The King of Elfland's Daughter

Another review, after three-dozen? Is anything of interest left to be said about this 1924 fantasy novel by Lord Dunsany? Well, yes., I think that there is. The confusion expressed by some reviewers is easy to understand. After more than three quarters of a century, "The King of Elfland's Daughter" remains remarkably hard to place. Not absolutely unique on the level of details, it stands apart when seen as a whole. Although the author's copious and skillful writing in an improbable variety of genres set him apart from the rest of the Anglo-Irish Peerage, he seems to have shared their assumption that a man of his position and rank could do as he pleased, when he pleased. Including what he wanted to write. As a result, this book won't fit into any neat category, whether it existed then, or emerged later. The book seems to open with an idealized medieval scene, like one of the late-Victorian medieval romances by William Morris ("The Wood Beyond the World" or "The Well at the World's End"). We meet the old, wise, and patient lord of Erl, and the skilled and industrious people of Erl, ruled by a line that goes back seven hundred years. That takes a couple of paragraphs, and is interwoven with plot developments; despite a reputation for elaborate prose ("iridescent, crystalline, singing," according to H.P. Lovecraft), Dunsany could really be quite concise. But, in a moment worthy of Dunsany's American contemporary, James Branch Cabell, at his most mordant, we meet these stolid people as the Parliament of Erl, taking the initiative for the first time in five centuries, asks that the land be ruled by "a magic lord." And so the current lord, feeling unable to refuse so "reasonable" a request, made after so long an interval, commissions his apparently matter-of-fact son, Alveric, to meet the demand by marrying a princess of Elfland. How to arrange it is Alveric's problem. And if, indeed, Cabell had been writing the tale, everything after these first two (!) pages would have been about the absurdities of democracy, aristocracy, celebrity, marriage, and anything else that came into sight; a version of "Jurgen" (1919) or "Figures of Earth" (1921). For sources, one would look back with certainty to the quest of an Elf-queen in Chaucer-the-pilgrim's comically inept "Tale of Sir Thopas" in "The Canterbury Tales." But instead of Cabell's satire, or Chaucer's, we then get charming word-pictures of the obviously British countryside (England and Ireland both seem to be drawn upon), vignettes of children, and of trolls, and the sensations of dogs -- this being in fact unmistakably the work of the Anglo-Irish Lord Dunsany, travel-writer, essayist, and master of the very short story. As Alveric tries to cross the forever-shifting borders of Elfland, seeking the Elfin Mountains across the edges of the fields we know, the author might have been anticipating Hope Mirrlees' "Lud-in-the-Mist," still two years from publication. But the nature of the traffic between Er

After reading mostly positive reviews on this webpage concerning Lord Dunsany's novel I went in search of it, and found it at my university library. Reading it was quite a different experience for me, but people who aren't prepared for the style of writing like I was might be disappointed, confused or scorning of the slow, dream-like pace, archetype characters and poetical language. This might be especially true of fans of typical 'fantasy' genre books (authors such as David Eddings or Terry Brooks) where a fantasy universe is deemed to be good only if it has a solid backing and an exhaustive array of facts and figures to add realism to the stories. Lord Dusany however, expects the reader to take for granted the existence of Elfland, trolls, elves and will o' the wisps, without trying to explain them. 'The King of Elfland's Daughter' is refreshingly free of geographies, biologies, cultures, or other infinite details that are so prevailent in other fantasy cult books.The story goes that the Parliament of Erl approaches their king, eager for their small country to be known throughout the lands. The solution is for it to somehow imbue magic into its royalty, and to achieve this the king sends his son Alveric into Elfland to make the King of Elfland's daughter his wife. Alveric is successful in this, and brings the beautiful Lirazel back to Erl, where they have a child Orien. The King of Elfland however desparatly wants his daughter returned to him, and by use of three powerful runes, contrives to bring her back to her home.Dunsany delves into several themes throughout the book, all framed by the contrasts of Erl and Elfland. Within this, he explores the differences between Paganism and Christianity, freedom and restrictions, the passage of times, mortality and immortality, male and female, parent and child - the list goes on. Running through these is the main story thread that makes clear that everyone desires what they cannot have, and although by the end of the novel their desires come to furfillment, it is in an ironic resolution that no one (including this reviewer) could have ever wished for. The ending is thus happy, but contains a certain sense of something bittersweet, like a lost childhood that Dusany continually likens Elfland to.It was acknowledged by many later fantasy writers that they were inspired by Dunsany, including (obviously) Tolkien. It is no coincidence that Alveric and Lirazel have a certain resemblance to Aragorn and Arwen in way of their courtly love and somewhat 'forbidden' romance. However, I feel that Dunsany hits upon notes of inevitable dischord between the two that Tolkien neglects. I wonder for example if Arwen ever felt: 'the years that assail beauty, and the harshness that vex the spirit that were already about her, and the doom of all mortals hung over her head.' It is something for devoted Tolkien fans to think about, as well as potent storytelling. (That wasn't a dig at Tolkien by any means, just a thought to dwe

Arguably, the beginning of the end for fantastic writing came was the complex and detailed history of Middle Earth in the appendix to The Lord of the Rings; suddenly, books became encyclopediae with stories and any sort of imagination became redundant. This is an accusation that could never be levelled at The King of Elfland's Daughter. This beautiful, evocative book, written before the introduction of the sword-and-accountancy template, improvises its reality to produce something with more resemblance to Lewis Carrol than Tolkein. The feel is almost psychedelic, but the gently ornate prose glows with the sort of tender magic that would be entirely lost by wilder fantasies to follow. The story itself deals with the desire of the men of Erl to have a magic lord rule them, and progresses through thunderbolts picked up in cabbage patches and unicorn hunts, in and out of the fields we know, to the final enchantment, and a mesmerisingly gentle conclusion. Some readers find the underdeveloped characters and the slow moving story frustrating, but this is probably a symptom of the modern approach to fantasy; rather than define a background and then tell a heavily developed story within it, Dunsany moves the setting to the foreground, using the story almost as a device to reveal his beautifully imagined vision. In my view, this book is truly the essence of imaginative writing: it's genuinely creative rather than following a template and, rather than numb the reader with facts and details, uses broad brush strokes, allowing the mind to expand into the gaps. It is a true classic of the genre, and I would recommend it to anyone jaded by the mundane visions of modern fantasy.

Lord Dunsany is acknowledged by many, including leading authors (from W.B. Yeats and Lovecraft to top writers of today) as one of the greatest contributors to the field of modern fantasy. Sadly, many of his works have been allowed by publishers to slip out of print and many readers today have never had the chance... This book is one of his best and anyone who enjoys fantastic fiction, myth or legend should try it. The story has such power, is written so lyrically, is woven so richly, that there can be few comparisons. You care about the people, you can see the realms before you. There is depth and complexity, joy and heartbreak, detail and sweeping vision, and a leavening of humour (some supplied by the people of the land but especially by the troll... and no, this is not some stereotypical "bad guy on a bridge"). For style and reach, few can touch Dunsany. Don't miss out - and when you've read this book, try "The Charwoman's Shadow", also reprinted. For something different, there's a whole alternate mythology in "The Complete Pegana" and some truly outstanding short stories in "The Hashish Man" - and keep an eye out for any other Dunsany works. Maybe even write or e-mail a publisher or two to look for more...