The common perception among Icelanders is that runic writing belongs chiefly to
ancient memorial stones—older or younger futhark inscriptions carved into
Scandinavian runestones—or to the magical sigils preserved in Icelandic
manuscripts. This view, though widespread, drastically underestimates the depth
and breadth of the Icelandic rune tradition. One of the greatest strengths of
Þórgunnur Snædal’s new book, Rúnir á Íslandi [Runes in Iceland], is that it dismantles
these misconceptions with clarity, precision, and a commanding survey of the
evidence.
Far from being confined to solemn monuments or esoteric charms, runes
permeated daily life in Iceland for centuries. Snædal’s work shows that they were
not merely a ceremonial relic but a living, functional writing system—one that
endured far longer in Iceland than anywhere else in the Nordic world.
The book’s central argument is both persuasive and revelatory: while
Denmark boasts the earliest runic inscriptions and Sweden the largest number,
Iceland preserved the knowledge of runes and their use, becoming the wellspring
from which the first runologists drew much of their understanding. Runes arrived
with the settlers and subsequently became embedded in the social fabric of
Icelandic culture. Farm marks, property marks on tools or livestock, and
gravestone inscriptions were among the most common uses, demonstrating the
practical, quotidian role of runes across the island’s communities. Remarkably,
Snædal shows that functional literacy in runes survived in Iceland until around
1750—and in some areas even until 1900—long after the rest of Scandinavia had
allowed the tradition to fade.
In tracing this history, the author overturns several persistent myths: that
Iceland has no preserved rune stones, that runes were introduced only as part
of magical stave practice, and that they were never a meaningful component of
Icelandic culture. Such claims crumble under the weight of the material Snædal
gathers, evaluates, and contextualizes. The result is a work that not only
consolidates what has long been scattered across outdated studies and
specialized articles, but also firmly reframes the narrative surrounding
Iceland’s runic heritage.
For rune enthusiasts—myself included—this book feels overdue. Earlier
scholarship on Icelandic runes has so far been obsolete, incomplete, or difficult to
access. Snædal’s contribution, therefore, fills a glaring gap. It does not claim to
answer all remaining questions, nor does it pretend that the field is now complete.
Quite the opposite: the book emphasizes how much work remains, especially
regarding younger manuscript traditions. But it provides, at last, a
comprehensive foundation for further research. In this sense, the book is not only
a milestone but a launching point—for academics, for younger researchers, and
for the interested public.
Structurally, the volume is divided into four major parts, each dealing with a
different aspect of the Icelandic rune tradition. Snædal begins with a broad
overview of runic research up to the present day, offering context for how the field
has developed and where Iceland fits within broader Nordic scholarship. She then
turns to the origins of runes and their evolution in Scandinavia before narrowing
the focus to their development on Icelandic soil. This progression—from a pan-Nordic frame to the local, Iceland-specific tradition—allows readers to appreciate
both continuity and divergence.
The discussion of runes in manuscripts is divided into two sections: older
manuscripts and younger ones. The overview of the younger manuscripts is
inevitably less tidy; the younger manuscript material is generally understudied,
fragmentary, and still awaits systematic investigation. Yet even in its imperfect
state, this section is valuable because it exposes gaps in scholarship and points
directly to where future research is needed most.
The final major section addresses runic inscriptions on objects and
gravestones. This part is greatly strengthened by the extensive lists that follow the
main text: a complete catalogue of every recorded rune stone in Iceland and every
runic inscription found on objects, accompanied by maps of discovery sites. These
visual tools are especially welcome, giving readers an immediate sense of
geographical distribution and helping correct the misconception that Iceland lacks
runic monuments altogether.
Snædal’s work is both scholarly and accessible, and one can only hope that
it will eventually be translated for a wider international audience. Iceland’s
runic heritage has long deserved a comprehensive, modern treatment; with this
book, that need is finally met. At the same time, this study opens the door for
future exploration. It restores to Icelanders a tradition that has been largely
forgotten—an everyday rune culture as rich, persistent, and uniquely Icelandic
as the sagas themselves.