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3.66 AVERAGE
3.66 AVERAGE
adventurous
reflective
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Character
Strong character development:
Complicated
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Yes
Simple tale, made exquisite by sentences you fall into, tumble around and rollout of enchanted.
There are a certain number of books in any genre of literature that, no matter at what point in your life you read them, you will always regret not having read them sooner. If you are in any way a fan of fantasy, "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is among them.
Written in 1924 by the eighteenth Baron of Dunsany, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett (better known by his more poetic and far better name, Lord Dunsany), "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is the tale of what happens when the twelve men of the Parliament of Erl come before their lord wishing to be ruled by magic. They get it before too long, coming out of the misty twilight border of Elfland, beyond the fields we know, but is it really all they cracked it up to be?
It is at the same time a classic fairy tale and a reinvention of the fairy tale, talking about what happens after the prince marries the beautiful elfin princess. It's about contentment, magic, wonder, time, the differences between man and fairy, and all the things in between. It is a classic of fantasy literature, and perfect in every way.
There are two things that I feel must be talked about here, and the first is magic in the book: what is it, how does it work, how does it play into the narrative. We have seen a curious movement in modern literature towards "hard" magic systems: magic with rules, guidelines, specifications, where things must be explained in order for the plot to move forward. This type of magic is by no means bad, but one must concede that a hard magic systems lose the sense of "wonder" that softer magic systems have. Lord Dunsany's magic is exceedingly wonderous. It is pervasive, mysterious, lurking everywhere all the time and felt by everything in different ways. It does not have rules or specifications. It is simply magical. Everything in this book has its own kind of magic, from woodland creatures to trolls to long lost memories. "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is imbued with magical wonder in every word.
The second thing that must be talked about is Lord Dunsany's prose. The writing reflects the story in that it, too, is magical. Dunsany's prose is poetic at worst and captivatingly fluid and rhythmic at best. Dusany writes in a way that holds your mind firmly in the timeless fields of Elfland, planting you there in the midst of every happy moment you've ever lost, every wonderful feeling you've ever had. He speaks of things that humans can't consciously comprehend but that we have all felt deep inside ourselves. His prose is what holds the story together.
Here you will find no fast action, no epic fantasy with huge battles and grand world building. "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is set firmly in the fields we know, with a few chapters daring to cross the border to Elfland. Whereas many fantasy books after the great Oxford Professor are grand in scope but small in vision, this book is small in scope but grand in vision.
Many fantasy books from the early twentieth century have fallen into sad obscurity by those who believe fantasy started in Middle Earth, but this one has held onto it's place thanks to authors like Neil Gaiman and the legendary H.P. Lovecraft singing it's praises. But one still feels that it is not famous enough. The same feeling that reproaches me for not reading it sooner drives me to let everyone in the world know of this magical book. Perhaps that's what drives Mr. Gaiman and drove Lovecraft too.
This book was published in 1924, and is now in the public domain. It is available online at Project Gutenberg for absolutely nothing. You don't even have to pay for this marvellous work, so what are you waiting for? Much like the characters in the story, I have been offered a glimpse into Elfland, and I feel its pull even now.
Written in 1924 by the eighteenth Baron of Dunsany, Edward John Moreton Drax Plunkett (better known by his more poetic and far better name, Lord Dunsany), "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is the tale of what happens when the twelve men of the Parliament of Erl come before their lord wishing to be ruled by magic. They get it before too long, coming out of the misty twilight border of Elfland, beyond the fields we know, but is it really all they cracked it up to be?
It is at the same time a classic fairy tale and a reinvention of the fairy tale, talking about what happens after the prince marries the beautiful elfin princess. It's about contentment, magic, wonder, time, the differences between man and fairy, and all the things in between. It is a classic of fantasy literature, and perfect in every way.
There are two things that I feel must be talked about here, and the first is magic in the book: what is it, how does it work, how does it play into the narrative. We have seen a curious movement in modern literature towards "hard" magic systems: magic with rules, guidelines, specifications, where things must be explained in order for the plot to move forward. This type of magic is by no means bad, but one must concede that a hard magic systems lose the sense of "wonder" that softer magic systems have. Lord Dunsany's magic is exceedingly wonderous. It is pervasive, mysterious, lurking everywhere all the time and felt by everything in different ways. It does not have rules or specifications. It is simply magical. Everything in this book has its own kind of magic, from woodland creatures to trolls to long lost memories. "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is imbued with magical wonder in every word.
The second thing that must be talked about is Lord Dunsany's prose. The writing reflects the story in that it, too, is magical. Dunsany's prose is poetic at worst and captivatingly fluid and rhythmic at best. Dusany writes in a way that holds your mind firmly in the timeless fields of Elfland, planting you there in the midst of every happy moment you've ever lost, every wonderful feeling you've ever had. He speaks of things that humans can't consciously comprehend but that we have all felt deep inside ourselves. His prose is what holds the story together.
Here you will find no fast action, no epic fantasy with huge battles and grand world building. "The King of Elfland's Daughter" is set firmly in the fields we know, with a few chapters daring to cross the border to Elfland. Whereas many fantasy books after the great Oxford Professor are grand in scope but small in vision, this book is small in scope but grand in vision.
Many fantasy books from the early twentieth century have fallen into sad obscurity by those who believe fantasy started in Middle Earth, but this one has held onto it's place thanks to authors like Neil Gaiman and the legendary H.P. Lovecraft singing it's praises. But one still feels that it is not famous enough. The same feeling that reproaches me for not reading it sooner drives me to let everyone in the world know of this magical book. Perhaps that's what drives Mr. Gaiman and drove Lovecraft too.
This book was published in 1924, and is now in the public domain. It is available online at Project Gutenberg for absolutely nothing. You don't even have to pay for this marvellous work, so what are you waiting for? Much like the characters in the story, I have been offered a glimpse into Elfland, and I feel its pull even now.
A building block of the fantasy genre. Lyrical and poetic.
adventurous
lighthearted
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
Plot
Strong character development:
No
Loveable characters:
No
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
No
A beautiful story about the passing of time. The writer has a tendency to almost stop the progress of the story to describe how time moves in the plains we know, or how unfathomable charming Elfland is, which can halt the flow of the book. However, this can be viewed as yet another commentary of how we humans view time. It fantastical and reflective. It’s not very complex story-wise, but it helps that it makes up for it in great writing.
Lord Dunsany’s story The King of Elfland’s Daughter is often referred to as a novel, but I don’t think that’s altogether a proper label. It would be better to call it a protracted fairy-story. A novel must focus on character interiority: Dunsany’s tale gives us precious little of that. But not all stories need complex characters: intriguing themes, beautiful language, and enchanting atmosphere can posses charms more than strong enough to hold a reader’s attention for 250 pages and transport them—I can’t resist saying it—beyond the fields we know.
What sets The King of Elfland’s Daughter apart from other Kunstmärchen (invented fairy-tales) on a narrative level is that, in current parlance, it deconstructs the standard happily-ever-after ending. The protagonist, Alveric, marries the titular elf-king’s daughter, Lirazel, in chapter four. What really drives the plot is the turbulence of their different natures. Elves are unaccustomed to time and change, because they live outside it. When Lirazel gives in to her longing for home and returns to Elfland, she leaves Alveric and their infant son, Orion, to cope for themselves with the ravages of time, while she ages not an instant. This leads Alveric to embark on a hopeless quest to re-enter Elfland, which he can never do because its King has removed it from contact with the Earth to keep it safe. This in turn leaves Orion to grow up without either of his parents—which Lirazel struggles even to comprehend, because of her alienation from time. Few writers explore the tragedy of love between elves and men so thoroughly as Dunsany.
This tragedy feeds into a larger theme: the incompatibility of our mundane world (“the fields we know”) with the world of magic (that lies “beyond the fields we know.”) At the beginning of the story, the people of the village Alveric rules decide that they want to be ruled by “a magic lord,” believing that this will make life more satisfying, or at least that it will bring them notoriety. This provides the impetus for Alveric to go to Elfland and convince Lirazel to marry him against her father’s wishes. But Lirazel does not fit in at all: aside from her difficulties adjusting to the passage of time, she does not understand human religion, because Elfland lies apart from both Heaven and Hell. This excites the displeasure of the local priest, who condemns all magic. But Dunsany is too clever a writer to leave it at that. At the end of the story, the village begins to become more and more like Elfland—which, given its great dangers and alien concept of time, is too much for the villagers to handle. We’re left to ponder: maybe the priest was right to be wary of magic.
Lastly, Dunsany’s use of language is a kind of magic itself. In one chapter, he can write and evocative description of a witch forging a sword made of lightning-bolts, and soon after, he can relate the tale of a troll trying to ask directions from a rabbit and being chased by a dog. Dunsany’s command of prose allows him to portray the epic, the mundane, and the whimsical all in the same tale and make them feel like they fit naturally together. But my descriptions of his writing pale in comparison to the real thing; I’d like to let his words speak for themselves:
Isn't it enchanting? But I must confess I've pulled a bit of an elvish trick on you: Those were the opening lines of the book. If you're intrigued, you can read on here. Just remember: no journey into the realms of faerie leaves a person unchanged.
What sets The King of Elfland’s Daughter apart from other Kunstmärchen (invented fairy-tales) on a narrative level is that, in current parlance, it deconstructs the standard happily-ever-after ending. The protagonist, Alveric, marries the titular elf-king’s daughter, Lirazel, in chapter four. What really drives the plot is the turbulence of their different natures. Elves are unaccustomed to time and change, because they live outside it. When Lirazel gives in to her longing for home and returns to Elfland, she leaves Alveric and their infant son, Orion, to cope for themselves with the ravages of time, while she ages not an instant. This leads Alveric to embark on a hopeless quest to re-enter Elfland, which he can never do because its King has removed it from contact with the Earth to keep it safe. This in turn leaves Orion to grow up without either of his parents—which Lirazel struggles even to comprehend, because of her alienation from time. Few writers explore the tragedy of love between elves and men so thoroughly as Dunsany.
This tragedy feeds into a larger theme: the incompatibility of our mundane world (“the fields we know”) with the world of magic (that lies “beyond the fields we know.”) At the beginning of the story, the people of the village Alveric rules decide that they want to be ruled by “a magic lord,” believing that this will make life more satisfying, or at least that it will bring them notoriety. This provides the impetus for Alveric to go to Elfland and convince Lirazel to marry him against her father’s wishes. But Lirazel does not fit in at all: aside from her difficulties adjusting to the passage of time, she does not understand human religion, because Elfland lies apart from both Heaven and Hell. This excites the displeasure of the local priest, who condemns all magic. But Dunsany is too clever a writer to leave it at that. At the end of the story, the village begins to become more and more like Elfland—which, given its great dangers and alien concept of time, is too much for the villagers to handle. We’re left to ponder: maybe the priest was right to be wary of magic.
Lastly, Dunsany’s use of language is a kind of magic itself. In one chapter, he can write and evocative description of a witch forging a sword made of lightning-bolts, and soon after, he can relate the tale of a troll trying to ask directions from a rabbit and being chased by a dog. Dunsany’s command of prose allows him to portray the epic, the mundane, and the whimsical all in the same tale and make them feel like they fit naturally together. But my descriptions of his writing pale in comparison to the real thing; I’d like to let his words speak for themselves:
In their ruddy jackets of leather that reached to their knees the men of Erl appeared before their lord, the stately white-haired man in his long red room. He leaned in his carven chair and heard their spokesman.
And thus their spokesman said.
"For seven hundred years the chiefs of your race have ruled us well; and their deeds are remembered by the minor minstrels, living on yet in their little tinkling songs. And yet the generations stream away, and there is no new thing."
"What would you?" said the lord.
"We would be ruled by a magic lord," they said.
"So be it," said the lord. "It is five hundred years since my people have spoken thus in parliament, and it shall always be as your parliament saith. You have spoken. So be it."
And he raised his hand and blessed them and they went.
Isn't it enchanting? But I must confess I've pulled a bit of an elvish trick on you: Those were the opening lines of the book. If you're intrigued, you can read on here. Just remember: no journey into the realms of faerie leaves a person unchanged.
adventurous
challenging
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
mysterious
reflective
relaxing
slow-paced
Plot or Character Driven:
A mix
Strong character development:
Complicated
Loveable characters:
Yes
Diverse cast of characters:
No
Flaws of characters a main focus:
Complicated
New obsession unlocked.
This was so good! The story was enchanting, but most of all the writing was fantastic. It was my dream Luthien and Beren mixed with Lud-in-the-Mist book. I want to reread it immediately and highlight every single line.
This was so good! The story was enchanting, but most of all the writing was fantastic. It was my dream Luthien and Beren mixed with Lud-in-the-Mist book. I want to reread it immediately and highlight every single line.
The writing style did not work for me. As a result, I did not care about the story being told.