Bedlam’s Bard and Beyond World’s End, by Mercedes Lackey, Ellen Guon and Rosemary Edghill (Baen, 1998/2001)

For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam
Ten thousand miles I traveled
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
To save her shoes from gravel.

Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys
Bedlam boys are bonny
For they all go bare and they live by the air
And they want no drink nor money.

Elves. Bards. Renn Faires. Music. Magic. Love. Loss. Betrayal. Fast cars and motorcycles. Beautiful, treacherous half-breed women. Spells and curses. Dreams and nightmares. Hope. These are the elements which make up the Bedlam’s Bard series of books, created by Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon, and continued with the aid of Rosemary Edghill (aka eluki bes shahar). The first two books in the series, Knight of Ghosts and Shadows and Summoned To Tourney, were both written by Mercedes Lackey and Ellen Guon, and were released by Baen in 1990 and 1992, respectively. In 1998, they were re-released in an omnibus version, Bedlam Bards. (This, for my tastes, doesn’t have the same ring as the original titles, which actually do make sense, as I’ll explain soon.) In 1993, Baen released Bedlam Boyz, a solo novel by Ellen Guon that acted as a kind of prequel to the first books, following the backstory of a relatively minor character. Finally, in 2001, Baen released the first hardcover in the series, written by Mercedes Lackey, and a new collaborator, Rosemary Edghill. This book, Beyond World’s End, picked up some time after the first two left off, continuing the story deftly.

I went down to Satan’s kitchen
To break my fast one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning.

So what’re they about? Well, the story starts off very simply, with busker Eric Banyon, a mainstay of the L.A. Elizabethan Faire, getting dumped by his then-girlfriend, Maureen, in a very loud, very public, -very- embarrassing manner. Finding a quiet corner off in the woods, he begins to play his flute. “Brian Boru.” “Sheebeg Sheemore.” Tunes of loss, betrayal and war, centuries old. And something … happens. He can’t explain exactly what, but his life takes a twist for the strange after that. His cloak and money pouch are stolen, and he’s left near the end of his tether, retreating into a drunken funk. Even after he makes it back home to L.A., with the aid of some sympathetic friends, he finds that life is stranger than ever before.

For one thing, there’s an elf in his apartment. A pointy-eared, cat-eyed, too-beautiful-for-words elf, wearing Eric’s best cloak and making himself at home in Eric’s apartment. This is Korendil, warrior and mage, one of the High Court, and for long years, he was trapped in the magical Node-Grove, nexus of creative magic, the same one that supports the loval elves, and fuels the creative mecca of Los Angeles and Hollywood. It was Eric’s latent talent for musical magic (or magical music) which set him free. It’s Eric, a Bard in the making, who can help save the day. For a traitor among the Fae seeks the destruction of the Node-Grove, and the decimation of the elves, and only a Bard has the ability to preserve or create the Nodes. And the only true Bard is, or will be, Eric Banyon, itinerant busker and perpetual screw-up.

There I took a cauldron
Where boiled ten thousand harlots
Though full of flame I drank the same
To the health of all such varlets.

As Eric struggles with the reality of the situation, he realizes that the stakes are higher than anyone realizes. To lose the Node is to lose the elves, and to lose the very magic of Hollywood itself. But when the only people who can prevent disaster are an untrained busker-Bard, his sometime witch friend, and Korendil, what hope do they have? Especially when arrayed against them are a powerful elven lord, his seductive half-breed daughter, and the hosts of darkness? Let’s just say that it gets messy. Before it’s over, elves will die, the Node will reach the very brink of being extinguished, love will be found, Eric will abandon his friends to sleep with the enemy, and L.A. will never be the same. Magic and music intertwine, becoming inseparable, and Eric will face some of his greatest fears as he begins the long path towards becoming a true Bard.

My staff has murdered giants
My bag a long knife carries
To cut mince pies from children’s thighs
For which to feed the fairies.

Summoned to Tourney picks up some time later. Eric, his witch-girlfriend Beth, and Korendil (Kory), have fled L.A. in the bloody aftermath of the first book, relocating to San Francisco under assumed identities, since as far as they know, the authorities still want them for questioning. It’s a chance to start a new life together, the three of them, and for a while, it looks like all will be quiet and relatively peaceful. They’re busking again, they’ve settled into their new home, and no one’s troubling them. The Nodes are safe once more, and things are good. That is, until Eric begins to dream of destruction and doom, of San Francisco’s apocalyptic nightmare, and of the enigmatic creatures of shadow and darkness known as Nightflyers. And until Beth is kidnapped by unscrupulous forces seeking to research and control psychic abilities and magic. And until Kory goes missing. Then, suddenly, it’s up to Eric and Kayla, the punk Healer-in-training, to find their missing friends and mentor, and save the day. One problem. When Eric summons the Nightflyers, will he control them, or will they control him?

No gypsy, slut or doxy
Shall win my mad Tom from me
I’ll weep all night, with stars I’ll fight
The fray shall well become me.

The stakes get higher when Eric realizes the dreadful extent of the errors he’s made. Though he’s rescued his friends, they’re both wounded, in body and spirit, and in no condition to help him rectify his errors. Only Eric can live up to the challenge, and prevent the destruction of San Francisco and the release of the Nightflyers upon Earth, where they’ll be free to devour souls and spread their evil. In the end, he’ll either master his abilities, or die. Sure, he’ll have the aid of a coven of witches and psychics, the support of his friends, the backing of the local elves, but in the end, it’s Eric’s fate and duty to save the day.

I know more than Apollo,
For oft when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at mortal wars
In the wounded welkin weeping.

In Beyond World’s End, things are much different. Kory and Beth have retreated Underhill, to live happily together. Eric has finished his Bardic training, under the tutelage of a stern elven master, and has returned to the real world after some years. And now he’s going back to reclaim part of his life. Back to New York. Back to Juilliard, the site of his greatest failure. Once a student, he fled after a nasty bout of stage fright brought on by his then unknown and uncontrolled magical abilities. He never could look back. Until now. He’s older, wiser, mature, in command of his talents, and determined to make something of himself.

Supplied with all the magically-created elven gold he needs to finance his education, and with a brand new apartment, everything looks hunky-dory. But as he well knows, it’s when things are quietest that they get weirdest. So he’s barely fazed when one of the gargoyles from the roof of the building pops in for a chat and some water. Greystone, as he’s called, is friendly, literate, and has a taste for movies. So they become friends fairly quickly.

Then there’s the fact that four of the other residents of the building, Guardian House, are indeed Guardians, the magical protectors who police the boundaries between the mundane world and the supernatural, keeping the worst nightmares from getting out of line. The rest of the building is full of artists, musicians, writers, and creative talents.

The moon’s my constant mistress,
And the lonely owl my marrow;
The flaming drake and the night crow make
Me music to my sorrow.

So Eric’s back in school, with friends, responsibilities, and happiness. What’s the problem? Is it A) Unethical drug producers, whose latest creation induces amazing powers, before destroying the user, killing almost everyone who tries it? B) Aerune mac Audelaine, the Unseleighe Sidhe who wants to invade Earth and feed off of our suffering? C) The return of Ria Llewellyn, the daughter of one of his greatest enemies, who once seduced and enslaved Eric, or D) All of the above, especially when they meet up in the middle?

The spirits white as lightening
Would on my travels guide me
The stars would shake and the moon would quake
Whenever they espied me.

As the new drug hits the streets, and random street people are kidnapped, Eric and the Guardians and Greystone find themselves caught up in the crisis, separately and together. Ria re-enters Eric’s life, but is it as friend, enemy, would-be lover, or something else altogether? The Unseleighe lord has his own plans, which make life all the more difficult. All this, -and- Eric has recitals to practice for, if he ever wants to prove his worth to his taskmaster teachers! No one ever said it was easy to be a Bard in New York. Luckily, he’s got friends and his own Bardic magic, and hopefully he’ll be able to stop a three-way war between the good guys, the Sidhe, and the drug producers before it gets out of hand. And still manage to figure out where he and Ria stand in regard to one another and a potential relationship…

And then that I’ll be murdering
The Man in the Moon to the powder
His staff I’ll break, his dog I’ll shake
And there’ll howl no demon louder.

Enough of the plot stuff. What do I think? Well, Knight of Ghosts and Shadows is dead-on brilliant, one of the better examples of the urban fantasy genre, and one I’d gladly share with anyone. The writing seems to be mostly Mercedes Lackey at her best, and it captures the blend of mundane reality, elven appeal, and musical imagery perfectly. You can almost hear the music as it’s being played.

The characters are all realistic, from commitment-phobe Eric to timelost Korendil to pragmatic Beth. This isn’t some book where the hero discovers something weird, and adjusts immediately. It takes Eric a long time to cope with the idea of magic and elves. It takes him longer to get his head out of his ass and actually -do- something. Then he makes mistakes. And pays for them. These are people you can imagine and sympathize with. It’s a story about growing up, the hero discovered, and his journey towards claiming his destiny.

That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.

Summoned to Tourney is the next logical step in Eric’s journey. Half-trained and still fumbling for his place, it’s a true test of his abilities. Sadly, I don’t find this book to be nearly as good as the first. The blending of the disparate elements seems off, and the book’s tone is different overall, to which I attribute the greater influence of Ellen Guon. It’s not quite as satisfying a read, but it’s still a good story, and, with the release of Bedlam Bards, you’re getting it with the first book anyway. It’s a good deal, and worth the price at that rate.

I now repent that ever
Poor Tom was so disdain-ed
My wits are lost since him I crossed
Which makes me thus go chained

Beyond World’s End is just as good as the first book, and more so for the seeming rejuvenation of Lackey’s writing in recent months. The addition of Rosemary Edghill (no stranger to occult mysteries and fantasy writing) seems to be just what was needed to bring a new level of sophistication and excitement back into the writing. I was overjoyed to see the addition of the Guardians, a concept lifted from Lackey’s Diana Tregarde novels (discontinued for various reasons, including people who took them -way- too seriously), and Greystone the gargoyle is a delight. Seeing Eric in the full power of his maturity, after floundering so long, is just a welcome relief. The musical scenes are as well-described as ever. The only jarring note might be the odd juxtaposition of psychic powers, elves in New York, and an almost science fiction edge to the bad guys. But in the end, the book overcomes this dichotomy to tell a really good story. I definitely recommend this book, especially if you read the first in the series.

With a host of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air
To the wilderness I wander.

There’s one other element I need to discuss, and that’s that the titles of the books all tie in together, referring to a certain song, which I’ve always been fond of: Mad Tom O’ Bedlam, one of those lovely rolicking Scottish ballads that has too many verses to count, and an irreverent air. I know our esteemed publisher is more than fond of it, so I’ve included these verses to entertain you all. And now I’ll leave you with one final verse, which should sum things up quite well:

By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wide world’s end-
Methinks it is no journey.

Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys
Bedlam boys are bonny
For they all go bare and they live by the air
And they want no drink nor money.

Before I go: though I’ve not really discussed Ellen Guon’s solo novel, Bedlam Boyz, do check it out if you can. It follows Kayla, the young punk-wannabe Healer who factors into the other books, and describes how she discovers her gifts, and how she has to deal with all the various people who want to use her.

So drink to Tom of Bedlam
Go fill the seas in barrels
I’ll drink it all, well brewed with gall
And maudlin drunk I’ll quarrel

American Gods, by Neil Gaiman (William Morrow/HarperCollins, 2001)

A storm is coming. One strong enough to sweep away all that has gone before, and open up the world to a new age. The age of media, the Internet, drugs, Hollywood scandals, sports stars, politics, and more. An age which has no place in it for old gods.

For be warned. The old gods are not dead. Not all of them. They live among us. Tricksters, whores, salesmen, immigrants, your next door neighbor, the bank manager, panhandlers, short order cooks, taxi drivers, supermarket bag boys. They own funeral parlors, dwell in their animal forms, and eke out meager existences, mostly forgotten. But they live still, drawn to America by the beliefs of generations of immigrants. Gods and demigods and devils and creatures of myth, struggling to hang on to what power they still have. Gods of the Norse, the Egyptians, the Greeks, the Celts, and so many more.

America is not a good place for gods. We’ve made our own. And now the old gods and the new gods are going to come together for the last time. There’s not enough room for them all anymore. Not in this age.

Mr. Wednesday has a plan, a cunning plan to unite the last of the old gods for one final battle.

Mr. World has a plan, a devious plan to eliminate the old gods and clear the way for a new breed.

Shadow has a plan. To get out of jail, reunite with his wife, and get his life back on track. Unfortunately, his plans are derailed. Released days early from prison, only to find out that he has no life to go back to, he accepts a job from the fast-talking, mysterious man known as Wednesday. Shadow will act as bodyguard, courier, companion, enforcer, and right hand man as Wednesday plays out an elaborate scheme. Part con man and trickster, part god, the secrets Wednesday keeps may destroy him and Shadow both.

As Wednesday’s plan unfolds, Shadow begins to realize the true depths of the intricate, deadly web he’s become entangled within. With allies like the violent Czernobog, the sultry Easter, and the roguish Mr. Nancy, and occasionally revisited by a person not as dead as she should be, Shadow will need all the help he can get just to survive. Lord knows his friends are almost as dangerous as his enemies.

Shadow’s quest will take him across the length and breadth of America, from Las Vegas to New York, from Virginia to Georgia, from Lookout Mountain to the Motel at the Center of the United States to the House on the Rock to the very backstage of reality itself. And by the time it’s over, he’ll have braved the boundaries of life and death, unraveled the workings of a fiendish plan, and learned the secret of his own origin. It’s a journey and a road trip through Mythic America, where nothing, and no one, are as they seem.

The theme of old gods in today’s world is not a new one for acclaimed author Neil Gaiman, who won the World Fantasy Award for an issue of his popular series of Sandman comic books and graphic novels. In that same series, he introduced us to Ishtar as a stripper, Bast waiting for the day when someone will again worship her, Loki as the eternal troublemaker, gods playing roles as mundane as travel agent, and so forth. What mankind dreams forth, it cannot as easily dismiss. Once we’ve created our gods, they linger as long as possible, sometimes doing whatever it takes to survive. And these themes, which he only touched upon briefly in the Sandman, have been given room to grow and take on their full potential in American Gods.

This is, without a doubt, his best work to date, certainly one of his most impressive. Freed from the constraints of the 32-page monthly pamphlet format, allowed to go where the story takes him all in one sitting, Gaiman’s given us a hallucinogenic, hypnotic, insightful guided tour into the workings of our own belief structure.

As Shadow does Wednesday’s bidding, and journeys with him, he grows, begins to understand, and finally stumbles across the true secret, the true meaning of the gods in America, both old and new. As we follow him, we’re treated to this same sort of introspection. Helping to guide out understanding are vignettes occurring every few chapters, following some of these mythic beings as they eke out their lives as whores, cab drivers, or what have you. We see how a god can be created, and how a god can be forgotten and destroyed. And we see how they struggle for power, for life, and for meaning.

American Gods is the sort of book where you have to reread passages several times, just to be sure you’ve caught the meaning properly. It’s subtle, complex, and at the same time straightforward. It’s a story about gods, men, belief, and change. This is the sort of book just about anyone can appreciate. It’s about the hero’s journey, the rite of passage, the invisible living among us, a cross between Joseph Campbell and Emma Bull, with plenty of Gaiman’s own unique style thrown in for good measure. I promise you, it has enough twists that even the most jaded reader will be surprised at least once or twice. And for those who keep their minds and expectations wide open, prepare yourselves for one hell of a journey.

The Men They Couldn't Hang, Sampler EP (Silvertone Records, 1990)

This album blew me away from the very beginning. If this is any indication whatsoever of the talent of this band, I’m an instant fan. It satisfies all of my Faster Harder Louder cravings, launching right into the music without any of that namby-pamby prelude and instrumental warming up that bands always seem to insist upon. Not for the Men They Couldn’t Hang. Bam. It’s up-front, in your face, and physical.

The first song on this selection is “The Lion and the Unicorn,” which bears little resemblance to the popular children’s rhyme. Rather, it’s a rousing rendition told as a guided tour of the so-named pubs of the UK. It’s hard to decide what to make of this song, so I suggest just sitting back and enjoying the tone and music.

“The Kingdom of the Blind” slows down just a little, but I won’t hold it against them. It’s a very powerful song, with a strong beat and a solid backbone. No, this song won’t fall back in a strong wind; it’ll hold its ground and defy any who dare get in the way.

Sadly, all too sadly in this case, I was only allowed these two selections. The album I was given to review was only an EP, with the two above mentioned songs as a sampler from the Silvertone Records label.

Now, since what I heard was only two songs, on a ten-year-old sampler from a label that doesn’t carry them at this time, I can’t exactly urge you to go out and find the “untitled EP” unless you’re really a completist. What I can do is urge you to go out and find something else by The Men They Couldn’t Hang. Their Web site (http://www.tmtch.net/) contains a complete history and discography of the band, enough to get anyone started. There’s also a section for audio samples, so you don’t have to take my word alone on the matter.

Who are The Men They Couldn’t Hang? Simply put, they’re a UK group that aspires to alternative country and achieves far more than that in terms of live performance, and sheer folk-rock power. They released their first album, Night of a Thousand Candles in 1985, and followed that up with 1986’s How Green Is The Valley. Waiting For Bonaparte in 1988 proved to be the one that made them stars in Europe, while Silvertown in 1989 retained their popularity. Domino Club was released in 1990, and it’s from this album that the songs I experienced were taken, and thus the one I’d be able to recommend the most.

They broke up in 1990, reunited for a live performance in 1991, released Alive, Alive-O in 1991 as well, and then disbanded once more until 1996. It was then that they returned with Never Born To Follow in 1996, Six Pack EP in 1997, and Majestic Grill in 1998. 1999 saw the release of The Mud, The Blood, and the Beer, the second “Best Of…” album following Majestic Grill. One can only assume that they have more albums in the works as we speak.

The Men They Couldn’t Hang consist of Stefan Cush, Philip Odgers, Paul Simmonds, and Ricky McGuire.

A Kiss Of Shadows, by Laurell K. Hamilton (Ballentine Books, October 2000)

One of the things most people seem to forget about fairy tales is that they were, once upon a time, earthy, lusty stories in which just about anything was possible, and no subject was too taboo to touch upon. While the sex was offscreen, the results were profoundly apparent, from illegitimate children to faithless stepmothers to cursed relatives to mysterious orphans. And while the fairy tales might have been sanitized in the Victorian era, made safe for younger ears, with the blood and sex and gore and scandals toned down or removed, they’ve never forgotten their true nature. And now Laurell K. Hamilton, best known for her Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter series of novels, has turned her own literary attentions towards the darker side of the fairy world.

Meet Meredith Gentry. To the world at large, she’s a private investigator, working for an agency that specializes in the occult and weird, in a world where the Sidhe are as potent and public as any rock star or Hollywood personality, where the Fae are all too real, and where magic isn’t something kept entirely under wraps. She’s good at her job, respected by her friends and coworkers, and very happy to keep a low profile. For three years, she’s lived a lie. In truth, she’s the Princess Meredith NicEssus, directly in line for the throne of the Unseelie Court, those creatures of air and darkness who would as soon torture a human for sport as look at them. In truth, she’s as big a celebrity as Elvis, and twice as elusive. She’s on the run from her aunt, the Queen of the Unseelie and one of the most dangerous creatures alive in a kingdom where even the least of their number possess powers no human can imagine. Meredith is weak compared to the rest of her kind, not yet come into her full power; perhaps she never will. She’s paid her dues, survived her duels, and all she wants is to be rid of her family and all the obligations that come with them.

Unfortunately, no one wants to respect her wishes. Not her aunt, who constantly searches for her. Not her aunt’s private guard, some of whom love Meredith, some of whom want her dead. Not Cel, the queen’s son. Not the sluagh host of the dark fey. What’s a girl to do? When a routine case goes horribly awry, and evidence linking one of the Unseelie sidhe to a mortal sex cult is revealed, all Hell begins to break loose, and Meredith finds herself dragged, kicking and screaming, back into the Byzantine affairs of the kingdom she turned her back upon. And in a society where Machiavelli would have been less competent than an infant, one wrong step can lead to fates much worse, and much longer lasting, than death. If Meredith can’t unravel the politics and conspiracies riddling her aunt’s realm, and take control of her own destiny, and survive, everything that makes her unique is at stake.

This is not a fairy tale for children. This is a passionate, sensual, down-and-out randy fairy tale for adults. *A Kiss Of Shadows* celebrates all the capricious cruelty, icy beauty, and sexual mystique of the fey in all their alien glory. This is the sort of book you read with only one light on, curled up somewhere comfortably. This is the same sort of tale we like to tell about vampires, assigning a sort of erotic power to them. I can honestly say that I’ve only rarely, if ever, seen the creatures of Faerie in such roles. Reading this book, I can honestly see them as the creatures who’d seduce a mortal maiden under a full moon, and leave laughing. I can see True Thomas taken from the riverbank. I can see the sort of beings who’d curse a mortal with eternal life as a tree. They’re dangerous, deadly, unfathomably complex, and above all else, superior to humans in every way they consider important.

Laurell K. Hamilton is well-known for combining modern horror, dark urban fantasy, adult complexity, and more than a trace of sexual undertones in her *Anita Blake* series. However, in A Kiss Of Shadows she’s outdone herself. I love all things Faerie, from Grimm to Froud, and this book definitely conquers new territory in a field that Dungeons and Dragons strip-mined long ago. So for those readers with the maturity to handle the rather overt erotic tones, I recommend this book highly. However, I certainly wouldn’t let anyone under the age of oh, sixteen, anywhere near it. It’s not subtle in its treatment of the fey as creatures of great passion, and no little darkness. Taking that into consideration, this is one more example of why Laurell Hamilton continues to be regarded as an evolving and notable talent in the fantasy field.

Many Books of Ghost Tales, Part Two

Charleston Ghosts, by Margaret Rhett Martin (University of South Carolina Press, 1963)
Ghosts of the Carolinas, by Nancy Roberts (University of South Carolina Press, 1962)
The Haunted South, by Nancy Roberts (University of South Carolina Press, 1988)
North Carolina Ghosts and Legends, by Nancy Roberts (University of South Carolina Press, 1959, 1991)
Ghosts of the Southern Mountains and Appalachia, by Nancy Roberts (University of South Carolina Press, 1988)

We’re fascinated by what’s gone before us, learning from history so that we can grow for the future. However, there’s one area of our cultural history that both intrigues us and amuses us, a facet of belief that some take seriously, some refuse to accept, and no two people can agree upon.

Ghosts. Call them spirits, haints, poltergeists, phantasms, shades, apparitions, ghosts, spooks, or what-have-you, there’s no doubt that the average person loves a good ghost story. What’s better than turning the lights down on a dark and stormy night, huddling close together under the blankets, and telling stories about things that go bump in the night? Who hasn’t swapped a good spook story around a campfire at least once in their life?

The Carolinas, Appalachians, and the South in general are some of the oldest settled parts of America, and as such, they have a long and rich tradition to draw upon, dating all the way back to the first folks to brave the mountains and wilderness of the region. It took a special, determined, stubborn kind of person to make a go at living in this area, and for whatever reason, the Carolinas have produced a great many ghost stories.

Nancy Roberts, well-known for her numerous collections of ghost lore and folklore, has become known as the “First Lady of American Folklore” and the “custodian of the twilight zone” as a result of her decades-long endeavor to share the mysteries and enigmas of the past with the readers of the present. In books like The Haunted South, North Carolina Ghosts and Legends, Ghosts of the Southern Mountains and Appalachia, and Ghosts of the Carolinasshe has gathered together dozens of tales of hauntings, each one lovingly and thoroughly rendered in the voice of a true storyteller. She doesn’t just tell ghosts stories, she reenacts the events leading up to the ghosts, be it a hanging, a murder, a desperate chase, a bitter slave striking his master, or what-have-you.

Now, I’d go into more details about the stories contained within these books, but it’s nearing 3 AM, and a cold chill’s running down my back. I’ve got an active imagination, and the last thing I need is to start telling ghost stories before going to bed. I -like- my sleep, thank you. And were I to open up one of these books, and read even one story, I’d probably be tossing and turning. Why, if I were to take Ghosts of the Carolinas, and flip it open to a random page, and recount “The Witch Cat,” the tragic story of a miller, his wife, and a witch in the form of a cat, compete with its accompanying picture of a cat that looks just like my own tabby….

Thanks. Now I’m awake, and -not- looking behind me. These stories have power.

Roberts is a trained storyteller, and one made expert through her decades of chronicling the supernatural in her nearly two dozen books. Any story you choose to read is likely the one that’ll send a shiver down your spine, and make the hairs on the back of your neck rise.

I hope that’s my cat behind me. This house isn’t that old, but still, Virginia’s in the South, and you never know….

It doesn’t matter which book you pick up, really. They’re all the same in some fashion, each collecting a number of spooky tales from a specific region, and retelling them in Roberts’ unique style, each one accompanied by a mood-setting photograph, dark black and white pictures of fuzzy mansions, burnt-out houses, shadowy riders, faces in the trees, and so forth. The photos are all attributed to Bruce Roberts, whose relationship to Nancy Roberts isn’t exactly spelled out. Frankly, his use of shadows and light is downright eerie, with some pieces, like the transparent woman descending the staircase, doing as much to set the mood as the words do. No story is more than a few pages, making it easy to read just one before putting it down and looking for a warm blanket, or someone to cuddle for comfort.

All four of the above books, by the way, are available from the University of South Carolina Press, and come with a uniform identifying look, making it easy to group them together on your shelf. The USC Press seems to specialize in these sorts of books, and as a result, they do good work.

Just thinking about the stories I’ve flipped through and read has made me wish I’d waited until daylight to write this review. But that wouldn’t have been appropriate, no. I -know- that that’s just the wind in the trees outside, but for just a second….

The last book in the set I was given is Margaret Rhett Martin’s Charleston Ghosts, and if, by now, you can’t figure out the subject, go back to the top and start reading again. Martin looks at, what else, ghosts of the Charleston, West Virginia area. Now, while Roberts takes the stance that she’s just telling stories, stories that happened to people once upon a time and may or may not be real, Martin firmly claims that these were real people, that they lived in real houses, and that, suspension of disbelief willing, these are real ghosts.

Martin flat out states that she believes in ghosts, and has actually seen one, the subject of the first story of the book.

Is she right? You be the judge. Martin is an adept storyteller, with a keen sense of dialect and dialogue. However, she’s not quite as skillful or smooth as Roberts, in my opinion. Also, the lack of photographs, after seeing the power they bring to Roberts’ books, loses points for Martin overall. But this is just a stylistic complaint on my part. I like atmosphere. I want to look over my shoulder as I go to bed, and dive under the covers, and think of anything but ghosts, knowing that the effort will turn my mind towards what’s scraping at the window.

I’ve scared myself enough. Now it’s your turn. Find these books, read a few stories, and see if they have the same power over you. Just a few stories, mind you. These are to be savored, not devoured. Maybe read them aloud, with a few friends, on a night when the moon is full and the wind is strong. Just don’t read them to your children….

Sleep tight. Sweet dreams.

I hope my wife’s not asleep.

Many Books of Ghost Tales, Part One

The Field Guide To North American Hauntings, by W. Haden Blackman (Three Rivers Press, 1998)
The Cold, Cold Hand, edited by James Burchill, Linda Crider and Peggy Kendrick (Rutledge Hill Press, 1997)
The Encyclopedia of Ghosts, by Daniel Cohen (Avon, 1984)
Victorian Ghost Stories, by Michael Cox and R.A. Gilbert (Oxford University Press, 1992)
The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits, edited by Rosemary Ellen Guiley (Facts On File, 1992)
Haunted Places: The National Directory, by Dennis William Hauck (Penguin, 1996)
The Ghosts That Walk In Washington, by Hans Holzer (Ballantine, 1974)
Hollywood Haunted, by Laurie Jacobson and Marc Wanamaker (Angel City Press, 1999)
Haunted Hotels, by Robin Mead (Rutledge Hill Press, 1995)
Ghosts of the Old West, by Earl Murray (Tor, 1998)
Coffin Hollow and Other Ghost Tales, by Ruth Ann Musick (University Press of Kentucky, 1977)
Haunted Heartland, by Beth Scott and Michael Norman (Warner Books, 1985)
Ghost Ships, by Richard Winer (Berkley, 2000)

I’m not planning to sleep tonight. My wife has to work this godawful graveyard shift, and I’m at the point where it’s hard to fall asleep without her there for company. Pathetic, huh? I like to call it romantic. Anyhow, since sleep’s not really an option, I decided that I’d tackle a Herculean task, and write up one massive review of every ghost book I could find lying around my newly-cleaned basement-office.
When I turned up thirteen books in total, I knew it had to be a sign.
I suggest you dim the lights, put on something warm to drink, check the windows, and settle in with me. This may take a while.

For ease and convenience, I’ve taken the liberty of dividing the collection up into several subcategories. You have the books of ghost stories and tales, the straight encyclopedia references, and the ones that are more reference or travelogues. Let’s start with the encyclopedias, before moving on to the really good stuff, shall we?
I’ve already talked about the fascination we have with ghosts and hauntings in a previous article, so I don’t need to lecture on that overmuch this time around. Suffice it to say, we’re morbidly fascinated with ghosts stories. They serve as explanation, cautionary fable, spooky entertainment, and a whole host of other purposes.
Whether we’re approaching ghosts from the deadly serious (Poltergeist) to the morbidly comic (Ghostbusters) to the romantic (Ghost) to the fantastic (Chinese Ghost Story), we’re doing so from a position of ignorance. The best we can do is make up stories, and try to attach meanings to that which we don’t fully understand.

Hence these books. Some of them look at ghosts and hauntings from a tourist point of view, some merely catalogue the supernatural, and some treat them as the next best thing to fiction. Nothing in these books is true, unless you want it to be. On with the show.

Rosemary Ellen Guiney’s *The Encyclopedia of Ghosts and Spirits is an oversized book which approaches the ghostly phenomenon from a purely referential point of view. Over 400 entries cover the gamut, including specific ghosts, people associated with the field, places known for hauntings, and specific events likewise associated with the paranormal. This book is very good for looking up beliefs, lores, and superstitions regarding hauntings and the afterlife, and its documentation regarding famous researchers, writers, psychics, mediums and the like is extensive. Written in an accessible yet scholarly manner, this book manages to cover the subject fairly well, and fits into a niche that most of the other books in my collection do not. With entries on Abraham Lincoln, James Dean’s supposedly-cursed car, Hull House, Egyptian and Native American beliefs, and much more, it’s both entertaining and informative. It treats the subject with dignity and objectivity, and is highly recommended for anyone needing an entry-level ghost/paranormal reference manual. Points as well for the helpful index, the numerous illustrations and photographs, and the further reading recommendations after every entry.

On the other hand, we have Daniel Cohen’s *Encyclopedia of Ghosts, which is a lot more sensational, going by the cover copy (which proclaims it to be comprehensive, authoritive, fascinating, and bizarre.) It’s set up as more of a popular book, its numerous entries divided into sections including Poltergeists, Animal Hauntings, Classic Cases, and Ghostly Legends. It’s not so much an encyclopedia as it is a compendium of stories, ranging from ghosts of the famous to urban-style legends. A section of black and white photos adds a little variety into the mix, but otherwise it’s your typical paperback. Where its strengths lie are in the variety of ghost stories told, and in the clarity of its writing. This is a good casual read, set up so you can read a few at a time if you so desire. It may not send shivers up your spine, but it’ll definitely enlighten and entertain. This book also comes recommended, due to the overall usefulness and quality. However, it doesn’t stand out overall. It’s worth a look, but it’s exactly what it aspires to be: a supermarket book.

Next on our tour, as we begin a look at ghosts books dealing with specific areas, is Robin Mead’s *Haunted Hotels. You can guess what the subject matter of this one is. That’s right, it’s billed as a “guide to American and Canadian inns and their ghosts.” This is the book for those of you with some extra money and vacation time, and the desire to sleep in a genuine haunted hotel. (Poltergeists are extra.)
The introduction states, however, that “This is not a book for or from the lunatic fringe. It is, first and foremost, a hotel guide.” So with that caveat in mind, it proceeds to dish up a generous serving of hotels and inns which come with a little extra. Over one hundred hotels, covering 27 states and Canada, are listed, complete with address and phone number. You won’t find detailed, complex ghost stories recounted here, however. Just the facts, ma’am. Each hotel listing is made up of the regular listing, which gives brief details about history and setting, and the ghost listing, which details what sort of legend or haunt one will find associated with the hotel. For instance, take the Martha Washington Inn, in Abingdon, VA. The listing covers the basics, like location, history, what makes it unique, and so forth. Then it talks about “Beth,” the resident ghost, supposedly a young woman who was a student at Martha Washington College during the Civil War. There’s also the ghost of a Confederate soldier who died for love, and a ghostly riderless horse. Frankly, this book is a treat, just for something different and amusing. Possibly even intriguing. If you like your vacations with a little spook and shiver, consider using *Haunted Hotels to plan your stay.

While you’re at it, you might consider a copy of Blackman’s *Field Guide to North American Hauntings, which I guess is sort of like bird-watching, but with the paranormal. (Red-bellied sapsucker, check. Jewel-crested hummingbird, check. Free-roaming full-torso vapor, check. Transluscent riderless horse, check.) Seriously, folks. This is another interesting reference work. Its chapters include True Haunted Houses (Hull House, Amityville, Winchester Mystery House),
Haunted Vessels (USS Constellation, Queen Mary, Hanger 43), Haunted Cemetaries, Natural Haunts (Niagara Falls, Devil’s Tower), Other Haunted Sites (Highway 666, Alcatraz) and Ghost Hunting. And let me admit now that this book sends shivers up my spine. I can’t say exactly why, except that it presents the intrusion of the supernatural into the rational world with such seriousness and professionalism that one finds it hard to disbelieve, especially at night. It takes the subject matter seriously, assuming that you’re really planning to go hunting for ghosts. The typical entry includes data on Location, Number of Ghostly Residents, Identities of the same, Type of Activity, Demeanor of said residents, and the likelihood of encountering the ghosts. As I said, this is serious stuff. Approach at your own risk, and –do- avoid Highway 666. This is a good read, but I’ll trust you to follow your own judgment where actively seeking these ghosts out is concerned.

For something a little friendlier, consider *Hollywood Haunted. As the title suggests, this book is primarily concerned with the people who couldn’t leave Hollywood, even after death, and the places they gravitate towards. The first chapter covers certain ghostly superstars, like Clifton Webb and Sharon Tate. Next is a lengthy list of paranormal hot spots, such as Hollywood and Vine, Lucille Ball’s home, Madonna’s Castillo Del Lago, and the Four Oaks Restaurant. Finally, haunted studios, theaters, and hotels. This really is, as the cover says, a ghostly tour of filmland, never forgetting what makes Hollywood different from the rest of reality. Well-written, with numerous photos, it’s a nice treatment of ghosts in Hollywood. Of course, it helps if you like the subject matter. It’s not as thorough or detailed as some ghost books, but it’s high on the quality chart.

*Haunted Places is another travelogue-style book, with hundreds of entries arranged alphabetically by state, covering all fifty of the United States, plus bibliography and index. The cover bills this as covering “ghostly abodes, sacred sites, UFO landings, and other supernatural locations,” so be advised that it deals with a wide variety of paranormal and unexplained occurrences within the boundaries of the United States. But with over 2,000 such listings, it’s easy to find somewhere close to you. For instance, there’s two haunted locations in my general vicinity. On the other hand, this book is apt to wander a bit, so that you’ll find haunted houses on the same pages as “vortexes of psychic energy” and supposed UFO landing sites. A bit on the dry side, it makes a nice reference book or travel guide, but fairly dull bedtime reading. I enjoyed reading this book, but it’s definitely not as exciting as some of the offerings on my list. Your mileage may vary. Highly recommended as a reference book, less so if you’re looking for ghost stories themselves.

Along these same lines, we come to a curious little book. *The Ghosts That Walk In Washington. Yes, it’s the ghosts of Washington, DC. Professor Hans Holzer undertook a serious study of the spirits and legends of Washington, and came back with an extensive list of oddities and mysteries. It covers the Kennedys, Woodrow Wilson, Lincoln and the White House, and a number of other areas that have enjoyed visits from beyond. It tackles the subject matter from a parapsychologist’s point of view, treating the ghosts as psychic phenomena for the most part. As the author says, “[this book] is the report of the psychic investigator, corroborated and authenticated whenever that was possible.” It’s an oddity, and of such an age that you’d best look for copies in the used book stories if you must have it. It’s well-written, but definitely not as good as it could be.

*Haunted Heartland is more like it. Covering the states of Illinois, Ohio, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas, Michigan, Minnesota, Missouri, and Indiana, this book recounts dozens, if not hundreds of ghostly happenings, hauntings, and encounters. Retold for a more popular and accessible point of view, it’s a very nice collection of ghost stories with a regional feel to it. I can admit that there were times when it made me look around just to be on the safe side. Read this book, and believe that there –are- things out there that can’t be easily explained away. It contains the wide variety of stories, going beyond the basic fare. Vanishing people, ghostly ships, premonitions and precognitive visions, places trapped in time, and so forth. I’d go into more details, but frankly, I’m not sure I need to feed my imagination much more at the moment.

Instead, I’ll move right along, back in time to the Victorian era, which ought to be safer. *Victorian Ghost Stories is essentially an offering from the popular Oxford Book series, and is a collection of classic ghost tales dating from 1852 (The Old Nurse’s Story, by Elizabeth Gaskell) to 1908 (The Kit-bag, by Algernon Blackwood.)
Frankly, it’s a rather mixed bag. First, you have to like Victorian-era stories, and second, you have to accept that not everything will suit one’s tastes. While crowd-pleasers like Jerome K. Jerome and Rudyard Kipling make appearances, there’s a number of less-remembered authors as well. My opinion? It’s pretty good overall, but I haven’t managed to read more than about half of the stories within. I’m afraid that I’m a child of the modern era, and I have trouble adjusting to the writing styles of the Victorian years. What I have read, however, suggests that there are some true gems buried within. Henry James, George Macdonald, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Arthur Conan Doyle all have selections in this book. This is pure fiction, unlike many of the other books I’ve covered so far in my retrospective, but it stems from the same basic desire to explain and entertain. Feel free to give this one a glance with a clear conscience.

From Victorian to Western, we’re covering a wide range of genres and locations tonight. The next book on my list is Earl Murray’s *Ghosts of the Old West, a recent release from Tor, and the latest in a long series of books by Murray. He bases his interest in the supernatural in a ghostly experience of his own from 1970, thus giving the book something of a “believer” slant to it. He’s thus collected two dozen stories of hauntings and supernatural occurrences based in, inspired by, or related to the mystique of the Old West. Thus, we’re treated to stories about old forts and battlefields (such as the multiple phantoms of Fort Laramie, Reno Crossing, and Hat Creek), hotels and mansions (starting with the famous Winchester Mystery House, and going on to speak of Chico Hot Springs, the Lost Trail Hotel, the Sheridan Inn and more), old trails and ghost towns (especially the ghost town of Old Garnet, and Sinks of Dove Creek, where laborers worked on the trans-continental railroad), and finally a chapter on Native American spiritualism. Murray does quite well at expressing the restless nature of the Old West’s memories, and the unnerving aspect of its ghosts. It’s a well-written book, with just enough spook to it to help you envision the phantoms he describes. All of the stories in this book are based on truth, though in some cases the names have been changed by request. This is certainly a great representative of the vast unexplained nature of the Old West, a time of restlessness, adventure, and hardship, full of later legends. I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book, and once again, I’d have to recommend it if your tastes swing towards the Old West. (And if you like that, I also recommend Midori Snyder’s novel, *The Flight of Michael McBride, also from Tor.)

Heading Eastwards, we come to *The Cold, Cold Hand, Stories of Ghosts and Haunts From The Appalachian Foothills. This is definitely less of a scholarly effort and more of the traditional folklore/storytelling vein. As such, it places great detail on the lurid nature of the events leading up to, and describing such apparitions. It collects the stories right from the mouths of the tellers, ranging from teenagers who’ve held séances to elderly women recounting what happened ‘long ago’. This is the sort of book you read aloud at night to terrify your friends. There’s not much else I can say about it, except that the name is self-explanatory, and the stories are, for the most part, quite well-done. This is a superior book, a good example of what a book of folktales or ghost stories should be. There’s always been a strong sense of mystique about the Appalachian communities, the feeling that anything goes when no one’s watching, and these stories help to reinforce that sense of the unreal. Definitely give this one a shot if folktales and ghost stories are your interest.

Still remaining in the haunted hills of Appalachia, but focusing more on West Virginia, we come to *Coffin Hollow and Other Ghost Tales.
You’ve guessed it, friends. Faces in the window, dogs that vanish in the light, mysterious hitchhikers, perpetually wandering lovers, premonitions, and the usual staples of haunting are retold here in ninety-six spooky stories. Sadly, they range from eerie to bland, and most are brief and to the point. These tales have been collected from assorted tellers, and not all can do justice to the material. It’s a fine collection, but nothing extraordinary. What sets it out from the others, however, is a section of notes in the back. Each story has a listing, including the source (with story teller, date, and location), and the particular motif evoked by the story. These include E234.4: Ghost an unjustly executed man, E281: ghosts haunt house, E231.1: Ghost tells name of murderer, E610: Reincarnation as animal, E332.3.3.1: The vanishing hitchhiker, E363: Ghost returns to help living, and so forth. Thus, despite the sometimes-disappointing nature of the retellings, this book makes up for it in other ways. As a folklorist’s reference, it’s a treasure. The introduction is also worth a look, as William Jansen of the University of Kentucky explains why some stories seem ‘too polished’ while others are too bland: Simply put, the students aiding Dr. Ruth Ann Musick in collecting and transcribing the stories ignored much of the ‘voice’ of the teller in favor of writing the stories down in a literary manner. This book’s great for the folklorists and casual readers, but lacks on the “edge” that good ghost stories should have.

Our final offering of the night is *Ghost Ships, which bills itself as “true stories of nautical nightmares, hauntings, and disasters.” Thirty-three chapters detail dozens of bizarre happenings related to the sea, which is unquestionably a realm of inexplicable events, mysterious disappearances, freak occurrences, and great tragedies. This book reminds us that we’ll never master the oceans, nor will we understand them. The vast depths are littered with broken vessels and drowned sailors, victims of freak storms and human error. Unnamed creatures swim where the light never reaches, and the world takes on a whole new aspect when you’re a thousand miles from land. From the Coast Guard’s encounters with sinister fog banks, to crewless ships to cursed vessels to floating coffins to freak meteorological events to islands of death, the stories in *Ghost Ships fully detail the stranger nature of the seas. Richard Winer has done his homework, and knows his nautical world well, and conveys it in his writing. Not only are these stories bone-chilling, they’re evocative and thorough. An expert on the phenomena surrounding the Bermuda Triangle, he’s applied his talents towards the less-known and even stranger things that go on at sea. Thus, this book is highly recommended. It’s whetted my appetite for more of the same.

Thirteen books, covering a variety of aspects of ghosts, hauntings, and supernatural phenomena. We’ve seen regional books on the Old West, Appalachia, the sea, and Washington, DC. We’ve looked at haunted hotels, haunted Hollywood, and haunted places in general. I’ve shown you encyclopedias and references, and books of pure stories. Still, we’ve barely scratched the surface, for everywhere and everyone has a ghost story to be told. I hope I’ve enlightened, and given you something to look for the next time you’re in the mood to consider what lies beyond the shores of rational thought.

Enjoy, and sweet dreams. If something visits you in the night, don’t be –too- afraid. And don’t be too nervous when the door slams, the window opens, or the pictures fall off the walls. Maybe there’s a rational explanation.

Or maybe not.

Sleep tight.

Assorted Fairy Tale Books

A Time for Trolls: Fairy Tales from Norway, edited by Peter Christen Asbjornsen and Jorgen E. Moe (Tokens of Norway, 1962)
Old Wives’ Fairy Tale Book, edited by Angela Carter (Pantheon Books, 1990)
Fairy Tales: Traditional Tales Retold For Gay Men, edited by Peter Cashorali (HarperCollins, 1995)
The Victorian Fairy Tale Book, edited by Michael Patrick Hearn (Pantheon Books, 1988)
Tatterhood and Other Tales, edited by Ethel Johnston Phelps (The Feminist Press at CUNY, 1978)
Feminist Fairy Tales, edited by Barbara Walker (HarperCollins, 1996)
Favorite Folktales From Around the World, edited by Jane Yolen (Pantheon Books, 1986)

What -is- it about fairy tales? Every time you turn around, there’s another retelling, another version, another collection. Whether it’s Disney doing an animated take on Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, or Little Mermaid, or The Tenth Kingdom miniseries currently running on American television, or the umpteenth remake of Alice in Wonderland, or one more collection of tales to add to the shelves, it’s as though everyone wants in on the act. Everyone wants their say on how the old tales should be told and retold and retold and retold ad nauseum.

Anyone who’s wandered around this site for even a little while is probably familiar with the dozens of ways in which fairy tales can be interpreted and explained. Terri Windling and Ellen Datlow, for example, have made a sizable contribution to the pot with their adult fairy tale anthology series (the sixth and final of which, Black Heart, Ivory Bones, is now out in stores). (FT will be reviewing it shortly.) In these popular collections, authors of all sorts retell fairy tales with a more adult, “now” sensibility, often injecting doses of dark humor, grey morality, and personal issues into the stories. Another effort by Windling is the Fairy Tale series of novels, in which authors such as Pamela Dean, Charles de Lint, and Stephen Brust retell stories in their own manner. In such fashion, we’ve been gifted with looks at Tam Lin; The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars; the Nightingale; and Jack the Giant-Killer.

Fairy tales are versatile, as five minutes with a Jack Zipes book will tell you. When you get right down to it, the setting isn’t important. The people aren’t important. Only the meaning is. Fairy tales are special because they’re full of archetypes. And we all know archetypes.

The Good King. The Wicked Stepmother. The Brave Prince. The Suffering Heroine. The Evil Witch. The Good Fairy. The Talking Animals. Royalty in Disguise. The Unjustly Persecuted.

We know the archetypical stories.

Third son goes out into the world and finds fame and fortune and love. Little girl runs afoul of nasty creature, and is rescued by a hero. Love denied, love triumphant. Evil is punished, good is rewarded. Princess makes promise to frog, finds happiness despite being forced to keep it. Hero/ine undergoes many trials to win their true love back from evil spells.

And so on. Fairy tales are universal. To prove it, I’ve gathered together a collection of books which adequately reflect the wide spectrum of potential.

Tatterhood and Other Tales, edited by Ethel Johnston Phelps, is the first such example. The sole unifying theme behind this collection is that in every story, every tale, “they portray active and courageous girls and women in the leading role.” Each of the stories features a heroine who triumphs over outstanding odds because of her resourcefulness, intelligence, and determination. The stories come from all over the world, from Norway, Wales, Scotland, India, the Ivory Coast, Latin America, Russia and more.

In Tatterhood, we see variations on familiar stories, such as “Janet and Tamlin,” “Kate Crackernuts,” and the title story, “Tatterhood.” As well, unfamiliar stories such as “The Giant Caterpillar,” “Unanana and the Elephant,” and “Clever Manka” are presented. As collections go, this one has been collected quite nicely, with beautiful black and white illustrations by Pamela Baldwin Ford, and a well-written explanatory introduction by the editor. In terms of variety of source material, quality of writing, and enjoyment factor, this book rates fairly high. My own personal barometer was the treatment of “Janet and Tamlin,” one of my favorite stories. They managed to capture the feel and source fairly well, though the pregnancy thread that’s so often present was omitted in this case.

Tatterhood is a respectable, worthwhile edition, especially for the wide range of stories offered, many of which aren’t as well known. It steers clear of the majority of the best-known (thanks to popular culture) tales, and keeps its focus steady. The closing text in the back divides the tales further into Tales of Romance, Family, Relationships, Wit and Humor, Old Women, and Independent Women, further proving its usefulness as a text and a pleasure read.

Along the same vein is Angela Carter’s collection, Old Wives’ Fairy Tales, which provides an extremely well-written, intelligent take on the oral tradition, and the tales which have been passed down throughout the generations.

“When we hear the formula ‘Once upon a time’, or any of its variants, we know in advance that what we are about to hear isn’t going to pretend to be true. Mother Goose may tell lies, but she isn’t going to deceive you in that way. She is going to entertain you, to help you pass the time pleasurably, one of the most ancient and honorable functions of art. At the end of the story, the Armenian storyteller says: ‘From the sky fell three apples, one to me, one to the storyteller, and one to the person who entertained you.’ Fairy tales are dedicated to the pleasure principle, although since there is no such thing as pure pleasure, there is always more going on than meets the eye.”

Furthermore, “These stories have only one thing in common — they all centre around a female protagonist; be she clever, or brave, or silly, or cruel, or sinister, or awesomely unfortunate, she is centre stage, as large as life, — sometimes, like Sermerssuaq, larger.”

Carter understands the value of the “voice” in telling a story. As a result, the stories collected in this volume have been told in their original “voice,” be it North American Ozarks, English dialect, English Gypsy accented, or what-have-you. The stories range across the world, sparing no corner, no heritage, to turn out some of the very best examples of women in fairy tales.

Old Wives’ Fairy Tales is separated into categories such as “Brave, Bold and Wilful,” “Clever Women, Resourceful Girls, and Desperate Stratagems,” “Sillies,” “Witches,” “Moral Tales,” “Unhappy Families,” and “Good Girls and Where It Gets Them.” As we can see, she’s managed to capture a number of the archetypical situations in which our heroines manage to become involved, be it the hapless “Armless Maiden,” the moralistic “Little Red Riding Hood,” the never-satisfied “Woman Who Lived In A Vinegar Bottle,” or the daring “Kate Crackernuts.”

Mind you, that’s only four out of dozens of stories. I highly recommend this book, for quality all around. Angela Carter is one of the better editors you’ll find in the field, and her retellings are noteworthy for capturing the true essence and darkness inherent in fairy tales.

While we’re still on the subject of fairy tales about women, I’d like to talk about Feminist Fairy Tales, edited by Barbara Walker (author of The Women’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets, among other feminist-aimed books). As you can guess, these aren’t just stories about women. No, they’re fairy tales told about, for, and by women. In some cases, male characters and protagonists have undergone a sex change during the retelling. Hence, stories like “The Empress’s New Clothes” and “Ala Dean and the Wonderful Lamp.”

One of my favorites in this book is the retelling of Thomas Rhymer, yet another ballad I claim a fondness for. In this case, it’s a beautiful, haunting story that captures the feel and tone of the old tale quite nicely. However, like those before her, Walker doesn’t restrict herself to any one area of the world. One of the most disconcerting stories is “Three Little Pinks,” which has a great many familiar elements from the “Three Little Pigs” contained within.

Feminist Fairy Tales is a good collection, though quite naturally, heavily biased towards a female perspective, female empowerment, and female triumph. But it’s an outstanding example of how fairy tales can be rewritten for any set of circumstances, without losing their power. Yes, you can tell fairy tales about women. It’s not a problem. You can turn princes into princesses, heroes into heroines, and so forth. Yes, you can have a story about the Frog Princess instead of the Frog Prince. And with each story proceeded by Walker’s insights into the original source material and her reasons for altering and telling as she does, you can follow the train of thought easily.

Now, I wouldn’t lead you all this way, and not give you some equality. Hence, Fairy Tales: Traditional Tales Retold For Gay Men, edited by Peter Cashorali. Let me explain that, on the whole, I consider myself a heterosexual male. This is important, as it explains my viewpoint. Normally, tales of homosexuality just don’t do anything for me. However, I have to hold out this book as a perfect example of how one can retell fairy tales for another side of the fence. Why have a princess at all? Who needs women? Why can’t happily ever after apply to two men? The stories contained within this volume are eerily familiar, but startlingly different.

Hansel and Gretel, where Hansel becomes a crossdresser, and Gretel his manager. Rumplestiltskin, featuring a miller’s nephew named Stephen, serving as an allegory for AIDS. “The Man Who Was Lovers With A Pigeon.” “Godfather Death,” where the brilliant young doctor risks his all to save a prince. These stories are wistful, magical, and touching, and they throw stereotypes and gender assumptions right out the window.

Admittedly, it helps if your tastes already run in that direction, but Fairy Tales is worth looking for. It’s a good example of the versatility and range in which these stories can take place. Some of the offerings are less subtle and well-crafted than others, but on the whole, it’s a good collection.

Next on the list, we come back to the global perspective, as Jane Yolen offers up, Favorite Folktales From Around the World. Yolen, considered a master in the field of folktales, brings us dozens of stories from just as many countries, far too many to even begin listing. Suffice it to say that versions of all of your favorites are here, and many more obscure, lesser-known, or just plain forgotten stories as well.

The table of contents helpfully divides the stories into categories, including “Death and the End of the World,” “Shape Shifters,” “Fooling the Devil,” The Fool,” “Telling Tales,” and “Ghosts and Revenants,” among others. Every story has its country or ethnicity of origin listed after it, allowing us to see the wide range of sources. Any given category might have stories from Tibet, Siberia, American Indians, Turkey, China, England, Japan, Iceland, Ireland, France, and Eskimo, for example.

What can I say? Yolen is good at what she does. This volume is easy to read, enjoyable, thorough, and possessed of a pleasant voice. You won’t find any radical retellings or variants here. What you will find are folktales as accurate and close to the original sources as possible, ones that contain death, betrayal, murder, mayhem, confusion, heroes, love, and beauty. These are the stories as they’re meant to be told. Sometimes confusing, sometimes shocking, always magical.

And that brings us to The Victorian Fairy Tale Book, edited by Michael Patrick Hearn. Yet another in the Pantheon Library of folklore, this one looks at the intriguing, often paradoxical Victorian era, and what it did for fairy tales. This was the age in which many tales, far too many, lost their “edge” and were sanitized, whitewashed, and toned down for children. This was the era in which fairy tales ceased to be for everyone, and were relegated to the nursery rooms, for children. And in the process, they lost a lot of the sex, blood, betrayal and questionable behavior.

So what does this book have? Well, it has Robert Browning’s “The Pied Piper of Hamelin.” It has Christina Rossetti’s evocative “Goblin Market.” It has William Butler Yeats’ “The Stolen Child.” It has Oscar Wilde’s “The Selfish Giant” and Kenneth Grahame’s “The Reluctant Dragon,” and J.M. Barrie’s “Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens,” as well as stories by E. Nesbit, George MacDonald, and more.

As well, there’s art and illustrations by Arthur Rackham, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Gilbert, and more. In short, this is a book filled with stories from the Victorian era, containing the best and brightest, as well as the dark and twisted. No one in their right mind would ever call Oscar Wilde “whitewashed,” and certainly, “Goblin Market” is not a sanitized story. Erotic, sensual, evocative, and powerful, yes.

And therein lies the strength of this book. It makes no assumptions, and no condemnations, it simply presents the material of an earlier, stranger era, and lets us judge for ourselves. The Victorian era is odd, compared to our own, its writing styles much different, but still valid. While the change in style may be disconcerting, the importance of the works and their role in the history and evolution of fairy tales is unquestioned. Hearn’s introduction serves as a worthy steppingstone between today and yesterday.
“The Victorian Fairy Tale Book does not pretend to embrace all aspects of this vast and varied genre. Instead, it only includes outstanding examples of imaginative fiction and poetry, several by writers who were among the greatest writers of their time. Remarkably, though works of fancy, most never intended as anything more than children’s stories, they reflect Victoria’s England better than most of the earnest novels and social tracts of that era…. Some amuse, some enchant, some satirize, some criticize — after all, no one creates an alternate world who is content with his own.”

Finally, we come to an example of tales collected from one specific area. A Time For Trolls is a gathering of stories from the Norwegian fairy tale traditions. Hence, there’s a blending of the familiar (“East of the Sun, West of the Moon”) and the unfamiliar (“Rumble-Mumble Goose-Egg”). There’s not much more I can say about this obscure little book, save that it’s a perfectly satisfactory retelling of traditional tales. The “voice” is there, and as a reflection of Norway’s traditions and past, it succeeds. Good luck finding a copy, as mine is dated 1962, and I originally “borrowed” it from my father, who in turn “borrowed” it from his sister.

Fairy tales are universal. You can retell them as many times as you want, apply them to any situation or set of conditions you like, and they’ll still exist in a primal form. The books I’ve listed are only a mere scattering of the multitudinous takes on fairy tales and folktales that are out there. There’s more every day, with folklorists such as Jack Zipes, Jane Yolen, Josepha Sherman, Terri Windling, and more working to bring back the old tales, interpret them, and expose us to the magic that every story has. So go look for these books, and then strike out on your own, working from bibliographies and recommended reading lists. Above all else, though, enjoy yourself.

Weep Not For Me, by Deborah A. Symonds (Pennsylvania State University Press, 1997)

This has not been an easy book to review, for several reasons. First of all, we must consider the full title, and the subject matter: Weep Not For Me: Women, Ballads, and Infanticide in Early Modern Scotland. That’s right, Deborah Symonds, an Assistant Professor of History at Drake University, wrote a book detailing the intricate, often morbid relationships between the social situations of seventeenth- through nineteenth-century Scotland, the way women were affected, how that led — all too often — to infanticide, and how such things were ultimately immortalized in ballads.

Not exactly the most comforting, cheering, or uplifting topic, no. And likely the sort to be interesting or useful only to diehard scholars, or those with a genuine interest in any or all of the above intertwined topics. I’ll admit that it certainly intimidated me, for quite some time. How does one approach such an esoteric work, and do it justice?

At last, though, I braved the depths of academic density, and attacked Weep Not For Me, taking some time to just sit and read it. To my surprise, what I found was a thorough and scholarly book that dealt with the subjects in a fairly accessible manner, that didn’t alienate the casual reader with dense jargon and dry words.

A brief overview of the book’s structure reveals that Symonds has been very kind to the reader, including such extras as a chronology (that lists selected events between 1688 and 1822, for both Scotland, and Britain/Europe), an introductory prologue, an appendix containing the text of the relevant ballad “Mary Hamilton,” a particularly morbid appendix detailing a list of women “investigated and/or prosecuted for infanticide, 1661-1821,” notes, bibliography, and index.

In between prologue and extras, we’re treated to chapters dealing with “Ballad Singers and Ballad Collectors,” “Ballad Heroines,” “Reconstructing Rural Infanticide,” and more, with chapters that focus on the role of women’s work during that time, the drive to make it possible to prosecute child murder, and even a look at Walter Scott’s infanticide-related novel, The Heart of Mid-Lothian.

I’ll admit it. On the surface, this book does come as a piece of scholarly research, one of those books that every professor is expected to write at least one of in their time. It makes no claims to be anything to the contrary.

Its strength is, then, the ability to attack obscure and rather touchy subjects, and to do so properly.

The book details just how alien the world of “early modern Scotland” is, compared to our own: vastly less technological, far more rural, steeped in tradition and custom, but caught in the throes of change nonetheless, both external and internal. Back then, most people lived in villages, and everyone seemed to know everyone. Marriage was expected of most people, especially if one hoped to start a family and a farm. Unfortunately, not every relationship culminated with marriage. During the several-century time period covered, illegitimate births appeared with alarming regularity, thanks to both failed courtships and the odd casual sexual encounter. And sorry to say, the resulting father didn’t always take responsibility for his part of the consequences.

Thus, single women with bastard children. Not the best thing to be, for the time and place. Is it any wonder that many of them resorted to disposing of their children, rather than be burdened with both child and stigma?

In such a manner, Weep Not For Me explores the myriad of social conditions that came together to create the Scotland of the seventeenth, eighteenth, and nineteenth centuries, a time of emerging industrialization, uncertain ties with Britain and Europe, and a greater role for women in certain elements of the workplace.

Of course, there’s also the other part of the equation, how infanticide works into ballads. Scotland’s always been a good one for producing traditional ballads, of all manner, often incorporating social commentary in the form of stories and legends. Imagine my surprise when I opened the book at random, and found “Tam Lin” quoted. Well, it -is- a story about a man who gets a woman pregnant, in order to save himself from the Fae … and the themes aren’t all that dissimilar from ones like “Mary Hamilton,” a popular ballad (found in Child, claimed to be the most popular in the collection) where the protagonist becomes pregnant, kills the child, is discovered, tried, and condemned as well.

This isn’t an uncommon theme, either, as the book further elaborates. Love, sex, murder, betrayal, occur time and time again, with only the names and exact relationships of the participants changing. The list of applicable ballads is long and startling.

It’s hard to properly describe this book, as the subject material is complex and dense. What I can say, after reading it, is that I feel a lot more knowledgeable about the topic in question, and I wasn’t traumatized by the reading. In short, this is a good book, well-written and accessible even to casual readers, that stands as a good example of how to write scholarly works for the public. It’s not easy going all the way through, nor is it exactly bathroom reading, nor is it a “tub novel.” But as a reference book, it’s outstanding. If this is a subject that interests you, be it Scottish culture and history, women’s studies, or ballads, than give it a look for yourself.

The Flight of Michael McBride, by Midori Snyder (Tor, 1995)

“Once, long ago when the Tuatha Da Danann rode their fairy horses over the green hills, a mortal man fell in love with Etian, the second and much-neglected wife of Midhir, King of the Fairy Hill of Bri Leith. This man came one night into the King’s court and challenged the King to a game of chess. Foolish was Etian, for she looked upon the mortal man and saw his desire. Flattered, she said nothing to the King, but she knew in her heart that the man would win and that she would be the prize he would claim.”

Those words mark an ending and a beginning for Michael McBride, son of James and Eileen McBride. An ending, for those are the last words Eileen speaks to Michael as she lies on her deathbed. A beginning, for this story will plunge Michael deep into a series of harrowing adventures that will take him from New York City to Texas, and beyond.

The year is 1878, and Michael McBride is a strapping young man, just into his twenties. His father is a cold, distant man who speaks little of familial love and concentrates more on his chess game than his wife or son. His mother, as we’ve seen, is recently dead, leaving behind the wealth of Irish folklore and myths that she’s related to Michael since he was old enough to understand them. That, and a strange blessing placed upon his left eye, one that signifies more than he realizes at the time.

Things take a turn for the weird (and dangerous!) when Michael begins to see and hear things which shouldn’t be there, such as a log enchanted to appear as his mother’s corpse, tiny creatures living in the trees, and a darkly handsome, evil man named Red Cap, intent upon killing Michael.

Faced with phantoms determined to kill him, and things he can’t explain, Michael flees New York, hopping the first train west. And that’s the start of an odyssey that will take him further than he ever expects. Before he’s through, he’ll confront Red Cap, encounter the Morrigu (ancient Celtic battle goddess), dare the wrath of the Night Hatchet (Native American creature of dark legends), make and lose friends, discover the truths his parents could never share with him, and become master of his own destiny. Oh, and have a reason to use his chess skills.

The Flight of Michael McBride is a beautifully spun tale of magic, love, loss, and growing up. It juxtaposes Irish myth, the enigmatic mystique of Native American folklore, the simple charm of folk magic, and the illusion of the Wild West, creating a tapestry that few writers can equal. The only author who’s done anything comparable who springs to mind is Tom Deitz, and his work is more focused on Cherokee myth. There are other authors who have juxtaposed Celtic and Native American themes — Charles de Lint, for example — but in my opinion, Snyder hits a home run with this novel.

Besides the original concept, it’s a compelling story. Tragedy seems to follow in Michael McBride’s footsteps, but still he perseveres, and finds help in the most unexpected places. Whether it’s a horse that only he can tame, a woman card sharp who befriends him on the train, or even the beautiful young woman who saves his life through the use of her charms, Michael is never at a loss for friends. Of course, he’ll find every aspect of his being tested before the end of the story.

Snyder’s grasp of dialect and language is exceptional, from the “voice” of the Sidhe, to the language of the cowboys, to the mannerisms and slang used by the backwoods characters. Her imagery is downright gorgeous, evocative of whatever setting she chooses. Witness this sample passage:

“There was no carriage standing before him, but as he turned to look behind him, Michael tensed. There, waiting on a black horse, was the man with the red cap. Only now Michael saw it wasn’t a cap, but long red hair slicked down to the sides of the man’s narrow face. Surrounding the man were other mounted horsemen spread across the street, their spears and axes held upright. On the pommels of their saddles were skulls tied together, festooned with red and green ribbons and the glint of twirling gold coins. In the shadows of the building, the horsemen’s faces were a deep mottled brown, their bodies thick and strong like carved oak. But in the open street, the sunlight drenched the armor and the warriors shone transparent as a sheet of gold rain. They were attended by wraiths whose pale gray faces worse masks of misery and who stared at Michael out of haunted eyes. Hands soft as dust clung to the bridles and held the mounts steady. Shadowed substance and shining light, they appeared to Michael at once solid and threatening as a closing storm and as vaporous as a misty dream. The man with the long red hair nodded to Michael.

This is one of those books I hold out as an example not just of urban fantasy done right, but of urban fantasy done right in an unexpected setting. As some of you may know, this is one of those books I’ve selected for my top ten urban fantasy novels list, so my wholehearted support shouldn’t come as a surprise.

Unfortunately, you may need to scour your local used bookstores or libraries to find this book. But it is definitely worth the effort.

Seven Nations, The Factory (Seven Nations, Inc, 1999)

It’s almost inexcusable that I could have had this particular gem in my collection for so long and not written a review of it. I confess, then, that I was saving it for a rainy day, and as I fear I may have to start building an ark later tonight, I might as well share my opinions on this lovely piece of “thrash Celtic.”

Despite an overabundance of Celtic blood in my veins, passed on by the typical melting pot of English/Scots/Irish, I have no overwhelming love for the music. I like it, all right, but overdose easily. There’s that, and my self-professed love for the FHL theory. (Faster, Harder, Louder.) Luckily, The Factory succeeds on all of those levels, coming across as an energetic blend of Celtic, rock, and a few esoteric genres which I’ll describe later on in the review.

Seven Nations themselves consists of Kirk McLeod (vocals, guitars, piano and highland bagpipes), Strudy (bass guitars), Ashton Geoghagan (drums), Scott Long (highland bagpipes, shuttle pipes) and Dan Stacey (fiddle, violin, and feet(!)). As well, they’re joined by guest musicians Steve Holley, Richard Fordus, Stuart Cameron, and the Amazing Grace Choir, who add a variety of instruments and vocals to assorted tracks.

I’ll say it up front: The Factory has bagpipes. Lots of them. In fact, it pretty much starts off with an amazing bagpipe instrumental that soon launches into “The Factory Song,” a curious ballad based upon a handcar/traditional song and modified by Kirk McLeod for this album. It’s an energetic song with a trace of melancholy and regret, a tale of the men working day and night in a factory, the sort of song they might have sung to keep up their pace and rhythm while working. With lyrics like “I share this cellar with five of my friends / when the big bell rungs our day’s at an end / We clear our throats from the dusty air / the machinery’s din we always hear,” you get a good feeling for the conditions they have to deal with. Other lyrics pray that “If we should die before I make it back home / please carry me home” and “Even when we sleep do we fall from grace?” All in all, it’s a powerful song, and the perfect introduction to the album.

The next track, “This Season” takes on a somber feel, telling a tale of sadness, anger, love and memory. The lyrics are poignant and evocative, with “I will remember you this way / as sure as the night divides the day / as sure as the sun goes down” to speak strongly of the power of remembrance. Bagpipes, drums, fiddles, vocals and even electric guitars weave together to generate a dark and touching song.

“Soft Gator Girl” eschews vocals for a purely instrumental medley based on the traditional “The Fox Hunters/ Donald Willie and His Dog,” which gives the band a chance to shine forth with fiddle, percussion and shuttle pipes. Another powerful effort, which sets the feet to moving in a good Highland-style dance. It’s the very sort of song the Fae might play to encourage their mortal guests to join in on a clear Midsummer night.

The vocals return, just in time for “The Ballad of Calvin Crozier,” and they’re quite welcome in this tragic song of a man who “returned and gave his life for another man” after the end of the Civil War. (I assume it’s the Civil War, based on the mention of Union soldiers, and the mention that it was “four long years.” I could be wrong.) It urges the “good people of this town” to listen, and know the name of Calvin Crozier, who fought and has seen blood and tears, and returned home, only to end up digging his own grave and die while Union soldiers danced on his grave all night long.” Okay, not very cheerful, but it’s a very powerful song nonetheless, mixing bagpipes and electric guitar to blend the old and the new.

“Twelve” slows things down for another song of love and loss and desire and blame. Slow and patient, it builds gradually into something of a ballad, offering up lyrics like “Out from the ashes of gray desire / Out from the dreams and into the fire / I said a lot, it won’t mean a thing / after she’s gone these words will sing.”

Then we move on to “The Paddy Set,” another traditional-based song with an interesting military feel to it, starting as it does with bagpipes and drums and the background noise of a commander putting his troops through their paces. It segues nicely into a strong, strident drums and percussion beat, highly evocative of action and chaos. Electric guitars launch in as well, setting a rough and rapid pace that ends very abruptly.

“N.O.T. (I Want My People Back)” carries the refrain of “I want my people back / I want them here with me / I want my people back here with me” in between tales of men going to war against the Czar in Russia. As the song says, “Six young men from the 93rd / At Balaclava bravely heard / Colin Campbell’s plea to stand their ground / They made their way back home again / Far away from the battle din / To find their families weren’t around / A tartan shroud was all that remained / Across their ruined houses lay / And as they came on back down from the hills / The wind behind them wailed away…”. It’s another strong effort on an album full of them.

“Heroes in Tennis Shoes” has a different feel, but one hard to properly identify. It’s got almost a pop tone to it, without actually crossing the barrier.

Then we have “Sweet Orphan,” which brings in the piano for a Billy Joel-like song with a wistful air about February. One of the best parts has to be, “And the rain, it whistles lonely on this pond / and I think it’s sad you’ve never learned to swim / now they’ve torn the old mill down / and your dress blues are on the ground / now there’s nothing left, just moss and tired trees.”

The picture it paints is suitably touching and nostalgic.

“Mother Mary” is another rock-and-roll bagpipe-and-guitar special, with the band quite cheerfully throwing themselves into something of a love song.

My favorite song, and certainly the most unusual of the album has to be the bizarre rendition of “Amazing Grace,” which is here titled “Daze of Grace.” A dozen listenings, and only then was I able to find words to describe the haunting, mysterious manner in which they take and transform the traditional melody into a storm cloud anthem. It starts off with a lone woman’s voice, backed by wind and thunder, as though she’s singing to the storm, and as the wind increases, so does the odd sound of record scratchiness. Bring in a solemn drumbeat and the bagpipes everyone expects with “Amazing Grace,” and fade out the voice for an instrumental. Now it has something of a tribal beat, the hurricane still in the background. An electric fiddle and a male voice chanting, along with the regular drumbeats, and it takes on an unearthly, alien aspect. Then it all comes together for a truly unique effect. The background chant of “Daze of Grace” whispers its way into the listener’s consciousness. It’s easy to become lost as the full choir fades in with the familiar lyrics of Amazing Grace. As I’ve said, this is my favorite song, and the one that makes Seven Nations truly stand out from every other Celtic-style band I’ve ever heard. Oddest of all, though, has to be the scratchiness in the very background of the song, as though it was recorded from an old record, or from a tape with plenty of hiss. Rather than detracting, it adds to the overall effect.

Finally, the album closes with “This Season Reprise,” which is sedate compared to some of the other offerings on this album.

I recommend The Factory with enthusiasm and confidence. It won me over with its consistent quality, divergence from the same old same old I so often find in Celtic music, and the talented promise of Seven Nations. This is a group to watch for in the future.