Reykjavík Grapevine - 24.05.2019, Qupperneq 38
38The Reykjavík Grapevine
Issue 08— 2019
The Saga of
Gísli Súrsson
It appears they didn't have enough
psychiatrists back then
Words: Grayson Del Faro Illustrations: Elín Elísabet
Book
Buy ‘Sagas And Shit’ at all good
bookstores or online at
shop.grapevine.is
There are more sex jokes in the
sagas than you might guess, and
neither jokes about butt-sex nor
the literary masterpieces of the
genre are exempt. The Saga of
Gísli Súrsson begins with a good
old-fashioned Norwegian fam-
ily feud in which a guy named
Skeggi asks his carpenter to carve
a wooden statue of Gísli with an-
other dude’s dick in his butt as an
insult. Gísli happens to be hiding
in the bushes nearby and he jumps
out and cuts off Skeggi’s leg, later
killing him. I like to think that
he dies in the name of sodomy.
So before the real story starts,
let’s have a moment of silence for
Saint Skeggi, patron saint of anal.
Bromance is dead
Due to this feud, Gísli and his fam-
ily move to Iceland, leaving behind
all this business about who puts
what in whose behind. They all
marry into respectable Icelan-
dic families. Gísli lives with his
wife Auður, brother Þórkell, and
his wife Ásgerður, while Gísli and
Þórkell’s sister Þórdís lives near-
by with her husband Þórgrímur.
There is also a guy named Véste-
inn, the brother of Gísli’s wife. I
know this seems confusing as hell,
but I’ve already narrowed out like
fourteen other dudes also named
Þórsomething so this is as sim-
ple as it can get. Sorry not sorry.
The four brothers-in-law show
up at Parliament dressed like rich
bitches and do nothing but drink.
This causes lots of gossip about
them, including a prophesy that
their friendship is doomed. When
the brothers-in-law hear about
this, they decide to avert it by tak-
ing the oath of blood-brotherhood.
In this case it means making a
fort of grass, mix-
i ng thei r blood
into the dirt, and
holding hands, ex-
actly like little boys
wou ld probably
do. But Þórgrímur
won’t hold hands
with Vésteinn be-
cause they’re not
related, so Gísli is
like, “Fine, then I
won’t hold hands
with you because
you won’t hold
hands with my bff.” Then he real-
izes it was all for nothing and tells
Þorkell, “We’re basically fucked.”
Murder (not so) mystery
One day Þorkell overhears Auður
accuse his wife Ásgerður of want-
ing to bone her brother Vésteinn
instead of her own husband. Ás-
gerður is like, “Yeah, and?” When
he won’t let her into the bed that
night, Ásgerður threatens to di-
vorce him. When he declines a
divorce, she assumes they can
just fuck their way to forgive-
ness and everything seems fine.
When Vésteinn had gone abroad,
Gísli had broken a coin in half
and they each took one, l ike
those children’s friendship neck-
laces popular in the 1990s. Gísli
sends his piece to Vésteinn warn-
ing him to come home because
everything is in fact not fine.
A s the prophesy foretold,
they’re fucked. Meanwhile, Þorkell
meets with a wizard who forges
a spear for him from the bro-
ken pieces of a family sword.
When Vésteinn ignores Gísli’s
warning and returns anyway, he
is promptly speared to death in
the night by an anonymous killer.
Whoever could it be? Well Gísli,
genius as he is, has dreams that
point the finger at Þorgrímur
so he sneaks into his place at
night and spears him right back.
Lather, rinse, revenge
Þórdís wastes no time in marry-
ing her dead husband’s brother
Börkur, nor in having her own
brother charged with outlawry for
the murder. The rest of the saga
passes as a montage of Gisli find-
ing strange new
places to hide only
to be discovered
b y B ö r k u r a n d
his cousin Eyjól-
f ur, then escap-
ing, and doing it
all again. Lather,
r i n s e , r e p e a t .
H e a l s o e n -
counters all kinds
of freaks and geeks
a l on g t h e w ay.
Most notably there
is a guy who keeps
his gigantic troll-child on a leash
outside his home and a woman
so obscene that she successfully
repels the search party by offend-
ing them with her mouth-fuckery.
This all goes on for years and all
the while he is haunted by a mys-
terious woman in his dreams,
probably a beautiful personifi-
cation of his guilt or some shit
like that. You know, literature.
Sadly, they find him in the end.
When they attack, even Auður
helps to fight them off with a club.
They cut him open and his entrails
spill out but he gathers them up,
shoves them back in, and keeps
fighting until he keels over. When
Eyjólfur returns to gloat to Börkur
about news, Þórdís has some deep
feels about her brother’s death.
So she stabs Eyjólfur in the leg,
declares herself divorced from
Börkur, and walks the fuck out.
Morals of the story:
1. Violence begets trauma
2. Seriously, dude, see a psychia-
trist.
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