Children of Ash and Elm
When I set out to write VIKINGS vs SAMURAI, I knew I’d need to do a deep dive. I mean, come on—the premise of Vikings battling samurai? It’s absurd, right? Like the ultimate bar debate: Who wins, Superman or Hulk? So, if I wanted to make this tale work, I had to do my homework and some.
What I didn’t see coming was how much research it would actually take. I devoured every piece I could find on Viking lore and samurai warfare. We’re talking Valkyrie: The Women of the Viking World by Jóhanna Friðriksdóttir, Antony Cummins’ Samurai Arms, Armour & the Tactics of Warfare, and, naturally, Vikings at War by Kim Hjardar and Vegard Vike. But there was one book everyone I respected told me to check out—Neil Price’s Children of Ash and Elm. Now, Price had already popped onto my radar because he consulted on the movie, The Northman (and let’s be honest, Robert Eggers’ revenge tale is no joke). So, I was game.
But before dropping cash on Children of Ash and Elm, I got sidetracked by another Price classic: The Viking Way, which is all about Viking magic and sorcery—the real nitty-gritty. I mean, here I was, working on a character, Rødrick, our blind shaman with one foot in the spirit world. If I was going to pull that off, I needed to understand the exact spiritual tradition he’d be coming from. So, yeah, I went down one rabbit hole after another, pushing off Children of Ash and Elm until I could finally give it the full attention it deserved. And let me tell you, it was worth the wait.
Children of Ash and Elm is no fluff. Price builds this epic tapestry, showing the Vikings as way more than the rampaging warriors we love to imagine. This guy delves into their psychology, their identity, the essence of how they saw themselves and the universe around them. He doesn’t stop at battles and raids; he’s breaking down how these people were a mesh of warrior codes, supernatural beliefs, and a society that was violent and inclusive all at once. Vikings, it turns out, were all over the map—both literally and culturally.
The book’s split into three parts, each diving into Viking life and culture from a new angle. First, Price drops us into “The Making of Midgard,” the Viking homeland before they even took to the seas. He links it back to the fall of the Roman Empire, environmental disasters, and the dust veil event that shook Europe. These weren’t isolated, hard-drinking, axe-wielding brutes—Price shows how their worldview was shaped by survival, honor, and, yeah, straight-up magic. Then he’s pulling threads on how all these pieces came together to make the Viking powerhouse we know.
Then comes “The Viking Phenomenon,” where Price tackles the real deal—the switch from Viking raiders to full-scale conquest mode. Suddenly, these guys are setting up complex trade networks that reach all the way to Baghdad. Price breaks down Viking economics like they were corporate hustlers, showing how their raids were just as much about getting rich and respected as they were about sheer destruction. It’s a lot more Wall Street than Braveheart, and he makes you see why Viking raiding wasn’t just a pastime but an economic policy.
By the time we hit “New Worlds, New Nations,” Price has taken us beyond the Scandinavian borders. Now, the Vikings are in Iceland, Greenland, and North America, planting roots and interacting with other cultures. What’s amazing is that he shows them as both fierce conquerors and adaptable settlers. They weren’t just marauders—they were adaptable, absorbing aspects of the cultures they encountered. And that’s the kicker here: Price paints a picture of the Vikings as anything but one-dimensional. They’re constantly evolving, picking up new influences, but always with that Norse core intact.
What I love most is Price’s style—vivid, gritty, and laced with humor. It’s like he’s narrating this Viking epic while tossing in these little gems that make you do a double-take. Take his rundown of Viking funeral rites on the Volga. It’s as wild as you’d expect—this ten-minute Viking funeral on steroids, with sacrifices, ceremonies, the whole nine yards. And let’s not forget the dark side. Price doesn’t try to make the Vikings saints. He brings you face-to-face with the horror they could unleash: the brutality of slavery, the violence in every corner of Viking life, and, yes, even sexual violence. The Viking world wasn’t all warrior glory; it was messy, blood-soaked, and painfully real.
Price also does justice to the diversity within Viking culture, especially regarding gender. He’s not afraid to challenge the old stereotypes. In a groundbreaking chapter, he talks about this female warrior buried with a full set of weaponry, a move that throws a wrench in the usual male-dominated Viking narrative. But Price doesn’t stop there—he raises the idea that Viking gender roles were fluid and complex, possibly more open to different identities than we’d think. This kind of depth is rare in historical accounts, and Price handles it with a level of respect that makes it clear he’s not just ticking boxes.
Children of Ash and Elm isn’t just a book about Vikings; it’s a book that reshapes how you think about them. Price is showing us that there’s no simple Viking narrative. They were curious yet savage, tolerant yet brutally oppressive, progressive in some ways but chained to harsh social norms. The best part? Price confronts head-on how modern nationalist groups twist Viking imagery for their agendas. He’s not about to let his work get hijacked—he’s all for a responsible interpretation that honors the complexity of Viking history without idolizing them.
If you want a Viking history that hits hard, isn’t afraid to get messy, and makes you see the Norse in all their glory and horror, Children of Ash and Elm is the book you’ve been waiting for.
