Ephemeral, glistening, whispering, there, and not there.
A magical world just beyond our own. Commonly glimpsed by children and dreamers – but, on occasion, sensed by even the most hardheaded. A transient something that shimmers at the edge of our consciousness. It has lived in our heads for centuries, possibly millenniums.
It is Faerie Land.
Is it real? Does it matter?
Legions of storytellers have given us detailed histories, geographies, genealogies, and personal tales of a realm that probably does not exist. Many real, and important, topics have received less attention. What is so compelling about Faerie?
I can think of a few things. We all love tales of mystery, romance and adventure; all of which is the stuff of Faerie. Fantasy and science-fiction writers supply those same elements, though not in the same way. Science-fiction writers object to being lumped together with fantasy writers. “Not at all the same”, they sniff. Science-fiction deals only with plausible extensions of real science. Fantasy writers just make up crazy stories about implausible grotesqueries. That’s true; really, none of these genres are quite comparable.
That said, Fairytales have something science-fiction, and fantasy writing does not: lineage. Faeries have been significant players in many of Western Literature’s greatest hits, from long before Tennison, to Tolkien and beyond. There is an elegant heritage to these tales that is absent in fantasy and science-fiction. There is also an aura of other-worldly, purposeful goodness. Faeries seem to spend a lot of their time on pro bono assistance to Knights Errant, and the Maidens-in-Distress the Knights were pledged to save.
Mythic creatures in other parts of the world were not so benevolent. The dark forests of Greek Arcadia were home to beings, like the Great God Pan, that could turn from delightful to deadly in the blink of a whim. Dyads, nymphs, satyrs, and all their irresponsible cousins were notoriously unpredictable You could be having a jolly romp with them, then - without warning - you could be killed, torn asunder, or transformed into a pig. This volatile behavior reflects much of the ancient world’s view of nature: good most of the time; terrifying some of the time; always mysterious.
The blackness of the woods at night creates fear in every human, even when there is no rational reason for fear. The Greeks called this irrational fear, panic – fear of Pan. Panic still means a frantic fear unjustified by reason.
Both faeries and satyrs can be thought of as explanations for the inexplicable. There may be an explicable reason for their differences.
During the reign of the Roman Emperor, Tiberius (14-37 A.D.), there was a story told of an Egyptian sailor named Thamus. As he sailed past the island of Paxi, on his way to Italy, he heard a booming shout from the shore, “The Great God Pan is dead”.
This has been interpreted as the allegorical death of the pagan world. The writer, G. K. Chesterton, has said of this story, “Pan died when Christ was born.”
In very, very ancient times, faeries may have been as savage as Pan. Perhaps they were converted to Christianity along with the other pagan tribes of the British Isles. In any case, they are usually good, rarely evil.
There is some possibility that their origin is historical, not mythological. Some years ago, I read a book of 737 pages titled:
The Story of the Irish Race. The author, Seumas MacManus, characterized it as a “rough and ready picture of Ireland’s past”.
It made me wonder how many pages would be required for a complete picture.
In the first few chapters he described a people I had not known of before: the Tuatha De Danann. (In a footnote, the author acknowledges contention among other scholars about the veracity of their existence).
This does not trouble Mr. MacManus.
He goes on to describe a small, slender race, with longish aquiline noses, and rather pointed ears. They were said to have come from the northern part of the Iberian Peninsula (modern-day Portugal). He further says their skills in arts & crafts seemed magical to the indigent population: a Celtic tribe called the Milesians. The De Danann came as immigrants. They were received as invaders.
Conflict ensued.
The Milesians prevailed, but only through deceit.
(The details are interesting, but not to my point). As a result of their loss in battle, the Tuatha De Danann were banished to obscurity; swallowed up by the trackless forests and remote mountains of Ireland. There may have been brief sightings, whisperings, there were surely stories told of a mysterious, magical race that lived beyond where the streets have no name.
Did the whispered stories become, in time, Faerie Tales?
Some years ago, I saw a T.V. newscast from Portugal. I was struck by the number of Portuguese who seemed coincidentally similar to the MacManus’s description of the Tuatha De Danann. Just a coincidence? Just my imagination? I don’t know.
In July of any year, my backyard at night is invaded by fog and fireflies. The tall trees all around become black silhouettes against the vast royal-blue dome of the sky. The fireflies above flash amorous signals through the fog to possible paramours below.
It seems unearthly, beautiful.
It always makes me think of Faeries.
