Odin: the one-eyed All-Father and leader of the Aesir; god of war, kingship, and farsightedness, armed with a spear and often accompanied by two ravens; husband to Frigg, father of Thor and Baldur
Surtur: a flame fiend who will fight beside the Jotuns in the Ragnarok
Thor: red-bearded thunder god; son of Odin and the Earth, raised by Frigg; a god of battle who carries a war hammer
Tyr: one-handed god of war; son of Odin and swordsman of the Aesir
Valkyries: Odin’s wolf-riding handmaidens, who choose which of the slain will go to Valhalla
Ymir: a giant defeated by Odin at the beginning of the world; the Aesir formed the world from his blood and bones
A NOTE ON THE HISTORY OF THE NORSE AND INUIT IN NORTH AMERICA
Omat’s family belongs to the first expansion of Inuit ancestors—called Thule (TOO-lee) by anthropologists—from Siberia to Alaska and then to Nunavut in the eastern Canadian Arctic sometime between 800 and 1200 AD. With dogsleds and skin boats, the Thule may have accomplished this spectacular journey—several thousand miles through some of the least hospitable environments on earth—in only a few years, rather than many generations. Scholars speculate that they undertook the migration to follow bowhead whales, whose travel through the Arctic Sea was made possible only by the lack of sea ice during several hundred years of climate change known as the Medieval Warm Period.
Arriving in the eastern Arctic, the Thule found the land already inhabited by a people known in later Inuit legends as Tuniit and in anthropological literature as Dorset. Some myths portray the Tuniit as exceptionally large but gentle people. Other stories describe them as dwarfs, likely due to the tiny, delicate tools found in the ruins of their rectangular stone-and-turf dwellings. In either case, the Tuniit are depicted as extraordinarily strong. The Dorset did not use bows or dogsleds—they may not have even owned domesticated dogs. Thus, within a relatively short time, the Thule displaced the Dorset, perhaps by force, perhaps by simply out-competing them in the warming climate. The Dorset disappeared, but the innovations they taught the Thule, including the building of snow houses and the use of inuksuit, lived on.
Around the same time that the Thule headed east, Norse explorers began their own epic migration in the opposite direction. Erik the Red left Iceland and discovered Greenland in approximately 982 AD, establishing several permanent settlements of shepherds, cowherds, and hunters. Soon afterward his son Leif heard reports of a new land to the west and led the first European expedition to North America. As recorded in The Saga of the Greenlanders, after sailing past Baffin Island and Labrador, Leif landed on the northern tip of Newfoundland, naming the new land Vinland and building a longhouse at Leifsbudir. Following clues in the sagas, Icelandic archeologists discovered the remains of the settlement in 1960. Today a reconstructed longhouse stands on the site at L’Anse aux Meadows, Newfoundland.
Several years after Leif’s journey, his sister, Freydis, launched an expedition of her own, accompanied by a second ship owned by two Icelandic brothers, Helgi and Finnbogi. Discord soon arose, instigated by Freydis’s insistence on taking Leif’s longhouse for herself and, later, her demand that the brothers give her their larger knarr. Eventually Freydis coerced her husband, Thorvard, into slaughtering the Icelanders while they slept. Then, for unexplained reasons, Freydis herself seized an ax and murdered the five women they had brought with them. There is no mention of religious strife playing a role in this massacre, but my depiction of Freydis’s motives reflects the history of the period. By 1000 AD, Christianity had spread throughout most of Scandinavia. Greenland, due to its relative isolation, was the last stronghold of those who worshiped the Aesir.
The Saga of Erik the Red adds more detail to Freydis’s story. It relates that a band of skraelings, or “wretches,” attacked her settlement. Freydis took up a sword, struck it against her bare breast, and chased them off single-handedly. I have chosen to portray this as a conflict with Newfoundland’s Beothuk Indians, who provided the inspiration for the “painted men” Omat and Brandr encounter. The saga also includes an obscure passage about a scouting expedition northward to Markland (Labrador), during which some of Freydis’s men encounter five skraelings—a bearded man, two women, and two children—living in a hole in the ground and dressed in white, fringed garments. The Norse steal the children and take them back to Vinland. From this brief incident comes the story of Kiasik’s capture and Omat’s journey to rescue him.
I hope I will be forgiven for taking some dramatic license by portraying the conflict as one of Norse versus Thule, when in fact the Dorset/Tuniit were likely also present on Baffin Island and in Labrador at the time. The displacement of the Tuniit would have taken far longer than I have implied in The Wolf in the Whale. However, their stories are long forgotten, while the rich mythologies of the Norse and Inuit are simply too compelling for an author to resist.
The encounters portrayed in The Wolf in the Whale were far from the last meetings between Inuit and Norse, although Baffin Island did indeed remain free of permanent European settlement. In the next few hundred years, as the climate cooled once again, the Thule expanded eastward, to Greenland. If Leif Erickson is the European credited with “discovering” North America, then the Thule should surely be credited as the first Americans to “discover” Europeans. For several centuries, the two groups both lived in Greenland, although we have little knowledge of their interactions.
By the fifteenth century, the Norse, who had scraped out an existence on the island’s coasts for five hundred years, fell prey to a combination of climate change and a crash in the price of walrus ivory, their main export. They abandoned their settlements, leaving behind the stone foundations of churches and barns, still visible today.
Unlike the import-dependent Norse, the Thule never abandoned Greenland. Their descendants, modern Inuit, have built a civilization that stretches from there to Alaska. Despite climate change, European whaling, and cultural repression, Inuit have endured—they have thrived—for a thousand years. I have no doubt they will do so for a thousand more.
A NOTE ON SOURCES AND RESEARCH
The Wolf in the Whale is not an Inuit story. It is a fictional creation by a non-Inuit writer profoundly inspired by Inuit history, culture, and myth. Given my status as an outsider and our incomplete knowledge of the distant past, I have no doubt made mistakes. I am a novelist, not an anthropologist. A Qallunaat, not an Inuk. With those limitations in mind, I hope this story is received as it is intended: as an attempt to honor the Inuit past, not to claim it.
Although Inuit groups from Alaska to Greenland each have their own unique stories, dialects, and practices, I have borrowed from the traditions of several different regions in creating Omat’s belief system and behavior. Since I envision her family as one of the first to migrate across North America from Alaska to eastern Canada, I assume their cultural practices would not be identical to any single modern group’s. Thus I have mixed several different traditions to create my own fictional community: the gender conventions of some central Arctic Inuit; the Alaskan aarluk myth; Greenlandic incest taboos against first-cousin marriage; hunting techniques from Alaska’s Iñupiat and Nunavut’s Uqqurmiut and Nuvumiut; and myths, shamanic practices, and astronomical lore recorded in the community of Igloolik. I hope I will be forgiven for taking such license.
My first exposure to the concept of an Inuit “third sex” came from the work of anthropologist Bernard Saladin d’Anglure, an expert in Inuit shamanism and cosmology who has spent over forty years working with the Inuit community in Canada. His descriptions of the Inuit belief in rebirth through a “name-soul”—and the gender switching and occasional cross-dressing that can accompany the practice—provided the original inspiration for Omat’s character. Saladin d’Anglure’s own understanding emerged from interviews with Inuit elders in Igloolik, notably Iqallijuq, a woman born with her grandfather’s name-soul who was raised as a boy until menstruation, when she was forced into a woman’s role.
> The Inuit myths retold throughout The Wolf in the Whale are based on those remembered by Inuit elders and recorded by anthropologists over the course of the twentieth century. This book would not have been possible without their stories. My retelling of the Sun and the Moon tale was inspired by an adaptation in Tom Lowenstein’s Ancient Land, Sacred Whale: The Inuit Hunt and Its Rituals, which in turn was based on the words of Asatchaq Jimmie Killigivuk from Point Hope, Alaska, recorded in 1975. Lowenstein’s book also provided information on whale-hunting techniques and taboos. The story of the Sea Mother (known by countless names, including Sanna, Sedna, Niviaqsiaq, Talilajuq, and Nuliajuk) comes from the revered Igloolik angakkuq Aua, as recorded by anthropologist Knud Rasmussen in the early 1920s. Rasmussen’s seminal work, Across Arctic America: Narrative of the Fifth Thule Expedition (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1927), also includes Aua’s descriptions of spirit journeys, trance states, and many other practices, all of which played a role in the creation of The Wolf in the Whale. Ataata’s descriptions of his spirit journey to meet Uqsuralik in chapter 1 and his song for the return of the Sun in chapter 4 both quote Aua directly, with permission from the shaman’s great-grandson Solomon Awa. Omat’s words to summon Sanna were inspired by those of Horqarnaq, an angakkuq from Kugluktuk, also interviewed by Rasmussen.
My descriptions of the heralding stars, Northern Lights beliefs, snowdrift navigation, the Inuit calendar, and the rituals around the return of the sun come primarily from John MacDonald’s The Arctic Sky: Inuit Astronomy, Star Lore, and Legend, which in turn draws on knowledge transcribed in 1990 and 1991 from Igloolik elders Paul and Maria Quttiutuqu, Mark Ijjangiaq, Noah Piugaattuk, Niviattian Aqatsiaq, Pauli Kunuk, and others.
Inuit still hunt caribou, seals, whales, and walruses in Alaska and Canada. Sealing in particular has come under severe criticism in recent decades, leading to a complete ban on the importation of seal products into the United States and severe restrictions on imports into the European Union, despite the facts that seals are not endangered and Inuit hunters use all parts of the animal. I encourage you to watch the excellent documentary Angry Inuk, which articulates the Inuit perspective on this debate. My own understanding of traditional Inuit hunting practices comes from my discussions with Alex Flaherty, Solomon Awa, and Loasie Anilniliak and from Richard K. Nelson’s Hunters of the Northern Ice and Shadow of the Hunter, which offer detailed descriptions of daily life among the Iñupiat of Wainwright, Alaska. The knowledge Nelson recorded in the 1960s came from Waldo Bodfish and other members of the Wainwright community. Sinews of Survival: The Living Legacy of Inuit Clothing by Betty Kobayshi Issenman affords an unparalleled examination of skin sewing and preparation.
Before I ever traveled to the Arctic myself, I was able to gain a profound appreciation for the mystery and majesty of its landscape and wildlife through two incomparable books: Katherine Scherman’s Spring on an Arctic Island and Barry Lopez’s Arctic Dreams.
For anyone interested in seeing what Omat’s world might have looked like, watch Zacharias Kunuk, Norman Cohn, and Paul Apak Angilirq’s cinematic masterpiece, Atanarjuat: The Fast Runner. Its punching-game scene inspired Omat and Issuk’s confrontation in The Wolf in the Whale. Shot entirely in Nunavut, this impeccably researched film affords an invaluable window into Inuit life centuries ago.
The Norse myths have been told and retold by various authors for nine hundred years. However, most versions are based primarily on the same two medieval Icelandic sources: Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda and the anonymous Poetic Edda. Both were written down long after the Christianization of Scandinavia. Freydis’s description of the Ragnarok is adapted from Henry Adams Bellows’s 1923 translation of the Poetic Edda.
The Lofotr Viking Museum and Oslo’s Viking Ship Museum, both in Norway, provided invaluable insights into the life of the medieval Norse. The beautifully curated Lofotr museum, in particular, is well worth a trip north of the Arctic Circle. At its annual Viking Festival, I managed to eat in a longhouse, sail on a longboat, and learn the rudiments of Norse spinning, all while gazing at one of the most awe-inspiring landscapes in the world.
My own journey to Nunavut, the Canadian territory that includes Baffin Island, allowed me to experience Omat’s homeland for myself. There I was honored to meet the residents of Iqaluit and Pangnirtung, whose firsthand knowledge of Inuit life and language made essential contributions to this narrative, and who are personally thanked in the acknowledgments. With the wind chill at forty below, my teeth aching from cold, and the taste of raw narwhal skin still on my tongue, I began to get a tiny feel for what my heroine’s life might have been like.
For photos of my research journeys to Norway and Nunavut, visit jordannamaxbrodsky.com. They are two of the most spectacular places on earth, so perhaps it is unsurprising that they gave birth to two of the planet’s most spectacular cultures. I have tried, in this book, to do justice to them both.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Everywhere I traveled in Nunavut, I encountered people whose generosity and humor made the stark landscape feel as warm as a well-made fur parka. Ooleepeeka Arnaqaq at Pangnirtung’s Angmarlik Centre enthusiastically explained the museum’s excellent collection. Neil Christopher, cofounder of Inhabit Media and author of The Hidden: A Compendium of Arctic Giants, Dwarves, Gnomes, Trolls, Faeries and Other Strange Beings from Inuit Oral History and several other beautiful books, shared his own passion for Inuit myth. The staff at the Pirurvik Centre were always willing hosts, no matter how many times I showed up at their door: Myna Ishulutak and Liz Fowler shared their knowledge, laughter, and raw caribou meat, while Peter Evvik, surely the most patient man in Iqaluit, showed me how to cut sealskin and answered every question I could throw his way.
My trip to Nunavut would never have happened without the patience of Allison Silvaggio. My thanks to her for putting me in contact with Alex Flaherty’s Polar Outfitting in Iqaluit. Alex, himself an accomplished Inuit hunter, answered my questions, showed me around town, led me to the Nunavut Research Institute, and introduced me to Nancy and Loasie Anilniliak in Pangnirtung. The Anilniliak family opened their home to me, allowed me to try on their magnificent fur parkas and boots, demonstrated how to light a traditional oil lamp, and feasted me with char, seal, caribou, and narwhal skin. Alex also connected me with Jovin Simik—dogsled musher extraordinaire—and with Solomon Awa, who drove me onto the sea ice and showed me how to build an iglu. An expert like Solomon can build one in twenty minutes. With my stunning incompetence and lack of physical strength to slow him down, it took several hours. I would have happily let it take several more; in between deftly shaping the snow blocks, Solomon told me of the shaman Aua (his great-grandfather) and of his own experiences hunting a bowhead whale.
Angela Michielsen, an Iqaluit local, gifted me with her expertise and insights after reading the manuscript. She also pointed me toward Hagar Idlout-Sudlovenick, who in turn connected me to Leena Evic at the Pirurvik Centre, who put me in touch with the incomparable Aaju Peter and arranged for me to sit in on the center’s Intro to Inuktitut class, taught by Myna Ishulutak and Chris Douglas.
My deepest gratitude to Bernard Saladin d’Anglure, whose scholarship inspired this book, for generously offering his feedback on my manuscript, teaching me the shamanic names for the great spirits, and sharing his phenomenal new work, Inuit Stories of Being and Rebirth: Gender, Shamanism, and the Third Sex. I must also offer my sincere thanks to Aaju Peter, Inuit activist, lawyer, teacher, and designer. She honored me by reading the manuscript and patiently answering my questions, all the while inspiring me with her fierce intelligence, tremendous charisma, and exceptional style.
Despite the input of so many experts, no doubt mistakes remain. For those, I alone am responsible.
The Wolf in the Whale has been a work in progress for over a decade, beginning with chapters written for Jennifer Belle’s novel-writing class at the New School. My thanks to her and the other members of the workshop who provided feedback in those early days
. More recently, Louis Chartres generously read the manuscript and provided insights on Arctic living. Bobby Webster sent me to Dan Starkey, who provided Old Norse translations, and to Andrew Okpeaha MacLean, who kindly spoke with me about Inuit storytelling and identity.
As always, a cohort of beloved friends lent their brilliance to the editing process. A single paragraph cannot encompass my immense gratitude for both their contributions to the manuscript and their impact on my life. Dustin Thomason not only gave me the courage to write the book in the first place but also made vital suggestions on an early draft. He made my career as a novelist possible. Jaclyn Huberman, Emily Shooltz, and Jim Augustine also shared their critiques, love, and support. Tegan Tigani and Helen Shaw both read multiple drafts, their exceptional insights matched only by their unfailing enthusiasm. Christopher Mills, my beloved brother-in-law, contributed hours of painstaking research on everything from Arctic astronomy to umiaq construction. Kathy Seaman once again donated her proofreading expertise. Jennifer Joel, my friend and agent, shepherded this manuscript from beginning to end with both compassion and wisdom.
Anne Clarke, my editor at Redhook, is brilliant, patient, hardworking, and kind. I count myself blessed to have her on my team. Sarah Guan and Joseph Lee at Hachette Book Group and Nicolas Vivas Nikonorow at ICM Partners also shared their thoughts on the book. My sincere thanks to them and to the rest of the Hachette crew, including Ellen Wright, Tim Holman, Tommy Harron, and Lisa Marie Pompilio, who have taken such good care of me.
My husband, Jason Mills, is the real reason this book exists. He gave me the tools to write it, he offered feedback on countless drafts, and his limitless faith convinced me that someday it would get published. He has been beside me every step of the way, from brainstorming in our cramped apartment on West Eighty-Eighth Street to singing me down the mountains of Norway to keeping me warm in the vastness of Nunavut’s frozen sea. If I ever get stuck in an iglu in a raging blizzard, I know whom I want curled beneath the sleeping furs with me.
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