Grendel

Character Analysis

A Monster of a Protagonist

So, Grendel. On the one hand, he's about the most sensitive character we get in this novel, and he's susceptible to things like beauty and innocence. On the other, he's a monster who eats people.

No matter which way you slice it (pun totally intended), Gardner isn't making it easy on any of us—Grendel included. The identity conflict that rages inside Grendel bubbles over in the most dramatic ways, creating a fearful character with what looks like a split personality:

I hung balanced, a creature of two minds; and one of them said—unreasonable, stubborn as the mountains—that she was beautiful. I resolved, absolutely and finally, to kill myself, for love of the Baby Grendel that used to be. But the next instant, for no particular reason, I changed my mind. (110)

But Gardner doesn't stop there. Not only is Grendel complicated and conflicted, so are Hrothgar, Unferth and Beowulf—right down to characters with smaller roles, like Ork. Everyone has a little surprise in his or her personality, something we can't see coming even if we've read the right kinds of books and know how kings, heroes, villains and high priests are supposed to act.

Even Beowulf isn't going to help us out too much.

Grendel himself is often surprised by the unexpected ways other characters think and act. In some cases (like in his encounters with Ork and Beowulf), these can be nasty surprises that derail his philosophies and make him doubt his purpose even more. Take a look at what happens when he sees the beautiful Wealtheow for the first time, after he's already determined that mankind is disgusting:

My chest was full of pain, my eyes smarted, and I was afraid—O monstrous trick against reason—I was afraid I was about to sob. I wanted to smash things, bring down the night with my howl of rage. But I kept still. She was beautiful, as innocent as dawn on the winter hills. She tore me apart as once the Shaper's song had done. (100)

Grendel realizes that if he can appreciate Wealtheow's inner and outer beauty, then he's not the monster he and others make him out to be. In fact, he might just be less monstrous than the humans who don't have a problem with turning the lovely Wealtheow into a body they can trade to consolidate power.

A Magnet for Our Moral Compass

Okay, we'll admit it: we like the bad guy. There's just no escaping it. After all, we're getting such an intimate glimpse into Grendel's mind that it would be hard not to feel captivated by and sympathetic toward him. We can also feel Gardner tugging at our heartstrings every time Grendel has a nasty experience—which is pretty often.

It's hard not to identify with a broken-hearted, outcast creature who cries: "Why can't I have someone to talk to?" (53).

Grendel is extra lonely because while he's not quite human, he's also too thoughtful and sensitive to be able to just hang with the cave-dwellers and forest creatures. He's neither one thing nor the other.

In fact, his isolation seems almost inexplicable—until he hears that Shaper's harp. It's the Shaper who lets Grendel in on the dark secret of his legendary past: "He told of an ancient feud between two brothers which split all the world between darkness and light. And I, Grendel, was the dark side, he said in effect. The terrible race God cursed" (51).

That's it, right there. Grendel's doomed to a life of suffering and loneliness because of the supposed actions of some wicked ancestor.

In Beowulf, that little tidbit of information makes Grendel pure, 100% villain—he is a monster, and he is evil by nature. Gardner takes this backstory and spins it in a different way by asking a big question: how can it be fair to inherit wickedness genetically?

Gardner twists us up in knots by endowing Grendel with fangs, claws and fur—and the ability to think, feel, and reason. That was never part of Grendel's original contract, and it gives him a depth and complexity that can be pretty tough for us to make sense of. On top of that, the reason he comes to act so badly is that the Shaper casts him in the role of villain. Grendel feels that he has to be bad since that's the only identity given to him.

So sure, the Grend may eat people (okay, even children), but he's also a victim of human—and natural—brutality many times throughout the story. He suffers grinding loneliness and the burden of being hated and cursed, and all for nothing. It's hard to see any creature put through the ringer like that and not have a soft place in our hearts for him.

Despicable Him

There's always a danger, though, in being too charmed by any guy with claws.

It's surprisingly easy to overlook the fact that Grendel's a monster. For one thing, he's got a wicked sense of humor that endears him to us immediately. We even agree with him a lot of the time when he mentally takes the humans down a few notches. Take Unferth, for instance. Who doesn't laugh when Grendel corners him and makes him pay for his "heroic ideals"?:

He lifted his sword to make a run at me, and I laughed—howled—and threw an apple at him. He dodged, and then his mouth dropped open. I laughed harder and threw another. He dodged again. "Hey!" he yelled. A forgivable lapse. And now I was raining apples at him and laughing myself weak. (85)

Since the "heroes" of the story are less than heroic, we don't mind joining the monster in laughter when he gets even with them. Part of our minds registers this behavior as bullying, pure and simple, but it doesn't matter. Grendel's got us because he can show us how ridiculous and unworthy human beings are—and just how funny it is when he pulls one over on them. We don't even seem to mind when part of the "joke" is swallowing people whole:

"Woe, woe, woe!" cries Hrothgar, hoary with winters, peeking in, wide-eyed, from his bedroom in back. His wife, looking in behind him, makes a scene. The thanes in the meadhall blow out the lights and cover the wide stone fireplace with shields. I laugh, crumple over; I can't help myself. In the darkness, I alone see clear as day. While they squeal and screech and bump into each other, I silently sack up my dead and withdraw to the woods. (12)

Grendel's got a diabolical sense of humor, one that's designed to make us betray our loyalty to our own kind. Humans look kind of like petty little mice scurrying away from a superior being.

It can also be really hard to see Grendel for what he really is since his observations are truthful and interesting: his razor-sharp commentary about humankind—in particular humans' religious and political practices—is clear-sighted and just. He's kind of like the Jon Stewart or Stephen Colbert of his time, with the difference that he, you know, eats people and stuff.

So we've got to keep up our guard. Grendel is charming, witty, and victimized, and he knows how to frame a story. Everything we read about the story and its characters comes from Grendel. Sure, that makes us like him, but that doesn't mean we should take everything he says as the pure, objective truth.

After all, Grendel is a pretty hot mess. We might be able to chalk his issues up to a rough childhood or to cursed genealogy, but he's still a monster and a murderer. It doesn't really matter that humans do bad things, too. After all, two wrongs don't make a right. Right?

Gardner puts us in a tough spot in this respect. Are we supposed to like Grendel or not? Is he better or worse than Beowulf and the humans? Are they the same? How much do we have to revise our moral codes if we want to sympathize with either side? Why is Grendel fated to have such a horrible fate? Is it fate?