ABSTRACT
The Scandinavian myths are still today, at the end of the twentieth century, a magnetic pole for people ignorance and expectations. In it earth and sky are merged, it emphasizes with imposing force the great telluric, aquatic, aerien and indeed, if we are speaking of Iceland, phlogistic components, from which we have always known ourselves to be made. This is why in the field of literature, people regards the great Scandinavian writers necessarily so in their view as anguished, tortured souls, as incomprehensible to others as they are to themselves. This is because the images underlying their Scandinavian myths are too charming in the strongest sense of the word: they reflect they need to compensate, sometimes absurdly and often naively, but always magically. As ever, versions of the myth have complacendy lingered over the Viking woman, whom the historian has difficulty distinguishing from her continental sister.
