HWAET! Musings on Beowulf: A New Translation — a review by Carlene Gadapee

Beowulf: A New Translation
Maria Dahvana Headley
MCD x FSG Originals
Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2020
136 pp.

Imagine yourself in the back room of a small-town, somewhat shabby bar in a college town, and it is reunion weekend. Bros from all the decades are gathered, taking turns lofting crushed beer cans toward the stacked chain mail and slightly dented helmets in the corner, right over there by the pool table and the jukebox that someone has silenced. There’s a story to tell, and the older alums, hugging their bellies and easing their belts a notch, settle into a rhythm that is both familiar and captivating. The younger guys lean forward, aching to hear of doughty deeds done and monsters vanquished; they don’t mind the embellishments, as long as the beer is cold and the stories are woven in such a way that they are caught up, wishing they were there, too…

Wait. Chain mail? Bar? Yes, this is the diction employed by Maria Dahvana Headley for her rollicking, glory-filled translation of the timeless epic, Beowulf. I’ve read my fair share of translations of the story, some blandly pedantic, others a bit more poetic and complicated, but this one is far different. The tale begins with the expected “Hwaet!” but translated as “Bro!”— not just “hark” or “listen.” Headley has my attention immediately. While the musicality of other translations is the hallmark of the work, Headley has created a space not so much sacred but rather, very recognizable. The ambiance is there from the start.

Headley’s work pays true homage to the oral tradition: the language is more familiar to us in our present time than the archaic diction of other translations, and yet she sacrifices nothing of the music. The kennings, the alliteration, the drumbeats and clashing, growls and fear, boasts and insults are all there. This is an epic! And it’s not going to bore you one bit. This is not the Beowulf of stodgy classics classes; this is, as Headley herself calls it in her acknowledgments section, “something a person might play loud.” And it is pumping with energy, sarcasm, a little daring and sometimes super funny. Mythic diction is followed by snarky phrasing, and it works so well that the reader will likely be shaking her head wondering, “how the hell does she do that? I love it. Give me more!”

I was first introduced to this translation through Padraig O’Tuama’s On Being podcast, and I was immediately drawn to it. Not only was I engaged by O’Tuama’s reading of excerpts and his discussion, but also the fact that the text was translated by a younger female caught my attention. There are dozens of translations, mostly by men, some by women, and I have my favorites among them, Seamus Heaney’s 1999 verse translation, for example. But this new perspective really sparked my interest, because I found myself not only thrilled with the fresh retelling of a very familiar story, but Headley’s choice to bring forward some of the women in the story and to give them some foothold, some actual agency, was really different. Wealtheow is not just “servant of the holy good” as John Gardner calls her in his 1971 novel, Grendel. And Grendel’s mother is an angry, powerful character—not just a vengeful mother, but a true social corrective, a means of making sure that the balance between supposed good and evil is kept.

So that brings me to the point that keeps coming back into my reflections on the text: does the gender of the translator matter? Is there gender bias? Are the characters archetypal or stereotypical? Or both? Headley presents some very recognizable male characters, and their dialogue and the narrator’s diction is fairly typical of male conversation (full disclosure, I teach high school, so I hear the fellas talking about opponents on the ball field and so on—the diction tracks). I hesitate to say “male conversation” specifically, because I don’t want to fall into a bias-trap. But yet, I recognize it as such. So, we have to wonder whether Headley is purposely creating stereotypical male characters through the use of expected, socially-understood diction, or if she is veering that way because she is a female translating a traditionally-translated-by-males work, as a sort of bias/anti-bias choice. Having given this a lot of thought, I think she’s made the masterful craft choice to make the characters live and breath as the mythic archetypes and stereotypes that they are; in this way, she has a little tongue-in-cheek fun, and she gets to tweak the readers’ expectations a bit as well. The colloquial language, the salty words, and the sheer bravado are all part of a calculated translator-choice. As Beowulf tells the assembled heroes, “Here’s what matters, though, for men:/ not living, but living on in legend,” and they should “[b]e as brave as your scops say you are” (l.1389-1396). They have to both boast and act because their legacy demands it. Headley happens to be the scop of the moment, and she is in control of the narrative.

Headley, while bringing the female characters into a better focus, is not privileging them, though. They are part of the balance of the text: we have good versus evil, old versus young, brave versus cowardly, so it seems perfectly rational to have male versus female as well. An interesting choice is to really showcase the dragon, the third “monster,” as female. I’m pretty sure I never thought of it before this text, and I’m excited about the choice. Female revenge/violence, through Grendel’s mother and the dragon, is a somewhat unexpected, but clearly necessary, plot element for us to consider in a wider, social context. What happens when females are wronged enough times? Point to ponder.

The narrative does not force the characters into becoming two-dimensional stand-ins for social values. Yes, there are the expected Christian glosses on the text, as there were in the earliest transcribed versions. And there are points where we have to stop and consider why the characters act as they do: there are references to generational guilt, to long-standing misalliances, to treachery and greed. There are places where we might feel a bit of compassion for Grendel, too, such as “Grendel hurt, and so he hunted” (l. 120). There are many places where I stopped and thought about the essential nature of what we consider good versus evil. The Danes are no better or worse than the Geats; the humans are not always good, and Grendel, his mother, and even the dragon have cause to be angry and vengeful. Both sides, human and “monster,” take things too far, and that's where the correctives are required. Balance must be re-established, over and over again. Evil cannot be vanquished; it can only be contained.

In this way, Beowulf: A New Translation is far more than an entertaining story told by heroes and their descendants, translated wonderfully by a very careful craftsperson with an impeccable ear for diction and dialogue. It is a reminder to all of us about the need to inspect our received cultural stories, to question the narratives while we are enjoying them, and to also employ our own set of correctives when they are necessary.

A poet-teacher both by vocation and by trade, Carlene M. Gadapee’s poetry and critical reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in many publications, including English Journal, Waterwheel Review, Gyroscope Review, Smoky Quartz, Think, Allium, Vox Populi, and MicroLit Almanac. Carlene also received a “Best of the Net” nomination in 2023. Her chapbook, What to Keep, will be released by Finishing Line Press in early 2025. Carlene lives and works in northern New Hampshire.