The Witch's Heart

These pages establish the novel’s revisionist framework by centering the narrative on the protagonist’s painstaking reconstruction of her fractured self. The theme of Reclaiming Identity in the Face of Imposed Roles is immediately foregrounded through the protagonist’s amnesia and the act of naming. Odin’s imposition of the name “Gullveig,” or “gold-lust,” is a political act designed to dehumanize her and justify the Aesir’s violence against her. The accusation contained in the name is also patently false, for as the narrative states, “The Vanir could think of naught but gold with which to reward the witch for her services, though she cared little enough for it” (4). By falsely reducing her complex knowledge to material greed, the Aesir gain the means to destroy her, and the name of Gullveig thus reflects their calculated cruelty. Her rejection of this label and subsequent choice of the name “Angrboda” is a foundational act of self-determination that also foreshadows the difficulties of her new life. By choosing a name that means “proclaimer of sorrows,” she reclaims her prophetic power on her own terms. This development contrasts with Loki’s own identity construction, which similarly subverts patriarchal conventions and signals a complex allegiance outside the rigid structures of Asgard. Together, these acts of naming frame identity as a conscious and ongoing process of creation in defiance of external control.

The physical trauma inflicted upon Angrboda is embodied by the symbol of her heart, which serves as a tangible representation of her emotional and psychological journey. Its violent removal, scarring by a spear, and eventual return by Loki externalize her traumatic fragmentation. Angrboda’s subsequent act of surgically re-implanting her own heart is a significant assertion of agency, a literal act of making herself whole again. The resulting vertical scar becomes a permanent text on her body, a testament to both her suffering and her survival. The detail that there is still a hole in the heart signifies that this self-repair is incomplete; the wound represents not only the memory of the Aesir’s attack but also the forgotten parts of her identity as Mother Witch, a history that continues to affect her subconsciously.

It is also ironic that Loki, the agent of her future betrayal, is the one to return her heart. This understated dynamic establishes the novel’s focus on The Complexities of Love and Betrayal, a potent yet volatile mix that tinges the pair’s interactions with existential unease from their very first meeting. Although Loki’s decision to return her heart leads her to a life of greater intimacy and healing, he is merely acting upon one of many chaotic impulses that govern his behavior from moment to moment, and as time goes on and the pair enters into an unusual marriage, his actions grow increasingly erratic, foreshadowing the destructive nature of the turmoil that he will foment in all the realms as he seeks new ways to amuse himself.

While the original myths focus on the grand deeds of gods and giants, Gornichec’s narrative grounds its mythological scope within the domestic sphere, positioning the cave as a site of feminine power and resistance against the epic, masculine conflicts of the gods. Angrboda’s initial survival via foraging soon gives way to a stable existence that arises from her business partnership with Skadi, a relationship rooted in mutual respect and commerce. Skadi’s help with the furnishing of the cave—from building a table to acquiring cooking pots and textiles—transforms the rough cave into a domestic space that gives Angrboda the scope to build a new life for herself.

When Angrboda tends to Loki’s mutilated mouth and shelters him during his pregnancy as a mare, it is clear her new home has given her the safety to heal from her own past traumas and take on a caregiving role for others. With this pointed focus on care work, the author features traditionally devalued labor—much of which was undertaken by women—and reframes it as a form of strength and community-building. By creating a private, self-sufficient lifestyle, Angrboda establishes an alternative power base that operates entirely outside the purview of Asgard. Her decision to protect this haven with a charm of concealment is an act of defiance against Odin’s searching gaze, transforming her home into a sovereign territory.

As Loki and Angrboda’s quirky relationship continues to develop, they both express their defiance of the Aesir’s power structure and worldview in various ways. Simply by choosing to live on the outskirts of the world, safe from the Aesir’s persecution, Angrboda has drawn a metaphorical line in the sand. As the narrative reveals, her talent with the prophetic power of seid was the very reason for her persecution, as Odin has always been so consumed by his desire for forbidden knowledge that he has no compunctions against torturing her repeatedly in pursuit of his goal. Her subsequent vow to renounce seid is therefore a strategic retreat. However, the near-death of her unborn child forces her to reclaim this power, inadvertently alerting the mysterious “chanter”—later revealed to be Odin—to her existence. In this pivotal moment, her magic is inextricably tied to The Fiercely Protective Nature of Motherhood, and her determination to keep her innate power to herself places her in opposition to Odin’s agenda.

While Angrboda has good reason to hide, her husband Loki, ever the trickster, dances gleefully on the fringes of every society that he deigns to enter, and he always looks for ways to break the rules. As a shape-shifter, he is fluid by nature, and his frequent escapades in Asgard and beyond function as a constant challenge to the rigid social and biological norms of the Aesir. Ironically, however, many of his schemes are undertaken on their behalf. His transformation into a mare is an integral part of his plan to help the Aesir slither out of a bargain, but the ploy is met with nothing but shame and ridicule in Asgard. In Ironwood, however, Angrboda accepts Loki’s latest peculiarities without judgment. The contrast between these two receptions highlights the fluidity and non-normativity that her world permits, for unlike the traditional Gerd, she holds no objections to subverting the Aesir’s narrow definitions of identity and gender.

Through its narrative structure and point of view, the novel systematically dismantles the male-centered heroic framework of traditional Norse mythology, ascribing a host of feminist motivations to the very underpinnings of the myths and tales that lead, step by step, to the apocalyptic battle of Ragnarok. By beginning the novel with the aftermath of Angrboda’s triple burning, the author immediately frames her story as a narrative of recovery from patriarchal violence, using the third-person limited perspective to confine the story to Angrboda’s view of the world. As a result, even Loki’s periodic tales of epic tomfoolery are filtered through a personal, domestic lens. Although his mischievous story of becoming a mare to lure away the builder’s stallion alludes to the Norse myth detailing the construction of Asgard’s great wall, Gornichec alters the emphasis to focus on Loki’s unwanted pregnancy as a mare, bringing the marginalized aspects of the classic tale to the fore.

Similarly, the theft of Idun’s apples, another famous Norse myth that traditionally focuses on the chaos of Loki’s schemes, is here recast as the tragic backstory behind the murder of Skadi’s father. This narrative choice recenters the emotional and relational consequences of the gods’ actions, exposing the collateral damage of their political machinations. Furthermore, the introduction of characters like Skadi and Gerd builds a world of giants with its own complex social customs and economic networks, creating a society that exists independently of the Aesir’s conflicts. This decentering of Asgard is a crucial element of the novel’s feminist revisionism, allowing for a world in which a woman’s power and relationships form the true core of the narrative.