The most recommended saga books

Dorothy Eden was well-known as a Gothic/Thriller Romance author fifty-plus years ago, but her family sagas are where her skills really shine. The Vines of Yarrabee had me scared to keep reading because I knew tragedy was coming, but I couldn’t stop reading because I was invested in the less-than-perfect characters—most of whom I was angry over for much of the story. These fictional humans are tucked in a rich setting I could see, hear, feel, smell, and taste. I learned a lot about Australia and its settlers in the 1800s, but it’s the people in the story that I still carry with me, several years after reading it.

This is by all estimation the greatest of the sagas. I would even claim that its excellence allows it to be fairly mentioned in the same breath as the Iliad, Don Quixote, and the tragedies of Shakespeare. It is quite complex and I would suggest, if I am allowed to, my Why is Your Axe Bloody? (2014) as a guide. But the present Penguin translation is a travesty and should be avoided. The best English translation available is the older Penguin translated by Magnus Magnusson and Hermann Pálsson (1961) and still available from various used booksellers online. Their translation is as good as a translation can get. Hrafnkels saga is a perfect entry to the sagas because it is short and compact and prepares one for the complexity of Njáls saga. 

Even though this is a massive tome with almost 800 pages, the book is the perfect introduction to the rich medieval literature of the sagas that form the foundation of Icelandic literature today. It contains many of the main sagas including the Egil's Saga, the Laxdæla Saga, and the Vinland Sagas as well as background information on saga history, medieval Iceland, and the Icelandic language. A collection full of the battles, witchcraft, poetry, monsters, and heroic journeys that influenced generations of writers from Jules Verne and J.R.R. Tolkien over to A.S. Byatt.  

So many brilliant authors have explored the Arthurian legends that I had trouble believing that there could be more to say. Signe Pike, though, researched the earliest appearance of the legend of Merlin and traced it, surprisingly, to 6th-century Scotland where she set this tale. Merlin and his sister are given their early Celtic names, Lailoken and Languoreth and there is a Scottish/Celtic feel to the book that evokes that historical time and place. I was particularly moved by Pike’s exploration of the dilemma of the peace-weaving queen, forced to choose between loyalty to her birth family and loyalty to the family into which she married. Sadly, that was the bitter fate of many peace-weaving brides as rival tribes vied against each other for power and ultimate control.  

In many ways, The Actual Star echoes Cloud Atlas. There are multiple timelines (the ancient Mayan Empire, present-day Belize, and an unrecognizable far future Earth), two souls locked together across lifetimes, and blended genres. But The Actual Star takes a more mystical approach to this story, combining elements of Mesoamerican spirituality with a new far-future belief system inspired by the protagonist of the present-day storyline. Along the way, the book delves into questions of sexuality, gender, belief, and survival in the face of catastrophe, all in Monica Byrne’s gorgeous prose.

This book has been central to my research on women in Science Fiction although I am not a Horror fan.

Given how often women are thrown through gendered-based violence in different genres, Clover’s study brings many useful points for not only Horror itself, but also thrillers, action films, and Fantasy.

It investigates different facets of women’s representation and their fight against sexualized trials. My favorite chapters are those on the body in the slasher film, the discussion on women’s stories versus men’s stories, and the revenge narrative.

This novel elegantly captures the truth that the past was inhabited mostly by “ordinary” people, many of whom are anything but ordinary.

I feel that history should tell their stories, not just those of emperors, generals, and “great men.” Through the stories of a Greek village in Turkey around 1900, I learned vividly about the interconnected lives of Greeks, Turks, Armenians, Jews, and others in the late days of the Ottoman Empire and shattering effects of World War I.

The book narrates the atrocities of trench warfare and the human cost and trauma of war with compassion, humor, and a deep sensibility. The book enhanced the experience of my subsequent visits to Gallipoli and Izmir and furthered my understanding of historical events around the population exchange between Greece and Turkey.

Getting to know this book’s characters and their stories amplified my connection with the past.

This is a page-turner of a novel about a shooting at a women’s reproductive health services clinic in Mississippi, where the 15-year-old daughter of the hostage negotiator is caught inside the clinic. A variety of people are trapped inside the clinic for hours that day. The shooter, the daughter, the hostage negotiator, the abortion doctor, a pro-life protestor who was spying inside the clinic, and a woman who just had an abortion in the clinic–their characters and motivations are all very understandable to me, which makes the tension about this horrible situation that much more riveting. 

E.R. Eddison was an early fantasy novelist best known for The Worm Ouroboros, but like Poul Anderson, he also took a serious interest in bringing the ancient stories of the North into the modern age. Styrbiorn the Strong was his effort to capture the adventure of the old sagas by recreating a presumably lost full-length saga about the titular character. With Styrbiorn the Strong, Eddison built a convincing and original saga-inspired story from the fragments that exist about him (remaining references to Styrbiorn exist in Flatey Book, Eyrbyggja Saga, and the Heimskringla). The book was originally published in 1926 and features the sort of verbose and eloquent language typical of novels of that era, which itself is very un-saga-like, but is a joy to read. 

I’ve read Weak Teeth twice now, as I was lucky enough to read it in its proof stage as well. It’s an anti-love story about Ellis, an Edinburgh girl, which opens with her long-term partner cheating on her before chucking her out of their shared flat.

Sounds depressing? But in the hands of Lynsey May, it becomes a bleakly, blackly hilarious, razor-sharp dissection of human relationships, along with a beautifully rich exploration of family and what it means to be strong in life. 

The characters are so utterly identifiable, from Ellis’s poison-tongued but ferociously loyal big sister to her wet drip of an ex. It’s a book to hold your hand through the worst times of life and remind you that strength can be found where you least expect it.