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Medieval Icelandic law contains no provisions about copyright. Authors used without hesitation narrative texts by others, but poets were paid for composing laudatory poems about kings and narrators for telling stories at their courts. The art of storytelling became a speciality of Icelanders, who were also hired to write biographies of Norwegian kings. It was considered reprehensible to use the poetry of others as one's own work. Two Norwegian poets may have got the cognomens skáldaspillir (Destroyer of poets?) and illskælda (Bad or Evil poet?) for plagiarism. An Icelandic poet composed a laudatory poem about a woman but changed it to fit another one, receiving a bitter revenge. In Icelandic sagas stanzas occur frequently and, unlike borrowings in prose, their authors are usually named. In the medieval law of Iceland it is forbidden to compose about people not only derogatory but also laudatory poetry. Conceivably it has been considered to give the author some kind of power over the person who was the subject of the poetry. Proper copyright, though, does not occur in Icelandic law until the beginning of the twentieth century.

In the Icelandic traditional ballads from medieval and post-medieval times, wo-men and their voices are very prominent, while stories of male heroes were rather portrayed in rímur. The language is very unusual and shows signs of translation, formulas are frequently used, and the mode of narration is objective and clear. Love is a common subject, and so is violence, often gender-based and sexual. In the article the background of these ballads is discussed shortly and their emergence in Icelandic oral culture and later its literature, as they were recorded by educated men, from nameless sources, most probably women. Seven ballads are then used to show different aspects of violence within the genre. All are highly dramatic, and their subject is harsh: hardship, rape, birth and loss of children, and sometimes the victims take things into their own hands and avenge in a graphic way. How ballads that tell such terrible tales, can have been sung and danced to at joyous gatherings, is an interesting food for thought. It will be reasoned that these ballads have primarily been sung by women, and they can even have been a consolation and a tool to deal with gender-based violence in their own lives.

People migrating to Europe in search for a new life have become increasingly visible in various ways for the last few years. The article stresses some of the weaknesses in discussions on migration to Europe, where it is often assumed that migration from the outside world has only recently been affecting Europe. The article emphasizes how classifications of people into categories such as "refugee" and "immigrant" and the naturalization of these categories, can lead to dehumanization and stark simplifications. The article approaches this through stories of three men in Brussels, Belgium who have fled difficult circumstances in their home country Niger. It also explores these issues from some Icelandic discussions.

The ambiguity between reality and fiction haunts Einar Már Guðmundsson's novel Hundadagar (Dog Days, 2015), as it is a fictional narrative about factual, historical figures and events, such as Jörgen Jörgensen, Rev. Jón Steingrímsson, Finnur Magnússon and Guðrún Johnsen, while the same can be said about many other novels labeled as postmodernism. Canadian literary scholar Linda Hutcheon coined the concept of historiographic metafiction to describe fictions as such, which are "intensely self-reflexive", while "paradoxically lay claim to historical events and personages". Hutcheon suggests that historiographic metafictions fully illuminate the very way in which postmodernism entangles itself with both the epistemological and ontological status of history. This paper begins with an introduction to Hutcheon's theoretical contributions on postmodernism, postmodern literature and the relationship between history and fiction, followed by a reading of Hundadagar as a historiographic metafiction. The narrator's strategies—such as parataxis, metanarrative comments, we-narrative discourse and documentary intertext—largely indicate an imitation, a revelation, or say, a parody of the process of historian's writings. The paper further suggests that it is the Icelandic financial crisis in 2008 that prompts the narrator to revisit the 18. and 19. century, since the financial crisis takes the role of a rupture of the Enlightenment ideals, leading to disorder and chaos. Moreover, the narrator finds an uncanny similarity between the past and the present, as if the history has been repeating itself. The spectre of history keeps (re)appearing in a deferred temporality. While revisiting the past, the narrator also (re)visits the present in an allegorical way. In a word, as a historiographic metafiction, Einar Már Guðmundsson's Hundadagar is "fundamentally contradictory, resolutely historical, and inescapably political", just as Hutcheon's perception of postmodernism.

This paper discusses the history of the nouns gleðimaður, which is known from Old as well as Modern icelandic, and gleðikona which first occurs in an 18th-century source. Other nominal compounds for men and women that have gleði- as their first member are also introduced. The meaning of these words is compared, as is their usage, in order to test the claim that the words for men normally have a neutral meaning ('cheerful man, party animal') but the words for women have a pejorative meaning ('hussy, prostitute'). The nature of the changes in the history of the gleði-compounds is also discussed, e.g., to what extent borrowing from a foreign language has taken place. Lars-Gunnar Andersson's categorization of the so-called "ugliness" of words is used for a more detailed definition of the semantic changes. Finally, we touch on the wish to reclaim the word gleðikona that has been observed in the last decades, i.e., to revive the practically forgotten meaning 'cheerful woman, female party animal'.

Literature has a long history of chastising women who defy ,traditional' gender roles. By turning a critical eye on the poem danse grotesque by the Icelandic poet Sjón, its staging and visual presentations, as well as fundamental interpretive keys such as trolls and dance, one senses a resistance to the prevailing manifestations of women in the Western media. The article shows how the poem reassesses the relationship between femininity and death in Western culture.Keywords: Concrete poetry, avant-garde, decadence, gender roles, death, dance, trollsKjartan Már ÓmarssonDoktorsnemi í almennri bókmenntafræði Hugvísindasviði Háskóla ÍslandsSæmundargötu 2 IS-101 Reykjavík, Íslandko@hi.is

This article examines Tómas Sæmundsson's travel writings from his tour of Europe in the early nineteenth century. Sæmundsson visited various cities and then wrote his Ferðabók, along with a detailed introduction and several letters written to family and friends. These travel writings are examined to reveal how Sæmundsson express-es himself about the European cities he visited. How does he present these cities to his nineteenth-century Icelandic readers? How does he attempt to explain the role of the city and describe daily life in the cities? What sort of imagery does he employ to stimulate his readers' interest and imagination?As the study demonstrates, Sæmundsson's writings contain various observations on what characterized the cities he visited, what he found fascinating, and what he found repugnant. He was unafraid to pass aesthetic judgement on the different places and neighborhoods and to declare them to be beautiful or ugly. As a result of the article's analysis and systematic exposition of Sæmundsson's evaluations, it becomes evident that the young Icelandic academic had already acquired some basic knowledge of urban planning, and that he was brave enough to envision a possible layout for Iceland's capital city, Reykjavik.

Þórarinn B. Þorláksson (1867–1924) has been credited with being the first Icelandic professional painter. His reception, both during his lifetime and posthumously, is therefore an interesting indication of the changes in the outlook and ideology surrounding the reception of Scandinavian fin­de­siécle art up to the present. He was honourably mentioned by his contemporaries and then was forgotten in the upheavals surrounding the adoption of modern styles, such as abstract art, in Ice­land around the Second World War. He re­gained attention in the sixties and has since then been revered as an important, though problematic, pioneer of Icelandic painting. This has in recent years been especially evident in the way he has been mentioned in the context of the revival of Nordic and Scandinavian late 19th and early 20th century art in Northern­Europe and America. The paper reviews and analyses the historical reception Þorláksson has received and the way his work has been inscribed into the narrative of Icelandic and Scandinavian Art History. This process is an attempt to understand and contextualise Þorláksson's work in aesthetic terms, while at the same time function as a critical mirror of the trends and ideolo­gies surrounding the Nordic revival in recent years.

The regulation of film exhibition in Iceland has closely shadowed the history of cinema exhibition itself. Although regulation practices have undergone various shifts and realignments throughout the twentieth century, they retained certain core concerns and a basic ideological imperative having to do with child protection and child welfare. Movies were thought to have a disproportionate impact on children, with "impressionable minds" often being invoked. Their interior lives and successful journey towards maturity were put at risk each and every time they encountered unsuitable filmic materials. Thus, while assuming that adults could fend for them-selves among the limited number of theaters in Reykjavík, children were a whole another matter and required protection. Civic bodies were consequently formed and empowered to evaluate and regulate films. But even in the context of fairly rigorous surveillance and codification, the turn taken by regulatory authorities in the 1980s strikes one as exceptional and unprecedented. The Film Certification Board (TFCB) was, for the first time, authorized to prohibit and suppress from distribution films deemed especially malignant and harmful. Motivating this vast expansion of the powers of the regulatory body were concerns about a variety of exploitation and horror films that were being distributed on video, films that were thought to transgress so erroneously in terms of on-screen violence that their mere existence posed a grave threat to children. Two years after finding its role so radical-ly enlarged, TFCB put together a list of 67 "video-nasties", to borrow a term from the very similar but later moral panic that occurred in Britain. Police raids were conducted and every video store in the country was visited in a nation-wide effort to remove the now illegal films from rental stores. This article posits that the icelandic nasties list can be viewed as something of a unique testament to the extent to which the meaning, aesthetic coherence and the affect of cultural objects is constructed in the process of reception, while also main-taining that the process of reception is thoroughly shaped by historical discourses, social class, embedded moral codes and a social system of values, as well as techno-logical progress. in what amounts to a perfect storm of moralizing, political games-manship and the sheer panic of a certain segment of the population, the governing institutions in iceland managed in the span of months to overturn constitutionally protected rights to free speech and privacy, as well as undermine central principles of the republic. Two decades would pass before these setbacks were recuperated, and then only on a legal and institutional level. While analyzing the history of the icelandic video nasties, the article also attempts to grapple with and articulate the symbolic register of the ban, how it speaks to the status of cinema in Iceland at the close of the twentieth century, and what ideological strains, morals and/or values were being put into play and funneled into this particular debate. Then, to close, the role of the most notorious of the nasties, Cannibal Holocaust (Ruggero Deodato, 1980), is examined in the context of media coverage and parliamentary debates at the time.

Alda Björk Valdimarsdóttir's book of poetry, We Who Are Blind and Nameless, was published in 2015. The first part of the book, titled "The course of signs", lays the groundwork for the conceptual basis of the work through five poems. These five
poems will be examined through close reading and scholarly materials from various sources, such as cognitive literary studies, philosophy, psychology, social studies and neurological research. There is particular focus on how the poems stimulate the imagination of readers and ruffle their feelings; there is a discussion on (conceptual) metaphors, irony, humor, paradox, geometrical shapes, enumeration, anaphora and, not least, silence which is a common theme in Alda's poetry and also defines the structure of her poems in various ways. This analysis shows how Alda convinces readers to think about the "course of signs" in both a narrow and wider context. She not only causes readers to think about the paradoxical interplay of silence and signs – and thus man's ingrained need to both speak and be silent – but also woman's position within her family/world history and the encroachment of man upon his own environment. Through clever humour and irony, Alda Björk shows how apathetic people often are when faced with signs; how without thinking they give themselves over to them, even though they have other options; how people contribute for the signs to be isolating instead of connecting us with each other – and how they misuse silence or are not able to make use of it.

The article recounts the account from the Árna saga about Loftur Helgason's trip to Bergen in 1282 and his stay there over winter, explained in terms of the formal sources about the organization of the government and changes in the law in the latter half of the 13th century. These changes were aimed at introducing into Iceland the power of both the King and the Church and in fact marked the actual changes throughout the Norwegian state. Loftur was Skálholt's official and the story about him was part of a long-standing dispute about the position of the chieftains versus the new power of the Church and the opposition to its introduction. The article defines the political confusion described in the Árna sagain Bergen in the winter of 1282-1283 as, on the one hand, changes in the constitution and, on the other hand, legislation, and at the same time whether the Kings Hákon Hákonarson and his son Magnús had systematically pursued a policy of having the Church be an independent party to the government of the state from 1247 onward until the death of the latter in 1280. When the disagreement is looked at as continuing, it is seen that Icelanders had made preparations for changes in the constitution with assurances of introduction of the power of the Church beginning in 1253 and the power of the King from 1262, but, on the other hand, the disagreements in both countries disappeared in the 1270s in the face of the conflict of interests that resulted from the laws that followed in the wake of the constiututional changes. Árna saga tell of this and how the disputes were described, but also that their nature changed as King Erikur came to power in 1280, as he gave the power of the King a new policy that was aimed against the power of the Church. Ousting of the archbishop from Norway and the Christian funerals of the excommunicated chieftains are examples of the conditions of government that could not have been, if the King had no longer had executive power over Christian concerns, as he had already conceded power over spiritual issues to the Pope in Rome with the Settlement at Túnsberg in 1277.

The astonishing range of writings about the social causes and consequences of the Icelandic 2008 financial crisis proffers a unique opportunity to analyse comparative-ly how scholars from different disciplines in the humanities and social sciences deal with one and the same subject. How does the scholarly approach differ regarding the employment of theories, hypotheses, empirical data and concepts? Is the methodology of the humanities noticeably different from that of the social sciences? Did the boundaries of philosophy and related sciences change in times of crisis, momentarily or permanently?

This introductory chapter focuses on the multiple and diverse representations of urban communities and their infinite complexity. Firstly, the chapter introduces samples of recent representations of the city of Reykjavík, from Icelandic artists and scholars. Then the focus shifts to Enrique del Acebo Ibáñez´s theoretical ideas, as revealed in his book Sociología del arraigo: Una lectura crítica de la teoría de la ciudad (1996), (Sociology of Rootedness: Theories on the Origin and Nature of Urban Communities), translated into Icelandic in 2007, where he discusses the complex phenomenon of the "city" and questions the role of its inhabitants. His reflections substantiate previous theories of scholars such as Ferdinand Tönnies, Emile Durkheim, Georg Simmel, Oswald Spengler, René König and Henri Lefebvre, whose writings are introduced and discussed in the chapter as well. Finally, the chapter applies a critical approach to a brief analysis of well-known Latin American narrative readily available in Icelandic, such as One hundred years of solitude (Cien años de soledad, 1967) by Gabriel García Márquez, The House of the Spirits (La casa de los espíritus, 1982) by Isabel Allende, and Amulet (Amuleto, 1999) by Eduardo Bolaño.

Moonstone: The Boy Who Never Was (Mánasteinn: Drengurinn sem aldrei var til, 2013) by Sjón tells of three eventful months in the life of Máni Steinn in the fall of 1918. In this short period the volcano Katla erupts, the Spanish flu rages and Iceland regains its sovereignty from Denmark. Building on Judith Butler's, Mary Douglas's and Michel Foucault's theories regarding the body as a cultural construct, this article focuses on body discourse as presented in Moonstone. According to Douglas there is a direct link between boundaries of the body and boundaries of society. Everything that endangers the stability of society's boundaries is considered social pollution. Foucault's theory on panopticism likewise identifies surveillance and discipline of citizens' bodies as means of maintaining society's social structure. Because Máni Steinn is queer, his body is considered abnormal according to the period's definitions on what constitutes a healthy and stable body. Aberrations from the "healthy", heterosexual body creates divergence within society's fabric. To regain the appearance of a "pure" society Máni needs to be hidden or banished from it. Yet the arrival of the Spanish flu to Reykjavík deconstructs conventional definition of the body and unravels the social hierarchy. The distinction between the healthy and the infected is obliterated, as the body becomes a site where irreconcilable opposites merge. During the turmoil of the Spanish flu boundaries of the body become as unstable as society's boundaries become fluent.

This article offers a discussion of two contemporary Icelandic literary works, Woman at 1000 Degreesby Hallgrímur Helgason and The Outlaw by Jón Gnarr, both of which have been subject to discussion and critique regarding the authors' use of real life individuals and events. The reception of these texts is read against the framework of Icelandic laws regarding freedom of expression and rights to privacy. Two Icelandic legal cases, regarding a literary text and cinematic production, serve as case studies for the Icelandic framework.