This article was written by Agnieszka Stefaniec, Lecturer in Management Science, University of Southampton, and Keyvan Hosseini, Enterprise Fellow, Sustainable Mobility, University of Southampton. It was first published by .

Norway is set to make history by becoming the first nation to sell only zero emission vehicles by the end of 2025. While this doesn’t mean that fossil fuel-powered cars already on the road will suddenly disappear there, it marks a decisive shift towards their eventual obsolescence.

Imagine a world where petrol and diesel vehicles are no longer an option – a bold step towards a greener future. Norway is strikingly close to this goal. 

If it succeeds, this will redefine what’s possible in the green transition. Consider this: in 2024, fully electric cars accounted for a staggering 88.9% of all new vehicle sales in Norway. Every year, this number draws nearer to the elusive 100% target (the zero emission category includes a small fraction of hydrogen-powered vehicles, most are electric).Ìę

Could Norway reach 100% by this year’s end? It’s a gripping challenge – but there is a barrier that it needs to address to achieve this. Among  zero emission cars sold last year, there are no small non-SUV vehicles. Can Norway, and other countries, reach their targets selling only large cars?

Why affordability is the missing piece

 shows that affordability is a tool to get everyone on board. When lower-income households face affordability barriers, it’s not just their problem – it’s the missing link to achieving 100%. Smaller, more affordable electric cars could be the game changer needed to bridge this gap.

For every 100 cars sold in Norway, nearly 90 are electric. ±őČÔÌę, the runner-up in this global ranking, it’s just over 50. Elsewhere, few countries have reached or are even approaching a one-third market share for electric vehicles (EVs).

Most of these are in Europe, with China also nearing that benchmark. The UK sits at just , falling short of the top ten.

Subsidies make the difference

Why is Norway so far ahead? A mix of policies, cultural attitudes and the sheer availability of EVs play a role. But one factor stands out: subsidies. Generous, comprehensive  are driving this change.

In Norway, buying an electric car isn’t just a green choice – it’s an affordable one. Subsidies and incentives bring electric car prices in line with, or below, those of petrol and diesel cars.

Substantial exemptions from purchase tax and VAT, along with other perks, make electric car ownership remarkably appealing. And it’s financed not only through taxes but by Norway’s oil and gas revenue. Even with some limits on luxury models, the support remains unmatched.

The UK’s missed opportunity

But what about the UK? With the  – a government scheme that helped reduce the cost of buying an electric car – scrapped, the remaining modest subsidies pale in comparison to Norway’s all-encompassing support. If there’s one takeaway from Norway’s success, it’s that half-measures won’t cut it.

The challenge lies in addressing the affordability gap. Subsidies don’t always reach those who need them most. ±őČÔÌę, our research reveals a troubling trend. Grants often end up in the hands of wealthier households – those who could afford an electric car without help.

Meanwhile, lower-income households, the ones who would benefit most, are left behind. The result? People buy the vehicles they can afford, which are often fossil fuel-powered.

The consequences are hard to ignore. In cities like London, low-emission zones penalise drivers of polluting vehicles. If you can’t afford an EV, you’re stuck paying more to drive or park in city centres. It’s a vicious cycle that disproportionately affects those with fewer resources.

Targets worth reaching

This isn’t just about fairness. It’s about meeting climate targets. Take , for example. To achieve its emissions goals, the country needs a significant increase in electric car adoption.

Falling short means penalties for the country and missed opportunities to reduce emissions. Relying on households to shoulder the burden of the green transition is neither fair nor effective.

The UK faces similar challenges. Slow adoption rates suggest cost is a barrier. The lack of strong leadership and a roadmap to 2035 only adds to the problem. It becomes clear that more targeted support is needed.

Smaller, more affordable vehicles could play a crucial role in meeting climate targets. Even in a wealthy country like , 77% of households cannot afford medium-sized electric cars, while 38% cannot afford smaller EVs when factoring in car loans.

Without price cuts or higher subsidies, larger EVs will stay out of reach and fail to drive the transition forward.

The problem with bigger EVs

So do we even need big, luxury EVs? The trend towards larger vehicles, , isn’t new – but it’s growing rapidly. In Europe,  have jumped from one-tenth to half of all EVs sold in just five years.

Larger cars are more expensive, more resource-intensive, and more wasteful. Smaller vehicles, by contrast, are lighter, require fewer materials and emit fewer harmful particles from . They’re also safer for pedestrians and cyclists.

Smaller vehicles play a crucial role in clean and inclusive mobility. Achieving climate goals hinges on their adoption. Without them, meeting emissions targets – at least in Ireland – becomes far less likely. And if electric vehicles fail to deliver significant emissions reductions, their entire purpose in the transition to a greener future comes into question.

Smaller vehicles aren’t just practical; they are essential for meaningful progress. But electric cars – even the smaller ones – remain burdened by the  of private car ownership.

Ultimately, though, we also need fewer cars on our roads. A successful green transition must involve more car share schemes, improved access to public transport, and active travel such as walking and cycling.

This article was written by Agnieszka Stefaniec, Lecturer in Management Science, University of Southampton, and Keyvan Hosseini, Enterprise Fellow, Sustainable Mobility, University of Southampton. It was first published by .

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On August 27 1761, a Danish explorer started a small riot in the grand bazaar of Constantinople. Frederik Christian von Haven had been  buying Arabic and Persian manuscripts for the Danish royal library as part of an expedition sent to the Middle East by Danish king Frederik V.

This article was originally written by the University of London’s , and first published by our friends at . It is republished here with kind permission.

Von Haven was confident – perhaps overly so – in his abilities as a book collector. But on this particular day, things went wrong. 

When a Turkish bookseller offered him a book he didn’t like the look of, Von Haven tossed it aside dismissively.

At this, the booksellers at the bazaar  and came together to physically remove him from the area – trampling his hat in the process. The indignant explorer was left feeling disgruntled about the treatment he had endured.

The incident at the bazaar is a dramatic interlude in the diary kept by Von Haven throughout his journey with the other members of Denmark’s royal expedition.

It showcases Von Haven’s arrogance, both as a book collector and as a European in Constantinople. But what does it have to do with the study of the Viking Age?

The Study of Vikings

The sources that inform our knowledge of the Vikings come in many forms and languages. Among them are a series of geographical and eyewitness texts written in Arabic which discuss aspects of the Viking world.

They describe not only the Vikings at home in Scandinavia or raiding the coastline of al-Andalus, but also Viking traders and settlers across what is now Ukraine and Russia, .

Arguably the most famous Arabic source on the Rus is the travel account of Ahmad ibn Fadlan, a diplomat of sorts dispatched from Baghdad to Russia’s Volga river in AD921.

Read more: Miklagard: When the Vikings Reached Constantinople

Immortalised by the actor Antonio Banderas in The 13th Warrior (1999), Ibn Fadlan encountered a band of Rus slavetraders during his journey, and observed a funeral ceremony on the banks of the Volga.

 of the Rus and their funerary rituals has secured his reputation as an important source for the study of ritual and belief across the Viking world.

Nowhere else do we encounter  into this kind of Viking funerary ritual. 

The fullest surviving manuscript copy of Ibn Fadlan’s travel account was  by the historian .

Before that, European orientalists and Viking historians had spent just over a century piecing together this travelogue from the work of other geographers who had quoted him. 

Using geographer Yaqut al-Hamawi’s 13th-century Arabic encyclopedia , which contained excerpts of Ibn Fadlan’s travel account, a Danish orientalist  which outlined a series of Arabic and Persian descriptions of medieval Scandinavia and Russia. 

The author, Jens Lassen Rasmussen, had used manuscripts in Copenhagen’s royal library to introduce Ibn Fadlan to Europe.

As a Dane writing about historic accounts of people he saw as his “forefathers”, Rasmussen understood Ibn Fadlan’s Rus to be Scandinavian rather than Slavic. 

While other researchers, then and since, have argued the opposite in terms of the identity of the Rus, cultural parallels and trade networks have led Viking historians to consider the Rus to have Scandinavian connections.

Von Haven’s Role

In the wake of Von Haven’s book-buying brawl in 1761, his Arabic teacher, a Syrian man named François Barout, persuaded him that it would be wiser to stay at home and let books come to him, rather than risk a repeat experience.

Under Barout’s supervision, booksellers visited the Dane with curated selections of manuscripts for him to browse.

This was how Al-Hamawi’s 13th-century encyclopedia made its way into Von Haven’s possession – he bought it in a two-volume set for a relatively low price.

Al-Hamawi’s Dictionary of Countries did not immediately stand out as an important acquisition for the Danish royal library.

Indeed, Von Haven only bought the manuscripts because he knew Leiden University had a copy, and felt Copenhagen should follow suit.

But half a century later, it was these manuscripts which allowed Rasmussen to encounter Ibn Fadlan, and present him as a source which might interest Norse antiquarians. 

Ibn Fadlan’s account was quickly translated into other European languages, and as antiquarians  in the Vikings, Ibn Fadlan gained a reputation as the .

Viking scholarship  after the interest sparked by Rasmussen’s initial essay. The Copenhagen manuscripts purchased by Von Haven were soon forgotten in favour of other, more useful manuscript copies and more up-to-date research.

But without the boorish behaviour of a Danish visitor to Constantinople’s grand bazaar, Ibn Fadlan’s account of Rus on the Volga would not have surfaced in Denmark in time for a surge in interest in Arabic sources on the Vikings.

This article was originally written by the University of London’s , and first published by our friends at . It is republished here with kind permission.

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This article was written by Nora Ward, Lecturer in Philosophy, University of Galway. It was first published by our friends at .

Europe’s “wolf problem” is fast becoming a source of social and political tension. Relative  across the continent has led to calls for action from worried politicians and farming and hunting groups. And the European Commission has now proposed a , from “strictly protected” to “protected”, which could allow people to hunt wolves.

However, changing the protection status may not be the best solution, especially as only  in the EU have reached .

Instead, perhaps the time is ripe for a renewed focus on learning to live – again – with wolves. Proven prevention strategies, such as fencing and the use of guard dogs, play a critical role in this.

But the question may be fundamentally philosophical. Namely, it boils down to how to coexist – and the cultivation of ethical principles and values which undergird a successful coexistence.

‘Deep ecology’ and the equal right to exist

In this task, the work of Norwegian environmental philosopher Arne Néss (1912-2009) might be of help. Néss is known as the father of “deep ecology”, an ethical theory that contends that all life has intrinsic value.

Néss argued that all beings, whether human or nonhuman, have an equal right to exist and flourish, a principle he called “biospherical egalitarianism”.

As this applies to wolves, NĂŠss was clear: wolves have just as much a right to be here as we do.

NĂŠss wrote an  with biologist Ivar Mysterud stating: “The well-being of the species wolf as part of human and nonhuman life on Earth has value in itself!” As a result, they argued, “humans have no right to reduce this richness and diversity, including wolf habitats and races, except to satisfy vital needs!”

Despite this ostensibly radical challenge to human-centred ethical norms, NĂŠss demonstrated a pragmatic approach in how the principle of biospherical egalitarianism was applied in practice. For example, he considered the important contextual factors of local wolf-human interactions, writing:

For some sheep holders, the need to protect their sheep from wolves or to be in some way compensated is today vital. It means protecting the basis of their economy and home where they have lived for generations.

In addition to human interests, he also took seriously the moral obligation to reduce the suffering of sheep and other domestic animals. This is especially salient as humans have reduced the capacity of these species to evade wolves.

Mouflon, the wild ancestor of domestic sheep, do their best to avoid large predators by fleeing into mountains. In contrast, after thousands of years of selective breeding, modern livestock have fewer genetic defences and are left to fend for themselves in fenced-in fields. 

Man has a heart, not just a brain

NÊss avoided a one-size-fits-all answer to the question of wolves (a position other scholars ). But his focus on articulating general ethical principles to serve as a backdrop for contextual decisions may have importance in the increasingly heated and political nature of this rewilding debate.

For example, Néss used the term  to denote places which comprise humans and those species who play a clear role in human affairs. Challenging the tendency to define community only in human terms, Néss contended that this framing helps to “break down some of the barriers commonly erected between humans and any other forms of life within our common space”.

In doing so, this can open pathways for increased identification and empathy for nonhuman others – a capacity Néss believed all humans have, stemming from an inherent continuity between human and nonhuman life.

Indeed, as the pioneering American conservationist  similarly maintained, perceiving ourselves in a community with others is a prerequisite for moral action. In this case, it helps to make concrete the idea of a wolf’s right to exist – they are members of the community just like us.

Applying this ethical framework of “mixed communities” to current EU deliberations can have some benefits. For example, it may inspire the further development of creative, mutually beneficial solutions such as economic compensation for livestock losses – a move which Néss called for – as well as improving wolf-attack prevention. It may also play an effective role in countering the often-baseless fear and hysteria around wolves (Néss blamed the brothers Grimm for the animals’ bad public image).

Perhaps most important of all, though, is the potential for connecting with our emotional elements. As NĂŠss said: “Man has a heart, not only a brain.” 

To move towards a sustainable coexistence, it is not enough to appeal to abstractions about scientific benefits or devise perfectly efficient compensation schemes. This must also derive from a sense of solidarity with other species – a full recognition that, in Néss’s words: “Humans are not alone on this planet.”

Interestingly, as a  showed, most people living in rural communities in the EU already believe that wolves have a right to exist, corresponding with Néss’s relative optimism about the possibility of mixed communities. This is all the more important to remember in light of the worrying political divisiveness in relation to Europe’s so-called wolf problem.

This article was written by Nora Ward, Lecturer in Philosophy, University of Galway. It was first published by our friends at .

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Earlier this year,  for the first time that – as early as the ninth century – vikings brought horses, dogs and other animals  across the North Sea.

This article was written by Keith Ruiter, Senior Lecturer in History at University of Suffolk, and Harriet Evans Tang, Post Doctoral Research Associate at Durham University. It was first published by our friends at .

The prevailing assumption had been that enterprising viking armies had simply acquired horses (along with other items of plunder) in their . But these findings suggest that the depth of the relationships viking-age people had with animals have been dramatically underrepresented.

But why? After all, the vast majority of people – Scandinavian or otherwise – living through the viking age relied on farming to survive. Why has it taken so long for researchers to realise that these humans and animals sustained deep, complex, emotional and mutually enriching relationships? 

Past societies cared about humans, animals and things . Some humans could be owned, even viewed as objects and valued far less than some animals.

±őČÔÌę, we use both archaeology and texts to show that some horses in communities such as those of viking-age Scandinavia and Iceland could be seen as “people” themselves, capable of agency and worthy of careful and deliberate treatment.

Horses in human graves

Horses in the viking age were seen as , meaning they were capable of crossing physical and conceptual boundaries, travelling over different terrains, and even between worlds. They also held cosmological significance.

Read more: Viking Funerals: Burial Rituals from the Norse Age

Norse poetry depicts the god Odin riding to the land of the dead on his eight-legged horse . A newly-discovered bracteate – or pendant – bearing a runic inscription from Denmark might also suggest an association between Odin (or at least someone who identifies himself as “Odin’s man”) and a horse companion as far back as the early fifth century AD.

Historically, horse bodies in viking-age burials have been interpreted as , part of the possessions of the deceased in the afterlife, or as status symbols. But these interpretations miss something vital – the bond between horse and rider.

Horses have special relationships with their riders, as both have to learn to . In Norse poetry (some of which links to the viking age) horses were a vital part of warrior identities. Legendary poems about the heroes  and  depict heroes who are almost .

, the horse of Sigurd the dragon-slayer for example, is  after his death.

Evidence of partnerships between humans and horses has been found in burials from across northern Europe, from the grand ship burials of  and Gokstad, to the  of tenth-century Denmark, to the more modest . But horses weren’t just buried with men.

At  in SjĂŠlland, Denmark, a woman was buried with a horse next to her, one leg partially overlapping with the human body (above). Something about this human and this horse meant such an intimate arrangement was appropriate. 

The woman is thought to have been a ritual specialist, possibly a sorceress, buried with an iron-tipped copper rod and a range of other objects including some knives, a bucket and a small wooden box. A large flat stone, a dog which had been cut in half and some sheep bones, as well as some iron pins (possibly for fastening baggage to a saddle) and a dog chain completed the burial.

At , a tenth-century burial also has a . Like the woman at °Ő°ù±đ°ì°ùŽÇČÔ±đ°ù-łÒ°ùČâ»ć±đłóĂžÂá, they are thought to have been a ritual specialist.

But the woman wasn’t the only one buried with the tools of her trade. An iron rangle (a metal ring with smaller rings attached to it) was laid on the chest of the horse buried alongside her. When attached to wagon harnesses or bridles, the metal rings would jingle. It is thought that it may have played a role in .

Were these women buried with these horses because they had special relationships? Or because they were sorceresses? Or did being a sorceress entail close relationships with these animals? We believe that, among other rituals, horses appear to have been vital participants in the processes and practices of funerals.

Good to die with, good to live with

Research shows that relationships with horses have a host of benefits, . It’s interesting then, that there is a   and  that young men should . Horses are considered  and  even  in these texts.

The 13th-century saga  even depicts a woman who appears to benefit from a medieval form of , finding relief from her ailment by sitting on her horse as it is led around a field:

The most relief was offered to her by sitting on horseback, as Þórðr led her horse back and forth, and he did so, even though it was a great pain to him, as he wanted to try to comfort her.

In a time of ecological upheaval, looking to the past to understand the relationships humans have had with animals can inspire different approaches to the present and the future.

Given a  granting legal personhood and rights to a river, looking for historical analogies, such as the vikings and their horses, can encourage us all to continue to push for more responsible relationships with the non-human world.

This article was written by Keith Ruiter, Senior Lecturer in History at University of Suffolk, and Harriet Evans Tang, Post Doctoral Research Associate at Durham University. It was first published by our friends at .

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From Wagner to William Morris in the late 19th century, via Tolkien’s dwarves and CS Lewis’s The Last Battle, through to last year’s controversial film The Northman, Scandinavian gods and heroes have been central to the stories we tell ourselves.

Note: This article was written by , Professor and Tutorial Fellow in English, University of Oxford. It was first published by our friends at .

As professor of medieval European literature, I have been exploring Old Norse mythology since my undergraduate days. I have always been fascinated by the ways in which the old myths remain vital and relevant in the present, particularly now in various pop-cultural forms.

In my new book, , I explore how 10 key Norse myths and legends have been reworked over the last 200 years.

Although these stories have been influential since their discovery in 17th-century Europe, in recent years Norse narratives have exploded across fiction, Hollywood blockbusters, rock albums, opera, video games and TV shows – these are just a few of the cultural spheres in which Norse myths have been put to work.

Here I introduce three of the most important gods, the feminine divine in the form of valkyries and shield-maidens, and finally, the looming threat of ragna rök â€“ the end of the world.

Gods and monsters

The main gods – not so much the goddesses unfortunately – offer ways to think about different stages of masculinity. Odin, the all-father, is the leader of the Norse pantheon, creator of humankind and god of wisdom. He will die at ragna rök, devoured by the great wolf Fenrir.

Starting with the main character Wotan in Das Rheingold, the first part of Wagner’s  â€“ and also in Neil Gaiman’s 2001 epic American Gods, and Douglas Adams’ 1988 comic novel  â€“ Odin is a figure who senses that power is draining away from him.

Yet he ingeniously seeks out ways of clinging to his waning authority, cutting dodgy deals and manipulating his own flesh and blood through cunning and deceit.

The  has already killed off the aged god, for he embodies an older patriarchal principle, one that refuses to step aside for the next generation. 

In Norse myth,  main role is smiting giants with his great hammer Mjöllnir, patrolling the borders of the gods’ and human territory to keep out enemies. An indomitable performer of mighty feats, he is not always taken seriously in the myths: a favourite story involves him being forced to cross-dress as a reluctant and implausible bride.

So too, the modern Thor is often depicted as a bumbling loutish thug, reaching for his hammer instead of thinking things through. Contemporary writers, such as Joanne Harris and Francesca Simon, make him the butt of their tales for younger readers – the cross-dressing story makes for great comedy.

The god’s image has been rescued through his incarnation as the Mighty Thor. In Marvel comics and movies, he has learned maturity, how to wield and to restrain his power, and has come to care for others, both humans and his own people, the semi-divine Asgardians.

Marvel’s Thor is constructing a new kind of masculinity, one that understands that violence is not always the answer and which has learned the value of forethought and compromise. 

Half-god, half-giant, Loki is a strangely ambiguous being; in the Marvel Universe he is °ŐłóŽÇ°ù’s adoptive brother, though not in the original myth. He gets the gods out of tight situations – often ones that he himself has caused – but he will march against them with their enemies at ragna rök.

For novelist AS Byatt, he is the intellectual’s god, questioning and nonconformist, while Marvel and Disney have made Loki into a shape-changing, gender-bending cult hero, always ready with a quip as he double-crosses Thor once again.

A female perspective

Loki is also the father of monsters: his daughter Hel, goddess of death, is the heroine of Gavin Higgins and Francesca Simon’s chamber opera from 2019, .

Hel is a sparky teenager living with disability and consigned to a grim underworld, a girl whose story takes in love, vengeance and learning the true extent of her powers.

Warrior-maidens and fate-goddesses rolled in one, the valkyries range high above the battlefield, determining who shall live and who shall die. Wagner’s  is the most remarkable of the valkyries, the true heroine of his Ring Cycle, fulfilling her father Wotan’s will and finally bringing down the gods. 

Valkyries were also imagined as the battle-trained women warriors who now throng such TV shows as  and , skilled fighters who battle on an equal footing with men.

These women vividly dramatise aspects of contemporary femininity: effective in traditional masculine domains, wielding power and choosing their own lovers, yet still working out how to manage sexual relationships and motherhood alongside their professional identities.

Literally “the doom of the gods”, ragna rök lies in the mythic future for gods and humans: the powers of ice and fire will destroy the earth. Tolkien suggests that this inevitable ending shapes the northern spirit, kindling courage and resignation in the face of certain doom.

Wagner saw his GötterdĂ€mmerung (the twilight of the gods) as sweeping away the corrupt divine order, leaving a purified, empty world where free human beings could build anew. In HBO’s , humanity’s apocalyptic clash with the icy power of the Night King is resolved by one young woman’s courage and determination.

The Norse myths envisage a cleansed green world that rises again from the ocean, but the climate cataclysm towards which we are heading admits no such renewal. Perhaps we can learn from the gods’ bad faith and carelessness in time to avert the downfall that ragna rök foreshadows for us all.

Note: This article was written by , Professor and Tutorial Fellow in English, University of Oxford. It was first published by our friends at .

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With geologists hunting high and low for battery materials, an enormous new discovery of phosphate rock could have huge implications for the electric vehicle industry.

Note: This article was written by , Research Fellow, Birmingham Centre for Strategic Elements & Critical Materials, University of Birmingham. It was first published by our friends at .

The reserves, discovered in Rogaland, south west Norway by Anglo-Norwegian firm Norge Mining, are equivalent to at least .Ìę

This is very close to the  of world reserves that we already knew about.

Why phosphate matters

Phosphate is one of the key materials used in one type of lithium ion battery, known as “LFP”, and demand for these batteries – and the underlying phosphate – is . It is therefore a very big deal that some commentators have suggested this new deposit could meet the world’s phosphate rock needs for the .Ìę

Until this discovery, just five countries controlled , with 70% in Morocco alone. For now though it is China that mines the most phosphate rock, producing , with Morocco the next at 38 million tonnes.

This uneven distribution is a particular worry for those countries and regions that have missed out, as phosphate rock is considered a “critical material”. Critical materials are elements that are economically important but are at risk of sudden supply disruptions or generally .Ìę

The element phosphorus (phosphate is its naturally occurring form) is on the . In the UK, while phosphate rock is not on the critical materials list, it is instead on a .Ìę

Food v cars

The new discovery could avoid a looming  over scarce phosphate, perhaps with echoes of the “food vs fuel” dilemma as . Currently, about 90% of phosphate production goes into  (phosphorus is the “P” in NPK fertilisers).

The transport industry has to be more picky: only 10% of phosphorus found in sedimentary rock is suitable to make the  used in those LFP car batteries. Perhaps the new Norway reserves will mean both can have as much as they need.

Previously, there had been a greater focus on other ways to manufacture lithium ion batteries, involving nickel and other materials such as cobalt, manganese or aluminium. These batteries store more energy at the same weight.

However, they are themselves dependent on other critical elements ( for instance is mostly found in the Democratic Republic of Congo).

Read more: Driving an Electric Car in Norway

In comparison, the materials used to produce LFP batteries are relatively cheap and abundant – some in the industry have jokingly referred to them as “rust and fertiliser” batteries.

Elon Musk has said that his company, Tesla, plans to shift more of its vehicle production to LFP batteries, which offer  for medium range EVs and stationary storage, that over time.

They are also generally regarded as , they charge quickly and, unlike their rivals, they can be .

While the material used in LFP batteries does not perform quite as well (in terms of storage per weight) as nickel-based batteries, carmakers have tried to circumvent the problem by making the other components of the battery lighter. This could also .

But herein lies another challenge for LFP batteries. Because the materials used to make them are that much cheaper, there is less value to recover at the end-of-life for recyclers, which makes the .

The International Energy Agency has said LFP type batteries are used in 30% of the world’s new electric vehicles, and nearly all of this 30% is . The market for LFP batteries is forecast to grow from .

In this context, the discovery in Norway is potentially a massive boon for European automakers, as one of the key battery materials might now be located on the doorstep.

A long road to production

That said, it is always a long journey from , finding the resource represents the foot of the mountain. While the discovery is welcome, much must be done to mobilise this resource for the benefit of the battery industry.Ìę

If further exploration provides favourable results, Norway plans to fast-track the mine with an estimated .

So maybe some time in the next decade, you might enjoy your first trip in an electric car whose energy storage is enabled by Norwegian phosphate.

Note: This article was written by , Research Fellow, Birmingham Centre for Strategic Elements & Critical Materials, University of Birmingham. It was first published by our friends at .

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We often think of the Vikings as ultimate explorers, taking their culture with them to far-off lands. But we may not typically think of Viking age Scandinavia as a hub for migration from all over Europe.

This story is written by Professor Anders Götherström and Ricardo Rodriguez Varela from the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies at Stockholm University. It was first published by and is republished here with kind permission.

In a , we show this is exactly what happened. The Viking period (late 8th century to mid 11th century) was the catalyst for an exceptional inflow of people into Scandinavia. These movements were greater than for any other period we analysed.

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What’s also striking is that later Scandinavians don’t show the same high levels of non-local ancestry present in their Viking-era counterparts. We don’t completely understand why the migrants’ genetic impact was reduced in later Scandinavians, but there are some possibilities.

About the DNA study

We analysed genomes (the full complement of DNA contained in human cells) from around 17,000 Scandinavian individuals, including nearly 300 from ancient burials. We combined  with new samples. These were analysed together in a dataset spanning 2,000 years.

We used these genomes to explore when people arrived in the region from outside and where they came from. New DNA samples were collected from several iconic Swedish archaeological sites.

These included Sandby borg, which is a “ring fortress” , and the Vendel cemetery, which features several burials contained in large boats and dating to between the 6th and 8th centuries AD. We also used samples from Viking chamber burials and remains from Kronan, a  in 1676.

Migration to all of Scandinavia

Two previous studies  into Scandinavia . But in our latest study, we have clarified some of the details about this flow of genes into the region.

We found that movements of people from western Europe impacted all of Scandinavia, while migration from the east was more localised, with peaks in the Lake MĂ€laren Valley and Gotland. Finally, gene flow from southern Europe largely affected the south of Scandinavia.

Since the study was based on a 2,000-year chronology, it was not only possible to see there was an increase in migration during the Viking era, but also that it starts to fall with the onset of the medieval period.

The non-local ancestry that arrives in the region at this time falls away in later periods. Much of the genetic influence from eastern Europe disappears and the western and southern influence becomes significantly diluted.

Temporary migration?

The best way to explain this is that people who arrived in Scandinavia during Viking times did not have as many children as the people who were already living there.

There are different possible reasons for this. The migrants could have belonged to groups that did not intend to settle down in Scandinavia, instead aiming to return to where they came from. Tradespeople and diplomats are examples in this category.

Additionally, the migrants could also have belonged to groups that were not allowed to have families or children, such as slaves and priests.

Uralic ancestry

We also looked at influences that began at earlier periods in time. For example, the DNA of modern Scandinavians . This genetic “cline”, or gradient, is due to migrations into the region of people carrying shared genetic similarities known as the Uralic component.

Modern examples of where the Uralic genetic component can be found are among Sami people, people in modern Finland, some Native Americans and some central Asian groups.

In our dataset, we found occasional instances of people with Uralic ancestry – mainly in northern Scandinavia – during the Viking period and medieval times. But the Uralic influence seems to increase after this time, since individuals from our 17th century sample have similar levels of this ancestry to people living today.

Prestigious burials for migrants

There were many other fascinating stories from our study. For example, at the Viking age burial site of Sala, by the river SagÄn, we find a woman that seems to be fully British or Irish in her genomic composition.

This woman was buried in a prestigious Viking period boat burial. We don’t know exactly what position she held in society, but she would not have been a slave or a priest.

Among the individuals found on the wreck of the Kronan, there were two people who came from what is now Finland and another who has a genetic affinity with people from the Baltic states, such as Lithuania and Latvia (though this identification is not conclusive).

At the time of the Kronan incident in 1676, these areas were part of the Swedish Empire, though they are independent today.

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The work sheds more light on the historical events that shaped the populations of Scandinavia over time. The Viking age was marked by Scandinavians’ curiosity of the world outside their home region.

But, from our results, it also appears that the world outside this region was curious enough about the Vikings to travel to Scandinavia.

This story is written by Professor Anders Götherström and Ricardo Rodriguez Varela from the Department of Archaeology and Classical Studies at Stockholm University. It was first published by and is republished here with kind permission.

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This article was written by Marianne Hem Eriksen, Associate Professor of Archaeology, University of Leicester. It was first published by our friends at .

The discovery of the oldest recorded mention of the god Odin – usually known from much later stories of Norse mythology – pushes the age of this deity back at least 150 years to the early 5th century.

Odin is a complex and fascinating deity and the new find offers insights into the worldviews of ancient Scandinavians.

In 2020, a hoard of gold objects from the 5th century was found . Among the objects was a Scandinavian-style “bracteate” – a type of pendant modelled on Roman coins and medallions. 

More than a thousand of these  have been found across Europe. Most were likely made in south Scandinavia and feature depictions of animals and human or human-like figures.

The Vindelev bracteate is particularly large and displays a human head (probably male) and a galloping horse. The gold pendant has also been inscribed with runes – an alphabet used in Scandinavia for almost 1,000 years before the Latin alphabet took over.

Rune experts Lisbeth Imer and Krister Vasshus of the National Museum of Denmark and Sagnlandet Lejre museum have examined the inscription. While the full interpretation will be published next month, they have identified the name Jaga, or Jagaz, and the phrase “Odin’s man”.

Runes and bracteates all emerged from a melting pot of beliefs, ideas and technologies between the Roman Empire and their northern neighbours and attackers, the Germanic “barbarians”. The gold from which they were made and, probably, the Norse gods themselves came from the same pot.

Imer and Vasshus argue that Jagaz was a king and cult leader among a south Scandinavian tribe. However, when it comes to prehistoric iconography, scholars can be a bit obsessed with kings.

In reality, there is no direct information about who the figure is. He could be a warrior, a shaman, a medicine man – all or none of the above.

Odin: shaman, shape-shifter, queer?

Odin was a pan-Germanic god known as Wuotan, °Âƍ»ć±đČÔ and ÍŃĂ°Ÿ±ČÔČÔ across northern Europe before the conversion to Christianity (although belief in the Norse gods probably continued in remote areas for some time).

Odin, the king of the gods, was associated with war and the dead. According to later medieval sources, he ruled over the death realm known as Valhall (the hall of the slain warriors). We preserve his Old English name in our word Wednesday: °Âƍ»ć±đČÔ’s day.

In later written sources, Odin is known by , among them “the masked one”, “terrible/ugly one” and my personal favourite: “horsehair-moustache”.

Odin had shamanistic qualities. He  to gain wisdom and  (the world tree) for nine nights in order to learn to read runes.

Odin had the capacity to shape shift into animal form and could send his thoughts and intent into the world in the form of two ravens called . As 12-13th century Icelandic writer  :

Odin could transform his shape: his body would lie as if dead, or asleep; but then he would be in shape of a fish, or worm, or bird, or beast, and be off in a twinkling to distant lands.

Odin was a master of Čő±đŸ±Ă°°ù. ł§±đŸ±Ă°°ù was a magical, ritual practice involving chanting, drumming and seeing into the future or speaking with the dead.

According to Snorri, Odin learned Čő±đŸ±Ă°°ù from the goddess Freyja. However, because Čő±đŸ±Ă°°ù was associated with women and because its ecstatic components may have had sexual allusions, it was seen as unmanly. This has led some scholars to question whether Odin was a queer god, or gender fluid.

What does the Vindelev bracteate tell us?

Despite the popularity of the Norse gods today, much about their history remains uncertain. The historical sources describing these gods were written centuries after the fact by Christian authors. How reliably they describe Viking age beliefs has been debated. 

The find adds to several objects that confirm that the written sources are not purely the inventions of Christian authors in high medieval Scandinavia.

Whether the Odin of the Vindelev bracteate is quite the same character as the Odin of the medieval sources almost 1,000 years later is difficult to ascertain. But the name had deep roots among the Scandinavians. The new discovery also places the deity among the Germanic peoples who contributed to the fall of the western Roman Empire.

As a scholar researching the human body in the Iron and Viking ages , I am intrigued by the figure’s hair, which may be connected to  found in bogs in Scandinavia from centuries earlier. 

This provides clues about hairstyles and body ideals at the time and supports evidence that hair was an especially important and .

While the mention of Odin is unparalleled, the glimpse of Jagaz (whoever he was) is also fascinating. We can speculate that he lived in the early 400s in what is now Denmark, adorned his hair with a braid, believed in Odin and had a horse companion.

He may have practised something akin to Čő±đŸ±Ă°°ù. Perhaps he journeyed to the Roman Empire and , returning with experiences of exotic animals, enormous monuments, foreign languages and gods that his community would have difficulty grasping.

Perhaps he used his pay to have an exaggerated bracteate made, that he would ultimately sacrifice in a gold hoard in the ground.

Despite gaps in the story, the Vindelev bracteate opens new possibilities to imagine the decidedly foreign worlds of past people – and their gods.

This article was written by Marianne Hem Eriksen, Associate Professor of Archaeology, University of Leicester. It was first published by our friends at .

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Kirkenes in Norway's far northeast has long had close links with Russia. The Norway-Russia border town is now home to a group of Russian artists who fled their homeland and are now making their voices heard.

This article was written by Helena Gjone, PhD candidate (creative writing) at Griffith University, and originally published on . It has been republished here in full under the terms of their republishing license.

As an international student at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy in Moscow in 2012, I remember studying Rekviem (requiem) by Russian poet , an elegy she penned in secret as a tribute to the countless victims of Stalin’s murderous purges. 

Akhmatova’s writing revived the atrocities, delivering their darkness into the light. Her words spoke of constant fear permeating lives; of distrust, anxiety and betrayal; of the secret police arriving to drag you or your family away. 

To avoid detection and retribution, Ahkmatova whispered the poem to her friends who committed it to memory. She burned the incriminating scraps of paper.

In the first four-and-a-half months following Putin’s attack against Ukraine, over 13,000 anti-war protesters  in Russia.

Some estimates are that  fled Russia in early 2022, among them thousands of artists who no longer felt safe in the climate of increasing censorship.

Some of these artists have found themselves in Kirkenes, a small Norwegian town 15 kilometres from the Russian border.

Russia’s protest art

Russian and Soviet artists have a long history of art as protest.

The poem  (1933) authored by  depicted Stalin as a gleeful killer. Authorities imprisoned and tortured Mandelstam, then deported the poet to a remote village near the Ural Mountains. 

After returning from exile, he persisted writing about Stalin until he was sent to a labour camp in Siberia, where he died in 1938 at the age of 47. 

Under the comparatively liberal rule of Stalin’s successor  from 1953, the Soviet Union began to enjoy previously unimagined freedoms.

Protest art reflected these newfound liberties, becoming increasingly provocative and experimental. 

Many famous art movements surfaced during this period, including  â€” a fusion between Soviet and Pop Art — as Russian artists tested the boundaries, exposing the grim realities and unhappiness of life under Stalin’s regime. 

In 1962, the legendary composer Shostakovich set his  to a series of poems by his contemporary, Yevgeny Yevtushenko. One of these poems was Babi Yar, which criticised the Soviet government for concealing the  in a mass grave outside Kyiv.

In contemporary Russia,  came to the attention of the world in 2012 when members stepped behind the altar in Moscow’s golden-domed Christ the Saviour Cathedral wearing neon-coloured balaclavas to deliver a “punk rock prayer”. 

Their voices echoed off the cavernous, hand-painted ceilings, raging against Putin’s affiliation with the Orthodox church and the homophobic, anti-feminist policies that followed. 

They were sentenced to two years imprisonment.

Today,  reveal anonymous anti-war graffiti on the sides of buildings, “no war” chiselled into a frozen river, and yellow and blue chrysanthemums and tulips left at the feet of Soviet war memorials.

Cross-border collaborations

 (girls on the bridge) is an arts collective based in Kirkenes.

They have spent the past 25 years curating art projects to promote cross-cultural collaboration and tackle political problems in the borderland region. 

Pikene pĂ„ Broen is host to the the annual art festival Barents Spektakel (spectacle), an international artist residency including Russian, Norwegian and Finnish creatives, the gallery and project space Terminal B in Kirkenes town, and the debate series Transborder CafĂ©.

The venue has become a hub for open discussions relating to current political and cultural issues, drawing contributions from artists, musicians, writers, politicians and researchers.

Evgeny Goman, an independent theatre director from Murmansk, Russia – about 200 kilometres from Kirkenes – has been collaborating with Pikene pĂ„ Broen for over 10 years.

After moving to Norway in early 2022, Pikene pĂ„ Broen worked with Goman to organise Kvartirnik (from the word kvartira, meaning apartment), an online talk group for Russian and Norwegian artists to exchange ideas. 

Following Putin’s attack on Ukraine, Kvartirnik shifted to an underground movement for dissident artists. Ironically, the name Kvartirnik derives from the clandestine concerts arranged  during the Soviet Era when musicians were banned from performing in public.

 is one of several Russian protest art groups who participated in Kvartirnik. 

Pictures from the snow-decked Piskaryovskoye Cemetery in Saint Petersburg reveal members dressed as skeletons, holding placards reading: “are there not enough corpses?”.

I spoke with Goman about the art coming out of Kvartirnik today. “In peaceful times, art is more about entertaining,” he says.

But in war and conflict, art is more important because it’s the language we use to express our pain. And through metaphors and symbolism, it allows us to speak about things that are censored.

Countering propaganda

Kvartirnik collaborators in Murmansk have also produced and distributed  (self-publishing), an anonymous newsletter containing art suppressed by the state. 

“We have to be really smart now about how we do things in Russia,” Goman says. “Subtle.”

Goman is pessimistic about Russia’s future. But he believes the key to moving forward is keeping communication open. He tells me the West’s decision to  has backfired on their plan to pressure Putin into ending the war against Ukraine. 

Instead, he says, the divide is steadily increasing, leaving dissident artists isolated inside a country operating on fear and propaganda, furthering Putin’s agenda. 

“Putin wants us to not affect Russian minds. And that’s why we have to keep the dialogue going,” he says of the importance of cross-border collaborations like those he has undertaken in Kirkenes.

If we stop communicating, Putin wins. Propaganda wins.

This article was written by Helena Gjone, PhD candidate (creative writing) at Griffith University, and originally published on . It has been republished here in full under the terms of their republishing license.

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Recently, scientists in Hornsund, Svalbard – a Norwegian archipelago in the Arctic ocean – witnessed a polar bear pursuing a reindeer into the sea before killing it, dragging it ashore and eating it.

The video that they captured was widely shared on news and social media platforms. Then, two days later, they saw the same bear beside a second fresh reindeer kill. 

Their observations are the  of a complete and successful polar bear hunt of a Svalbard reindeer. But they follow  of polar bears preying and scavenging on reindeer on the same archipelago between 1983 and 1999.

The diet of polar bears

These are far from the first accounts of polar bears varying their diets. Normally, in the months when the sea is frozen, they enjoy a diet of offshore seals.

Read more: 21 Interesting Facts About Polar Bears

But their use of supplementary food sources in the leaner summer months has been known for decades, with bears gorging on  as well as feeding at the  (a rubbish and recycling facility) in Hudson Bay. Yet, similar reports of terrestrial feeding have .

From stalking and chasing , fishing for  and catching  to grazing on  and patrolling , polar bears can eat, have eaten and have tried to eat many things.

But the viability of these onshore food sources is doubtful as a long-term strategy. In their study of foraging on the eider duck nests of Mitvik island, Canada, researchers found polar bears to be , such that the energy an individual bear gains from eggs may be less than previously thought. That’s because they may use more energy to find the eggs than they get from eating them.

Equally, other studies have found that the consumption of terrestrial food by polar bears has been  for reduced hunting opportunities out on the ice. 

The climate change threat

Polar bears have evolved to be highly efficient . They support themselves on a fat-heavy diet and rely on ice-based prey, primarily ringed and bearded seals. As a result, they are .

With rising global temperatures, Arctic sea ice is melting earlier in summer and refreezing later in winter. And as the ice-free periods become longer, polar bears are spending  without access to their primary food.

Their situation is being made worse by other factors, too. A recent study found the  of polar bears to be higher than previously assumed. With less time on the sea ice, and less seal fat to consume, polar bears will find it more difficult to meet their energy needs – leading to higher death rates. At the same time,  may make hunting seals harder still.

Therefore, increasing reports of summer scavenging, foraging and terrestrial hunting are unsurprising in the context of climate change, high energy stress and the resulting effect on their bodies. 

Burdened by publicity

The proliferation of digital platforms plays a part in this story, too. As Andrew Derocher, a professor of biology at the University of Alberta and longtime polar bear expert, explained: “” and “‘news’ spreads fast”. He rightly pointed out that if the same phenomenon was happening in the 1950s and 1960s, no one would likely have seen it.

Over the past few years, photos and videos of polar bears have garnered enormous online attention. From 56 bears , to tragic sequences of , polar bears are being used as the face of our climate catastrophe.

More research is needed

While the broad relationship here is undeniable – a sea ice species cannot live in an above freezing future – polar bears now inhabit a world where their every action is viewed as evidence in a wider climate change context.

Amplified in our digital age, we see bears as the embodiment of our worsening global condition. 

While their plight is rightly brought to our attention, online content can be misdirecting. A focus on individual bears to illustrate climate issues risks shifting the burden of proof away from overwhelming scientific evidence and onto the lives of single animals.

Therefore, observations like those in Hornsund reinforce the need for further peer-reviewed research on the future of this iconic species.

This single event should not be seen as definitive proof of shifting diets in a warmer world, but as a reminder of the spectacular creatures we stand to lose. A species whose fate, even in the distant reaches of their Arctic landscape, is inexorably bound to our own.

This article was written by , PhD, University of Cambridge. It was first published by our friends at , and is republished here with permission.

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