I had the honor and pleasure of narrating Yoko Nakatani's "Adventures of John Manjiro" at the New Bedford Whaling Museum in October 2019. I performed with pianist Yukiko Sekino, and together told the amazing true story of a Japanese teenager who was shipwrecked, rescued by a whaling ship, and brought to New England. The performance was a ton of fun, and the music is exciting; what a great collaboration!

Adventures of John Manjiro

Long Live the Queen!

Last summer, an eight-year-old girl called Saga pulled a sword out of a Swedish lake. In this article, she raises the question of whether that makes her a queen. As a Storyteller, I was particularly excited when Saga noted that people immediately connected her action of pulling the sword from a lake with the famous legend of King Arthur and the Lady of the Lake who conferred kingship upon him in the way that Saga herself unconsciously replicated, more than a thousand years later. That evidence of connection with legends and stories of the distant past makes my spirit soar.

At the same time, there is a darker undercurrent to this story. Saga undoubtedly recovered the pre-Viking weapon because, as her father explained to her, "it had been the hottest summer for 260 years", which resulted in a noticeable drop in the lake's water level. These hot temperatures across Europe are a double-edged sword indeed, revealing ancient and long-lost or forgotten treasures or markings in the landscape, at the same time as they herald a new and dangerous future for Saga and her children.

Perhaps the sword can be interpreted as a message from our ancient ancestors: a warning that difficult times may be on the way.... and that new and youthful female leadership may be the answer to the problems we face.

Long live the Queen! May she lead us wisely and well.

Vivian, the Lady of the Lakeby annewipf

The joys of storytelling in Boston’s neighborhoods

I just finished another joyful round of performances with the ReadBoston Storymobile, a fantastic organization that sends professional storytellers throughout the neighborhoods of Boston, where we perform our stories and distribute books to the children who come to hear us. It’s really a kind of heaven for me!

(Courtesy photo: ReadBoston Storymobile)

The wonderful organizers at ReadBoston coordinate with 47 different sites in 12 different neighborhoods throughout Boston, and send a group of tellers out to perform. Each site gets a date and time that is theirs to host, and every week, a different storyteller visits and performs for them (view the schedule here). Parents and outside day cares and camps are welcome to come and visit for story hour, maximizing the number of children who can benefit from this literacy-supporting activity, and every child leaves with a free book they can take home and keep. Children can visit as many sites as their parents and camp directors can take them to, so they can accumulate a nice little library by the end of the summer!

This has been my 10th summer performing with the ReadBoston Storymobile, and it remains fulfilling and delightful. The children are enthusiastic and love hearing stories, and they are so thrilled to pick out books! This program makes a tremendous difference in the lives of children who might not otherwise get access to live performance and literature. Our program director just reported that we served over 4,000 children this summer—wow! For those who believe in the importance of screen alternatives for developing minds, take a look at ReadBoston and their wonderful work.

Interested in hiring a storyteller? You’ve come to the right place! Here’s more on me:

I’m famous for my silly sound effects and wacky faces, and for encouraging audience participation. I tell trickster tales, silly stories and spooky tales from many different cultures. A co-founder of the Massachusetts-based storytellers organization Massmouth, I perform and teach storytelling and story-reading in schools, libraries, bookstores, museums, water-treatment facilities and private homes, to and for kids and adults of all ages. I’m also a storyteller-in-residence at Porter Square Books in Cambridge and lead the weekly story hour on Wednesdays at 11 a.m. I am the artistic director of Adult Folktale Telling, a local storytelling series devoted to uncensored traditional tale-telling for adults. For more information, please visit doriastories.com, doriastories.blogspot.com and facebook.com/adultfolktaletelling.

I'm on TV, woohoo!

Recently, I had the delightful experience of being featured on Story Cafe, a TV show based in Seekonk, which is hosted by the marvelous and talented Karen Chace. She interviewed me and we talked about teaching Storytelling to tweens, and my Adult Folktale Tellings series. I also had the opportunity to perform a Chinese story which I adore, The Four Dragons. Click on the link below and check it out!


I'm on TV!

He Aint Heavy, He's My Hunnish Brother, or All In the (Berserker) Family, Part IV

.......and now comes the blood-drenched conclusion......

We last found Heidrek fleeing, after having murdered his brother, Angantyr, with the cursed sword, Tyrfing, in a Berserker fit. Good times.

Heidrek had escaped justice for his brother's slaughter, at least for a while. Armed with his ancestral sword, he recapitulated the earlier success of his forebears, and attracted the notice of Harald, King of the Goths. Heidrek did the king a series of unsavory favors, most of which involved doing away with rebellious subjects. Impressed with the young man's ruthlessness and efficiency, King Harald gave him his daughter, Helga, as a wife. Within a short time, Helga bore her husband a son. Heidrek named him Angantyr, in memory of his beloved brother whom he had murdered. The boy gave every indication of being as fierce and warlike as his father and grandmother, and Heidrek loved him as much as his stunted heart allowed.

Some years later, the land of the Goths was stricken with crop failure and famine. Instructed by his priests to sacrifice a prince of his blood to Odin, King Harald determined to offer up his young grandson, Angantyr. If he imagined that his son-in-law would be compliant with this plan, he soon found that he had sorely misjudged the man. Heidrek rose up in rebellion against his father-in-law, and slew him with Tyrfing. When Helga heard that her husband had killed her father, she hung herself in despair.

Little disposed to mourn his wife and her family, Heidrek quickly assumed the Gothic kinship and used Tyrfing to forcibly consolidate and then expand his territory. He set his sights on the land of the Huns, who defended their land as best they could, whereupon he kidnapped the daughter of the Hunnish king, and raped her. After impregnating her, he sent the Hunnish princess home, where she gave birth to a son named Hlöd. Subsequently, Heidrek married and divorced a succession of Scandinavian princesses; not surprisingly, each marriage was more loveless than the last. However, his fourth wife bore him a daughter, whom he named Hervor, for his mother. Heidrek wasn't much of a husband, but he does seem to have been attached to his children, or at least interested in their welfare. From the time of his daughter's birth, he seems to have curtailed his raiding activity and stayed close to home. At least for a while.

However, the urge to go a-viking, and the lure of wielding Tyrfing to grasp more land and plunder eventually won out over whatever family feeling Heidrek possessed. Having subdued the Goths and the Huns and made alliances with the Scandinavian princes to the north, Heidrek decided to invade the people of the untamed Carpathian mountain range. He raised an army and brought his son, Angantyr, as bloodthirsty and ambitious a warrior as his father. But while Heidrek was secure in the allegiance of his son and heir, his army bore him little love, and less loyalty. Surrounded as he was by men whom he had defeated and brought forcibly under his domination, he did not perceive his own peril until it was too late.

One night, while asleep in the Carpathian wilds and surrounded by his supposedly loyal army, eight bondsmen crept stealthily into his tent. Perhaps they only intended to rob the king; more likely, they had a score to settle with the king who had enslaved them. Regardless, one of them drew Tyrfing from its scabbard, with the result that Heidrek died, fittingly, upon the blade of his own sword. But the unlucky thralls were caught in the act by the murdered king's son, Angantyr, who slew all eight men with his father's blade. Armed with Tyrfing, Angantyr, the third of his name and proud scion of the violent House of Arngrim, wasted no time in seizing his father's crown and taking control of his army. He was rather surprised to discover that he was not unopposed in his claim to his father's lands and title.

It turns out that Hlöd, Angantyr's long-neglected younger half-brother and son of the Hunnish princess whom Heidrek had ill-used, felt that he was entitled to half of their father's territory. He even went so far as to name boundary points between the lands that he and Angantyr would divide (one of these was a forest called Mirkwood). Hlöd's efforts were wasted. Self-assured and comfortably in possession of the Gothic kingship, Angantyr publicly named Hlöd a bastard, thereby implying that the Hunnish prince was ineligible to inherit any portion of their father's patrimony. This turned out to have been a dangerous move, for Hlöd was fully prepared to fight his half-brother for what he considered his rightful inheritance.


According to the early saga sources, Hlöd brought an improbably enormous force of 343,200 mounted Huns to invade his brother’s lands. Even more improbably, Angantyr and his Goths defeated the Hunnish horde; Angantyr struck down his brother Hlöd on the field of battle with Tyrfing. The deed was done swiftly and without remorse, yet Angantyr lingered for a moment over Hlöd's body. As he held the gore-spattered blade over the bloodied carcass of his only brother, he spoke:

Bölvat es okkr, bróðir, bani em ek þinn orðinn; þat mun æ uppi; illr er dómr norna.

We are cursed, brother, I am become your slayer it is yet again true cruel is the decree of the Norns (Fates).

These words are ascribed to Angantyr in the Hlöðskviða or The Battle of the Goths and Huns.

It is also written there that the slaughter was such that the bodies of numerous warriors choked the rivers and flooded the valleys with dead men and horses. Walking among the dead, Angantyr found his half-sister, Hervor, who had fought the Huns bravely as a shieldmaiden, just as her grandmother and namesake had.

Óbróðurliga vartu leikin, in ágæta systir.

"Unbrotherly the bloody game they played with you, excellent sister."

With the defeat of Hlöd and his Hunnish horde, Angantyr was left as sole heir to the kingship and patrimony of his father, Heidrek. And here, the story of Tyrfing, the dwarf-cursed sword which brought glory and devastation to the House of Arngrim in equal measure, comes to an end.

Honey I Cursed the Kids, or All in the (Berserker) Family, Part III

Part III, in the ongoing saga of the House of Arngrim the Berserker.......

Hervor, daughter of Angantyr, thought that she had bought herself a Happily Ever After when she claimed and took her dead father's sword, the dwarf-forged Tyrfing. But she reckoned without the curse laid on the blade by its vengeful makers. When she retired from the Viking lifestyle to become a full time homemaker, she laid the sword aside. And there it waited, silently thirsting for blood and destruction.

In peace, she and her princely husband raised their two sons, Angantyr and Heidrek, to manhood. Her elder son was much loved among his father's people, but Heidrek was quarrelsome and violent, and made few friends. Did Hervor tell her boys stories of their grandfather, or of his twelve berserker sons, buried in a haunted mound on the island of Samsø? It is certain that they at least knew about the valuable sword which she kept, but never wielded in their presence.

At some point, Heidrek committed some act of brutality which resulted in his permanent estrangement from his father. We do not know what crime he committed, but it must have been serious, for Hervor's husband banished their younger son, and sent him away, never to return. The sentence was pronounced and enacted without delay, and Heidrek was forced to leave his home with little more than the clothes on his back. As he turned to go, his mother impulsively ran to her chamber and then returned with a wrapped bundle, thrusting it into his hands with a last farewell for the son she would never see again. Hervor had given him her most valuable possession, the one she knew would help her violent and restless offspring make his way in the world in the only way he knew how. Heidrek left his father's hall with Tyrfing strapped to his side.

The young man strode forth into an unknown future. With his hand on the hilt of his mother's sword, he walked with a new confidence, and didn't turn to take a last look back at his childhood home. Past the outskirts of his family's encampment, however, he heard running footsteps behind him. Warily, Heidrek turned to face whoever it was who had followed him from his father's hall, but relaxed when he saw who it was. Angantyr had come to take a private final leave of his younger brother. The two young men embraced and exchanged greetings, and Angantyr offered to walk with Heidrek for a while. Heidrek was glad to have his brother's company; aside from their mother, Angantyr was the only person who had ever cared about him.

They walked in silence for a time, and then Angantyr gestured to the sword that Heidrek wore. Both men had heard rumors and bits of stories about their mother's viking escapades, and understood that her sword was a valuable family heirloom. Angantyr did not begrudge Heidrek his inheritance, but confessed to curiosity. Neither had ever actually seen the blade, Hervor having always kept it carefully sheathed. Angantyr thought there would be no harm done if his younger brother took it out of its scabbard and gave it a flourish, so that they both could get a look at it. Obligingly, Heidrek drew Tyrfing forth.

As the sword left its sheath, Heidrek felt a tremor run through his body, and his sword arm began to shake. A roar burst from his lips as he felt a wave of blood rush up to his brain. His head felt hot, and his vision dimmed as a red haze filmed his eyes. As the berserker frenzy took hold, Heidrek lost all reason, overwhelmed by the imperative to kill. He felt his arm rise and then gave a great animal howl as he struck out with the powerful sword. He felt Tyrfing's blade make contact, heard the groan of his victim, and plunged the blade in again and again. Blood spattered his face and he roared again, lifting Tyrfing to the sky in triumph. 

As quickly as it had descended upon him, the Berserker fit suddenly passed. Heidrek shook his head and felt his vision clear. His chest still heaved from exertion, but his blood cooled and he felt calm again. Warm blood still dripped from the sword in his fist, however, staining his face and clothes. Heidrek looked down and saw his beloved brother, Angantyr, lying butchered on the ground at his feet, dead by his own hand. The curse of Tyrfing was let loose once more to wreck havoc upon the House of Arngrim.

Filled with horror and self loathing, Heidrek fled from the sight of his brother's body. But he kept the sword, and thus did doom stalk the House of Arngrim for yet another generation.....

.........more to come.......

Papa Don't Preach, or All in the (Berserker) Family, Part II

...........and now for the continuing story of Hervor the Shieldmaiden, of the House of Arngrim.

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If you read my last post, then you'll know all about Hervor, posthumous daughter of Angantyr, who was one of the twelve sons of Arngrim the Berserker. The House of Arngrim was not much mourned after their collective demise, and most folks had hoped that their deeds would be left to molder in the barrow on the small island of Samsø, along with the rotting remains of Angantyr and his brothers. But Hervor had no intention of letting her inheritance rust among her father's bones. She had every intention of carrying on her family's grand tradition of fighting for plunder, and for that, she needed her father's powerful dwarf-forged sword, Tyrfing.


And that's how Hervor found herself on a viking longship, sailing for a small haunted island off of Denmark, in search of her destiny. Her crew willingly followed her to Samsø, but refused to disembark upon that fearful blood-soaked soil. Eager as they were to follow the Berserker's granddaughter into battle, they had no interest in facing the spirits of the restless dead. They left Hervor there to find her father's grave on her own. As the sun sank below the ocean horizon, tiny flames rose from the ground. The flickering ghost lights led her to the barrow she sought, solitary in that abandoned place, with only a simple runestone to marking the final resting spot of the sons of Arngrim.

Nothing daunted, Hervor faced the dark mound and summoned the spirit of Angantyr, demanding the sword which his father had given him, so that she might wield it in turn. The tiny flames along the ground shuddered, but there was no response. Impatient, Hervor called out again, less respectful but with greater urgency. She would not leave without the sword. Again, her voice resounded in silence, with nothing but the moan of the wind to answer her. Enraged and desperate, Hervor shrieked curses upon the dead, wishing eternal torture upon the decaying flesh in the lonely barrow, where her father and uncles lay. That got a response.


Out of the barrow came a weary voice, rusty from lack of use, carrying with it the stench of the grave. Angantyr had heard his daughter, but was reluctant to give up the sword whose curse had brought destruction upon their family. He pleaded with her to leave it there, and to leave the dead in peace. But Hervor would not leave empty-handed. Back and forth they argued and threatened, he reciting the curse, and she implacable in her abuse. Time seemed to slow, with nothing but the dull lights of the dead to keep her company in this spectral colloquy. Until finally, Hervor saw a pale white bone stretch out from the mound, hurling something long and glinting through the air. End over end it turned, before plunging into the dirt by her foot with a vicious thud. It was Tyrfing.





With a shout of triumph, Hervor seized her prize and called out her thanks to her father's spirit. There was no reply, but with the sword in her grip, she left the haunted place filled with excitement, eager to seek her fortune at last. Reclaiming her ship and crew, Hervor picked up where her father and grandfather had left off. True to its nature, Tyrfing could not be unsheathed without taking a life, and Hervor was well-pleased with the terror which she inspired. For years, she led her viking crew from settlement to settlement throughout northern Europe, sowing death and destruction and looting as it pleased her. In time she amassed a considerable fortune in ill-gotten goods; somewhat surprisingly, she found herself tiring of blood sport and decided to settle down.

With her impressive dowry, Hervor had her pick of suitors, and she married a viking prince. She sheathed Tyrfing for the last time, and lived with her husband in peace, bearing him two sons. The elder one she named for her father, Angantyr; against all expectations, he was both handsome and well-liked, making friends easily. But Hervor's younger son, Heidrek, was quarrelsome and given to unprovoked acts of violence. Hervor's husband was fond of Angantyr, but looked with disfavor upon Heidrek. The prince had heard dark rumors of his wife's forebears and their reputation; he knew that something would have to be done about his second son, lest disaster strike the House of Arngrim once more..................


.......to be continued.......