There’s a danger when you get together with friends. They might lend you a book that you know you’ll have to buy. Not because you lost theirs, but because it’s so good you want a copy. This happened when a friend lent me The Galdrabók: Forbidden Icelandic Folk Magic, by Kári Pálsson. I’ve always been interested in folklore and Iceland has held a fascination for me ever since we lived in Scotland. My wife and I, for some reason, took to Icelandic sagas from medieval times. We read several, including the Orkneyinga Saga (so-called by Penguin; the subtitle is The History of the Earls of Orkney). We’d visited the Orkney Islands after taking an adult education class on the Vikings. (Norway’s not far from Scotland.) So I tucked into this little lent book with gusto. People naturally enough believe in magic. This book contains the titular Galdrabók and the Jarðskinna manuscript. They’re an intriguing blend of Christianity and Norse folk belief.
The book didn’t take long to get through, but when you’re reading a book about magic at 4 a.m., it refocuses you quite a bit. You almost find yourself believing. It happened that I was reading another book at the same time, one which has me questioning reality. Together the two had an impact on the thought process with which I start the day. Galdrabók is a grimoire. After the Christianization of Iceland, such things were feared to the point that you could be burnt at the stake if you were found in possession of one. The political church wants no rivals. The book itself has prayers—some very Christian—spells, and magic symbols. An introduction by the translator helpfully places this material in context. A brief book, I was reading it in the interstices between my regular morning reading and when I was doing my daily exercises.
Another reason I knew I’d have to buy this book was the publisher, Hyldyr. First of all, Hyldyr is a publisher with the fortitude to reject AI. Would that all publishers do the same! Environmentally conscious and aware of the importance of design, they make paperback books that are works of art. And they care about academic respectability. The books are on topics that fall beyond what a usual publisher might take on—Icelandic grimoires, for example. I found this a stunning little book. Even as I read it I knew I’d want to refer back to it. Of course, this friend has lent me books before, and I always ended up buying copies for myself. Such is the danger.
