If epic poetry is a definite species, the sagas do not fall

Listen closely to the words of Lascelles Abercrombie: “If epic poetry is a definite species, the sagas do not fall within it.” In these words, Abercrombie draws an important distinction between two forms of narrative art: epic poetry and the sagas. Epic poetry, as we know it, is a specific literary form with certain characteristics—grand themes, heroic figures, and often a formal, elevated style. Think of Homer’s Iliad or Virgil’s Aeneid, works that celebrate the deeds of gods and heroes, and that aim to express the larger-than-life struggles of civilizations and their heroes. Epic poetry is marked by its narrative structure, its thematic focus on fate and honor, and its aspiration to capture the universal human experience in a way that resonates through the ages.

The sagas, however, do not fit neatly into this traditional category of epic poetry. The Norse sagas, for example, are deeply rooted in the historical and personal experiences of their characters. They are stories of real people—often warriors, kings, and common folk—whose deeds, however significant, are not imbued with the grandeur of gods or universal forces. Instead, the sagas are intimate portraits of struggle, honor, and betrayal. They are often more grounded in the everyday realities of life in the harsh landscapes of the North, dealing with human frailties and complexities rather than the cosmic battles of divine entities. While the sagas may contain elements of heroism, they are more concerned with the personal and the specific, rather than the universal.

To understand this distinction, we can turn to the Norse sagas themselves, such as the Saga of the Volsungs or the Saga of Egil Skallagrimsson. These are not the works of Homer or Virgil, where gods play significant roles in shaping the destinies of men. The Norse sagas are deeply human. They are concerned with revenge, kinship, and the harsh realities of life in a violent world. The characters are often flawed, driven by personal motives, and their struggles are rooted in the material world. The epic poetry of Homer, by contrast, often elevates its characters to a supernatural plane, where their deeds are determined by gods, and their fates carry a weight that extends beyond the personal.

Yet, even with these differences, the sagas share some characteristics with epic poetry. Both forms deal with themes of heroism, fate, and the passage of time. But where epic poetry seeks to express the universal through grand narrative structures, the sagas speak to the individual, to the local, to the personal. The sagas are not meant to convey grand cosmological truths but to tell the stories of people, real or legendary, whose actions resonate on a more intimate scale. This difference in scale—universal versus personal—is what Abercrombie refers to when he says that sagas do not fall within the traditional bounds of epic poetry.

Abercrombie’s insight teaches us something about the nature of storytelling itself. Epic poetry, while magnificent and universal, is not the only form of narrative that captures the human experience. The sagas, by focusing on the individual and the specific, remind us that heroism does not always need to be cosmic to be meaningful. Even the smallest life, the most intimate struggle, can hold within it great power and meaning. The distinction between epic poetry and the sagas is a reminder that storytelling is a vast and varied art, one that can capture both the grandeur of the gods and the quiet heroism of a single person.

The lesson here is that, while epic poetry has its place in the literary tradition, so too do the sagas, with their more grounded and personal narratives. Each form of storytelling serves a purpose: epic poetry to elevate the universal, and the sagas to immortalize the individual. As creators and consumers of stories, we must recognize the value in both approaches and understand that heroism and meaning can be found on both grand and intimate scales. Whether we are writing or reading, we should seek to find the epic in the everyday and to honor the stories that reflect the personal, the specific, and the deeply human.

Practical actions follow. As a writer, understand the power of both forms. You can create epic poetry that explores grand themes, but you can also write sagas—stories of individuals whose lives are just as significant in their own right. As a reader, embrace both forms of narrative. See the power in the vast sweep of epic poetry, but also appreciate the quiet intensity of the sagas, which often tell of lives no less extraordinary, even if they are lived on a smaller scale. By doing so, we honor the full spectrum of human storytelling, and we recognize that both grand tales and personal histories are worthy of our attention.

Thus, Abercrombie’s words teach us the value of both epic poetry and the sagas. While epic poetry is a great and universal form, the sagas remind us that the most personal stories, those grounded in the lives of individuals, can hold equal power. In recognizing the differences between these two forms, we deepen our understanding of the vast and varied nature of human storytelling.