Grendel

There's nothing more difficult to discuss than mediocrity. Grendel creates such a dilemma. Each of its plusses is balanced by a minus. It's a well-written novel, but it tends to go off on those poetic tangents that literary critics love so much. It develops its title character, but doesn't provide him with much of a plot to inhabit. And it makes a few interesting observations about storytelling as revisionist history and the marketing aspect of religion, but it also contains tiresome metaphysical ramblings.

The most prominent and original aspect of Grendel is that it takes one of the monsters from Beowulf and tells the story from his perspective. Grendel expresses his feelings of rage and frustration, although he's sometimes unaware of where they come from. And during one introspective moment, he realizes that he restrains himself from rampages of total destruction because he needs a reserve of victims to terrorize.

Although the story follows Grendel over many years as he periodically attacks Hrothgar's meadhall, it doesn't have much narrative force. This is most apparent when Beowulf himself (who's never identified by name) finally shows up. His appearance is abrupt and builds little on what has come before. Beowulf is there to save Hrothgar's village, but his actions bring the story to an end, as opposed to a conclusion.

Also: John Garner tries to give Grendel a hip feeling by contrasting the traditional and formal with the contemporary and informal. It's a technique that Buffy's Joss Whedon can do in his sleep, but Gardner’s attempts come across as jarring and clumsy.

Many of the characters from Beowulf make an appearance — Hrothgar, Unferth, the dragon, Grendel's mother — but a familiarity with the source material isn't essential. Standing on its own, though, Grendel is the mashed potatoes of literature: it neither offends nor does it entice.

Article Author: Paul De Angelis

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