatvarðar
fiorbaugs gard, þat er stefno söc ic scal queþia til bua v. aþingi. Sa a söc erwill. slict er mælt
um karla af þeir klæðaz kuena klæðnaðe.

If in order to be different a woman dresses in men’s clothes or cuts her hair short […] or
carries weapons, the penalty for that is lesser outlawry […] The same is the case of men who
dress in female clothes.

(Finsen, 1852; Dennis et al, 1980)

The specific mention of a headdress in Staðarhólsbók relates to a well know example of cross-
dressing seen in Þrymskviða, or Þrym’s Poem. In this myth Þórr wakes to find his hammer Mjölnir
has been stolen by the giant Þrym (Larrington, 2014). Involving Loki in his investigation, Þórr attends
Þrym who demands Frejya’s hand in marriage in exchange for Mjölnir (Larrington, 2014). Obviously
perturbed by this request, Freyja refuses and Loki convinces Þórr to dress up as the bride to fool
Þrym and retrieve his hammer (Larrington, 2014). The headdress in Staðarhólsbók would typically
be considered bridal wear as well as considerable deviation from what readers of Þrymskviða would
expect to see (or imagine) a character like Þórr dressed in (Frankki, 2009).

34
Fig 3: Þórr and Loki in Þrymskviða (Lasson & Forssell, 1893)

There are two clear perspectives on cross-dressing from the two deities prominently involved in
Þrymskviða. The first, and occupying more space in the poem, being Þórr’s reaction to the
suggestion of dressing up as Freyja which is predictably one of horror and consternation while the
second is Loki’s involvement in this escapade in context of the queerness I have already described
around this deity.

Frankki highlights the link between the Grágás and Þórr’s reaction, the deity’s response is consistent
with the law codes described above regarding cross-dressing (Frankki, 2009). In Þrymskviða Þórr
declares that the other deities will consider him argan if he consents to dress as Þrym’s bride.

Þá kvað þat Þórr, þrúðugr áss:

'Mic muno æsir argan kalla

ef ec bindaz læt brúðar líni.

(Jónsson, 1932)

Then said Thor, the vigorous god:

“The Æsir will call me a pervert,

35
 if I let you put a bride’s veil on me.”

(Frankki, 2009; Larrington, 2014)

The word argan is given several meanings by different translators but the over-arching theme is
reference to sexual deviation, lust and defiance of norms which I have discussed already. Here Þórr
indicates that others will view him as crossing boundaries and therefore he will lose his position and
prominence. While this coincides with the Grágás dictates this also mirrors a queer person’s
experience of developing identity and the risk of exposure to attitudes of others, Þórr fears the loss
of respect from his peers with taking on a new identity and the risks entailed in being perceived as
something “less than” the masculine identity he has always projected. Medieval Christian attitudes
pervade this statement, placing fear of perversion (or being perverted) as almost a lesson in this
myth and enforcing the restrictive cis-heteropatriarchal norms of the period (Gade, 1995; Bullough,
2000; Wade, 2020). The end of this tale, when Þórr reclaims his hammer, has been attributed to his
reclamation of his masculinity and the resulting violence against Þrym is seen by Frankki as the re-
balancing of his identity (Frankki, 2009). Þórr throws off his disguise, interpreted to be with relief,
and kills Þrym, who up until that moment doesn’t realise this is not Freyja (Larrington, 2014). The
parallels with queer experience cannot be ignored here, what Frankki sees as re-assertion of Þórr’s
masculinity is also the violent rejection of the pain associated with the new identity, with the risk of
being called ‘pervert’ or ‘deviant’ by his community. If I couch this in contemporary terms, to give
light context, Þórr experiences internalised queerphobia and acts out the violence of it on Þrym.
Throughout the poem, Þrym continues to view Þórr with desire, this is despite the author’s attempts
to describe Þórr as not behaving as Freyja but merely dressing as the goddess with descriptions of “a
broader bite, nor any girl drunk so much mead” and “Why are Frejya’s eyes so terrifying? It seems to
me fire is burning from them” (Larrington, 2014).

“So Odin’s son got the hammer back”

(Larrington, 2014)

Þórr has the queer experience of being desired at cost, to self and to others, and experiences this
pain only to allow it to end in violence against those who would welcome him in this new identity.
The terror of being able to belong but exist so differently is too much for Þórr, a pervasive fear that
exists even today amongst queer people who grow and live apart from their communities.

In counterpoint to Þórr’s discomfort and outrage is Loki, the originator of the idea to deceive Þrym in
this tale and the second perspective on cross-dressing in Þrymskviða (Larrington, 2014). I have

36
already discussed Loki’s fluid approach to gender in Old Norse myth with particular reference to the
work of Romsdal, Perabo and Price in view of Loki’s ability to change shape and occupy different
roles and genders (Perabo, 2017; Romsdal, 2018; Price, 2019). We have established Loki’s queer
nature and obvious comfort in occupying these different spaces and in reading Þrymskviða there is
no hint that the deity is at any point distraught at the idea of dressing as a bridesmaid nor does Loki
act out anger or pain on others nearby.

Þá kvað Loki
Laufeyjar sonr:
Mun ek ok með þér
ambótt vesa,
vit skulum aka tvær
í Jǫtunhęima.

(Jónsson, 1932)

Then said Loki,

Laufey’s son:

‘I’ll go with you

to be your maid,

we two shall drive

To Giant-land’

(Larrington, 2014)

This element is much lesser in the tale than what we read of Þórr’s experiences of cross-dressing.
Loki’s comfort and ease as a woman, while not questioned, is downplayed and diminished against
the apparent need for Þórr to reclaim his masculinity through violence. Romsdal comments that
these two elements stand in contrast to one another, Loki’s ease versus Þórr’s struggle with his
masculinity (Romsdal, 2018). Loki acts here as an enabler, a supporter even, deflecting Þrym’s
queries about Þórr’s behaviours and serving to provide validity to Þórr in this new identity. This
action is oddly reminiscent of members of the queer community supporting each other in
establishing and maintaining new identities under outside scrutiny by cis-heteronormative
individuals.

37
At the beginning of this tale Freyja and Þórr are polarities, they represent definite ends of the binary
as ‘male’ and ‘female’, whilst Loki occupies a place between and outside this spectrum. The binary is
sadly re-established by the conclusion of Þrymskviða, while Loki continues to occupy this ‘non-
binary’ space, however the clear attitude of the author towards the concept of cross-dressing (and
indirectly changing gender roles and being desired as a queer entity) is concurrent with Medieval
Christianity’s standard response to ideas that are out with the established norm and may relate to
pagan ideologies (Gade, 1986; Cherici, 1995; Wade, 2020).

Amongst the Æsir Óðinn is known for wandering Miðgarðr in disguise, usually as a travelling wizard
or noble but also veering into cross-dressing and presenting as a woman (Bull, 2019). Gesta
Danorum yields a particular story in Book III where Óðinn attempts to court the princess Rindr in
order for her to bear his child, that they might grow to enact revenge for the loss of Baldr as
suggested by prophets Óðinn speaks with (Killings, 2013). Óðinn’s attempts to kiss Rindr, the notion
of consent is not clear in the text, are rebuffed and this drives the deity to enchant her (Killings;
2013; Bull, 2019). Bull speculates on the nature of this enchantment as some texts suggest this is
seiðr whilst others have suggested ‘binding’ in a more literal sense of Rindr being physically bound in
place (Bull, 2019). Such a binding could also be magical in nature and seiðr could be used to do this
as well as enchant another person (Price, 2019). Following this Óðinn uses a disguise, that of a
woman and doctor, to gain access to Rindr who fortuitously falls ill requiring Óðinn’s (under another
name) attention and it is during this time that Óðinn rapes Rindr, witnessed by her father who allows
it to continue (Killings, 2013; Bull, 2019). This story is not queer, and nor should it be read as such,
this description serves to vilify the nature of cross-dressing and is a theme common to Medieval
texts that describe as such however remains a harmful trope that persists into modern queer
experiences. Such an example is a direct-line into the harmful narratives produced by trans-
exclusionary radical feminists (‘TERFs’) around the existence of trans people, in particular trans
women, and the apparent violence they bring to cis-heteronormative individuals. As it does in the
13th century, so too does this narrative incite fear and violence towards the queer community and in
particular the most vulnerable elements of it.

Examples of cross-dressing in mortal stories are far from rare, and not just in Old Norse mythology,
and there a wide variety of examples across Medieval literature (Bullough, 2000; Karras, 2005; Back
Danielsson, 2007). I will focus here on examples of women in Old Norse myth who cross-dress and
move into non-normative gender roles. Whilst men cross-dressing and performing as women was
used to hide from or deceive others, women cross-dressed in order to be treated or given access to
the same sphere as men (Back Danielsson, 2007; Halberstam, 1998). More often than not this
involved taking up arms and taking part in battle (Hager, 2018).

38
Clunies Ross positions the lens through which these particular examples are viewed by the intended
readership of the period, given that examples of women cross-dressing as men and taking up arms
were the common theme. The scholar suggests that authors such as Saxo Grammaticus described
the ‘active feminine’ as the pagan and non-Christian therefore non-desirable in all respects (in the
Church’s eyes) versus the ‘passive feminine’ as the god-fearing housewife who tends the hearth
(Clunies Ross, 1992). Hager argues that Saxo’s example of Alvild, a woman who eschews a life of
marriage and hearth-tending for piracy on the open seas, presents a more favourable example than
Clunies Ross’ hypothesis would allow for (Hager, 2018). Alvild was a Danish princess who was said to
be so beautiful that she would provoke lust in others and her father hid her away, barring her
chambers with two poisonous snakes (Killings, 2013). On the arrival of a successful suitor, Alf, the
princess is reminded by her mother that she shouldn’t be drawn in by a handsome man and so Alvild
dresses in men’s clothing to take up a life of piracy (Killings, 2013). Alvild became the captain of a
ship of women warriors and spent her time as a pirate, before Alf caught up with her and impressed
her so much that she decided to marry, giving up her piratical lifestyle (Killings, 2013).

This story presents a more sympathetic image of the woman warrior, especially one who rejects a
life of marriage as Alvild does in favour of piracy. Alvild is described as beautiful throughout,
captivating any who look upon her and therefore still strongly feminine despite wearing men’s
clothing.

“[...] they made her their rover captain for her beauty, and she did deeds beyond the valour
of woman”

(Killings, 2013)

Despite, in Saxo and the audience’s eyes, the wild deviation from what would be expected of a
woman such as Alvild her actions are still couched in terms of being more or greater than other
women. However as Hager points out, this is still favourable in description, but I would suggest this
is largely because Alvild ultimately returns to a more traditional role at the end of her story (Hager,
2018). In this sense I agree with Clunies Ross’ theory of the active ‘pagan’ versus the passive
‘Christian’ in Saxo’s writings, Alvild despite her initial defiance eventually returns to what is expected
of her (Clunies Ross, 1992). When Alf finally catches up with Alvild and sees that ‘he must fight with
kisses and not with arms [...] the enemy handled with gentler dealings’, Alvild as a warrior is really
not clear (Killings, 2013). Alf does not treat her as another (male) warrior and Saxo perhaps cannot
allow that in this tale, lest they offer a more tempting way of life to the Danish women the Church
seeks to convert.

39
To allow for this behaviour, which ultimately reverts to marriage and a more traditional role, Saxo
describes a band of Danish women warriors who dress as men and ‘abhorred all dainty living’
(Killings, 2013). These women are described as having strength or physical height and seek to ‘unsex’
themselves and ‘harden their minds’, preferring combat so as to become very skilled at it (Killings,
2013).

They devoted those hands to the lance which they should rather have applied to the loom.
They assailed men with their spears whom they could have melted with their looks, they
thought of death and not of dalliance. Now I will cease to wander, and will go back to my
theme

(Killings, 2013)

Alvild is so clearly described as feminine and having the qualities that Saxo felt she should as a
women, despite a stint of piracy however these Danish women are not afforded the same latitude
and in fact they are described as making themselves look and act as much like men as Saxo deems
possible. There are elements of valkyrjur (valkyries) in the war-like stance these Danes are given but
to my mind this allows for an already accepted view of women in Old Norse literature, rather I would
argue that their mirroring of the behaviours of their male counterparts means they wish to fully
occupy those roles. The disregard of typical activities assigned to women is clear but Saxo chooses
not to spend much time elaborating on this. One reading of this would suggest that this group of
Danes who choose to act and become as men in their behaviour and dress, should be considered as
that. So little is said of them but this group of people move from their roles assigned at birth into
another, creating a new male identity that differs considerably from Alvild’s acceptable deviance
from norms. We could apply the term trans men to this group, whom we should consider as men,
existing in Medieval Denmark and expressing their gender in a way that allowed them to be
interpreted by others as men. This expression is the adherence to combat training, fighting and
dressing as men which allows them to exist as such in that period. This group transgress norms
expected of what is assigned to them initially, existing in a way differently from even the warrior-
women Saxo already describes and remaining on their chosen path, not reverting to an accepted
behaviour or norm that allows for Gesta Danorum’s intended readership to be comfortable with.
This also means a very binary reading and we fall victim to ‘binary binds’ even here as well as
touching on Clover’s ‘one-sex’ model of men and not-men to an extent where masculinity can be
claimed by anyone with the correct actions (Clover, 1993). As Coman has pointed out to me, we
must consider what bodies in this context must do or perform in order to be considered as a specific
category and thus move away from very binary definitions of gender which may or may not have

40
existed in this period other than as overlayed by Saxo (J. Coman, personal communication, 1st
September 2020). Saxo considered this group as ‘unsexed’ women but we do not know how they
viewed themselves or how others viewed them only what Saxo intends for readers of Gesta
Danorum to infer which is transgressing an established norm, and therefore queer. These women
also differ from usual perceptions of women in the Viking Age, Wihlborg argues that typical
categorisation of women in this period fall into either the caring housewife or sexualised warrior
(and valkyrjur) which complies with the Freudian Maddona-Whore complex (Wihlborg, 2020). These
individuals do not fit that and do not comply with cis-heteronormative framework, existing outside
this expectation.

The examples of cross-dressing I have looked at move beyond simply dressing as another gender and
represent deeper movements of gender identity in the literature. These characters attempt to take
on new roles, to varying degrees of success, but suffer ultimately from the bias of their author in
viewing their movement as deviant and non-normative.

Chapter 4: Conclusion

Queer theory has been described already as a ‘scavenger theory’ and there is a sense that
scavenging is part of the process of pulling out queer themes from texts and associated research
given the restrictions of cis-heteronormative frameworks of study. That’s not to say this queerness is
hastily constructed from remnants but rather that it has taken work to draw it through, using
literature sources available that are encased in a cis-heteropatriarchal shell of analysis. I have
established that up until the 20th century queer interpretations were ignored or disregarded in
favour of cis-heteronormative explanations, erasing possible identities that didn’t conform with
assumed norms.

I have provided examples of queer themes across several broad categories in literature sources that
raise the possibility of a greater acceptance of fluidity in sexuality and gender than is inferred from
Christian-influenced writing.

Magic and shapeshifting is used to transform the self, allowing characters to occupy new spheres
and identities wholly. I have suggested that seiðr is a transformative magical practice which enables
the practitioner to change their gender and be perceived as that, despite associations of ergi, thus
gaining expression from their power. There is a possible categorisation of seið-worker which outlines
the nature of transformation and allocates a hierarchy of acceptance depending on where the
practitioner is positioned. These transformations are transgressive, defying norms as written in the

41
literature, breaking boundaries of acceptability to the audience of the period. This queerness is
mirrored in tales of the deities, notably by Loki and Óðinn who use magic and shapeshifting to
occupy new identities in the same manner. Their queerness is apparent in how they make use of
seiðr, described as the magic of women, and retain their identities without associated shame placed
on mortal practitioners. They move into different expressions of gender using shapeshifting to
become and take on different gender roles or tempt others with desire, their fluidity in gender is
apparent in literature and it is largely accepted by other characters, their peers. These transformed
bodies are acceptable and unquestioned, save for one instance in the Eddas, suggesting a more
enlightened understanding of gender and sexuality than is traditionally thought.

I have discussed examples of ‘mortal queers’, those who are not the deities and are subject to the
restrictive normative values laced in by the author. There are relationships that scale towards
intimate on a homosocial spectrum but alluded to rather than explicit, an omission that is
unsurprising given the authors. These range from descriptions of accusations, of níd proportions,
where the implication is not just homosexuality but also perversion and excessive lust to the
suggestion of closeness between men that is a means of slander and dishonour. The likes of
Guðmundr and Grettir suffering because of the perception they harboured either homosexual
intentions or considerable lust for anyone (or anything). The outright fear of being considered ergi is
palpable in the texts and thought must be given to the attitude of the Church in the threat this
posed to their own imposed norms on pre-Christian communities and the deviation this represented
which I suggest explains the depth to which queerness was vilified. This is represented even in
Grágás law codes which were in some cases penned by converted monarchs and Christian clergy to
further suppress queerness, ostensibly because it existed to begin with.

Cross-dressing remains part of the transformative acts as well as the activity of mortals, used most
often for deceit and in one particular example, rape. The queerness perhaps is seen in the tale of
Þórr in Þrymskviða where Þórr and Loki dress as bride and bridesmaid. In this tale I argue that Þórr
takes on a new identity, one that is not on the surface welcomed and Þórr’s discomfort is clear
throughout. Loki however, as I have already pointed out, moves easily into the role of bridesmaid
with a fluidity exhibited elsewhere and often. Þórr’s struggle with the role of bride, of being a
woman and of being desired by Þrym is complex and also queer as it challenges the hyper-masculine
norm usually assigned to Þórr it also bears the pain of struggling with a new identity and the risk
within. Þórr ultimately chooses to avoid that risk and the response is violent. Moving back into the
mortal realm once more, I have described examples of cross-dressing women who change their
appearance to be able to avoid marriage and take up arms. Alvild the pirate is arguably an
acceptable deviant in that she returns to a normative role upon meeting her husband-to-be whilst

42
the group of Danish warrior-women stand out as queer for their rejection of norms and their
movement into the sphere of combat and martial prowess ordinarily reserved by the authors of the
texts for men.

Transformation remains a strong overarching theme through this paper with a movement through
gender expression by different means. Whether it is shapeshifting to produce progeny, disguising
oneself as another gender or bearing items normatively associated with another gender there is
clear movement into new identities in these examples. This suggests to me that a fluid approach to
gender existed in pre-Christian Scandinavian communities given the frequency with which it exists in
the Old Norse literature and texts.

Queerness, it can be argued, exists in the interpretation and I would argue that cis-
heteronormativity does as well. The default assumption of those who studied the literature in the
19th and 20th centuries was to take this “binary binds” lens and apply it to interpretations thus
ignoring the possibility of queerness because it failed to fit their own norms. This is particularly true
of early scholarly works used in the development of the Far Right ideologies by the Nazi party in the
1930s, where arguments regarding racial purity stemmed from and used Old Norse literature and
archaeological evidence to support. This was, as other scholars have pointed out, through a cis-
heteropatriarchal lens of analysis. The application of queer theory and its continued evolution
enables a greater understanding of how gender and sexuality may have been perceived in this
period through examining the literature derived from oral histories. I have discussed detailed
examples of queerness relating to Old Norse deities, their magic and those who worshipped them.
These examples defy previous cis-heteronormative assessments, highlighting the queerness present
within the mythology and the literature.

The queerness is not categorised in any particular way and in fact, cannot be. Partly because that is
queer theory of itself is a defiance of clear categories but also the gap between today’s
understanding of queerness and that of the Viking Age is vast. Understanding differs again between
today and the 13th century, although the binary notions are more recognisable. I have used modern
terms in order to provide some link to contemporary understanding, in that it enables me to see
queer identities reflected in the mythology which is the aim of this paper. Whilst modern categories
of queerness remain and do not fit the past, the evidence of queerness and rejection of cis-
heteropatriarchal norms is present in the literature sources.

43
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