viii + 371 pp. Republished as a Bantam paperback (London, 2007). A novel "based on the screenplay by Neil Gaiman & Roger Avary" (front cover) of Zemeckis, dir., Beowulf (2007). The main content is preceded by a brief introduction by Gaiman (vii-viii), and is followed by Kiernan's "Glossary of Norse, Icelandic, Old English, and Anglo-Saxon Terms Appearing in the Novel" (354-68) and an "Author's Note and Acknowledgments" (369-71) in which Kiernan references the Beowulf translations she used (Donaldson's and Heaney's) as well as several works of scholarship she consulted. An additional, brief "Author's note" on p. 368 states: "If a teacher or professor has assigned you Beowulf, this novelization doesn't count. Not even close."

The novel's Prologue begins:

There was a time before men, a time before even the world existed, when all the cosmos was only the black void of Ginnunga gap. To the farthest north lay the frozen wastes of Niflheim, and to the farthest south, the lands of bright, sparking furnaces belonging to the giant Muspéll and so named Muspellsheim. In the great emptiness of Ginnunga, the cold northern winds met the warm breezes blown out from the south, and the whirling gales of sleet and snow melted and dripped down into the nothingness to form Ymir, father of all the Frost Giants. The giants called him Aurgelmir, the gravel-yeller. Also formed from these drips of rime was the first cow, Audhumla. With her milk she fed Ymir, and with her tongue she licked the first of the gods, Búri, from a block of salt. (1; italics as in original)

And the novel ends:

"A man like you," she says, "could own the greatest tale ever sung," and Wiglaf, son of Weohstan, gazes deeply into the honeyed eyes of this woman from the sea. His mind is filled with the siren lure of her promises, but also does he clearly see the price he would pay, the price that so many other men have paid before him.

"A man like you," she says again and extends a hand to the Geat.

"Might walk any road that pleases him," replies Wiglaf, and the icy sea slops at his feet. "I know you, she-demon, and I know you speak of glory and of wealth and renown, and but for what I've seen, it might appear the fairest gift ever offered a poor fishmonger's son."

"As you say," the merewife smiles, for she is ancient and skilled at waiting games, having yet more time before her than any mortal man might ever comprehend.

And the Norns—Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld—the three fates busily weaving beneath the roots of Yggdrasil, watch the progress of another cord held tight within their looms. For every single thread is a wonder to them, and so they spin and wait with the patience of all immortal things. (352-53; italics as in original)

BAM (Bantam ed.); Worldcat (HarperEntertainment ed.).