The best books that lead to the otherworld

There are more accurate translations and better selections, but I love this collection for two reasons. First, Stephens was a Dublin-born, Irish-speaking novelist, poet, and eyewitness to the Easter Rising of 1916. His stories of ancient heroes and Otherworldly folk salute a proudly Celtic past. Stephens was part of the nationalist literary revival that harnessed Irish myths to an independent future. A friend to politicians and intellectuals, he claimed (untruthfully) to have the same birthday as his friend James Joyce. Stephens cleaned up the old stories for tender ears, but his early 20th-century language casts an antiquarian sheen on his fairytales. 

So do the enchanting illustrations by Arthur Rackham, one of the most skillful depicters of fairies (second only to Harry Clarke)—my second reason for loving this book. 

This tale of tales is like a 12th-century Irish Arabian Nights. It brings Saint Patrick, a 5th-century missionary, and his priests together with magically long-lived warriors from the fían bands of the giant hero Finn Mac Cumhaill (McCool). Finn’s beloved companions, Cailte and Oisín, recount their many adventures in times gone by with the Otherworldly Túatha Dé (Tribes of the Goddess). Patrick, fearing that their history will be lost when the men finally die, orders his monks to put their tales in writing. 

Patrick must have adored stories of battling kings and alluring princesses, treasure hidden under uncanny mounds, shapeshifters, murderous ravens, and lovers who cross worlds to be together, all presented as an interview between Patrick and pagan elders. One question runs through tales: Is the sí and the ancient indigenous past of Ireland compatible with the orderly future of psalm-singing Christians? So long as the Church is in charge, it seems.

William Butler Yeats is one of my favorite poets as well as a playwright, co-founder of the Abbey Theatre, and winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature. Early in his career, though, Yeats rewrote many venerable Irish stories in verse and drama.

For a while, he lived in a run-down 15th-century tower in Co. Galway near his friend Lady Gregory, a fellow folklorist. Yeats collected tales of fairies, púcai, and ghosts from friends and locals, added his own visionary musings on the ancient landscape of caves and mounds, and created Celtic Twilight. Yeats’s fairies lured innocents to midnight feasts, abducted new brides, switched babies with fairy “changelings,” and caused all sorts of mayhem for mortals.

Yeats was an occultist and theosophist, ready to believe in fairies. He had a knack for inspiring wonder. “There are doubters even in the western villages,” he admitted, but “when all is said and done, how do we not know but that our own unreason may be better than another’s truth?”

I love that Walter Evans Wentz, a native of New Jersey, starts this book among the towering stones of Carnac, a neolithic site in Brittany. While young Wentz was studying at Stanford, he met both Yeats and William James, the famed psychologist and lecturer on the supernatural.

They inspired him to pursue a doctoral degree in Celtic mythology and folklore at Oxford, and this book is his dissertation. Around 1910, he wandered the highlands, islands, and villages of Ireland, Scotland, Man, and Brittany, gathering an archive of fascinating fairy folklore to support his dissertation on the origins of fairies.

Wentz joined a centuries-long debate. Scholars had already proposed that fairies were disembodied spirits, products of peasant imagination, fallen angels, or—my favorite—a prehistoric and almost extinct race of pygmies who dwelt in the ancient burial mounds of Ireland. Wentz decided they were a pagan religion. Later, at Oxford, Wentz met T. E. Lawrence, who convinced him to study Tibet instead of fairies. Alas.

The stories in this annotated selection come from the National Folklore Collection in Dublin. Beginning in the 1920s, the newly independent Irish government sent scholars and volunteers out to transcribe and record accounts of rural customs and local beliefs that were quickly disappearing. Picture these collectors pumping the pedals of a clunky bicycle loaded with recording machinery or lugging accordion cameras down muddy lanes to photograph shanachies (tale-tellers) and fairy trees. Everything went into the Folklore Collection.

This nostalgic selection of stories and songs about the sí comes with CDs (in Irish and English) that put you in the room with tellers of tales. The shanachies sing of processions on midnight roads, fairy gold buried in a field, and how to ward off the constant menace of the sí. FYI: Never pull down a fairy tree to build a house! And do not call them fairies; they prefer the Good People, na Daoine Maith, or the Gentry.