Otherness

Until recently I felt that between anyone on Earth there existed strong bonds, hardwired into us, tying people together with common experiences, perspectives, understandings. I thought that if any two people from history could communicate, they could find a common ground, some shared feeling that one experience would evoke in both of them. But the latest book I've read seems to indicate that some people have lived whose circumstances are so incomprehensibly different as to make them completely other.

My old impression arose from the diverse reading I have pursued. No book I read left me completely outside, unable to identify with the author or characters. From the Iliad and the Odyssey, to Augustine's Confessions, to Revelations of Divine Love by Julian of Norwich, to the Captivity and the Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, to With Fire and Sword by Henryk Sienkiewicz. You may say that what made each work last to this day was this appeal to all generations, and you would be right. But I have read such a variety, always looking for understanding, and always finding it, that I began to wonder. No longer.

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, by J.R.R. Tolkien, has opened my eyes to the Elder (or Poetic) Edda, from 10th century Norse mythology. As he said, "Old Norse poetry aims at seizing a situation, striking a blow that will be remembered, illuminating a moment with a flash of lightning." It does not clearly define circumstances or people's feelings. The retelling by Tolkien which I posted on Shephanim successfully captures this energy characteristic to Norse sagas. Even once I understood the events I could not comprehend the people.

This probably only makes sense to me, but that doesn't mean that I'm also other.