The specifics of the Baldr legend divide into two mythological strains: Saxo and Snorri. Popular culture embraces the latter version (and its inclusion of the mistletoe) with readiness. Nevertheless, the Saxo account may sound familiar to those versed in classical and medieval literature. Anatoly Liberman, author of “Some Controversial Aspects of the Myth of Baldr,” summarizes both events succinctly (and with copious research). The summaries below loosely paraphrase Liberman’s retelling:

1. The Saxo account reveals a battle for the love of the beautiful mortal, Nanna. Balder, son of Odin and a mortal woman, sees Nanna bathing from afar and resolves to enter into courtship. Meanwhile, Høther, Nanna’s foster brother, has been pursuing the maiden’s affections at home. Høther is warned by Valkyries (forest maidens) to avoid retaliating against Balder. Yet Nanna’s father encourages the young mortal warrior to appeal to Miming, a satyr possessing powerful weapons capable of ending Balder’s life, for aid. Høther overcomes great obstacles in this quest and receives the satyr’s magic weapons as a reward, even as Balder invades Nanna’s homeland and demands her hand in marriage. Nanna, preferring Høther’s companionship, rejects him with crafty arguments as to her own inferiority. So Balder wages war and defeats the Saxon armies. But not before Høther returns, marries Nanna, and flees the land. In revenge Balder challenges Høther to battle and defeats the mortal. Nevertheless, the demigod suffers from torturing dreams of his lost love and even a battle victory cannot cheer him. Eventually, another battle between Høther and the demigod Balder transpires after which Høther, shamefully beaten a second time, banishes himself to a wilderness. Valkyries, once again, discover the discouraged mortal and convince him to fight Balder again. They reveal the secret source of Balder’s power–an enchanted, untouchable food–and incite Hector to expose his enemy’s vulnerability with the protection of a magic belt and girdle. This time Høther “inflicts a mortal wound” which kills Balder after three agonizing days.

2. The more popular Snorri version involves a trickster and the infamous mistletoe. Odinn’s son, Baldr, suffers from unrelenting nightmares foretelling his death. His mother, Frigg, fraught with concern, garners an oath from fire, water, iron, animals, birds, rocks, and other objects that they will not harm her son. Yet Frigg overlooks the young mistletoe offhand, assuming it to fragile to harm the demigod. In true collegiate fashion, the gods, discovering Baldr’s mysterious immunity, gleefully haze Baldr. (They set him up as the target at their rock-throwing contests and the like since he can’t be injured.) But petty jealousy arises in Loki, who disguised as a woman, tricks Frigg into revealing Baldr’s secret. After hearing Frigg admit to overlooking the mistletoe, Loki tears off part of the plant and tricks a blind god (some say Baldr’s brother) into tossing it at Baldr. To the surprise of all, Baldr immediately dies as the plant penetrated his flesh. His flaming, funeral pyre is launched by Hyrrokkin, a giantess. After the ring Draupnir is thrown into the fire, Nanna (Baldr’s wife) collapses in grief and her dead body was thrown on top of Baldr’s burning one. In response to the gods’ pleas, Hel promises to release Baldr only if everything on earth will weep for his death. All comply except for a giantess, who many claim was Loki in disguise; true to their word, the dead keep Baldr captive.

OK. Surprise!!! Our mistletoe habits are a deathly amoretto of a deadly, poisonous nettle. Natives might have been just as surprised by this little death-by-mistletoe trick, since Iceland is one of the few places mistletoe (or the multitudes of its familial varieties) doesn’t grow (a fact for which I’m unapologetically taking Liberman’s word). This account of mistletoe as a deadly weapon flies in the face of worldwide lore, commonly viewing the mistletoe as a fertility sign. Scandinavians, who heard the legendary properties of mistletoe late in the game, may have misinterpreted mistletoe’s lore. For example, the language in the Snorri tale seems to suggest that Icelanders thought it may be a tree, since it is represented as a plant standing tall and slender. (Linguistic study suggests that the word mistelten/mistilteinn might have originally meant something as generic as a winter green.) Of course, the Snorri tale’s employment of a plant-death isn’t as mysterious. Death by plant is as synonymous to mythology as death by poison is to the opera.

Still, why kiss beneath the mistletoe? Pop mythology claims that the little white berries on the mistletoe represent the tears of Frigg for her son, a god of light and vegetation. In the popular version of the Snorri legend, Baldr gains resurrection through the tears of his heart-broken mother. Out of gratitude, Frigga, kissing all who pass beneath the plant, declares the mistletoe a symbol of love.

English fiction has long recorded the Christmas tradition of kissing beneath mistletoe. In his short story “Christmas Eve” from The Sketch Book, Irving suggests via footnote that kissing under the mistletoe was a limited privilege:

The mistletoe is still hung up in farm-houses and kitchens at Christmas, and the young men have the privilege of kissing the girls under it, plucking each time a berry from the bush. When the berries are all plucked the privilege ceases.

Likewise, Dicken’s Pickwick Papers describes the following bedlam that erupts when a mistletoe is hung:

From the centre of the ceiling of this kitchen, old Wardle had just suspended with his own hands a huge branch of mistletoe, and this same branch of mistletoe instantaneously gave rise to a scene of general and most delightful struggling and confusion; in the midst of which, Mr. Pickwick, with a gallantry that would have done honour to a descendant of Lady Tollimglower herself, took the old lady by the hand, led her beneath the mystic branch, and saluted her in all courtesy and decorum.

Such romantic and sentimental descriptions seem ironic after all this research. Needless to say, this year I’ll be caught under the mistletoe with thoughts of Frigg and Baldr running through my head.

Ms. Flood, who considered herself a friend of the Madoff family, was as shocked as anyone else when she heard Bernie Madoff, a former chairman of the NASDAQ stock exchange, had pulled off a massive ponzi scheme. Madoff’s investment firm, it turns out, was a total bluff.

As Flood’s interview progressed, I caught myself paralleling the dramatic narrative to a familiar fairy tale Hans Christian Anderson told a few centuries ago. Any guesses?

“[Madoff] only took people who had a million dollars. And everyone wanted to be there because nobody thought that they would ever lose any money…You made money all along. The statement was a series of stocks that went up or down, and so there were about fifty stocks. And you’d get a statement once a month. You could never talk directly to Bernie Madoff. He was not available, even to friends, I mean, even to me he was not available. And you’d get a statement and you couldn’t read the statement and nobody could understand what the statement said. But after trying to figure out apples and oranges, you know, my accountant would say: ‘Well, the thing is…he’s always making money!’ And ‘always making money’ sounded very good to all of us…on paper, I grew [money]…Nobody, even though we thought it was strange, nobody ever really sat down and said: ‘Wait a minute, this doesn’t make any sense!’ Until now.”