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The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, the latest of J.R.R. Tolkien's works edited and published posthumously by Christopher Tolkien, will delight not only diehard Tolkien devotees and students of Old Norse and Old English literature, but also lovers of the ancient tales of gods and heroes that we read (or had read to us) as children.

The book contains two poems: the Völsungakviða en nýja, or The New Lay of the Völsungs, and the Guðrúnarkviða en nýja, or The New Lay of Gudrún. But don't be put off by the unfamiliar letters and strange accents. Tolkien reserves the Norse language for the titles, retelling the tales themselves in clear and energetic alliterative verse. And the editor includes commentaries and appendices that fill in details, explain sources and outline the historical events behind the poems, suggesting how history became imbued with myth and legend to create the stories that Tolkien retells here.

The New Lay of the Völsungs is divided into the Beginning (Upphaf) and nine subsections, each a story in itself, but also part of the larger legend. The lay recounts the story of the rise of the Völsungs, culminating with the hero, Sigurd the dragon-slayer (better known by the Germanic name Siegfried), his fostering by the smith Regin, his adventures, marriage and alliance with the Gjúkings (named for their king, Gjúki, father of Gudrún).

• The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún, by J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien, HarperCollins, 377 pages, $34.95

The New Lay of Gudrún continues the story of Gudrún after Sigurd's death: her grief, her marriage to Atli, king of the Huns and long-standing enemy of the Gjúkings, and her revenge. The tales abound with all the requisite themes: heroic deeds, dragon treasure, greed, vengeance, ancestral swords, oaths, love, betrayal, omens, portents, cryptic symbols and supernatural gifts.

The lays themselves are a masterpiece of retelling and reinvention. There are gaps in the story, as Tolkien imitates the terse narrative form of Norse poetry, which assumes the readers' knowledge of ancient tales. But these lacunae are compensated for not only by the prose introductions to each tale and the commentaries that follow each lay, but also by artful structure and imagery.

The tales themselves often fill in the gaps: For example, Regin's story of the dragon Fáfnir's treasure (section V, stanzas 7-14) fills in details omitted from the story of Andvari's Gold (section I). Likewise, the disparate tales are bound together by self-referential spirals of imagery (such as fire and gold), motifs (the taunting of the hero, the evil Queen, poisoned or charmed food and drink), foreshadowing (in prophecy and dreams) and verbal repetition. The book would be worth the read for richness of the tales alone.

But that is not all there is. For these lays are not merely retelling of Norse legends in modern English; they are carefully and deliberately structured in the form of Old Norse verse, based on stress and alliteration rather than rhyme and metre. In the introduction, which is framed as far as possible in his father's own words, Christopher Tolkien gives a brief but cogent introduction to Old Norse poetry and its forms, satisfactory to the scholar, but addressed to the reader who is a newcomer to alliterative verse in any of its forms.

“ The stark narrative is enriched and extended by the force of the language: One can hear the sounds of battle, smell the slaughter”

Yet because these are retellings rather than translations of any one particular source, Tolkien is free to exploit the force and energy of alliterative verse, recreating not only the content and style, but the very “feel” of the Old Norse poetry upon which he draws. As Tolkien himself says in the foreword, quoted by his son, “Old Norse poetry aims at seizing a situation, striking a blow that will be remembered, illuminating a moment with a flash of lightning – and tends to concision, weighty packing of the language in sense and form.”

The lays exhibit that same economy and restraint, eschewing linguistic and narrative extravagance in favour of vigour, displaying the power of language wielded with skill and care. The description of Sigurd's sword as he battles Fáfnir is a good example: “Gram was brandished;/ grimly ringing/ to the hoary stone/ heart it sundered” ( Völsungs, section V, stanza 28). Similarly, the description of Sigurd's horse, Grani, leaping the flames at Hindarfell, combines heroic mettle with fiery images: “Greyfell Grani,/ glory seeking,/ leaped the lightning/ lightning-sinewed” (Völsungs, VI, 2).

The stark narrative is enriched and extended by the force of the language: One can hear the sounds of battle, smell the slaughter: “Horns they sounded –/ hall-walls echoed –/ strode the stairway;/ stern their onslaught./ The stones they stained/ with streaming blood;/ snaketonguéd arrows/ sang about them.// Doors clanged backward,/ din resounded: Hunland's champions/ hurled upon them./ Hard were handstrokes,/ hewn were corslets,/ as on hundred anvils/ were hammers ringing” (Gudrún, stanzas 77, 78). One can feel Gudrún's grief: “While world lasteth/ shall the words linger,/ while men are mindful/ of the mighty days./ The woe of Gudrún/ while the world lasteth/ till end of days/ all shall hearken” (Gudrún stanza 156).

In sum, Tolkien's New Lays are rich and compelling, combining the master's originality with the scholar's proficiency, echoing both ancient legends rooted in the mists of time and well-beloved tales of his own (readers will recognize many names and motifs from The Lord of the Rings). The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún demonstrates J.R.R. Tolkien's ability to delight and enthrall his readers, even years after his death. It is one of this year's must reads.

Catherine Innes-Parker is a professor of medieval literature at the University of Prince Edward Island.