Since medieval (13th century) texts focused on Viking Age (IX-X) settlements of the North Atlantic islands, the sagas can be analyzed as vital accounts of these cultures, both in the era depicted and in the time of composition. For example, there is an abundance of literary evidence pointing to the construction of the national identities of Iceland and Norway, drawn from the numerous family and real-life sagas set in each country, respectively. With only a handful of sagas focusing on other settlements, however, it is more difficult to conclude from literary analysis alone what collective identity may have developed in these countries over time. However, extra-literary studies have supported the idea that a transnational culture existed among the Norwegian peoples outside of the Scandinavian peninsula. The archaeological record of ship burials convincingly points to the existence of a “North Atlantic” culture with commonalities between the settlements and their western Norwegian ancestors. Historiographical analysis suggests the various ways in which Scandinavians developed national boundaries – in patriotism and politics – to effectively differentiate cultural groups. To further test these theories, we can examine the literature of the islands, particularly Orkeyingasaga and Faeryingasaga, for similar constructs of self-determination. Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an original essayThe first step in defining a North Atlantic Norse identity might be to examine the culture of the Norwegian settlers: how they defined their own "Norwegianness"'. Sverrir Jakobsson's 1999 historical review gets to this point by comparing different perceptions of the nation in medieval Scandinavian texts. References to past studies of sagas and annals, such as Fagrskinna (chosen because it is thought to have been written outside Iceland) and Gesta Danorum seem, at first, to conclude that "both Danish and Swedish historians regard a common parliament as a more important source of identification for most people than a common king. Only Norway seems to be different” (Jakobsson 96), the Norsemen of the sagas, uniquely among all accounts of medieval Scandinavia, identified themselves with their kingdom before with their homeland. Jakobsson refutes this exception by stating that the pro-monarchist texts cited by this contingent “sought to shape the common mentality, they do not reflect it” (100). Norwegian patriotic identity centered on the monarchy, as seen in “legal documents from around 1300 onwards,” followed these texts, but did not necessarily corroborate them (100). Instead, Jakobsson identifies regional loyalty to the provinces, or homeland, as a more relevant concern for the common people of Scandinavia, Norwegians included. He cites the parishes, the divisions of the Thing system, and the pre-saga text Historia Norwegiae as evidence of a more fractured identity than the writers of the sagas of the kings would have us believe (99, 93). This text includes descriptions of the Norwegian kingdom as a collection of territories rather than a single nation, in the same way that the kings' sagas refer to the Danish and Swedish kingdoms (94). In his conclusion, Jakobsson recognizes that monarchical patriotism has had a growing place in Norwegian culture, but as an emerging “public identity” in contrast to latent regional “popular identities” (101). Historically, Norwegians who settled across the Atlantic were more likely to express their nationalityin terms of regionalism; it was in the centuries following the Viking diaspora that monarchical patriotism became a distinctively Norwegian concern. If a hereditary Scandinavian aspect of North Atlantic culture manifests itself in the island sagas, it should denote loyalty to the land over the leaders.The Atlantic, geographically and chronologically, is the development of Icelandic identity. There is less ambiguity in the relevance of the saga analysis to Icelandic cultural history, because the texts in question were verifiably written by Icelanders in Iceland. Christopher Fee argues in his chapter of a volume published in 2012 on the Medieval Atlantic that the main hallmark of Iceland's contribution to North Atlantic Viking culture is the identification of the nation with the law. The title of his article, “Med lögum skal land vort byggja,” is a quote from Njalssaga, in which the titular hero proclaims, “with the law the land will be built” (Fee 135). Fee chooses this quote from the saga as “a phrase that points to the centrality and necessity of law for the cultivation of civil society and Iceland,” referring specifically to the system of assemblies of things that was already rooted in transatlantic Nordic culture (135) . Before focusing on the specific importance of law to Icelanders, he defines the medieval Icelandic legal system as "the archetypal manifestation of the ancient Germanic assembly system" that was widespread in the Viking world before the Age of Sagas (125). Fee's evidence of the system's wide reach is the ubiquity of “-thing” place names from the confirmed Icelandic gathering place Thingvellir, through Scandinavia and the colonized islands, to Tynwald Hill on the Isle of Man (126- 127). Regarding the specifically Icelandic character of the law, Fee argues for the “saga being littered with references to judicial and parliamentary assemblies, which often constitute significant reference points in the text” (132). He specifically contrasts the idea that "resolving disputes nonviolently is a central goal of Njalssaga" with the feudal narrative of Orkneyingasaga, in which "an assembly is often explicitly concerned with the nature of [an] earl's authority." rather than democratic decision-making. process (136, 134). Fee explains this division with Jessie Byock's observation that "[t]he Orkneys were nearer to Norway and the British Isles, and were threatened by both" (133). Here we see that, depending on its proximity to danger – and therefore its need for centralized military leadership – a North Atlantic agreement could move away from the ancestral, decentralized rule of law. Iceland, being far from predators, chose the other path and, at least at the time of Njalssaga's composition, made its Althing "a model of public authority", in the words of legal historian William Ian Miller (125) . Assembly law is a shared social structure across the Atlantic, but, particularly in Iceland, it appears as the very core of national politics. Thus, an Atlantic area that shares a more convergent cultural arc with Iceland than the Scandinavian peninsula countries might reasonably be expected to have a saga identity centered on law above both land and leadership. Or, as we have already seen with Orkneyingasaga, a divergent island culture might share the concept of the Thing, but have transmuted it into a structure more conducive to a nation-defining government. In addition to the ubiquity of legislative deed names, common North Atlantic culture can be inferred from archaeological evidence. The burial ritual is a well-known signifier of cultural identity, expressed by archaeologist ErinHalstad-McGuire as “a tool for creating memory within a society” (Halstad-McGuire 166). Social memory, or the passing of traditions across generations, is particularly relevant to migrant cultures which, by definition, draw their traditions from the identity of a past community. Comparing graves from these different cultures can show connections or divisions between migrant identities because “the symbolism embedded in grave goods. . . it can serve as a tool for creating idealized identities of individuals, families, and communities” (167). Halstad-McGuire's study focuses on the unusual, but clearly significant, burial practice of ship internment. Of the "over 250 clinker-built boats dating from 800-1100 AD [that] have been found in Northern Europe", three special cases are compared in detail: "one from western Norway representing the point of origin of the migrants, and one each from emigrant communities in Scotland and Iceland” (167, 166). He concludes that both emigrant sites derive reasonably from a specific continental Scandinavian burial tradition. For example, “the [Orkney] boat grave has strong connections with northwestern Norway. Small-boat burial was a common feature of the region", "whale bone plaques are found mainly in western and northern Norway", and "virtually identical examples of the rare Troms-type brooch have been found in the far north of Norway" (171 ). It is quite clear that burial in Orkney is made up of traditions transplanted from the settlers' homeland. Meanwhile, the Icelandic grave “is unusual not for what is present in the grave but rather for what is not; there is no evidence of a horse or its equipment", as is the case in "about 40% of the graves" in Iceland (174). Hallstad-McGuire believes this is because the Icelandic grave is a deliberate return to the burial style of the northwestern Norwegian people who spiritually and materially valued ships over horses. The Norwegian and Orkney graves also share the rare presence of high-class female internment, suggesting that any deviation from local customs was intentional and perhaps related. to the high status of the women buried. Hallstad-McGuire argues that, in the case of the Orkney burial, this is because settler women were able to demonstrate their value to a greater extent than their homeland, perhaps with the knowledge brought by oral tradition. Both settler graves are dated to the late 9th and early 10th centuries: after the first waves of expansion, but well into the period when the Viking Age settlers would have developed an identity cultural for their settlements derived from the Norse progenitor culture (171, 172) . Archeology confirms that social structure, manifested in something as significant and unique to Viking culture as ship burial, evolves between societies. The social identity of the buried and buried resembles that of their ancestors, but also includes their own customs. A unique North Atlantic identity is thus synthesized by Norwegian tradition and new developments in gender status and religion. Unlike Viking Age textual sources which purport to represent the lives of the early settlers, but are just as likely to reflect the medieval environment of For learned sagamen and scribes, the burial shows a snapshot of the culture between the two eras . Thus, archeology confirms the possibility that the saga documents, when considered a source of the cultural history of the Viking Age, can testify to the existence of a hybrid identity in the North Atlantic.As we move on to analyze the sagas themselves, it is helpful to keep in mind Christopher Fee's statement that we cannot rely completely on Viking Age literature. As he begins to analyze accounts of the Thing's trial, he writes: “The texts of the Sagas, of course, hardly offer us unadulterated historical evidence, and Icelandic views of the larger Norse community are even more full of tension, especially looking back as they do throughout history. centuries old and conditioned as they are by regional and family prejudices. . . However, the sagas often touch on Scandinavian communities across the North Atlantic, and, in situations where other documents or material evidence help to corroborate key points, the sagas can add a rich texture of detail to our knowledge of Scandinavian life” (132 ). All of this is true for our analysis. We have toponyms and archaeological evidence for transatlantic commonalities and historically supported saga details for the Icelandic and Norwegian divergences. All that remains to be seen is to see where the documentation of the saga of the island communities fits into these trends documented evolution of national identity. It is important to note, however, that “the world we reconstruct in this way may belong more to the author of a given saga than to the subjects he intends to record” (132). In any case, the interepistemic approach identifies a robust vision of Viking Age culture, so medieval literary concepts that correspond to that vision lend credence to the idea that the sagamen accurately expressed the identity of their ancestors. When the points of view do not coincide, or appear to do so coincidentally, then the sagas are more indicative of their cultural context in medieval Iceland. Melissa Berman, in a 1985 article comparing them with Jómsvikingasaga of a Baltic setting, identifies Orkneyingasaga and Faeryingasaga as sagas particularly associated with diaspora identity. In contrast to the local family and royal sagas, these three “political sagas” are characterized by international contexts and conflicts. Orkneyingasaga presents the power jockeying between earls, landowners and Norwegian kings. Overall the text is conservative and apparently fact-based, but there is a certain literary bent: "although the saga does not question Norwegian hegemony, it implies that the Norwegian kings never serve the best interests of the Orkney Islands" ( Berman 120). Faeryingasaga is obviously more dramatic and nuanced, as it follows the clashes between a well-developed hero, Sigmund, and the villain, Thrand. In reality he is the villain who cunningly fights for independence and kills the hero, before losing his life and land as punishment. . Berman understands this to mean that “resisting the monarchy is the wisest course – but historical perspective teaches otherwise” (125). As with the depiction of the law in Orkneyingasaga, the literary perspective of heroism is flexible. According to Berman, it is used for ironic effect, and the hero's actions lead to the result that at the end of the saga, "the Faroe Islands regularly pay tribute to Norway" and the old ways of life are unsustainable, even if this is judged to be morally right from the Christian point of view (125). Berman argues for the dual possibility that these sagas can be read as reflections of the historical hybridity of Viking culture or as allegories of medieval Icelandic concerns. First, he argues that “political sagas represent a technique for examining historical movements by focusing on an emblematic and dramatic conflict” in which “the conflict between the individual rebel and the established leader reflects the larger conflict between colony and national power” ( 125). This push for independence is a clear concern for theislands besieged by international claims. Its appearance as a common thread in the “political sagas” set in the islands is indicative of the national identity of these islands. Their oral tradition of earls and landowners repelling Scottish and Norse forces suggests that Viking Age North Atlantic identities were formed in opposition to the dominant European ones. Berman later decides that this culture is also indicative of “a real (if unconscious) convention in Icelandic historical narrative: an attempt to understand power through the relationship between colony and national power” (Berman 126). Christopher Fee comes to the same conclusion in his analysis of Orkneyingasaga: “such references to lordship. . . would have been the subject of intense interest during the era in which the political sagas were composed, which saw a growing movement towards the subjugation of the Icelandic free state under the Norwegian crown” (Fee 135). For these two scholars, the debate over island independence in the sagas is less an indication of independent-minded Viking identity than an expression of medieval politics in literary form. My opinion is more in line with Berman's first point, because the sagas each share an aspect of transatlantic culture identified in Viking Age studies. Regardless of whether their subtext connects to Icelandic anxieties, the sagas are first and foremost about the islands' cultural history. For example, the attention paid to land rights fits Jakobsson's concept of a hereditary, land-focused public identity for the North Atlantic. In the Orcadiingasaga, this is seen in the common refrain of land divisions that accompanies every feud. By the end of the narrative, multiple rulers have traded, granted, merged, or conquered the same halves or thirds of the island's territory. A good example of this frequent device is the complicated feud between the brotherly earls Thorfinn, Einar, and Brusi. Einar begins with two-thirds of the islands under his overbearing, famine-inducing rule, with Brusi claiming another third and Thorfinn holding Caithness and Sutherland (Orkneyingasaga Ch. 13). Thorfinn also claims two-thirds of the isles, leading almost to a clash, but ultimately to a reconciliation agreement whereby "Thorfinn would have his rightful third of the earldom of Orkney, while the earls Einar and Brusi would unite their parts under a joint government" ( 15). Following Einar's murder at the hands of Thorfinn's relative Thorkel, Brusi takes Einar's third (17). This, of course, angers Thorfinn, who wishes to divide the lands in half, and asks King Olaf of Norway to support him in this request (17, 18). Olaf actually decides to divide the land three ways because he sees Einar's third as a just reward for the death of a servant (19). Olaf places his third under Brusi's control, but Thorfinn ultimately keeps him in exchange for replenishing Brusi's share of the island's defenses (19). Later accounts employed the same land bargaining tactic by promising island territories to allies in exchange for military aid (22, 26, 38). Thus, Orkney's national identity is not based on continuous governance, but on the parcelling out of land, just as was the case for the Norsemen of the Viking Age. But, as mentioned above, this lack of concentration of power did not lead to an evolution of the assembly system, as happened in medieval Iceland. Rather, the feudal county system took hold as a means of defining the nation in response to external threats. Following Fee and Byock's claim that military protection of the land was what mattered most to Viking Age Orkneys, it is.