Kingdoms of Elfin (original 1976; edition 1978)

A book about fairies that you don't have to be embarrassed about reading. Looking-glass versions of monarchies/aristocracy/courts. Their amorality is interesting and sometimes funny. (Oh... did not quite finish this.) ( )

A collection of wickedly witty stories about an imagined world of Elfin kingdoms (though they are all ruled by rather fickle queens, and their kings tend to be in rather precarious positions).

Although mainly about the Elfin aristocracy, there is also a rag-tag collection of common elfins, changelings, werewolves and humans to add a little breadth and depth. The locales are mainly northern Europe, with the occasional excursion to eastern Europe and the Near East. The time is vaguely 13th to 17th century - it doesn't really matter to the elfins as they live for hundreds, possibly thousands, of years.

These aren't jolly gnomes and fairies, nor noble elves battling evil goblins: the elfins are selfish, untrustworthy, cruel and unpredictable, all beneath a veneer of courtly manners and tradition.

The stories read like folktales, and like such they often end suddenly leaving you wanting more. The endings are rarely good ones for the protagonists, few coming away unscathed, though you can never be quite sure. I like this, as nothing is guaranteed and you usually can't predict (at least I couldn't) which way the stories will run.

Fantasy and folklore, murder and the macabre, wonder and wit: brilliant! ( )

Finding the right entry for commenting on Townsend Warner's Kingdoms of Elfin is not unlike going to a reputed fairy brughe and looking for the way in. She has created a place with laws of its own, logic of its own, and a balanced tragic/comic weight of its own. Elfin are not sweet or kind, they are not moral or judgmental, they live in the moment, in part, because they live a good long time and have no reason not to, and because they are not looking out for their immortal souls, not having any. They are not gods, and they are not human but dwell someplace between. They live hierarchically and by rules, many of which serve to point up the inanity and arbitrary quality of social rules (the higher class elfins regard flying to be in bad taste) in general. As one mortal visitor learns, it is heaven or hell, living with the elfin and they leave it entirely up to him to decide, which again serves to point out to the reader that much the same applies to us.

The stories beguile and usually end badly for almost everyone involved. The writing is at all times dazzling. I am a sucker for a fictional rant especially a funny one - and Townsend Warner (another brilliant practitioner is Pynchon) is a master of this form, here follows just a tid-bit of the rant on elfin spring cleaning:
"Spring cleanings have a peculiar fascination for those employed in them. A mysterious pair of spectacles is found in a sauceboat; a rusty strongbox in the muniment room is forced open and contains nutmegs; rolls of green baize and a painting of Vesuvius in Eruption are brought to light from the beer cellar; when the brown bed-hangings from the Librarian's bedchamber are hung on the line and the dust beaten out of them, they are discovered to be cloth-of-gold and fall to pieces....." and so on. I like to let that sort of prose wash over me like warm summer rain, and I relish the alliterations, the juxtapositions, and the absurdities. But I imagine that is a matter of taste. ( )