Interest in all things paranormal has been at an incredible high in Old Norse-Icelandic studies--a field that long read paranormal elements out of the sagas it assigned to the “classical” canon while ignoring narratives outside this canon because of their apparently degenerate lateness. Minjie Su’s monograph closes a gap caused by this delay in giving the paranormal its due, addressing a creature of equal interest to medieval and modern audiences: the werewolf.

Su first outlines previous work on the werewolves of medieval Icelandic literature. Here she builds in part on Aðalheiður Guðmundsdóttir’s 2007 article on the subject, in which Old Norse-Icelandic literary werewolves were identified as partly remnants of older beliefs in shapeshifting, influenced to some extent by “Celtic” and romance material. Su also puts these beings into conversation with their Franco-Latin counterparts, with whom they share commonalities while simultaneously differing in important areas; she identifies some pertinent scholarship that can, at least partially, be used as lenses through which to approach the Icelandic versions. Outlining the texts her study will focus on, Su identifies ten werewolf stories: several fornaldar- and riddarasögur, translated texts such as Bisclaretz ljóð (and its Icelandic iteration in Tiodielis saga), as well as an episode in Konungs skuggsjá. In all of these, she notes, interaction between human and (were-)wolf are key. Following from previous scholarship, Su suggests that werewolf transformations follow either an “overlay” model, in which an external wolf skin is put over the human skin, or a “fusion” model, in which the two merge.

From this point on, the chapters move in a “bidirectional” pattern (29): outward away from the werewolf to their surroundings, the food they consume, and the landscapes they move through, and inward into questions of spirituality, identity, and emotion. Thus, chapter 1 addresses the werewolf’s mutable skin and the problematic term hamr, which denotes both outward skin, shape, and form, as well as something less tangible. Noting that the skin is both what delimits the human body as well as what makes it legible to others, thus becoming a vehicle for (moral) metaphor in medieval narratives, Su moves on to discuss the skins of werewolves in the Old Norse-Icelandic tradition. She begins this investigation by analysing instances of the term úlfgrár (wolf-grey) in the corpus. Sadly, the same speculation that frequently characterises previous work on Old Norse-Icelandic ideas of shapeshifting also enters Su’s analysis when she presumes that Kveld-Úlfr in Egils saga performs “the shamanic magic of seiðr” (41)--there is no mention of such performance in the saga. More instructive is the analysis of those cases in which a physical wolf skin appears, which leads into a discussion of Ála flekks saga. This, together with Tiodielis saga, shows a third model of transformation, in which the human skin turns into a wolf skin, which then has to be physically removed. Using Ála flekks saga as a case study of this phenomenon, Su demonstrates Áli’s psychological ambiguity, which situates him between human and non-human throughout his life, moving him close enough to the trollish to facilitate his wolf transformation--all of which is displayed on his skin. This then enables Su to further extend the reading to Áli’s wounds, which she reads as a form of leprosy, and which is then considered an analogy to Áli’s werewolf transformation, with the contaminated skin falling off the body in both cases. Su again speculates here at times, suggesting, e.g., that Áli could have been conceived in “a questionable way” (56), of which there is no evidence in the saga. Outside of such unsubstantiable claims, however, this reading of Ála flekks saga through the shifting skin of the protagonist is lucid and thought-provoking.

Chapter 2 builds on these findings but also moves one layer further out from the wolf skin to the clothes that mark humans as members of civilisation. The chapter revolves around contrasting gendered structures: the male wolf-protagonist in opposition to the female antagonist. The former is never shown to be naked, even though a moment of nakedness must be part of his transformation. Su here again identifies several types, depending on whether the protagonist needs a specific set of clothes to regain his human form, or whether any clothes (befitting of his rank) will do. The lady, on the other hand, is undressed in full view of both the intradiegetic public and the extradiegetic audience. To address these gendered differences, Su usefully introduces the distinction, made by Joanne B. Eichner and others, between clothes and dress, with the latter referring to all forms of modifications done to the body. This is necessary to grasp the implications of the destruction of the wife’s body and clothing, as well as the protagonist’s skin, hair, and physical form. This is then what the rest of the chapter addresses: the parallel but opposing movements of protagonist and lady between clothedness, nakedness, and wolf-dress (which, in the lady’s case, is a metaphorical entity marked by her or her descendants’ noselessness). This ultimately highlights the gendered associations of wolf-imagery: where in a male context, the wolf is a fierce warrior, in a female one these connotations shift to monstrous evil and sexual transgression. This is a particularly interesting conclusion in the context of Old Norse-Icelandic literature, in which the monstrous associations of the wolfish outlaw have frequently been highlighted.

Chapter 3 moves to the werewolf’s food, which is further removed from his skin and clothing, but through its incorporation also becomes internalised. This further highlights the rupture between human and non-human in both being and behaviour, as some werewolves may consume human flesh. After having established the wolf as simultaneously gluttonous and capable of restraint, Su turns to sources in which it is revealed that werewolves do eat human flesh, and that this is a hard boundary which, once crossed, leads into the non-human. However, the wolves she discusses are able to choose whether they consume human flesh or not, further marking their in-betweenness and ambiguity. This is not present with the “she-wolf” ladies, whose (sexual) appetites are always deviant, and this at times becomes connected to cannibalism. Through this, Su notes, a “spectrum of otherness corresponding to the degree of acceptability” (107) of things consumed is established, and she proceeds to follow this spectrum from blood (perhaps the most acceptable thing to be consumed, and one associated with knowledge and power elsewhere) to raw game meat (which werewolves are never depicted as eating, so Su draws on Yvain instead) to horse and human flesh, which are taboo and aligned with malign paranormal figures like trolls. All this allows Su to conclude that the werewolves’ dietary spectrum also points to a spectrum of monstrosity: while drinking blood and eating raw game may not be normal for ordinary humans, it is permitted in exceptional circumstances, and this applies to werewolves who restrict their consumption to these foods. But nothing excuses the consumption of equine or human flesh, and reincorporation into human society is made impossible through it.

Chapter 4 once again moves both inward and outward, to the landscapes and mindscapes (or emotions) traversed and experienced by the werewolf. To illustrate her approach to the intersection of these dimensions, the author includes a number of diagrams based on Greimas’s semiotic square. After situating her analysis in current approaches to emotion in Old Norse-Icelandic studies as well as the concept of psycho-geography, Su turns to Úlfhams rímur as a case study of the mindscape-landscape dynamic. This is then further contextualised by considering Bisclaretz ljóð and Tiodielis saga, both of which focus on emotions experienced by the protagonist toward the ruler he serves, and the wife and her lover whom he hates, but which are also both silent regarding the emotion the wolf/bear feels when alone in the forest, or in the context of his transformation. Nonetheless, Su suggests that the werewolf’s “mindscape can still be mapped, based on the landscape in which he moves” (128), between human and wolf worlds and along a scale of wildness with forest and court at either end. This is then contrasted and compared with examples from Völsunga saga and Ála flekks saga which add further nuance regarding the complex interaction between landscape and wolfish mindscape, and contribute the issue of control and agency to the discussion. The chapter’s second part is a detailed analysis of Úlfhams rímur which splits the transformation and restoration process across two generations. Wolfishness here again emerges as both a hereditary and a metaphorical concept, associating Úlfhamr with it despite the fact that he never physically transforms into a wolf. Su first outlines lucidly how Úlfhamr emerges as Vargstakkr’s parallel, before diving into Úlfhamr’s mindscape through his movement through various locations, and his interactions with others. In this, his fortress in the forest emerges as a stronghold for both mind and body, while the jarl’s estate can be read as a transitional space, and the revenant’s mound a location in which he loses control over both body and mind. Su connects this to Glámr’s curse in Grettis saga, but her reading of Grettir being transported into “a draugr landscape” (146) is speculative and not informed by recent scholarship on landscape and/or monstrosity in the saga. The suggestion of Úlfhamr experiencing a form of PTSD is more convincing, however, as the resolution of this trauma resolves the various disturbances that have occurred since Vargstakkr’s murder and allows Úlfhamr to grow into the ruler the realm needs. This chapter is one of the study’s high points, and the careful close reading of Úlfhams rímur considerably advances scholarship on this narrative by bringing together trauma, landscape, and the paranormal--aspects that coincide in a number of Old Norse-Icelandic narratives, and whose connection deserves more attention in scholarship.

In the final and fifth chapter, interiority and exteriority converge to allow Su to address the question of why werewolves exist, both on the intradiegetic level (why, or for what purpose, do heroes encounter werewolves?) and the extradiegetic one (why were stories of werewolf transformations told at all?). This chapter also further expands the corpus on which Su’s analysis is based, including not only Konungs skuggsjá but also further riddarasögur. The importance of acquiring and imparting knowledge is also foregrounded, and the chapter turns to wolves learning from their transformations and heroes who learn from wolves (what Su calls the monstratus type), as well as the wolf as teacher of those who interact with him (the monstrare type). This is further supplemented by approaches to rites of passage and maturation, both in individuals and across generations. Some of the readings offered in this chapter are among the book’s most fascinating (in particular those of understudied narratives like Gibbons saga, Sigrgarðs saga ok Valbrands, or Sigrgarðs saga frækna, even though Su stretches the definition of metaphorical wolves to other forms of transformation to fit some of the characters into her study), but as this brief overview shows, this chapter also aims to cover a lot of ground, and because of this, one notices that some parts--such as the discussion of Völsunga saga in the section on the wolf as learner--would have deserved further development. Comparisons with everything from Gilgamesh and Greek myth to Saxo Grammaticus and saga literature make this discussion appear cluttered at times. This is also the chapter in which engagement with recent work on monstrosity (both in Old Norse-Icelandic studies and beyond) seems most lacking, as Su never clearly defines what she means by “monstrous” but continually addresses issues of monstrosity--the Latin terms chosen to address “learners” and “teachers” make this most obvious. This terminological imprecision is noticeable throughout and also applies to words like “supernatural,” which have been explored and theorised by Ármann Jakobsson and others, but it becomes most obvious here. However, the focus on generational patterns, and on stories of maturation and experience (reynsla) which has to be gained for protagonists to advance to kingly status, contributes significantly to our understanding, particularly of the riddarasögur discussed in this chapter. The final section then turns to Konungs skuggsjá, which combines the “personal, generational, and dynastic” (184) focus of other werewolf episodes, and which operates on both themonstrare and monstratus levels of Su’s analysis. A detailed introduction to the agenda and background of Konungs skuggsjá as well as recent scholarship establishes the importance of not only royal justice but also the acquisition of knowledge in this text, on which Su then bases the analysis of the werewolf episode, which she puts in dialogue with Gerald of Wales’s account of a related story. This discussion allows Su not only to extend her approach to another text and another tradition, but also to complicate it by pointing to the open-endedness of this werewolf story, thus adding nuance and depth to her findings.

The conclusion summarises the main findings, grouping them thematically through a focus on transformation, both physically from human to wolf and back, as well as metaphorically in both maturation and degradation. Through this, humanness itself emerges as a spectrum, along which the werewolf also moves (here, the absence of references to recent work on monstrosity is again puzzling). Su also addresses the issue of transformation through transmission and translation, both on the level of the medieval narratives she discusses, as well as the scholarship with which she has engaged, and closes on the knowledge imparted by the stories she has discussed.

Su’s argument is clearly structured and consistently signposted, and the bidirectional thrust of the chapters, moving both inward and outward from the wolf’s skin, makes the monograph easy to follow for both experts of medieval romance and the paranormal as well as, for instance, students familiarising themselves with medieval depictions of werewolves. For ultimately, Su’s monograph presents a concise study of medieval European werewolf stories that goes far beyond the Old Norse-Icelandic focus of the book’s title, also incorporating Old French and medieval Latin literature, among others. While Su discusses Völsunga saga in depth and occasionally draws on Íslendingasögur like Egils saga Skalla-Grímssonar, the main focus is on romance material, and it is in this context that her work really stands out. It is thus perhaps odd that Su does not refer to some relatively recent work on the riddarasögur, such as Hendrik Lambertus’s 2013 Von monströsen Helden und heldenhaften Monstern (which includes, among others, a discussion of Ála flekks saga), or of skin and bodies in fornaldar- and riddarasögur, such as Sarah Künzler’s 2015 Flesh and Word. This is a minor issue, however, and remedied by the rich material Su presents, and the lucidity and depth of understanding with which she generally approaches it. Werewolves in Old Norse-Icelandic Literature is an important addition to recent studies of the paranormal in medieval Icelandic literature and beyond, and will be of relevance to everyone who is interested in conceptualisations of identity and alterity, the boundaries between humans and their “Others” (both animals and monsters), and questions of morality and acceptable behaviour in medieval literature.