I’d wager that virtually everyone of Western European descent remembers listening when they were children to the tale of the Three Billy Goats Gruff. Although Norse in origin, this story of goats and a troll spread far beyond the borders of Norway. It was the medieval equivalent of a viral video. Do you remember how it goes?
The Story
Three brothers want to graze on the other side of a river but must cross a bridge to get there. A troll lives under the bridge, and when the first goat, the youngest and smallest, tries to cross, the troll blocks his path and threatens to eat him. The goat is a crafty creature and tells the troll that his older brother is just behind him. “If you let me pass, then you can have him instead. He’s bigger and has more meat on his bones. He will make a much better meal.” The troll falls for the ruse and lets the youngest goat pass.
When the second brother appears, the troll blocks his path and makes the same threat. Because the second brother has been texting with the first, he knows what to say: there’s an even bigger brother coming and he has even more meat on his bones. Again, the troll falls for the ruse and lets the second brother pass.
When the third brother appears, the troll makes the same challenge. But this time, the goat is so big that the challenge is laughable. The third brother butts the troll from the bridge and the ugly creature drowns in the river below. Henceforth, the goats are free to come and go as they please.
Modern Trolls
Periodically, trolls make a resurgence in the popular imagination. In the 20th century, J.R.R. Tolkien breathed new life into the troll myth, as did J.K. Rowling in the 21st. Most readers of blogs have done battle with trolls on comment threads and online forums. “Don’t feed the trolls,” our frustrated brethren plead. If we feed these ugly beasts, they will only grow stronger and become more obnoxious. As children, many of us did battle with trolls in the playground when we encountered bullies who threatened to beat us up if we didn’t do as they said. The ensuing exchange would go something like this:
“If you touch me, my big brother will kick your ass.”
“Just let him try. My big brother’s bigger than your big brother and he’ll knock his teeth out.”
“Yeah, well my big brother’s best friend is a black belt and he’ll…”
etc. ad infinitum
What I note about all these modern trolls, from Tolkien to the playground bully, is that none of them lives under a bridge. For me, the bridge is an essential part of the story. It is the means of passage from one domain to another. In the Norse story, it is the route to greener pastures. In symbolic terms, we might view the bridge as the path to change in our lives, and the troll represents all the fears that keep us from fulfilling that change. This is a straight-forward and heart-warming reading of the troll myth. But recently, I’ve had encounters with trolls and bridges that lead me to question both the origins and meaning of the myth.
The first of my encounters was last year when I ventured under the Bathurst Street bridge near Old Fort York and found fire pits, wooden pallets for beds, blankets slung over a fence to dry, cooking utensils, even discarded feminine hygiene products.
The second encounter was under the bridge which spans Rosedale Valley Road where the subway enters Sherbourne Station. I was hunting for graffiti on the concrete walls that are hidden by the dense trees there. I found a couch, an end table, and pallets for beds. As I was taking a photo of a mural, a man emerged from under the bridge. It scared the hell out of me and I ran away.
The third encounter came just two weeks ago. Again, I was hunting for graffiti and ventured under the Wilson Avenue bridge just east of Yonge Street. When I first peered under the bridge, I drew up short, my heart pounding. I thought I saw bodies hanging from the joists and swaying on the breeze. My first impulse was to run away, but I had my dog with me. Whatever happened, my killer poodle would protect me. Because my dog wasn’t spooked by the scene, I paused and took a closer look. When my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I saw that what I had taken for bodies was, in fact, full-length fireman’s coats hung up to dry. I was visiting someone’s home. They had constructed an elaborate shelter from boxes and green plastic garbage bags.
Rethinking The Story
Could it be that the troll myth warrants a more literal interpretation? If vaguely human creatures can be found under bridges in a modern welfare state like Canada, is it not likely that even more such creatures lurked beneath the bridges of medieval Europe? If we, who spout our liberal platitudes about compassion and solidarity with the marginalized, nevertheless find ourselves struck through the heart with fear and loathing at the sight of a bridge-dweller (I offer myself as a case in point), is it not likely that medieval Europeans, who had no recourse to such platitudes, would simply demonize the ugly creatures? I find it plausible to suppose that such bridge-dwellers were the inspiration for this story.
While I recognize that the term “scapegoat” doesn’t come from this story, I wonder if our billy goats didn’t scapegoat the troll. After a day of satisfying their boundless sense of entitlement with hearty grazing on the far banks of the river, these three boys probably went home to their she-goats and kids and told wild tales of the troll, a dirty wretched homeless person who had approached them, hungry and begging for food. They had done the only thing possible in those circumstances. They had killed the beast. Maybe the goats would conclude with a caution to their kids: they had killed this troll and so, for the time being, they were safe, but there were other trolls. There would always be other trolls. An endless line of them stretching for as far as the eye could see, and all of them clamouring for shelter and food.
The goats might finish their cautionary speech by reminding the kids of words found in the holy herders scripture: “the trolls will always be with us.” Or worse: “the trolls shall inherit the earth” and the goats couldn’t let that happen!
It’s been a long time since I last read from the holy herders scripture. Remind me again. What is it that happens to the goats?