Tales of Twilight

Floating on its own in a vast swathe of the Atlantic Ocean, Iceland has always been an isolated country, and for centuries its barren, inhospitable landscape meant many of its inhabitants were just as isolated. The routes between farms were treacherous and difficult to traverse and the brutal weather conditions meant families tended to spend long evenings indoors telling each other stories to stave off sleep while they worked the wool by candlelight.

A very possible habitat for hidden people next to the Icelandic Ring Road. Photo: COffe72

These stories often centered on the otherworldly landscape that Icelanders call home. Nothing can prepare you for your first glimpse of Iceland. It is unlike anywhere else on earth. The Apollo astronauts trained in Iceland in the 1960s because of its similarity to the moon. There are black beaches, red hills, undulating lava fields, endless snow-capped highlands. And against this bleak, beautiful terrain, Icelanders conjured up all manner of myths and legends over the centuries. In the loneliness of these vast vistas, they have summoned a host of strange creatures to characterize the story of their land.

HIDDEN FOLK AND CRAFTY TROLLS

Iconic features of the landscape like a towering hill or a river crossing have long been designated the homes of the “huldufolk” or “hidden people.” The hidden people look like humans and live like them too, attending their own churches and farms and even maintaining a similar economy of livestock rearing and hay cutting. Some farmers won’t mow certain parts of their fields to keep from mistakenly decimating a mystical dwelling.

But it’s not just hidden people that populate the Icelandic landscape. Trolls live in the hills—elf-women who wait at crossroads to tempt men into madness, and monsters that tap at the window while you sleep. These creatures are crafty, sometimes helpful, often not, their intentions hard to discern, and this might reflect the ambivalent relationship Icelanders have towards their unpredictable surroundings—with its volcanoes, geysers, and sudden sand storms, Iceland’s terrain is both destroyer and provider, friend and foe.

Curb appeal! Photo: Andrew Mayovskyy

Mythical stories have often had practical use in Iceland; they were told to warn of the impending danger in such a hostile environment. At the vast Vatnajokull Glacier—once traversed at great personal risk by farmers from the north seeking access to the bountiful waters in the south during fishing season—the ice is said to reverberate with the sound of hymns sung by those who fell through the cracks.

THE EXISTENCE OF ELVES

But perhaps the most eye-catching story concerning myths and legends in Iceland, and certainly the most headline-grabbing, is that of the existence of elves. Stories abound of highways through Iceland being diverted to avoid using explosives on the home of hidden people, or of construction projects going awry when warnings about the presence of supernatural beings went unheeded. In an oft-cited opinion poll from 1998, 54% of Icelanders replied that they believed in elves. This figure is often quoted in articles about why Iceland is such a curious place to visit. The subtext, often, is that Icelanders are somehow more credulous, perhaps even more backward, than people in other countries. The truth, in many cases, is very different. And it has more to do with the natural than the supernatural.

At Dimmuborgir (Dark Citadel) in North Iceland. Would you believe no one lived there? Photo: Oleksii Liebiediev

Take, for example, an infamous story from the early 1970s, in which Icelandic engineers tried to build a highway to connect Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, with the west of the country. During construction, the engineers realized there was a large rock they needed to move to continue their work. This rock, however, was rumored to be the property of elves. The project’s lead engineer called in a clairvoyant to discern whether the elves would consent to having their rock moved. Apparently, they did. Then, disaster struck. When the bulldozers tried to move it, it split in half. That very night, so the story goes, one of the bulldozers crashed into a nearby water pipe, resulting in the death of 70,000 fish at a nearby fish farm. The owners then sued the contractor.

Moss covered lava makes for great elven real estate. Photo: dennisvdw

In other countries, this story might have been considered a freak coincidence. But in Iceland, it was taken as a prime example of what happens when you destroy elven dwellings. It would be misleading to assume that this is because all Icelanders believe in elves. More than anything, it’s because Icelanders are fiercely protective of their landscape. This has little to do with elves and far more to do with urbanization and modernity. Icelanders love the landscape, and they don’t want it to be destroyed by power plants and highways. The stories of elves and trolls help to tell the story of the treasured land and the desire of its people to preserve parts of the country that might otherwise be made into roads. To bore into a rock is to destroy a part of the country’s history. Icelanders support these stories not necessarily because they believe in elves, but because they believe in the land.

LIVING MYTHOLOGY

That’s what’s so compelling about myth in Iceland. It is both past and present, fictional and non-fictional, dead and alive. In the Sagas, one of the most astonishing literary works ever discovered, the line between myth and reality can be hard to unpack. Although these stories, written in the 12th and 13th centuries depicting the lives of Iceland’s first settlers, have supernatural elements, they are also some of the most accurate portrayals of how society functioned in all of European medieval literature. In these stories about elves and trolls, where supernatural beings mingle with humans, you can learn as much about the rule of law in the 9th century as you would be able to from most history books.