"Faery Portrait" by Brian Froud, © 1994

Faeries
and
The World of Froud

by Terri Windling

     To those of us brought up on modern "fairy" images (diminutive sprites with butterfly wings and twinkling, wide–eyed Disney cartoons), the 1978 publication of Faeries by two masterful British illustrators (Alan Lee and Brian Froud) came as a revelation. Here, in all their beautiful, horrible glory were the faeries of old British legends, undiluted by greeting card sentiment: gorgeous and grotesque (often at the same time), creatures of ivy, oak and stone — born out of the British landscape, as potent, wild and unpredictable as a force of nature. I was a student back in '78, slowly moving from standard literature studies to the more specialized realm of mythology. At that time and place, such studies revolved around national mythological epics (the Irish Tain, the Welsh Mabinogion, the Finnish Kalavala, etc.), and the hierarchies of the classical gods. Faeries whetted my deep appetite for tales more humble yet just as enchanting: those old fairy tales and old wives' tales passed on from generation to generation over spinning wheels and cooking fires. . .and still recounted by country folk and storytellers today. Faeries, with its splendid illustrations (skillfully rendered, distinctly un-childlike, and filled with a sexy, sly humor), confirmed my own impressions gained from transcriptions of old oral accounts: that faeries are capricious, dangerous beings, beautiful and terrible all at once — a far cry from the insipidly dainty fairies of my childhood books.

     Twenty years later, my student (let alone my childhood) days long in the past, I am sitting in my English home amid a faery infestation. One expects a ghost or a spirit or two in a cottage like this one, four hundred years old — but this summer there are faeries everywhere: on every table and every shelf, on the walls, on my desk, spread across the floor, learing, cavorting, beguiling, enchanting. . .catching my gaze as I cross the room, snagging my thoughts and imagination with elongated fingers and fathomless eyes, with luminous color, dazzling detail and rich archetypal symbolism. My cottage, you see, is filled with the stunning new faery art of Brian Froud — images he has painted and drawn in the two decades since Faeries appeared. This art is, finally, to be made available to the world at large, in a lavish edition bursting with new faery paintings (from Simon & Schuster, next spring). It has been my happy task this summer to edit the text which will go with the art: meditations on the nature of faery, and on the pictures themselves.

     "In the years after Faeries came out," Brian says, "I worked on many other projects. I designed two movies for Jim Henson: "The Dark Crystal" and "Labyrinth"; I published several other books, such as Lady Cottington's Pressed Fairy Book and The Goblin Companion. Yet of all these things, Faeries seems to have captured the imagination of the greatest number of readers. When I venture out of my studio to work on projects half way across the world, people still seek me out clutching old, well-worn copies of Faeries." In the twenty years since that publication, Brian has never stopped his own personal exploration of the faery realm. During those years, he met his wife Wendy (an accomplished sculptor and dollmaker) on the set of "The Dark Crystal"; their son was born; and they moved to Stinhall, a 17th–century Devon "longhouse." Faery paintings and drawings then began to crowd Brian out of his studio, spilling into the rest of house alongside Wendy's mythic sculptures, woodland masks and faery dolls. As this body of faery imagery grew, he also followed the faeries' footsteps through the study of world mythology, archetypal psychology and magical esoterica. Now the result of this lengthy exploration has culminated in a fascinating new book presenting one artist's unique vision of the magical world around him, deeply rooted in nature and myth. "Faeries," he explains, "was a book about the past, concentrating on the folklore of these British Isles. The new book, Good Faeries/Bad Faeries, links past, present and future together — looking at faery lore from all around the world, still alive to this day."

     When I took on the job of working with Brian's text, I foolishly thought I knew a thing or two about faery lore myself. But faeries are sly and tricksy creatures; they delight in exposing foolishness, in turning assumptions upside–down. Seeing the faeries through Brian's eyes, and winding my way through dusty old tomes of world folklore, marchen and myth, I've discovered a faery realm more vast and vibrant than I'd ever imagined. Faeries, from earliest memory, come with a bewildering variety of names, shapes, sizes, customs, habitats and local histories — from the tiny Portunes (among the earliest of faeries recorded in English manuscripts) to the tall, lordly and icily beautiful Sidhe of Ireland; from the gentle nature spirits who fecundate and regulate growing green life to the fierce daemons, djinns, als, nats and boggies who revel in causing great harm.

     For a trustworthy map to guide one through the shifting shadows of Faerieland, I start any journey in that direction with the books of the late Katharine Briggs close to hand — for her extraordinary work in the field of British faeries has never been rivalled. Drawing upon the writings of the great faery scholars of the past (see book recommendations below) as well as upon her own research, Briggs examines mankind's persistent belief in a hidden race of semi–visible, non-human creatures "of a middle nature between humans and the angels." This belief can be found under varying names in local traditions all over the world, but perhaps nowhere quite as vigorously and as variously as here in Great Britain. "The strange thing," Briggs muses, "is that strange, tenuous and fragile as [the faery tradition] is, the tradition is still there, and lingers on from generation to generation substantially unchanged. Every now and then poets and writers draw on the tradition, and make something out of it suitable to the spirit of their age. Sometimes this passes back into the tradition, and perhaps alters it a little."

     "Mankind always recognized the existence of nonhuman beings," says Brian — an artist who adds something uniquely of our modern age to old faery traditions. "We've always recognized good spirits and bad spirits with an influence on daily life. In ancient Greece, Porphyry — a neo–Platonist of the third century — explained that the air was inhabited by both good and bad spirits which had no solid body or fixed shape, changing form at will. The bad spirits were composed of turbulent malignity, their influence antagonistic. They created disruptions whenever humans neglected to properly acknowledge them — and thus could be appeased by attention, prayer and certain rites. The Romans also acknowledged the presence of faery spirits, called the Lares. Along with the Manes (spirits of the dead) and the Penates (guardian spirits), the Lares — when properly venerated at the hearth (the heart) of the household — protected the home and family. Lares Compitales guarded cross–roads; Lares Vitales helped in safe journeys. All Lares were ruled over by their mother, Larunda, an earth goddess/faery queen. The Roman bogeymen were the Lemures, spirits of the night. They had all the traits of bad faeries — of our modern boggies or hobgoblins — and had to be placated by throwing black beans at them while turning the head away. In Norse mythology, the maggots emerging from the dead body of the giant Ymir transmuted into both Light and Dark Elves (or Alfar): the Light (called the Liosalfar) inhabiting the air, the Dark (called the Dockalfar) dwelling in the earth."

     In Persia, the peri were faerie creatures formed of the element of fire, existing on a diet of perfume and other exquisite odors. The devs were the bad faeries of Persian myth — forever at war with the peri, whom they captured and locked away in iron cages hanging high in the trees. The laminak of Basque folklore, the yumboes of West Africa, the grama–devata of India, the jinn of Arabia, the hsien of China, the "underhill people" of the Cherokee are all faery creatures divided into those who are basically benevolent toward humankind — and those of whom we'd best beware, intent on doing us harm. Certain faery traditions sharpen the divisions between wicked and benevolent faeries — such as the Seelie and Unseelie Courts to be found in Scottish folklore, the later ruled over the Nicnivin, the fearsome, dark Elph Queine. The Dark Queen in old Spanish myths rules over the Estantiqua, a host of spirits who haunt the roads during hours of dusk and dark. In Germany, Frau Berchta leads her ghostly dogs in the murderous Wild Hunt — chasing unlucky mortals to their death, as well as gentler breeds of faeries. Despite this division of dark and light creatures found in some corners of Faerieland, Brian believes every faery contains the potential for both good and harm — a belief backed up by a certain Dr. Jackson of the 17th century: "Thus are the fayries from difference of events ascribed to them, divided into Good and Bad, when it is by one and the same malignant fiend that meddled in both, seeking sometimes to be feared, otherwiles to be loved."

"Faery and Troll" (sculpture) by Wendy Froud, © 1997

     Katharine Briggs uses the following division to categorizing basic faery types: Solitary Faeries and Trooping Faeries, both of which can be fearsome or beneficent by whim or design. Solitary Faeries are generally those associated with a certain location: a river, fountain, grove of trees, stretch of moorland, or household. About the Trooping Faeries, Briggs writes: "In nearly all countries where fairy beliefs are to be found at least some of the faery people are supposed to be gregarious, riding in procession, hunting, holding court and feasting, and above all dancing. This is perhaps particularly true of the British Isles, though in France, Italy, Scandinavia and Germany there are the same tales of dancing, revelry and processions. . . . They may be evil, dealing death or sickness to every man and creature they pass on their way, like the Sluagh of the Highlands; they may steal unchurched wives from child–bed, or snatch away unchristened babes leaving animated stocks or sickly children of their own in their place, or they may be harmless and even beneficial — fertility spirits watching over the growth of flowers or bringing good luck to herds or children."

     This system of classification also has its difficulties, for a Yorkshire hob may be solitary and hostile to humankind, while his Somerset cousin is known to be quite gregarious, friendly, even helpful. "The classification of faeries," Brian notes, "is a notoriously difficult science since faeries are fluid and transmutable — changeable as mood or thought. A faery who appears in one guise one day might appear in another guise the next. The faery who gives you aid this week might spit curses one week later. One method of studying faeries is to categorize these slippery creatures by place: faeries of the forest and field, mountain and valley, lake and stream. In Eastern philosophy, the classification system is more subtle: there are Golden Devas, who facilitate the transmission of solar energy or "prana"; White Devas, or sylphs, whose domain is the air; Green Devas, or nature spirits, intimately involved with the growth of plants; and Violet Devas, who create and maintain the etheric structure of all things."

     As creatures closely tied to nature, a useful method of studying faery forms is to look at the element with which each faery is associated: earth, water, fire or air. "Little people" living in the earth (in rocks, caves, quarries, mineshafts, under rivers, inside of burial mounds) can be found in stories from many cultures: gnomes (first popularized in the ancient writings of Paracelus); knockers (a dimunitive race of faery miners found across Europe); the Black Dwarves of Scotland; the gommes of France; the hammerlinge of Germany; the achachila of Bolivia. . .all known for their capricious ways, their dour humor, and their metalworking skills.

     Forests have always been haunted by spirits, who are also attuned to the earth element — particularly tree spirits such as the lovely dryads found in ancient Greece, the protective yakshi of India, the shy bariaua of Melanesian lore, the fierce apuku of Dutch Guiana and saci of Brazil, and all of the wild–natured woodwives running through the forests of Europe: the skogsnufa of Denmark, swor skogsfru of Sweden, the silvanes of Italy (who mate with the silvani to produce the little folletti).

     Water spirits inhabit lakes, streams, pools, and the ocean depths, including seductive Greek neriads, the dangerous nix and nixies of England, cacce–halde in Lapland, kallraden in Sweden, the bonga maidens of India, certain korrigans of Brittany and the fountain faeries of Spain. The ahuitzotl lurks in Mexican lakes and is known to be lethal to fisherman, while his Australian cousin, the bunyip, lies bellowing at the bottom of lakes. In saltwater, we find mermaids, mermen, the seal people (selkies, sea–trows and roane), the sirens of Greece, the Margot–la–fee of France and other treacherous, fluid and fishy creatures the world over.

     Fire faeries are known for their brilliance, sense of duty, and intensity. The Russian domovik and the gabija (fire spirit) of Lithuania are typical of hearth faeries who give protection, aid and luck — but are liable to burn one out of house and home if they feel neglected. Fire–feys, fire–drakes, drachen and draks travel through the air as fiery sparks, leaving an unpleasant smell of suphur behind to mark their passage. These faeries embody the dualistic nature of the fire element, its power for both good and destruction.

     Air is the element of all winged faeries, and those associated with weather phenomena: the whirlwinds caused by hordes of Irish trooping faeries as they pass, the rain storms caused by Burmese nats, the winds ridden by El Numbero (the tempest) across the skies of Spain. Air faeries often take the form of birds, or have claws, or beaks, or feathered wings — like the tengu in the forests of Japan, the owl-spirits of West Africa, or the strange alan of the Phillipines: part bird, part human, with toes and fingers reversed, hanging bat–like from the trees.

     "The shapes of faeries," Brian observes, "like everything else about them, is fluid and changeable, for in their natural state faeries exist as pure energy. When human beings encounter faeries, the human mind tends to clothe this energy with forms it can understand. An exchange takes place on the mental level, and the faeries take visible shape in forms derived from location (the trees, stones or vegetation around them), or else derived from our expectations, or from traditional mythic archetypes. The faeries also borrow from human ideas or the patterns of old folktales to create objects: crowns, garlands, clothes, hats, wands, swords, etc."

     In The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns and Fairies, published in the 17th century, the Scottish minister Robert Kirk tells us that faeries are "of a middle nature betwixt man and angel. . . . [They have] light changeable bodies, like those called astral, somewhat of the nature of a condensed cloud, and best seen at twilight. These bodies are so pliable through the subtlety of the spirits that agitate them that they can make themselves appear or disappear at pleasure." Two hundred years later, the Irish poet William Butler Yeats also admitted to faery encounters. He stated that faeries have "no inherent form, but change according to their whim or the mind that sees them. You can not lift your hand without influencing and being influenced by hordes [of faeries]." (Yeats, of course, went on to record the folk beliefs of his native Ireland, as well as to draw upon faery traditions in his poetry. See the collected poems of William Butler Yeats; also Irish Fairy and Folk Tales and The Celtic Twilight. And I recommend "The Stolen Child": musical renditions of Yeat's famous poem as recorded by Loreena McKennitt, and also by the Waterboys.)

     Like Yeats' poetry (steeped in Irish lore and the scents and rhythms of that land), the faery paintings surrounding me now portray a very personal vision, yet one born of an ancient tradition that lingers in the land below. It was 1976, Brian explains, when he moved from a London studio to the deep green landscape of rural Devon (along with Faeries co-illustrator Alan Lee and his family). "As I walked through forests of oak and ivy, across the wild expanse of Dartmoor, among stone circles, Bronze Age ruins and tumbled stones of old castle walls, I began to hear words and stories whispered by the land itself. I listened to those stories, soaking in the spirit of the land with its wealth of folklore and myth. Alan and I created Faeries, considered by some to be a definitive guide to the faery realms. . .but I soon discovered that my journey through the land of Faery had only just begun. I learned that the denizens of that land weren't confined to stories from an age long gone. They were all around me, tangible pulses of energy, spirit, emotion and light. They took on form as they stepped into my art, cloaked in shapes of nature and myth. I'd attracted their attention while creating Faeries, and they weren't finished with me yet."

     They say if you catch the faeries' attention, they won't let you go again easily. . .and now I, too, am surrounded by faeries, creatures of Brian's art, vision, scholarship and clear insight. Here are winged-women poised for motion, shifting forms of flesh and feathers and flowing robes and ribbons of light. ("Faery wings are made of light, emotion and energy," says Brian. "They're not used to fly, for faeries are self–propelling, borne aloft by emotion and thought. Rather, their wings are a visual expression of the etheric forces flowing through their bodies.") Here are horned men and women, haunting and luminous in the dusky dark. ("Fairy horns are a physical manifestation of the process of renewal, regrowth and rebirth. Symbolically, faery antlers represent the animal intuitive powers. In ancient myth, horned figures were shamanic guides to inner worlds. Simple, curved, unbranched horns are a reflection of the female crescent moon; horns on female faeries are a manifestation of healing powers. Just as the moon dies and is reborn, and the horns of the deer are shed and regrown, so faery horns symbolise the transformational processes: the cycle of life, death and rebirth.") Here are frog-footed faery queens ("In alchemy, the jewel hidden in the head of a toad symbolizes hidden spiritual truth — reminding us that outward appearances can be deceptive. . . .") and sphinx-women roaring at the moon ("The custodian of primal secrets, full of questions, riddles, rhymes, and tests, this oracular beast crouches at the crossroads of our lives, demanding that we know the answers. . . .") and Green Men peering from the shadows behind their masks of leaves and bark and moss. ("A powerful, wild synthesis of man and nature, the vegetative counterpart of humans, the hidden green aspect of mankind.") The invisible world of Faery has been given "something of the spirit age," as Katharine Briggs would say. . .and brought to startling, luminous life.

     Faerieland is vast and strange, and many are the doors that enter into it. Until Brian Froud's new book appears, I offer some recommendations below — but fair warning: if you turn your attention to them, you may suffer a sudden infestation of faeries all your very own. They are enchanting creatures, but notoriously pesky, frisky capricious and love stupid tricks. Soon I'll end this article, and the work on Brian's book, and send these lovely faeries home. And then this cottage will finally quiet down and I'll have some peace. . . .

     Further reading, nonfiction: The Fairies in Tradition and Literature, The Vanishing People, British Folktales, and The Encyclopedia of Fairies by Katharine Briggs; The Erotic World of Faery by Maureen Duffy; Fairy Mythology by Thomas Keightley; British Fairy Origins by Lewis Spence; The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by Evan Wentz; Ancient Scottish Tales by Peter Buchan; The Middle Kingdom by Dermot MacManus; British Goblins by Wirt Sikes; Fairies at Work and Play by Geoffrey Hodson. Recommended fiction: Little, Big by John Crowley; Photographing Fairies by Steven Szilagyi (the book from which the new film was made); Possession by A.S. Byatt; The King of Elfland's Daughter by Lord Dunsany; Kingdoms of Elfin by Sylvia Townsend Warner; The Door in the Hedge by Robin McKinley; Thomas the Rhymer by Ellen Kushner; The Perilous Gard by Elizabeth Marie Pope; The Wild Wood by Charles de Lint and Something Rich and Strange by Patricia A. McKillip (both of which include art by Brian Froud); The Flight of Michael McBride by Midori Snyder; War for the Oaks by Emma Bull; and The Faery Flag by Jane Yolen.

Copyright © 1997 by Terri Windling. This article was published in the Realms of Fantasy magazine and may not be reproduced without permission.