I learned about the Old English Poem "Battle of Maldon" from a David Chapman in a recent podcast with Jim Rutt, which I found really insightful. I haven't read meaningness for a long time. But Chapman seems to have reemerged onto my radar recently in a series of compelling articles on his (new?) substack.

And so I picked up this lauded Tolkien book in anticipation of something extra amazing, but found it to be too dry and academic for my simple tastes. That said I was intrigued by Old English and inspired by read Beowulf in a recent translation someday soon.

The poem Battle of Maldon covers the eponymous event, in which an Earl named Byrhtnōð and his Anglo-Saxon forces were defeated by marauding Vikings in 991. The poem and Tolkien's analysis revolves mainly around Byrhtnōð's hubris. He decided not to pay the Danegeld (Viking tribute) and instead confronted the Vikings on unfavorable terms. Rather than fighting the invaders at their strategically disadvantageous position across a narrow land bridge, he honored their request to do battle on equal terms. This led to the overwhelming defeat of his army and his own death.

Was Byrhtnōð honorable for giving the invading Viking army a fair fight? Or was he dishonorable because his overconfidence (ofermōd) led to the massacre of his own men? Tolkien is clearly in the latter camp, critical of Byrhtnōð's actions, summarized in his quote from Beowulf: "by one man’s will many must woe endure", which also sounds pretty dope in OE: "oft sceall eorl monig ānes willan wræc ādreogan".

Much of this book is devoted to quite academic essays but I did enjoy The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, which is essentially Tolkien's fanfic sequel to the Battle of Maldon, in which two men come to collect Byrhtnōð's corpse. In one section Torthelm speaks memorably in the "voice of one speaking in a dream":

There are candles in the dark and cold voices. I hear mass chanted for master’s soul in Ely isle. Thus ages pass, and men after men. Mourning voices of women weeping. So the world passes; day follows day, and the dust gathers, his tomb crumbles, as time gnaws it, and his kith and kindred out of ken dwindle. So men flicker and in the mirk go out. The world withers and the wind rises; the candles are quenched. Cold falls the night.

Old English pronounciation cheatsheet