Ice Land: A Novel

by Betsy Tobin Narrated by Davina Porter

Overview

Unabridged ? 10 hours

A beautiful epic of love, longing, redemption, and enchantment in the tradition of Marion Zimmer Bradley?s The Mists of Avalon.

Editorial Reviews

Kirkus Reviews

Tobin (Bone House, 2001) combines Norse mythology, the coming of Christianity and a forbidden love story in a lyrical but overstuffed tribute to Icelandic history. The author juggles multiple narrative strands, sometimes confusingly or predictably. Freya, Norse goddess of love, falls under the spell of a miraculous, "too precious" golden necklace fashioned by the Brising dwarves (shades of Tolkien). Meanwhile, 16-year-old Fulla, an orphan whose father died in a feud, is approaching marriageable age but has secretly fallen for Vili, the son of her father's killer. While the ancient witnesses, the Norns, keep watch on Iceland's volcanic lands, Freya's negotiations for the necklace oblige her to accompany Dvalin, the most attractive of the dwarves, on a journey to find a remedy for his sister's infertility, which leads to further adventures and magic. Freya gains the necklace for a while, until it is stolen by Odin, king of the gods. He uses it to force Freya to kidnap Fulla, who has been fending off betrothals to men she doesn't love and who is really Odin's daughter. While Fulla is with Freya, Vili is accepted by her family and rejects his own, allowing Vili and Fulla finally to unite. A vast volcanic eruption lays waste the land, but Freya regains the necklace and saves Dvalin. The couple will become human and have children. And Christianity sweeps into Iceland. Large themes translated into a choppy, conventional, romantic but readable tangle of stories. Agent: Kim Witherspoon/InkWell Management

From the Publisher

"Magic....[this] flight through the seamy side of Scandinavian myth is not as cold as the title might suggest. It's a story of sex, love, blood, and the twilight of the gods, punctuated with hot pools, boiling magma, and volcanic explosions. Very steamy!"
-Diana Gabaldon, author of the Outlander novels

"A rich, complex, and compelling tale of myth, magic and very human passion. Tobin weaves together legend and history into an epic saga, layering the grandeur of a semi-mythic Iceland with the familiar landscape of the human heart."
-Lauren Willig, author of The Secret History of the Pink Carnation

"Ice Land had me with its first sentence. I loved the book's journey into long- ago time and the myths of epic, ancient gods. Tobin is a skillful and talented writer."
-Karleen Koen, author of Dark Angels

"A very engrossing read. Told in Betsy Tobin's lyrical voice and set against a backdrop of mythical and natural grandeur, Ice Land is a tale both sensual and violent."
-Kristen Britain, author of the Green Rider series

"[Tobin] hits big... [Her] rich understanding of the source material, backed up by deft historical touches...brings the narrative to life."
-Publisher's Weekly

"One does not often meet a heroine with the power of flight, but Betsy Tobin's characters are hardly ordinary people. . . Not just a good story, but one of the greatest."
-The Times (UK)

"Tobin captures this world in all its complexity. . . Here is a world where magic and mystery rise from the currents of nature and not in defiance of it. The land itself, and the sea and sky surrounding, engender myth as naturally as the salmon spawns."
-The Independent (UK)

"ICE LAND is a lyrically written epic inspired by the beauty and the history of that island, and the rich world of Norse mythology that infuses it. . . Indeed the novel grafts a modern sensibility on to ancient myth, and is as much a contemplation of love and relationships as an epic adventure. . . Tobin finds female complexity at the heart of Norse mythology."
- Sunday Telegraph (UK)

"The novels of Betsy Tobin are dark and bloody, sensual and mythic. . . In ICE LAND Tobin inhabits this pagan land with passion and intensity."
-The Observer (UK)

"[ICE LAND] pulses with subversion and unexpected passion. . . an elegy not merely to a different age where the gods were perceived as not so distant, but also crucially to a tradition of storytelling; the gathering around a bright fire to hear tales of hardship, magic and love. It is surprising just how resonant they still are."
-Telegraph (UK)

"Tobin's descriptions of the natural relief of Iceland are triumphant."
-Time Out (UK)

Product Details

BN ID:	2940169176827
Publisher:	Penguin Random House
Publication date:	08/25/2009
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

When I was sixteen, I was given a cloak made entirely offeathers. It was made from pale grey falcon wings,unthinkably soft, with no more weight than a handfulof ash. I remember the sensation as Odin first laid the cloakacross my shoulders. His hands brushed too long against myskin, but even as I noticed this, something else was happeningdeep inside me: a sudden narrowing, as if I was beingsqueezed from within. In an instant, I too felt weightless, andin another second I was airborne. I looked down to see themall staring up at me: my father, his expression vexed with disapproval;my twin brother Freyr, his dark eyes pools of envy;Odin’s wife, her smile frozen with complacency (surely shemust have seen his lingering caress?). And Odin himself, staringtoo intently with his one good eye, as if he could divineall the secrets of my adolescence. With relief, I turned mygaze from them and flew towards the horizon, the wind rushingat my face. And for the first time in my life, I felt free. Atsixteen, I’d not yet learned that it takes more than wings torelease one from the bonds of kinship.
They say this island sprang from the armpit of a giant. Thathis sweat turned to rivers which in turn begot the land. It is a jagged place, scarred by ice and fire, and perpetually tornby pale green rivers that refuse to stay their course. Longago, the forests were thick here. Wild beasts stood quietly, asif waiting to be shot. That was before men came and culledthem, using broad axes and fine-tipped arrows. Now treesare scarce and the animals hide, but the land remains generous.Each spring, the farmers toil in the fields to clear lumpsthrown up by frost. In summer, they drive their herds deepinto the highlands, where the grass is sweet and the sun neverdies. In winter, darkness descends upon us like a shroud. Menwrap themselves in furs, huddle around fires, and tell storiesfrom the past.

Water surrounds us. To the north, the frozen sea is but oneday’s sail. To the south, the long fingers of Norway andDenmark are eight days’ journey. The sea offers us food andprotection, but takes many lives in return. Despite its peril,the men here are of a wandering nature. They look to thehorizon and refuse to let it lie. But they always return, if thesea or the sword does not claim them, for this island pulls onits people. Once settled they are bound, both by its beautyand its harshness.

I was not born here. I left the land of my birth as a younggirl, and came to dwell in Asgard with my father and brother.We were a peace offering, my family and I, a gesture ofconciliation between the Aesir and the Vanir, my father’s people.My father was already a widower, saddled with the burdenof two young children, so he had nothing to lose bythrowing his lot in with the Aesir. In return, they made uscertain promises. Njord, my father, was given control of theseas. Freyr, my brother, was given control of the harvests.And I was left with the tainted realm of love.

Over time, I’ve come to represent love’s failings. Men and women turn to me in equal numbers. They bring their brokenengagements, their shabby infidelities, their star-crossedromances, their spent marriages, their unrequited passions,in hopes that I will have a cure. Sometimes I do. More oftenI do not. For what they don’t know is that our world is anelaborate conceit. The gods have no real influence over thelives of men. We are nothing but totems: we occupy the spacethat men create for something larger than themselves. Fewwho dwell in Asgard understand this. Fewer still would admitto it. But false belief underpins us all.

And, as for the sharp spear of love, it too is a deceit. Longago, in another life, I was wounded by its impact. Now Iknow that solitude and self-reliance make far more loyal bedfellows.Though I’ve been married once before, now mybond is to the earth and the sky and the mountains that surroundme. My home, Sessruminger, lies in the south ofAsgard, snugly in the lee of Mount Hekla. Her vast glacialpeak rises up behind me like the imposing neck of a triumphantqueen. Hekla’s moods can be capricious: onemoment she is stark, calm, majestic; the next wild, dark andmenacing. But I am thankful for her presence, for it is shewho orients me when I take to the skies, and she who bringsme back to earth. My tale starts and ends with Hekla, and Iwill tell it as it happens, in the manner of the bards.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Ice Land"
by .
Copyright © 2009 Betsy Tobin.
Excerpted by permission of Penguin Publishing Group.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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