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New ‘Beowulf’ Should Take Its Place
at the Head of a Rich History of Translations

Ted Morrissey

Beowulf was illustrious;
The fruit wide sprang
Of the progeny of the Scyldæ;
The shade of the lands
In Swascedi.

These five lines, published in 1805, are some of the most significant in the English language, or, perhaps better said, in the study of the English language, for they were a harbinger of what would become a pillar of scholarship in universities on both sides of the Atlantic: the study and the translation of the Old English poem Beowulf (likely composed in the eighth or ninth century). They were the first of only 41 lines included in Sharon Turner’s History of the Anglo-Saxons, and much of his translating and paraphrasing of the poem was inaccurate. He is to be forgiven, however. For one, Turner was a lawyer by training, and his study and transcription of medieval writings was a passionate hobby, not a vocation. Moreover, Anglo-Saxon is hard, even for twenty-first century specialists. Nevertheless, Turner got the ball rolling. Full translations of the poem appeared in Latin (1815) and Danish (1820), but it would be three decades before a complete modern English translation of the poem’s 3,182 lines would be published (this by the Englishman John M. Kemble in 1837).

Thus Sharon Turner initiated a process that would continue unabated to the present, with Beowulf scholars estimating there have been some 350 modern English translations of the Old English poem, all stemming from the single manuscript two scribes produced around the year 1000. Therefore, it is a considerable achievement when a new translation can be called a milestone event, yet that is precisely how I would describe Beowulf: Translation and Commentary, translated by Tom Shippey and edited by Leonard Neidorf (Uppsala Books, 2023). Shippey’s verse translation combined with more than 170 pages of supplementary material (much of it written by Neidorf) has resulted in a uniquely well-informed and up-to-date dual-language edition.

The impressive result isn’t surprising given the duo’s bona fides. Shippey is a recognized authority on medieval literature as well as the work of J. R. R. Tolkien. He has taught in both Britain and America, including at Oxford and Harvard Universities. His first scholarly article on Beowulf was published in 1969, and his most recent book prior to this translation was Beowulf and the North before Vikings (Arc Humanities Press, 2022). Neidorf is Professor of English at Nanjing University, where his teaching rotation includes courses on Old English, Middle English, and Old Norse. Also a former faculty member at Harvard, Neidorf has been a prolific contributor to Beowulf scholarship, with his most recent book publication being The Art and Thought of the Beowulf Poet (Cornell University Press, 2022).

To its benefit, Beowulf: Translation and Commentary was definitely a collaborative effort, as Shippey contributed the translation itself, the “Translator’s Preface” and the “Appendix: Tolkien and Beowulf,” while Neidorf wrote the “Commentary on the Translation,” the “Introduction,” “The Editor on the Translator,” the “Note on the Beowulf Text” and the “Bibliography.” Some of these apparatuses are, of course, typical of scholarly translations, while others are less common. All are done with care, and even the more regular features have been designed in ways that make them unusually illuminating and useful. (More regarding this in a moment.)

By and large, Shippey’s verse translation is canonical, meaning that there are few eyebrow-raising moments for readers who already have a longstanding familiarity with the poem. In the original manuscript, there are passages that are so syntactically convoluted and others that are so badly damaged (or missing altogether) that scholars and translators have debated their meaning, sometimes heatedly. In such contestable places in the poem, Shippey has tended toward renderings that have become accepted by the majority of Beowulfians. 

One such example would be the section in which Beowulf describes his legendary contest with his boyhood rival Breca, a section that is frequently excerpted in textbooks. The section begins when Unferth, an adviser to King Hrothgar, challenges the veracity of the legendary contest, saying, “‘Are you that Beowulf, the one who is said / to have competed against Breca / in a swimming match on the open sea [. . .] ?’” Wearing chainmail and carrying swords, the boys swam in the “wintry” sea for a solid week. Unferth asserts that it was Breca who won the contest, but Beowulf counters by boasting, “‘He could not swim / further out than me, or swim faster in the sea.’” It is one of the times in the poem when Beowulf appears to have superhuman abilities, and some believe that a more accurate interpretation would be that it was a rowing (or possibly sailing) competition, not a swimming contest at all. The highly regarded scholar Fred C. Robinson is credited with first suggesting the boys were perhaps rowing, in 1974, but even he was dubious. Still, the possibility lingers and made an appearance in the crowd-sourced translation Beowulf by All (ARC Humanities Press, 2021).

It is solidly a swimming contest in Shippey, with swimming or swim appearing six times in 34 lines. Here and in other disputed passages, the translator has leaned toward a traditional interpretation. There are exceptions, however, especially in the representation of names in the poem. One such instance, in fact, could be seen as an innovation. We are greeted with the unique “Shield-with-the-Sheaf” in the third line, referring to the progenitor of Hrothgar’s royal line, and while there is some variation among translations (Scyld or Scyld Scefing are standard), the hyphenated Shield-with-the-Sheaf stands apart. In the commentary, Neidorf speculates regarding the origin of the ahistorical Scyld/Shield, suggesting that the invented heroic figure, over time, was conflated with a fertility deity who could grant a bountiful harvest. Shippey, it seems, offers a version that reflects both elements of the character’s creation: a shield-wielding protector and provider of a plentiful yield.

Keying on the latter aspect of Shield’s identity, Shippey gives us his son as “Barley,” which, again, is eye-catchingly unusual. In the manuscript, the name appears as “Beowulf,” which has caused all manner of confusion and sparked fervid debates. The earliest modern readers of the poem assumed, understandably, that this Beowulf (Hrothgar’s grandfather) was the same character discussed later (our titular Beowulf the Geat)—but they’re not. These initial references to Beowulf in the opening lines of the poem are probably due to scribal error (what we call Old English was unfamiliar to the copyists, too). The name has been emended to “Beow” or “Beaw” in modern printings of the Anglo-Saxon text, so most translators have simply left the name alone. The word beow in Old English means “barley” (Neidorf reminds us), so Shippey has gone with a literally named Barley, emphasizing the character’s fertility deity lineage.

Perhaps Shippey’s least traditional naming, though, is seen in his choice for King Offa’s queen, typically “Thryth” or “Modthryth” (or some variation). Instead the translator opts for the name-less-traveled “Fremu.” It is a matter of conjecture, however, as Neidorf explains that a scribal “eye-skip” probably resulted in the name of the queen being omitted from the text entirely. The editor tells us, “Many scholars have interpreted the word modþryðo as the name of the queen, but this is entirely implausible. . . . It is not impossible that fremu (‘excellent’) is the name of the queen, but there are difficulties with this explanation as well.” Though it has not gained wide acceptance, the theory that Fremu is the name of Offa’s queen can be traced to as early as 1920 and the work of German philologist Ernst A. Kock.

The naming of characters may seem a minor issue, especially to casual readers of the poem, but it signals that Professor Shippey has weighed carefully the myriad possibilities inherent in translating an elusive text like Beowulf, leading one to conclude that his canonical choices are the result of measured consideration and not merely translation inertia, of following the crowd so to speak. In fact, his careful thought can be seen in more subtle ways throughout the translation, a matter he speaks to in his preface: “[A]ll too many translators, I fear, owe their knowledge of Old English to looking words up in the dictionary. This ignores cultural context and affects interpretation. Thus, a great deal of nonsense has been written . . .” To illustrate his point, Shippey discusses at length the Old English word wyrd, which is traditionally translated as “fate.” He concludes the discussion by stating flatly, “‘Fate’ looks forward, wyrd looks back. Big difference.”

In a similar vein, Neidorf talks about their being, essentially, two kinds of translators of the poem: scholars and poets. He writes, “Many translations of Beowulf have been produced by people who show no interest at all in the poem’s interpretation, people who have never published one significant article on Beowulf, let alone a significant book on the poem. The most widely read translations . . . are by professional translators and creative writers, who cannot really comprehend the poem in its original language . . .” Shippey, on the other hand, has excelled at his interpretation of the poem for more than fifty years: “One feature of Shippey’s Beowulf criticism that especially qualifies him to translate the poem is the attention it consistently pays to the poem’s subtexts. No scholar or critic . . . has done more to illuminate the subtle implications of the poem’s many speeches . . .”

As someone who has been a serious student of the poem for more than thirty years, I would have to agree with Neidorf’s assessment. Shippey’s translation may not be as dramatic as Seamus Heaney’s award-winning (and unexpectedly bestselling) effort in 2000, and it may not be as fun as Maria Dahvana Headley’s offering in 2020, but it is consistently fluid while offering insights that I haven’t encountered elsewhere, especially when it comes to character motivation, an element typically taken for granted by other translators. For Illustration I’ll return to the heated conversation between Unferth and Beowulf in which he challenges the story of Beowulf and Breca’s swimming match. Shippey writes, “Unferth spoke . . . / hostile words, to provoke strife.” For comparison, and since I’ve already invoked Heaney and Headley, here are their versions: “Unferth . . . spoke / contrary words” (Heaney); and “Near Hrothgar’s feet squatted Unferth . . . / unconvinced, whispering churlish words . . .” (Headley). The key difference is Shippey’s to provoke strife—that is, Unferth deliberately picks a fight with Beowulf. His words are not just a matter of jealousy and drunkenness, their generally accepted attribution. In the commentary, Neidorf expounds upon Shippey’s unique wording: “Perhaps it was [Unferth’s job . . .] to question newcomers, gauge their merits, and goad them into stating their intentions more clearly. . . . Unferth’s knowledge of Beowulf’s swimming contest with Breca suggests, moreover, that his role required him to be informed of noteworthy events abroad.”

In other words, it may have been Unferth’s responsibility to draw Beowulf into an argument, to try to find out more about his intentions in Hrothgar’s court. The Geat has said his only motivation is to kill the monster Grendel, thus helping the king and adding to his own fame as a warrior. But, as the poem allows, what if the new arrival really has his sights set on Hrothgar’s kingdom itself? So Unferth—who is, yes, a little jealous, and yes, a little tipsy—carries out his official duty by provoking the anger of a man who is big enough and strong enough to rip off the arm of a monster. With one brief phrase, Shippey casts the hotheaded Unferth into a much more favorable light. There are such subtleties throughout the translation, and Professor Neidorf expertly elucidates them in the commentary.

This seems a good place to transition into a few words about the scholarly apparatuses in the book, and I’ll begin with the commentary, which is divided into highly readable sections that speak to about fifty lines of the poem each. Besides the fact they reflect the editor’s considerable expertise, each section is followed by “Further Reading,” books and articles that expand on whatever topics have been covered in that set of lines. Interestingly, the further readings are listed chronologically, which would facilitate a reader who wants a sense of how certain issues associated with the poem have evolved over time. It varies, of course, but there are usually about a dozen sources listed at the end of each commentary section. For convenience, these same sources are then listed alphabetically in the book’s bibliography, which is impressive in itself, listing 482 items that span from 1906 to 2022 (there’s even a forthcoming work included). Such thoroughness is not a given, even in books produced by well-established university presses. As evidence of their authority, the bibliography lists 27 entries by Neidorf and 17 by Shippey, all from well-regarded presses and peer-reviewed journals.

The finely tuned collaborative relationship of Shippey and Neidorf can be seen at work in the commentary when it comes to especially confusing passages in the poem (of which there are many). In addition to the impediments to comprehension noted earlier (slippery Old English syntax and the poor condition of the single manuscript), there is the fact that the original poet counted on a certain foreknowledge in his audience. The poem is rife with references to history, quasi-history and legend that were apparently quite familiar to the poet’s Anglo-Saxon audiences. Even the commonest folk, beery and boisterous, gathered in the communal hall for an evening of entertainment, must have known by heart the strings of allusions spun out by the sleek-tongued poet without a hint of context. (Those familiar with the poem, recall the so-called “Fight at Finnsburg” digression as one such example.)

Shippey, with his fidelity to the original language, is only able to translate such places with limited lucidity (he or any translator devoted to an accurate representation). Neidorf, on the other hand, is able to paraphrase and clarify these perplexing passages in the commentary. In fact, his illumination of the poem’s more obscure corners is one of the most attractive aspects of this newest treatment of the old poem. For instance, regarding the Finnsburg insertion, Neidorf writes, “Many reconstructions of the story have been put forward, but perhaps the most plausible is the following”; then after a clearly worded paraphrase of the affair, the editor continues, “This reconstruction, grounded in the ‘Jutes on both sides’ theory, accounts well for many of the peculiar details of the episode and associated fragment.” It does indeed. Careful rewordings and explanations such as these abound in the book.

Similarly, Neidorf’s introduction that opens the volume would be quite beneficial to readers and students new to Beowulf, but its erudition makes it a valuable resource regardless of one’s level of expertise. It is cogently organized into sections titled “Manuscript and Date,” “Authorship and Structure,” “History and Legend,” “Folklore and Myth,” “Christianity and Paganism,” “Hero and Theme,” and “Beowulf and Beyond.” What is more, Neidorf’s notes at the end of the introduction plainly direct readers to further resources on specific topics. For example, they have wording that begins “On the reception of Beowulf with and beyond the academy, see . . .”; “On the dating of the sole extant manuscript of Beowulf, see . . .”; and “On the linguistic evidence for the unitary authorship of Beowulf, see. . . .” Each see is followed by a generous list of sources. There are 14 such valuable notes following the introduction.

Appropriately, I have saved my final observations for the appendix, penned by Professor Shippey, “Tolkien and Beowulf—A lifelong Involvement.” For anyone interested in J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings and its intersection with his professional engagement (and love affair) with Beowulf and Old English, the 18-page appendix is a delight and a must-read in its own right. In addition to technical discussions of how Tolkien’s knowledge of Old English influenced his writing of the popular stories, Shippey offers some fascinating biographical insights. For instance, regarding Tolkien’s well-known (and ground-shifting) lecture on Beowulf to the British Academy in 1936, Shippey writes, “Just over six weeks earlier, on 5^th October 1936, his publishers Allen & Unwin had received the typescript of The Hobbit. . . . One might ask, who in the world at this point had a stronger motive for asserting the value of fantasy than Tolkien? He had been writing about dragons and trolls and elves and dwarves for at least twenty years, but in secret. Now he was going public.” In Tolkien’s analysis of Beowulf, says Shippey, he was “laying the grounds for future interpretations of his own work.”

Again, Middle-earth enthusiasts and Beowulf enthusiasts (who are often the same folks) would find the appendix worth the price of admission by itself. Shippey concludes, “I feel sure that Tolkien, in his heart of hearts, felt that he and the Beowulf-poet were kindred spirits.”

I’ll conclude by saying that I’ve been chipping away at a translation of Beowulf of my own for a number of years (bits and pieces of it can be found here and there online), and I have no doubt that Shippey and Neidorf’s work will productively influence my thoughts on the poem going forward. What is more, I’ve taught Beowulf for more than 25 years—at both the high-school and graduate-school level—and I’ve assigned a variety of excellent translations (Raffel, Alexander, McNamara, Liuzza), but the next time the course comes up in my rotation I will be placing Shippey and Neidorf on the syllabus. For me, and for any educator, there can be no firmer endorsement than that.

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This review is based on the first edition. A “revised and expanded” edition was released in 2024 that is even more valuable. The expansion refers ostensibly to the addition of a second appendix that consists of translations of three fragments: “Finnsburg,” “Waldere,” and “Hildebrandslied.” As with the text of Beowulf, they are printed in Old English on the pages facing the translation. Professor Shippey has also written a brief but informative introduction for the new appendix. Moreover, the second edition corrects a few minor errors that slipped through in the first.

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Beowulf: Translation and Commentary; revised & expanded 2nd ed; translated by Tom Shippey; edited by Leonard Neidorf; Uppsala Books, 2024; 440 pages in both hardcover and paperback ($35.99 and $24.99 respectively); uppsalabooks.com.

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Ted Morrissey is the author of The “Beowulf” Poet and His Real Monsters as well as critical articles on the Old English poem. His reviews of other Beowulf translations have appeared in North American Review and Speculum. A lecturer in Lindenwood University’s MFA in Writing program, his most recent books are Delta of Cassiopeia: Collected Stories and Sonnets (2023) and the novel The Strophes of Job (2024). He is the publisher of Twelve Winters and its various entities.

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