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Lud-in-the-Mist
Lud-in-the-Mist, the capital city of the small country Dorimare, is a port at the confluence of two rivers, the Dapple and the Dawl. The Dapple has its origin beyond the Debatable Hills to the west of Lud-in-the-Mist, in Fairyland. In the days of Duke Aubrey, some centuries earlier, fairy things had been looked upon with reverence, and fairy fruit was brought down the Dapple and enjoyed by the people of Dorimare. But after Duke Aubrey had been expelled from Dorimare by the burghers, the eating of fairy fruit came to be regarded as a crime, and anything related to Fairyland was unspeakable. Now, when his son Ranulph is believed to have eaten fairy fruit, Nathaniel Chanticleer, the mayor of Lud-in-the-Mist, finds himself looking into old mysteries in order to save his son and the people of his city.
239 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1926
About the author
Hope Mirrlees
17 books115 followersHope Mirrlees (1887-1978) was a British translator, poet and novelist. She published three novels in her lifetime, Madeleine: One of Love’s Jansenists (1919), The Counterplot (1924) and the fantasy novel Lud-in-the-Mist (1926); three volumes of poetry, including Paris: A Poem (1919), described by the critic Julia Briggs as "modernism's lost masterpiece"; and A Fly in Amber (1962), a biography of the British antiquarian Sir Robert Bruce Cotton.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 1,123 reviews
March 3, 2009
30-odd years before Tolkein published “The Lord of the Rings”, a British woman named Hope Mirrlees wrote a fantasy called “Lud-in-the-Mist”. Neil Gaiman wrote an introduction to the edition I read and I can see that he meant every word. His own “Stardust” draws very heavily on “Lud-in-the-Mist”, especially in setting and tone. Other recent novels that are reminiscent of “Lud-in-the-Mist” are “Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell” by Susannah Clarke and “Little, Big” by John Crowley. They all share a theme of the real world bordering on the fairy world and how the two interact. However, none of the novels I mentioned have quite the impact of “Lud-in-the-Mist”.
Written in 1926, “Lud-in-the Mist” is one of the most charming fantasies I have ever read. It’s a beautifully written tale with layers upon layers of meaning. The language and imagery are breathtaking. There is a tension throughout the narrative that grows as the story progresses. It has humor and pathos. It has a bit of mystery and a bit of courtroom drama. It has heroes and villains and a villain who thinks he’s a hero. It has ordinary people moved to do the extraodinary and ordinary people being ordinary. It’s a tightly woven story that packs a lot into its slightly-over 300 pages and it reaches a dramatic, satisfying conclusion.
What really charmed me was the way Mirrlees was able to say so much about her characters and their development with so few words. In particular, the character of Marigold Chanticleer seems to be so minor, just a background character. But, with very few words and very little to do, she grows from a docile wife, mother and woman into a very strong one—all without ever doing much of anything. Her growth comes from inside as her loyalties are challenged and her family threatened. It’s masterfully subtle.
This novel did make me wonder if England had a temperance movement going on around the same time the US was enacting Prohibition. There seems to be a strong resemblance between the Ludite’s attitude towards fairy fruit and the American attitude towards alcohol during Prohibition. It also has a fair amount of political allegory going on. Clearly, the author was not an isolationist and the novel reflects that.
I recommend “Lud-in-the-Mist” for every serious fan of fantasy. No, it’s not a multi-tomed epic with an endless quest and grand goals. But, it is a terrific, beautiful story that shows that there was great fantasy before “The Lord of the Rings” and that fantasy is something completely different.
Written in 1926, “Lud-in-the Mist” is one of the most charming fantasies I have ever read. It’s a beautifully written tale with layers upon layers of meaning. The language and imagery are breathtaking. There is a tension throughout the narrative that grows as the story progresses. It has humor and pathos. It has a bit of mystery and a bit of courtroom drama. It has heroes and villains and a villain who thinks he’s a hero. It has ordinary people moved to do the extraodinary and ordinary people being ordinary. It’s a tightly woven story that packs a lot into its slightly-over 300 pages and it reaches a dramatic, satisfying conclusion.
What really charmed me was the way Mirrlees was able to say so much about her characters and their development with so few words. In particular, the character of Marigold Chanticleer seems to be so minor, just a background character. But, with very few words and very little to do, she grows from a docile wife, mother and woman into a very strong one—all without ever doing much of anything. Her growth comes from inside as her loyalties are challenged and her family threatened. It’s masterfully subtle.
This novel did make me wonder if England had a temperance movement going on around the same time the US was enacting Prohibition. There seems to be a strong resemblance between the Ludite’s attitude towards fairy fruit and the American attitude towards alcohol during Prohibition. It also has a fair amount of political allegory going on. Clearly, the author was not an isolationist and the novel reflects that.
I recommend “Lud-in-the-Mist” for every serious fan of fantasy. No, it’s not a multi-tomed epic with an endless quest and grand goals. But, it is a terrific, beautiful story that shows that there was great fantasy before “The Lord of the Rings” and that fantasy is something completely different.
January 16, 2009
Neil Gaiman raved about this book, so I read it. I wish I could have read it without knowing anything about it -- but I still liked it. It was written in the 1920's -- before fantasy tropes were so set in stone -- so it goes in directions you don't expect it to. Also, it's as though the author never heard of the idea that fantasy is a juvenile and disreputable genre, so she takes herself and her book seriously and uses fantasy to explore real and important ideas.
July 25, 2019
I read this mostly because I loved the title and that the residents of Lud must be Luddites! I also observed that Neil Gaiman, a favourite of mine, recommended it very highly.
Written in 1926, Lud-in-the-Mist is old fashioned and encompasses some out of date ideas, but mostly it is a fairy story for adults and it has a lot of charm. The author was obviously well educated and she wrote some very beautiful passages. I very much enjoyed her descriptions of Lud and its surroundings and the clever names she gave to places and people.
The story is slow but interesting and does not always go in the direction you expect. Sometimes the least likely people stand up and become heroes. I was very surprised though that after lots of very detailed events I was then short changed right at the end with no account of what happened in Fairyland!
So although I cannot rate it as highly as Mr. Gaiman, it was an enjoyable and interesting tale.
Written in 1926, Lud-in-the-Mist is old fashioned and encompasses some out of date ideas, but mostly it is a fairy story for adults and it has a lot of charm. The author was obviously well educated and she wrote some very beautiful passages. I very much enjoyed her descriptions of Lud and its surroundings and the clever names she gave to places and people.
The story is slow but interesting and does not always go in the direction you expect. Sometimes the least likely people stand up and become heroes. I was very surprised though that after lots of very detailed events I was then short changed right at the end with no account of what happened in Fairyland!
So although I cannot rate it as highly as Mr. Gaiman, it was an enjoyable and interesting tale.
December 29, 2023
a dream in three parts
I.
there is a little country called Dorimare, a village-country, small and tidy and neat. it has a terrible, wonderful history, of fey and autocratic rulers who would kill a court jester by breaking his heart, of magic and mayhem and wild unpredictability, of a neighboring Fairyland whose influence on Dorimare was not so small. Dorimare had a history. that history has since been transformed, or ignored, or made small and tidy and neat, its citizens now a small and tidy and neat little bourgeoisie, their customs quaint and adorable, all the fear of living in such a place long gone, all of the wonder gone too. such a genteel little village it has become.
II.
change has come to Dorimare's capital, called Lud-in-the-Mist, and to its countryside. there is a strange man in red, he appears at your windows, smiling. the girls at the proper little boarding school have a new dance master, he has enchanted the school's mistress, he will enchant the girls as well, the mayor's daughter among them. they shall eat his apples and off to the border with Fairyland they shall run, the newly crazed things. the mayor's household will have a new stableboy, and he will give the mayor's son an apple, fairy fruit that will drive him mad or happy or sick or newly alive, or some such state. he shall be rushed to convalesce on a farm in the countryside, right on the border with Fairyland. there is a murder that once happened, years ago, was it even a murder? there is something buried on the farm in the countryside, strange motivations to be unearthed, Fairyland's agents revealed, so many mysteries to be solved.
III.
the little mayor of Lud-in-the-Mist dreams: of what, he knows not. perhaps it was a tune from his youth, a strange melody not quite forgotten, a sweet and enticing little song. the mayor tries to wake up, he tries and fails and tries again, until he realizes he has been awake all along, a sleeping dreaming wakefulness. it is only through dreaming that these mysteries will be solved. this stableboy, this dancing master, who is he? these apples, these lures and temptations, what are they? where are his son and his daughter, what dreams have taken them? into Fairyland the mayor must go, across the border, into dreamland. a lesson will be learned, by the mayor and by Lud-in-the-Mist and by all of Dorimare: to repress our imagination, to hide from our pasts, to pretend that darkness does not exist, is to not live at all. fairy fruit is delicious!
I.
there is a little country called Dorimare, a village-country, small and tidy and neat. it has a terrible, wonderful history, of fey and autocratic rulers who would kill a court jester by breaking his heart, of magic and mayhem and wild unpredictability, of a neighboring Fairyland whose influence on Dorimare was not so small. Dorimare had a history. that history has since been transformed, or ignored, or made small and tidy and neat, its citizens now a small and tidy and neat little bourgeoisie, their customs quaint and adorable, all the fear of living in such a place long gone, all of the wonder gone too. such a genteel little village it has become.
II.
change has come to Dorimare's capital, called Lud-in-the-Mist, and to its countryside. there is a strange man in red, he appears at your windows, smiling. the girls at the proper little boarding school have a new dance master, he has enchanted the school's mistress, he will enchant the girls as well, the mayor's daughter among them. they shall eat his apples and off to the border with Fairyland they shall run, the newly crazed things. the mayor's household will have a new stableboy, and he will give the mayor's son an apple, fairy fruit that will drive him mad or happy or sick or newly alive, or some such state. he shall be rushed to convalesce on a farm in the countryside, right on the border with Fairyland. there is a murder that once happened, years ago, was it even a murder? there is something buried on the farm in the countryside, strange motivations to be unearthed, Fairyland's agents revealed, so many mysteries to be solved.
III.
the little mayor of Lud-in-the-Mist dreams: of what, he knows not. perhaps it was a tune from his youth, a strange melody not quite forgotten, a sweet and enticing little song. the mayor tries to wake up, he tries and fails and tries again, until he realizes he has been awake all along, a sleeping dreaming wakefulness. it is only through dreaming that these mysteries will be solved. this stableboy, this dancing master, who is he? these apples, these lures and temptations, what are they? where are his son and his daughter, what dreams have taken them? into Fairyland the mayor must go, across the border, into dreamland. a lesson will be learned, by the mayor and by Lud-in-the-Mist and by all of Dorimare: to repress our imagination, to hide from our pasts, to pretend that darkness does not exist, is to not live at all. fairy fruit is delicious!
April 8, 2023
“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
“But after he had heard the Note a more stay-at-home and steady young man could not have been found in Lud-in-the-Mist. For it had generated in him what one can only call a wistful yearning after the prosaic things he already possessed. It was as if he thought he had already lost what was actually holding in his hands.”
This is quite an oddity. A fantasy novel from 1926 by a female author. It has been neglected for some time but has had a resurgence more recently. It is revered by Neil Gaiman who called it “One of the finest [fantasy novels] in the English Language”, and it has clearly influenced Susannah Clarke and John Crowley.
Hope Mirrlees was a poet, novelist and translator and this was her final novel. In the 1910s and 1920s she lived with the classicist Jane Harrison, until Harrison’s death. She was friends with Virginia Woolf, T S Eliot and Gertrude Stein.
The plot is straightforward fantasy. The town of Lud in Dorimare is at the confluence of two rivers the Dapple and the Dawl. It borders the land of Faerie and there are longstanding tensions between the two based on myth and legend. The land of Faerie has an immense allure and many dangers. In essence the residents of Lud are practical, rational and down to earth. The allure of Faerie is essentially the sublime, the romantic, bliss and music. You can see where this is going! But this is also a comedy, a murder mystery, a ghost story and a pastoral. There’s a lot of symbolism as well:
"Their new dancing-master was a tall, red-haired youth, with a white pointed face and very bright eyes. Miss Primrose, who always implied [to her pupils] that it was at great personal inconvenience and from purely philanthropic motives that their teachers gave them their lessons, introduced him as ‘Professor Wisp, who had very kindly consented to teach them dancing,’ and the young man made his new pupils a low bow, and turning to Miss Primrose, he said, ‘I’ve got you a fiddler, ma’am. Oh, a rare fiddler! It’s your needlework that has brought him. He’s a weaver by trade, and he dearly loves pictures in silk. And he can give you some pretty patterns to work from – can’t you Portunus?’ and he clapped his hands twice.
Whereupon, ‘like a bat dropped from the rafters,’ as Prunella, with an inexplicable shudder, whispered to Moonlove, a queer wizened old man with eyes as bright as Professor Wisp’s, all mopping and mowing, with a fiddle and bow under his arm, sprang suddenly out of the shadows.
‘Young ladies!’ cried Professor Wisp, gleefully, ‘this is Master Portunus, fiddler to is Majesty the Emperor of the Moon, jester-in-chief to the Lord of Ghosts and Shadows ... though his jests are apt to be silent ones. And he has come a long long way young ladies, to set your feet a dancing. Ho, ho, hoh!"
Wisp gives it away! Fairy fruit is a smuggled commodity (no one knows how it is smuggled). It seems to have hallucinogenic powers, but it can also cause suicide and madness. There are lots of philosophic double handers here: the pain and pleasure of love, the conundrum of death and life, sacrifice and loss. It is worth remembering that Mirrlees had lived through the First World War.
The ending is a bit too neat, but the whole is interesting. Society feels it is buffered by rationality against “magic”, but it still breaks through the cracks.
"Reason, I know, is only a drug and, as such, its effects are never permanent. But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief."
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”
“But after he had heard the Note a more stay-at-home and steady young man could not have been found in Lud-in-the-Mist. For it had generated in him what one can only call a wistful yearning after the prosaic things he already possessed. It was as if he thought he had already lost what was actually holding in his hands.”
This is quite an oddity. A fantasy novel from 1926 by a female author. It has been neglected for some time but has had a resurgence more recently. It is revered by Neil Gaiman who called it “One of the finest [fantasy novels] in the English Language”, and it has clearly influenced Susannah Clarke and John Crowley.
Hope Mirrlees was a poet, novelist and translator and this was her final novel. In the 1910s and 1920s she lived with the classicist Jane Harrison, until Harrison’s death. She was friends with Virginia Woolf, T S Eliot and Gertrude Stein.
The plot is straightforward fantasy. The town of Lud in Dorimare is at the confluence of two rivers the Dapple and the Dawl. It borders the land of Faerie and there are longstanding tensions between the two based on myth and legend. The land of Faerie has an immense allure and many dangers. In essence the residents of Lud are practical, rational and down to earth. The allure of Faerie is essentially the sublime, the romantic, bliss and music. You can see where this is going! But this is also a comedy, a murder mystery, a ghost story and a pastoral. There’s a lot of symbolism as well:
"Their new dancing-master was a tall, red-haired youth, with a white pointed face and very bright eyes. Miss Primrose, who always implied [to her pupils] that it was at great personal inconvenience and from purely philanthropic motives that their teachers gave them their lessons, introduced him as ‘Professor Wisp, who had very kindly consented to teach them dancing,’ and the young man made his new pupils a low bow, and turning to Miss Primrose, he said, ‘I’ve got you a fiddler, ma’am. Oh, a rare fiddler! It’s your needlework that has brought him. He’s a weaver by trade, and he dearly loves pictures in silk. And he can give you some pretty patterns to work from – can’t you Portunus?’ and he clapped his hands twice.
Whereupon, ‘like a bat dropped from the rafters,’ as Prunella, with an inexplicable shudder, whispered to Moonlove, a queer wizened old man with eyes as bright as Professor Wisp’s, all mopping and mowing, with a fiddle and bow under his arm, sprang suddenly out of the shadows.
‘Young ladies!’ cried Professor Wisp, gleefully, ‘this is Master Portunus, fiddler to is Majesty the Emperor of the Moon, jester-in-chief to the Lord of Ghosts and Shadows ... though his jests are apt to be silent ones. And he has come a long long way young ladies, to set your feet a dancing. Ho, ho, hoh!"
Wisp gives it away! Fairy fruit is a smuggled commodity (no one knows how it is smuggled). It seems to have hallucinogenic powers, but it can also cause suicide and madness. There are lots of philosophic double handers here: the pain and pleasure of love, the conundrum of death and life, sacrifice and loss. It is worth remembering that Mirrlees had lived through the First World War.
The ending is a bit too neat, but the whole is interesting. Society feels it is buffered by rationality against “magic”, but it still breaks through the cracks.
"Reason, I know, is only a drug and, as such, its effects are never permanent. But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief."
February 21, 2022
Para leer sin prisa.
Me ha gustado mucho el estilo de la autora, me ha recordado a novelas que obviamente beben de ella (ya que ésta se publicó en los años 20) como Stardust o Jonathan Strange y El señor Norrell, y en algunos puntos incluso a esa parte más costumbrista de ESDLA, pero al mismo tiempo este libro no me conquistó como aquellos... Quizás por ese extraño ritmo que cambia hacia una historia más bien detectivesca en su parte intermedia/final (el misterio no es lo mío).
Aún así una lectura que me ha resultado agradable, muy curiosa e interesante, para degustar por lo bien escrita que está y la descripción de sus peculiares personajes.
Me ha gustado mucho el estilo de la autora, me ha recordado a novelas que obviamente beben de ella (ya que ésta se publicó en los años 20) como Stardust o Jonathan Strange y El señor Norrell, y en algunos puntos incluso a esa parte más costumbrista de ESDLA, pero al mismo tiempo este libro no me conquistó como aquellos... Quizás por ese extraño ritmo que cambia hacia una historia más bien detectivesca en su parte intermedia/final (el misterio no es lo mío).
Aún así una lectura que me ha resultado agradable, muy curiosa e interesante, para degustar por lo bien escrita que está y la descripción de sus peculiares personajes.
July 11, 2018
Neil Gaiman calls this "a little golden miracle of a book", and I can see why.
The writing is beautiful, the themes thought-provoking, and the book as a whole is just so engrossing and satisfying. It has that old-fashioned classical quality to it, but never feels stuffy (besides the two chapters of info-dumping in the beginning). The characters may not have the depth of those in modern fiction, yet there was enough there to tug at the imagination. It meanders, but never feels like it's drifting off-course.
If you're a fan of old fashioned books with a fairytale feel, you owe it to yourself to pick this one up.
The writing is beautiful, the themes thought-provoking, and the book as a whole is just so engrossing and satisfying. It has that old-fashioned classical quality to it, but never feels stuffy (besides the two chapters of info-dumping in the beginning). The characters may not have the depth of those in modern fiction, yet there was enough there to tug at the imagination. It meanders, but never feels like it's drifting off-course.
If you're a fan of old fashioned books with a fairytale feel, you owe it to yourself to pick this one up.
March 23, 2017
Neil Gaiman made me do it! Er, for those who don't know, Neil Gaiman touted Lud-in-the-mist as one of the best yet most overlooked Fantasy novels of the twentieth century, and in my humble opinion he slightly, just slightly, oversold it. Sure, it's a beautifully written book, and Fantasy notwithstanding, surprisingly timeless (actually, it's pretty hard to believe it was written in 1926!), but for some reason I found it a bit hard to get into the story and care for any of the characters. I appreciated the beauty of the prose, liked the idea of two civilizations (faerie and human) clashing together (even if more recent novels like Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell did it better), and indeed found the overall plot/mystery interesting enough to keep me turning the pages, but all in all I fail to recognize the masterpiece proclaimed by Gaiman in his review. To each his own, I guess.
June 14, 2018
A menudo parece que cuando hablamos de fantasía, no hay nada antes de Tolkien. Nada más lejos de la realidad, y remontándonos en el tiempo podemos encontrar maravillas de la talla de La hija del rey del país de los elfos de Dunsany, Fantastes de MacDonald, o este Entrebrumas, entre otras.
¿Quién no se ha preguntado en qué bosques misteriosos nuestros antepasados descubrieron los modelos que inspiraron las bestias y los pájaros de sus tapices?
Escrito en 1926, es con todo derecho un clásico del género fantástico. Moderno, irónico, crítico, lleno de personajes carismáticos, con ese maravilloso aire de leyenda, de cuento antiguo.
Una auténtica joya cuya fórmula, quizás por haber sido una novela injustamente olvidada, no ha sido repetida hasta la saciedad, con lo que incluso hoy en día encontraremos en ella elementos que nos suenan novedosos.
Es esta la obra más famosa de Mirrlees, que también fue poeta y traductora, con influencia clara en obras de personajes de la talla de T.S. Eliot o Virginia Woolf. Más modernamente, es imposible no ver las conexiones de Entrebrumas con otras novelas icónicas del género, como Jonathan Strange y el Sr. Norrell de Susanna Clarke, o Stardust de Gaiman, quien la cita a menudo como una de sus obras favoritas.
No hay ninguna cosa cotidiana que, contemplada desde cierto ángulo, no se transforme en un hada. Piense en el Dapple, o en el Dawl, cuando se pierden en el crepúsculo hacia el este. Piense en un bosque otoñal o en un espino en mayo. (...) Todas esas cosas nos resultan familiares, pero ¿qué es lo que deberíamos pensar si no las hubiéramos visto nunca y leyéramos una descripción suya o las contemplásemos por vez primera? ¡Un río dorado! ¡Árboles llameantes! ¡Árboles que, repentinamente, rompen a florecer! Por lo que parece, Dorimare podría ser el Reino de las Hadas para la gente del otro lado de las colinas del Confín.
¿Quién no se ha preguntado en qué bosques misteriosos nuestros antepasados descubrieron los modelos que inspiraron las bestias y los pájaros de sus tapices?
Escrito en 1926, es con todo derecho un clásico del género fantástico. Moderno, irónico, crítico, lleno de personajes carismáticos, con ese maravilloso aire de leyenda, de cuento antiguo.
Una auténtica joya cuya fórmula, quizás por haber sido una novela injustamente olvidada, no ha sido repetida hasta la saciedad, con lo que incluso hoy en día encontraremos en ella elementos que nos suenan novedosos.
Es esta la obra más famosa de Mirrlees, que también fue poeta y traductora, con influencia clara en obras de personajes de la talla de T.S. Eliot o Virginia Woolf. Más modernamente, es imposible no ver las conexiones de Entrebrumas con otras novelas icónicas del género, como Jonathan Strange y el Sr. Norrell de Susanna Clarke, o Stardust de Gaiman, quien la cita a menudo como una de sus obras favoritas.
No hay ninguna cosa cotidiana que, contemplada desde cierto ángulo, no se transforme en un hada. Piense en el Dapple, o en el Dawl, cuando se pierden en el crepúsculo hacia el este. Piense en un bosque otoñal o en un espino en mayo. (...) Todas esas cosas nos resultan familiares, pero ¿qué es lo que deberíamos pensar si no las hubiéramos visto nunca y leyéramos una descripción suya o las contemplásemos por vez primera? ¡Un río dorado! ¡Árboles llameantes! ¡Árboles que, repentinamente, rompen a florecer! Por lo que parece, Dorimare podría ser el Reino de las Hadas para la gente del otro lado de las colinas del Confín.
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September 10, 2017Izgleda da je Lud-in-the-Mist (Lud u magli? Lad? Ko bi ga znao) najpoznatiji nepoznati fentezi. U tom smislu da je objavljen 1926. i da je njegova istinski ekscentrična (i jednako istinski bogata) autorka posle toga uglavnom batalila pisanje; možda je smatrala da je u dvadeset petoj rekla sve što je imala. I da je sledećih devedesetak godina njegov uticaj na fantastiku, naročito britansku, vrlo prisutan i vrlo skriven čak i onda kad pisci na koje je Houp Mirliz presudno uticala (recimo Nil Gejman i Suzana Klark) to uopšte ne kriju. Kako da vam kažem, posle ove knjige Zvezdanu prašinu možete da posmatrate jedino kao imitaciju beznadežno udaljenu od originala i od njegovog osećaja za istinsku čaroliju.
Roman koristi solidno poznati motiv - "normalno" mesto koje se graniči s Vilinskom zemljom i problemi koji iz toga nastaju za njegove (vrlo uslovno govoreći) "normalne" stanovnike - ali ga varira na dosta neobičan način i unosi sve moguće nijanse značenja i otvara se prema interpretacijama u rasponu od prikaza klasne borbe preko bolesti zavisnosti do odnosa stvarnosti, umetnosti i mita. I sve to uz jednu starinsku i često preterano sladunjavu slikovitost: malo je falilo da batalim knjigu posle prvih nekoliko stranica zbog liiiirskog sentimenta, ali je posle toga radnja naglo ubrzala a stil se oslobodio većine referenci na krhko, nežno i istančano (ali samo većine) i do kraja se održao na solidnoj visini. A pošto je ovo knjiga nastala i objavljena pre nego što se žanr epske fantastike konsolidovao oko Tolkina, razvoj i meandriranje radnje, a pogotovu likova, osvežavajuće su neočekivani a kraj... pa i kraj, zapravo, ali da sad ne zalazimo u to.
Roman koristi solidno poznati motiv - "normalno" mesto koje se graniči s Vilinskom zemljom i problemi koji iz toga nastaju za njegove (vrlo uslovno govoreći) "normalne" stanovnike - ali ga varira na dosta neobičan način i unosi sve moguće nijanse značenja i otvara se prema interpretacijama u rasponu od prikaza klasne borbe preko bolesti zavisnosti do odnosa stvarnosti, umetnosti i mita. I sve to uz jednu starinsku i često preterano sladunjavu slikovitost: malo je falilo da batalim knjigu posle prvih nekoliko stranica zbog liiiirskog sentimenta, ali je posle toga radnja naglo ubrzala a stil se oslobodio većine referenci na krhko, nežno i istančano (ali samo većine) i do kraja se održao na solidnoj visini. A pošto je ovo knjiga nastala i objavljena pre nego što se žanr epske fantastike konsolidovao oko Tolkina, razvoj i meandriranje radnje, a pogotovu likova, osvežavajuće su neočekivani a kraj... pa i kraj, zapravo, ali da sad ne zalazimo u to.
January 23, 2023
It took me a while to get into the groove of the writing of this one, but once I did, I really enjoyed its combination of political machinations, murder mystery, and portal-ish fantasy into this pre-Tolkien tale of fairies and the forbidden fairy fruit poisoning the land
July 9, 2019
Undeniably cute and obviously influential. I feel Gaiman's whimsy and Feist's take on the eeriness of faerie. Short, often acerbic or funny, full of imagination and a fascinating blend of fairy tale, detective novel and quest story, I think everyone who loves fantasy should stop by this book to see some of our roots. However, like so much of important history, while I learned a lot, I am not sure it was the most exciting or kindest thing I've experienced.
CONTENT WARNING: (no actual spoilers, just a list of topics)
Things to admire:
-The plot. It kept me guessing the whole time.
-The whimsy. Oh my! Songs and dances and Notes and Crabapple Blossoms and idyllic countrysides. It was, start to finish, a flight of fancy.
-The commentary. Oo Ms. Mirrlees has an acid tongue! She swung on a lot of institutions here. Sometimes it was straight up shade, sometimes it was more subtle, but it was constantly there.
-The love of the English language. I think this book may have single-handedly saved the semicolon, and I had to look up several words that I'd never heard before. It was fun seeing someone have such a great time with the language.
Things that I didn't love:
-The writing style. Especially the beginning and end. The beginning would have things that sounded profound but that I don't think made sense. I had to read most of it out loud to myself to figure out where pauses were and to ascertain if inflection added enough syntax to turn a few discussions into something meaningful, or if it remained folly. It even had a summary ending, which worked better here than most I see today, given that she switched to her own perspective at the close, but still, not my favorite. Also, gadzooks! The compound sentences should be used to show students why they should end their thoughts from time to time. There were multiple paragraph-sized sentences with so many clauses I had to translate from English to English.
-Skipped the cool parts! So we watched a trial and the dredging of the Dapple River, but didn't get to hear about Nat's story? Why!
-Cruel. There were some times the wit felt cruel. It could be that I'm reading this at a remove of 100 years, but the treatment of the women felt way more upsetting than I'd have imagined from a writer who, well, loved women apparently, and was flaunting a lot of customs/laws in so doing. A few other potshots may have been pointed, but without the reference, their barbs hit a bit more randomly.
I liked it and it recovered from the awkward beginning. Despite my rating, I would recommend it and I would read more by this author even if this particular story didn't completely captivate me. Apparently the narrator was wonderful, but I'd keep a dictionary nearby if you don't read the Kindle version as the vocabulary is completely bonkers.
CONTENT WARNING: (no actual spoilers, just a list of topics)
Things to admire:
-The plot. It kept me guessing the whole time.
-The whimsy. Oh my! Songs and dances and Notes and Crabapple Blossoms and idyllic countrysides. It was, start to finish, a flight of fancy.
-The commentary. Oo Ms. Mirrlees has an acid tongue! She swung on a lot of institutions here. Sometimes it was straight up shade, sometimes it was more subtle, but it was constantly there.
-The love of the English language. I think this book may have single-handedly saved the semicolon, and I had to look up several words that I'd never heard before. It was fun seeing someone have such a great time with the language.
Things that I didn't love:
-The writing style. Especially the beginning and end. The beginning would have things that sounded profound but that I don't think made sense. I had to read most of it out loud to myself to figure out where pauses were and to ascertain if inflection added enough syntax to turn a few discussions into something meaningful, or if it remained folly. It even had a summary ending, which worked better here than most I see today, given that she switched to her own perspective at the close, but still, not my favorite. Also, gadzooks! The compound sentences should be used to show students why they should end their thoughts from time to time. There were multiple paragraph-sized sentences with so many clauses I had to translate from English to English.
-Skipped the cool parts! So we watched a trial and the dredging of the Dapple River, but didn't get to hear about Nat's story? Why!
-Cruel. There were some times the wit felt cruel. It could be that I'm reading this at a remove of 100 years, but the treatment of the women felt way more upsetting than I'd have imagined from a writer who, well, loved women apparently, and was flaunting a lot of customs/laws in so doing. A few other potshots may have been pointed, but without the reference, their barbs hit a bit more randomly.
I liked it and it recovered from the awkward beginning. Despite my rating, I would recommend it and I would read more by this author even if this particular story didn't completely captivate me. Apparently the narrator was wonderful, but I'd keep a dictionary nearby if you don't read the Kindle version as the vocabulary is completely bonkers.
December 7, 2021
-Quizá relativamente avanzado para su tiempo, quizá muy atrasado en la actualidad.-
Género. Narrativa fantástica.
Lo que nos cuenta. El libro Entrebrumas (publicación original: Lud-in-the-Mist, 1926) nos lleva hasta el Estado libre de Dorimare, un país pequeño cuya capital, Entrebrumas, es una localidad muy próspera debido al comercio. Su montañosa frontera occidental limita con el Reino de las Hadas, un territorio del que no se habla, igual que no se habla de sus habitantes quienes, muchos años atrás, sí habían interaccionado frecuentemente con los humanos. Cuando el alcalde de Entrebrumas y sumo senescal de Dorimare, el señor Nathaniel Chanticleer, debe hacer frente a la supuesta llegada ilegal de fruto de las hadas a la ciudad, su propio hijo comienza a comportarse de manera anormal.
¿Quiere saber más de este libro, sin spoilers? Visite:
http://librosdeolethros.blogspot.com/...
Género. Narrativa fantástica.
Lo que nos cuenta. El libro Entrebrumas (publicación original: Lud-in-the-Mist, 1926) nos lleva hasta el Estado libre de Dorimare, un país pequeño cuya capital, Entrebrumas, es una localidad muy próspera debido al comercio. Su montañosa frontera occidental limita con el Reino de las Hadas, un territorio del que no se habla, igual que no se habla de sus habitantes quienes, muchos años atrás, sí habían interaccionado frecuentemente con los humanos. Cuando el alcalde de Entrebrumas y sumo senescal de Dorimare, el señor Nathaniel Chanticleer, debe hacer frente a la supuesta llegada ilegal de fruto de las hadas a la ciudad, su propio hijo comienza a comportarse de manera anormal.
¿Quiere saber más de este libro, sin spoilers? Visite:
http://librosdeolethros.blogspot.com/...
June 19, 2013
This is a tale of the relationship between Fairyland and ordinary life, which puts it at the heart of my favorite storytelling traditions. Born during the late lifetime of fellow countryman George MacDonald (relevant works: Phantastes, Lilith), and just thirteen years younger than G.K. Chesterton (Orthodoxy), Mirrlees seems to write under the guidance of the same muse that led them. It wouldn't surprise me if she were directly influenced by either one or both; nor would it surprise me if, like both of them, she influenced Tolkien (I'm thinking especially of "On Fairy Stories") and Lewis with her own work. Neil Gaiman (Stardust) apparently admits her as a favorite, and while I haven't heard anything Susanna Clarke (Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell) may have said on the subject, I strongly suspect she's read this book.
For all its both retrospective and forward-looking similarities to other great works of fantasy fiction, it's one of the more unpredictable tales I've ever read that yet managed an emotionally satisfying ending. I won't spoil the central points of unpredictability, but the satisfying ending bit required me to put my whole heart into sympathizing with the unlikely protagonist, which I did.
Nat Chanticleer, a plump, gin-and-cheese-loving, middle-aged lawmaker, is outwardly as steady and stodgy and Law-driven as his exquisitely stuffy friend Ambrose and all their comrades. But inwardly—well, inwardly, he's heard the Note. It's the Note that makes Nat a kindred spirit. He's never perfect; he's dithery and melancholic, and he bears comparatively little attachment to his daughter, for all he loves his son. But that Note helps him, and it's the first thing that puts tears in my eyes when I think back over the book.
For all the story's unpredictability, it's primarily a fairy tale. It reads a little like an allegory for something, but it's hard to fix on what, precisely. Mirrlees converted (from what, I'm not sure) to Catholicism just a couple of years after publishing this novel, and perhaps she, like me, saw in Catholicism one of the few places where Faerie took safe refuge from modernity, but her conversion did apparently come after writing the book, and her creatures of Fairyland are nearer relatives of Clarke's gentleman with the thistle-down hair than they are to any saint. That said, with the exception of possibly justifying certain dispositions of a certain rascal—I dare not get more spoilery than that—the allegory reads as true.
It's certainly an old-fashioned story; modern readers might find it difficult to get into, as it's heavily frontloaded with description and backstory. Nobody browbeat authors back then with the fear that such tactics might bore readers. The first half felt a tad long to me, but the second half—once the story began to be less about Lud in general and more about Nat—did not.
The second half is worth reading the first half for. It's hero's journey and murder mystery and philosophical conflict between law-abiding and lawlessness, and I thought it honestly delightful. But even the first half contains some startling little thought-gems and a lot of beautiful poetic prose.
I could see people disliking it, but it's hard to imagine who. If you like Clarke's work or Gaiman's, MacDonald's fairy stories or Tolkien's, it's worth giving Lud-in-the-Mist a try. It's not derivative fantasy; it's one of the classics from which the greats derive. I loved it. I could see myself reading it again. And perhaps again and again after that.
For all its both retrospective and forward-looking similarities to other great works of fantasy fiction, it's one of the more unpredictable tales I've ever read that yet managed an emotionally satisfying ending. I won't spoil the central points of unpredictability, but the satisfying ending bit required me to put my whole heart into sympathizing with the unlikely protagonist, which I did.
Nat Chanticleer, a plump, gin-and-cheese-loving, middle-aged lawmaker, is outwardly as steady and stodgy and Law-driven as his exquisitely stuffy friend Ambrose and all their comrades. But inwardly—well, inwardly, he's heard the Note. It's the Note that makes Nat a kindred spirit. He's never perfect; he's dithery and melancholic, and he bears comparatively little attachment to his daughter, for all he loves his son. But that Note helps him, and it's the first thing that puts tears in my eyes when I think back over the book.
For all the story's unpredictability, it's primarily a fairy tale. It reads a little like an allegory for something, but it's hard to fix on what, precisely. Mirrlees converted (from what, I'm not sure) to Catholicism just a couple of years after publishing this novel, and perhaps she, like me, saw in Catholicism one of the few places where Faerie took safe refuge from modernity, but her conversion did apparently come after writing the book, and her creatures of Fairyland are nearer relatives of Clarke's gentleman with the thistle-down hair than they are to any saint. That said, with the exception of possibly justifying certain dispositions of a certain rascal—I dare not get more spoilery than that—the allegory reads as true.
It's certainly an old-fashioned story; modern readers might find it difficult to get into, as it's heavily frontloaded with description and backstory. Nobody browbeat authors back then with the fear that such tactics might bore readers. The first half felt a tad long to me, but the second half—once the story began to be less about Lud in general and more about Nat—did not.
The second half is worth reading the first half for. It's hero's journey and murder mystery and philosophical conflict between law-abiding and lawlessness, and I thought it honestly delightful. But even the first half contains some startling little thought-gems and a lot of beautiful poetic prose.
I could see people disliking it, but it's hard to imagine who. If you like Clarke's work or Gaiman's, MacDonald's fairy stories or Tolkien's, it's worth giving Lud-in-the-Mist a try. It's not derivative fantasy; it's one of the classics from which the greats derive. I loved it. I could see myself reading it again. And perhaps again and again after that.
January 27, 2023
This was delightful! Lud-in-the-Mist is a pre-Tolkien fantasy set in a small town bordering Faerie. Both whimsical and creepy, this novel offers well observed characterization, a central mystery, and philosophizing on the absurdities of The Law.
The language is older and takes more time to read, but I ended up loving this. It's more in line with traditional views of faerie as tricksters and potentially dangerous, if occasionally benevolent. I found it especially interesting to read from a woman author of the early 1900's- her observations on the interior lives of men and women, and their relationships with each other are fascinating. So glad I was pushed to pick this up!
The language is older and takes more time to read, but I ended up loving this. It's more in line with traditional views of faerie as tricksters and potentially dangerous, if occasionally benevolent. I found it especially interesting to read from a woman author of the early 1900's- her observations on the interior lives of men and women, and their relationships with each other are fascinating. So glad I was pushed to pick this up!
April 20, 2010
I don't think I'm well-read enough to review this book -- as is the case with many British writers of that period, Mirrlees is far better classically educated than I am, and I'm sure I missed quite a few of her references. However, I now firmly agree with Neil Gaiman that this is "the single most beautiful, solid, unearthly, and unjustifiably forgotten novel of the twentieth century" so I felt I should attempt to review it here in the hopes that I get a few more people to seek it out.
This is most distinctly not the sort of fantasy novel that would be able to get published today. Tolkien's Shire feels strongly influenced by Mirrlees' Lud, but it's not the Shire that so many fantasy writers and publishers have taken as their model, it's all that pesky questing and evil-battling. There are no epic quests in this novel, and there is definitely nothing as comforting as a black-and-white delineation of good and bad.
Instead, Lud-in-the-Mist is somehow at the confluence of high fantasy rooted strongly rooted in folktale and a political thriller. It is written in a surprisingly straightforward, earthy style that nonetheless has plenty of room for some of the most beguiling and delightful descriptive passages I've ever read. It uses broad comedy side by side with the melancholy and the bittersweet. It can be read as a parable of class struggle, or as an endorsement of mind-altering drugs (keep in mind that it was published in 1926, so I highly doubt that this was what Mirrlees intended). It is most certainly about balancing the mundane and the miraculous (paraphrasing Gaiman's introduction), which perhaps explains how it came to be all these things at once.
There are quite a few elements that turned people off (judging from the reviews I've seen online) but every single one of them worked for me: yes, the first third or so was highly episodic; yes, Nathaniel Chanticleer seems a bit of a bumbling fool at first, and isn't exactly likable; yes, it is very British, and quite old, so everyone reads white (though the women come off quite a bit better than in most of the fantasy written by men at the time) and as I mentioned above there are plenty of classical references. If your reading diet is entirely post-Tolkien fantasy, this novel will come as a bit of a shock to the senses. But if you actually enjoyed some of those classics they forced on you in school (things like Gulliver's Travels, for instance, whether you read the satire or not) and want some fantasy with both a brain and a heart, this is absolutely the book for you.
This is most distinctly not the sort of fantasy novel that would be able to get published today. Tolkien's Shire feels strongly influenced by Mirrlees' Lud, but it's not the Shire that so many fantasy writers and publishers have taken as their model, it's all that pesky questing and evil-battling. There are no epic quests in this novel, and there is definitely nothing as comforting as a black-and-white delineation of good and bad.
Instead, Lud-in-the-Mist is somehow at the confluence of high fantasy rooted strongly rooted in folktale and a political thriller. It is written in a surprisingly straightforward, earthy style that nonetheless has plenty of room for some of the most beguiling and delightful descriptive passages I've ever read. It uses broad comedy side by side with the melancholy and the bittersweet. It can be read as a parable of class struggle, or as an endorsement of mind-altering drugs (keep in mind that it was published in 1926, so I highly doubt that this was what Mirrlees intended). It is most certainly about balancing the mundane and the miraculous (paraphrasing Gaiman's introduction), which perhaps explains how it came to be all these things at once.
There are quite a few elements that turned people off (judging from the reviews I've seen online) but every single one of them worked for me: yes, the first third or so was highly episodic; yes, Nathaniel Chanticleer seems a bit of a bumbling fool at first, and isn't exactly likable; yes, it is very British, and quite old, so everyone reads white (though the women come off quite a bit better than in most of the fantasy written by men at the time) and as I mentioned above there are plenty of classical references. If your reading diet is entirely post-Tolkien fantasy, this novel will come as a bit of a shock to the senses. But if you actually enjoyed some of those classics they forced on you in school (things like Gulliver's Travels, for instance, whether you read the satire or not) and want some fantasy with both a brain and a heart, this is absolutely the book for you.
September 7, 2016
I’ve been meaning to read Lud-in-the-Mist for ages and ages, and I don’t know why I didn’t get round to it sooner. It is classic fantasy; more like Lord Dunsany’s work than anything modern, though maybe Patricia McKillip might be a spiritual successor in some ways. The prose is glorious; it just feels warm and vivid, though honey-tinged in colour. I felt, reading it, like I could see the city of Lud; like I knew something of the dreams of its people, even if their daily lives were perhaps a little too devoid of the whimsical. It’s a fairly traditional set-up in a way: a town which embraces modernism and turns away from what Fairyland offers, while Fairyland creeps in through the gaps.
There’s whimsy, but there’s also quite serious comments on human nature and human relationships, on people and the kinds of things they do and think. And ultimately, the point about letting in a little Fairyland is a good one: it’s basically a metaphor for imagination and fun, and that is something people need.
The characters are interesting because they’re not what you would expect from modern fantasy; they’re not great people, they’re not heroes. The main character is a middle-aged man who just wants to protect his son — a son he doesn’t understand, but whom he loves all the same, and maybe is only just realising how much he loves. Nathaniel Chanticleer isn’t a particularly good man, nor a particularly clever one — in fact, he can be rather silly; he’s not some exemplary chosen one. He’s just the one who happens to be there, and just happens to do the right things, because of perfectly ordinary emotions.
I really enjoyed Lud-in-the-Mist, probably for the same reason I enjoyed Dunsany: it’s a kind of magic that I don’t find in modern fantasy enough, an old enchantment.
Originally posted here.
There’s whimsy, but there’s also quite serious comments on human nature and human relationships, on people and the kinds of things they do and think. And ultimately, the point about letting in a little Fairyland is a good one: it’s basically a metaphor for imagination and fun, and that is something people need.
The characters are interesting because they’re not what you would expect from modern fantasy; they’re not great people, they’re not heroes. The main character is a middle-aged man who just wants to protect his son — a son he doesn’t understand, but whom he loves all the same, and maybe is only just realising how much he loves. Nathaniel Chanticleer isn’t a particularly good man, nor a particularly clever one — in fact, he can be rather silly; he’s not some exemplary chosen one. He’s just the one who happens to be there, and just happens to do the right things, because of perfectly ordinary emotions.
I really enjoyed Lud-in-the-Mist, probably for the same reason I enjoyed Dunsany: it’s a kind of magic that I don’t find in modern fantasy enough, an old enchantment.
Originally posted here.
December 20, 2020
2019 Best Books of the Year [#01 of 11]
February 21, 2024
"Lud-in-the-Mist" authored by Hope Mirrlees in 1926 is a captivating blend of mystery and fantasy. The story is set in the town of Lud, where you are transported into the complex relationship between the human world and the magical realm of Faerie. The tale revolves around the convergence of these two worlds, and the protagonist Nathaniel Chanticleer's struggle to come to terms with his past and protect his family as the lines between the two worlds blur.
Mirrlees' prose and writing style are skillfully crafted, creating a surreal atmosphere that adds depth to the narrative and enhances the book's captivating nature. The story explores societal norms and the clash between mundane and fantastical elements, prompting you to consider profound questions.
The unique storytelling style and imaginative world-building of Mirrlees make "Lud-in-the-Mist" a timeless classic that has influenced many writers today. It is a well-known and beloved work of fantasy literature that continues to inspire and captivate readers.
Mirrlees' prose and writing style are skillfully crafted, creating a surreal atmosphere that adds depth to the narrative and enhances the book's captivating nature. The story explores societal norms and the clash between mundane and fantastical elements, prompting you to consider profound questions.
The unique storytelling style and imaginative world-building of Mirrlees make "Lud-in-the-Mist" a timeless classic that has influenced many writers today. It is a well-known and beloved work of fantasy literature that continues to inspire and captivate readers.
September 19, 2010
The people of Lud were...well, "Luddites". This book I read long ago and it is by turns very sad, very funny, and always mind tickling. This is one of those..if you can find it, "must reads" of fantasy. Of course some will disagree with me...but I'd say if you get the chance, read it.
May 12, 2015
Of course, I come to this novel via Tim Powers, who quoted it quite tantalizingly and memorably in Last Call as one to which Scott Crane and his late wife often referred in their intimate shorthand with one another. At one point Susan's ghost, or at least the chthonic spirt-of-alcohol that is impersonating Susan refers to "a blackish canary" ("canary" as in the sense of "a shade of yellow" rather than that of the bird of that name) as a way of commenting on Scott's refusal to grasp what is really going on and his dismissal thereof as really pretty unimportant anyway... Such a strange phrase, that, I've always wanted to see it in context and see where it came from.
Well, now I know. And its source is just as intriguing and maddening and wonderful and mind-bogglingly cool as I had hoped it would be.
Lud-in-the-Mist is one of those open secrets by which real fantasy fans of a certain wistful, thoughtful, poetic type know each other, I think. Originally published in 1926, it dates from the same era that gave us H.P. Lovecraft and Lord Dunsany and Clark Ashton Smith, and shares some of the dreamlike qualities of the best of those writers' work, but has none of the menace and horror. At least not overtly, though, and I rejoice to say it, Mirlees' version of fairies and Fairyland is quite, quite uncanny.
At first the book reminded me more than a little of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast works, the first of which, Titus Groan, I am about halfway through reading but may not ever finish not so much out of dislike as exhaustion with Peake's "fantasy of manners" and its glacial slowness and hypnotic stolidity* and its near lack of action. But soon I realized that this was an altogether sprightlier work, for all its early chapter concerns with a politically and socially powerful father who regards his son as a mere adjunct or appendage of his own identity.
But then the book comes into its own just as Nathan Chanticleer's young son is suddenly revealed to him as a whole 'nother human being when he stumbles into confessing that he has broken the city of Lud-in-the-Mist's single greatest taboo: he has eaten fairy fruit. Fairy fruit being something between a narcotic and a food exported by the nation that borders Chanticleer's own, that being Fairyland. You know, where fairies are, and magic and stuff. Stuff that has been expunged as thoroughly as possible from memory and consciousness by the middle class of Lud-in-the-Mist as part of their socio-political coup that rid the city of its irrational hereditary aristocracy and its feudalistic ways.
Of course, in ridding the city of its old masters and replacing them with rational, vaguely meritocratic,profit-minded new ones, much was lost, and many did not give it up lightly. Thus a sort of cult in which the last Duke, Aubrey, is basically an avatar of the Green Man, still quietly flourishes in Lud-in-the-Mist and its environs, and lots of secret doings can be traced back to this cult and its adherents, witting and un-. Which is how, of course, the youngest Chanticleer winds up eating fairy fruit and in so doing turn everything possible on its head.
The rest of the plot winds up being almost a cozy mystery as Nathan tries to track down how this unspeakable thing has happened to his (belated) pride and joy. A cozy mystery with truly wonderful grace notes, including astonishingly lovely prose and wonderful insights into the nature of truth, the power of belief, and the limitations of reason. ""Reason, I know, is only a drug, and, as such, its effects are never permanent" says one city father to another. "But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief."
A lot of Lud-in-the-Mist deals with just that kind of careful construction of reality in which each of us is constantly engaging in our heads, construction that involves careful choices about what to let in, what to ignore, and what to abhor as impossible or otherwise unreal. The nature of the Law comes in for special scrutiny; as the most unusual and interesting variety of consensual delusion, it is the perfect foil for the delusions and unrealities of (pardon me for using such coarse language, but sometimes one must, to get one's point across) Fairyland.
If at times Lud-in-the-Mist feels a tad too allegorical, the effect is of short duration. One is quickly distracted from this jaundiced view of the book by the characters and their surroundings, that glow with vibrant color and come to such vivid life one might think one has been slipped some fairy fruit onself. Or wish to have been.
*If anyone ever tries to make a feature film of these books (I understand there was a BBC miniseries early this century), I insist Werner Herzog get first crack at it, and that he hypnotize his cast every shooting day like he did for Heart of Glass and has them perform so entranced. But we don't need that to happen, really, because we have Heart of Glass.
Well, now I know. And its source is just as intriguing and maddening and wonderful and mind-bogglingly cool as I had hoped it would be.
Lud-in-the-Mist is one of those open secrets by which real fantasy fans of a certain wistful, thoughtful, poetic type know each other, I think. Originally published in 1926, it dates from the same era that gave us H.P. Lovecraft and Lord Dunsany and Clark Ashton Smith, and shares some of the dreamlike qualities of the best of those writers' work, but has none of the menace and horror. At least not overtly, though, and I rejoice to say it, Mirlees' version of fairies and Fairyland is quite, quite uncanny.
At first the book reminded me more than a little of Mervyn Peake's Gormenghast works, the first of which, Titus Groan, I am about halfway through reading but may not ever finish not so much out of dislike as exhaustion with Peake's "fantasy of manners" and its glacial slowness and hypnotic stolidity* and its near lack of action. But soon I realized that this was an altogether sprightlier work, for all its early chapter concerns with a politically and socially powerful father who regards his son as a mere adjunct or appendage of his own identity.
But then the book comes into its own just as Nathan Chanticleer's young son is suddenly revealed to him as a whole 'nother human being when he stumbles into confessing that he has broken the city of Lud-in-the-Mist's single greatest taboo: he has eaten fairy fruit. Fairy fruit being something between a narcotic and a food exported by the nation that borders Chanticleer's own, that being Fairyland. You know, where fairies are, and magic and stuff. Stuff that has been expunged as thoroughly as possible from memory and consciousness by the middle class of Lud-in-the-Mist as part of their socio-political coup that rid the city of its irrational hereditary aristocracy and its feudalistic ways.
Of course, in ridding the city of its old masters and replacing them with rational, vaguely meritocratic,profit-minded new ones, much was lost, and many did not give it up lightly. Thus a sort of cult in which the last Duke, Aubrey, is basically an avatar of the Green Man, still quietly flourishes in Lud-in-the-Mist and its environs, and lots of secret doings can be traced back to this cult and its adherents, witting and un-. Which is how, of course, the youngest Chanticleer winds up eating fairy fruit and in so doing turn everything possible on its head.
The rest of the plot winds up being almost a cozy mystery as Nathan tries to track down how this unspeakable thing has happened to his (belated) pride and joy. A cozy mystery with truly wonderful grace notes, including astonishingly lovely prose and wonderful insights into the nature of truth, the power of belief, and the limitations of reason. ""Reason, I know, is only a drug, and, as such, its effects are never permanent" says one city father to another. "But, like the juice of the poppy, it often gives a temporary relief."
A lot of Lud-in-the-Mist deals with just that kind of careful construction of reality in which each of us is constantly engaging in our heads, construction that involves careful choices about what to let in, what to ignore, and what to abhor as impossible or otherwise unreal. The nature of the Law comes in for special scrutiny; as the most unusual and interesting variety of consensual delusion, it is the perfect foil for the delusions and unrealities of (pardon me for using such coarse language, but sometimes one must, to get one's point across) Fairyland.
If at times Lud-in-the-Mist feels a tad too allegorical, the effect is of short duration. One is quickly distracted from this jaundiced view of the book by the characters and their surroundings, that glow with vibrant color and come to such vivid life one might think one has been slipped some fairy fruit onself. Or wish to have been.
*If anyone ever tries to make a feature film of these books (I understand there was a BBC miniseries early this century), I insist Werner Herzog get first crack at it, and that he hypnotize his cast every shooting day like he did for Heart of Glass and has them perform so entranced. But we don't need that to happen, really, because we have Heart of Glass.
April 28, 2018
Really lovely! Highly recommended to anyone who loves Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell.
November 15, 2018
"… there is not a single homely thing that, looked at from a certain angle, does not become fairy." -- Endymion Leer
Something is, if not quite rotten, then unsettling in the state of Dorimare, a sleepy and somewhat smug country centred on its main town, Lud-in-the-Mist. Its principal citizen, Nathaniel Chanticleer, is to all intents and purposes a paragon of conformity, adhering to the letter of the law and to centuries-old traditions, but deep down he fears he is not what he tries to be: he worries he may be an outsider, his concerns arising from the fact that he has heard ... the Note.
It becomes increasingly clear that the Note that haunts Nathaniel -- which manifests itself as an awareness of something beyond his prosaic, mundane existence -- is somehow connected with a nobleman ousted some centuries before and with smuggled goods known (but never referred to) as fairy fruit. Whether he wants to or not the good man will find himself drawn into a situation that will threaten both edifice and foundations of a way of life the citizens of Lud-in-the-Mist -- Ludites all -- take for granted.
This novel, despite clearly being a fantasy, crosses quite a few other genres while yet feeling one of a kind. Is it a philosophical meditation or a detective story? Is it about the conflict of civic duty and personal honour or about family life versus personal quests? Is justice about vengeance and retribution or about readjusting balance? As a novel does it retain a core of realism or is it veering towards a self-indulgent idyll? It is a bit of all these things and yet Lud-in-the Mist is not heavy: there are comic touches aplenty in amongst the satire, smiles amidst the malice, love in the face of broken friendships.
Nathaniel's world is turned upside down when he starts to recognise that his 12-year-old son Ranulph is displaying symptoms of being worryingly unconventional, possibly from having been fed fairy fruit. The rather suspect doctor Endymion Leer, whom Nathaniel doesn't trust, advises sending Ranulph off to a farm to the west, not far from the Elfin Marches, where he may recuperate; reluctantly Nathaniel agrees.
But then an unexpected calamity befalls the students of Miss Primrose Crabapple's academy for young ladies, and Nathaniel finds himself persona non grata for daring to suggest the unthinkable: that Fairyland under its fabled ruler Duke Aubrey is surreptitiously inveigling its way into Dorimare's sensibly ordered life. Only he -- Mayor, High Seneschal, ex-officio president of the Senate and Chief Justice -- feels the need to investigate the truth of what underlies social unrest in the country, and the path to that truth turns out more convoluted than he expected.
I cannot overemphasise how utterly delightful this novel is. Like much of the best fiction the forward impulse of its narrative is enriched and embellished by a myriad of details. Words are a delight: many of the women bear flowery or fruity names (Marigold, Prunella, Hazel, Hyacinth and Jessamine, for example) while the inhabitants' surnames are a riot of ingenuity: Pyepowders, Baldbreeches, Pugwalker and Gibberty, for starters. Mirrlees quietly displays her erudition (for those that recognise it) with the names of Polydore Vigil and young Ranulph, both inspired by the medieval chroniclers Virgil and Higden; while Endymion Leer's apparently nonsensical but soothing songs may owe not a little to Edward Lear's verse as much as to traditional rhymes. And a key figure in the story will be the character Portunus who, as classical scholars will know, is not only related to our word opportunity but was anciently the Roman god of … keys.
It is the lore-and-lure of Fairie which is the substratum that continually threatens to burst through to the surface of the narrative. The groom who tempts Ranulph with fairy fruit is called Willy Wisp; Nathaniel finds peace in the burial ground known as the Fields of Grammary at the highest point of Lud, and it is this locus -- as the name suggests -- that proves to be an unexpected interface between Dorimare and Fairyland. Meanwhile we can't help noticing that the hunchbacked Duke Aubrey of legend is a Punch-like figure, what with his distinctive cock's crow and cockscomb strut; and we naturally wonder what relationship he has to Master Chanticleer whose family name comes from the cockerel in the medieval tales of Reynard the Fox.
The strand that ties all together is music. An opening quote about siren songs from Mirrlees' long-time friend Jane Ellen Harrison plants that idea in our minds. Then it is Master Chanticleer (whose name derives from the French chante and clair and who's deeply disturbed when first hears the Note) who makes the near-homophone connection between 'malady' and 'melody'. Subsequently it's the music of Willy Wisp and Portunus which affects Miss Crabapple's young ladies in exactly the same way it did the Twelve Dancing Princesses in the German fairytale.
And is it a complete coincidence that Dorimare itself is reminiscent of the notes do-re-mi? Indeed, in Chapter Four Endymion Leer declares, "Though we laugh at old songs and old yarns, nevertheless, they are the yarn with which we weave our picture of the world." For poor Nathaniel the Note:
aroused in his breast an agonizing tumult of remorse for having allowed something to escape that he would never, never recapture. It was as if he had left his beloved with harsh words, and had returned to find her dead.
There is so much one could add about how thoroughly intoxicating this novel is. Characters loom large and live in these pages, from Dame Marigold who becomes the rock on whom Nathaniel depends, to brave Hazel Gibberty who proves to be as pivotal as any of the main protagonists. The usually stolid Ambrose Honeysuckle is solid and dependable when the crunch comes despite his perpetual doubts; and the villains of the piece aren't always as villainous as you might expect them to be, leaving you to guess whether they will ever get their just deserts.
Finally, with a story arc that runs from midsummer to October's end Mirrlees can be as beautifully lyrical about nature as, say, Kenneth Graham was in the chapter 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn' in The Wind in the Willows (1908) or E Nesbit in The Enchanted Castle (1907), as this passage from Chapter Twenty describing sunrise partly suggests:
It was as if the earth had been translated to the sky, and they had been left behind in chaos, and were gazing up at its towns and beasts and heroes flattened out into constellations and looking like the stippled pictures in a Neolithic cave.
With its bittersweet nostalgia perhaps a reaction to the horrors of the recent War to End All Wars, Lud-in-the-Mist is all that its reputation promised. Despite its vaguely Georgian ambience and strong bourgeois setting (in a town a little reminiscent, to me, of Rye in East Sussex) the novel feels like a plea to throw off stuffiness and accept the unconventional into our lives in the form of a distinct feyness, before death claims us. Hope Mirrlees herself was "an exquisite apparition" (as Virginia Woolf, who published her work, described her) and, according to Michael Swanwick, "must have seemed like the heroine of her own fairy tale." If so, then Lud-in-the-Mist is a fitting memorial to an otherworldly imagination.
Something is, if not quite rotten, then unsettling in the state of Dorimare, a sleepy and somewhat smug country centred on its main town, Lud-in-the-Mist. Its principal citizen, Nathaniel Chanticleer, is to all intents and purposes a paragon of conformity, adhering to the letter of the law and to centuries-old traditions, but deep down he fears he is not what he tries to be: he worries he may be an outsider, his concerns arising from the fact that he has heard ... the Note.
It becomes increasingly clear that the Note that haunts Nathaniel -- which manifests itself as an awareness of something beyond his prosaic, mundane existence -- is somehow connected with a nobleman ousted some centuries before and with smuggled goods known (but never referred to) as fairy fruit. Whether he wants to or not the good man will find himself drawn into a situation that will threaten both edifice and foundations of a way of life the citizens of Lud-in-the-Mist -- Ludites all -- take for granted.
This novel, despite clearly being a fantasy, crosses quite a few other genres while yet feeling one of a kind. Is it a philosophical meditation or a detective story? Is it about the conflict of civic duty and personal honour or about family life versus personal quests? Is justice about vengeance and retribution or about readjusting balance? As a novel does it retain a core of realism or is it veering towards a self-indulgent idyll? It is a bit of all these things and yet Lud-in-the Mist is not heavy: there are comic touches aplenty in amongst the satire, smiles amidst the malice, love in the face of broken friendships.
Nathaniel's world is turned upside down when he starts to recognise that his 12-year-old son Ranulph is displaying symptoms of being worryingly unconventional, possibly from having been fed fairy fruit. The rather suspect doctor Endymion Leer, whom Nathaniel doesn't trust, advises sending Ranulph off to a farm to the west, not far from the Elfin Marches, where he may recuperate; reluctantly Nathaniel agrees.
But then an unexpected calamity befalls the students of Miss Primrose Crabapple's academy for young ladies, and Nathaniel finds himself persona non grata for daring to suggest the unthinkable: that Fairyland under its fabled ruler Duke Aubrey is surreptitiously inveigling its way into Dorimare's sensibly ordered life. Only he -- Mayor, High Seneschal, ex-officio president of the Senate and Chief Justice -- feels the need to investigate the truth of what underlies social unrest in the country, and the path to that truth turns out more convoluted than he expected.
I cannot overemphasise how utterly delightful this novel is. Like much of the best fiction the forward impulse of its narrative is enriched and embellished by a myriad of details. Words are a delight: many of the women bear flowery or fruity names (Marigold, Prunella, Hazel, Hyacinth and Jessamine, for example) while the inhabitants' surnames are a riot of ingenuity: Pyepowders, Baldbreeches, Pugwalker and Gibberty, for starters. Mirrlees quietly displays her erudition (for those that recognise it) with the names of Polydore Vigil and young Ranulph, both inspired by the medieval chroniclers Virgil and Higden; while Endymion Leer's apparently nonsensical but soothing songs may owe not a little to Edward Lear's verse as much as to traditional rhymes. And a key figure in the story will be the character Portunus who, as classical scholars will know, is not only related to our word opportunity but was anciently the Roman god of … keys.
It is the lore-and-lure of Fairie which is the substratum that continually threatens to burst through to the surface of the narrative. The groom who tempts Ranulph with fairy fruit is called Willy Wisp; Nathaniel finds peace in the burial ground known as the Fields of Grammary at the highest point of Lud, and it is this locus -- as the name suggests -- that proves to be an unexpected interface between Dorimare and Fairyland. Meanwhile we can't help noticing that the hunchbacked Duke Aubrey of legend is a Punch-like figure, what with his distinctive cock's crow and cockscomb strut; and we naturally wonder what relationship he has to Master Chanticleer whose family name comes from the cockerel in the medieval tales of Reynard the Fox.
The strand that ties all together is music. An opening quote about siren songs from Mirrlees' long-time friend Jane Ellen Harrison plants that idea in our minds. Then it is Master Chanticleer (whose name derives from the French chante and clair and who's deeply disturbed when first hears the Note) who makes the near-homophone connection between 'malady' and 'melody'. Subsequently it's the music of Willy Wisp and Portunus which affects Miss Crabapple's young ladies in exactly the same way it did the Twelve Dancing Princesses in the German fairytale.
And is it a complete coincidence that Dorimare itself is reminiscent of the notes do-re-mi? Indeed, in Chapter Four Endymion Leer declares, "Though we laugh at old songs and old yarns, nevertheless, they are the yarn with which we weave our picture of the world." For poor Nathaniel the Note:
aroused in his breast an agonizing tumult of remorse for having allowed something to escape that he would never, never recapture. It was as if he had left his beloved with harsh words, and had returned to find her dead.
There is so much one could add about how thoroughly intoxicating this novel is. Characters loom large and live in these pages, from Dame Marigold who becomes the rock on whom Nathaniel depends, to brave Hazel Gibberty who proves to be as pivotal as any of the main protagonists. The usually stolid Ambrose Honeysuckle is solid and dependable when the crunch comes despite his perpetual doubts; and the villains of the piece aren't always as villainous as you might expect them to be, leaving you to guess whether they will ever get their just deserts.
Finally, with a story arc that runs from midsummer to October's end Mirrlees can be as beautifully lyrical about nature as, say, Kenneth Graham was in the chapter 'The Piper at the Gates of Dawn' in The Wind in the Willows (1908) or E Nesbit in The Enchanted Castle (1907), as this passage from Chapter Twenty describing sunrise partly suggests:
It was as if the earth had been translated to the sky, and they had been left behind in chaos, and were gazing up at its towns and beasts and heroes flattened out into constellations and looking like the stippled pictures in a Neolithic cave.
With its bittersweet nostalgia perhaps a reaction to the horrors of the recent War to End All Wars, Lud-in-the-Mist is all that its reputation promised. Despite its vaguely Georgian ambience and strong bourgeois setting (in a town a little reminiscent, to me, of Rye in East Sussex) the novel feels like a plea to throw off stuffiness and accept the unconventional into our lives in the form of a distinct feyness, before death claims us. Hope Mirrlees herself was "an exquisite apparition" (as Virginia Woolf, who published her work, described her) and, according to Michael Swanwick, "must have seemed like the heroine of her own fairy tale." If so, then Lud-in-the-Mist is a fitting memorial to an otherworldly imagination.
April 4, 2021
Lud-In-The-Mist has stuck in my mind like soft, dreamy taffy.
It's a perfect example of a book I would have never found without Goodreads. It has it all: pre-Tolkien genre concepts, fantasy that leans more towards the faerie than the fairy, and a comfortingly British cast to follow.
The story is very rote Agatha Christie stuff. Taboo fairy fruit keeps finding its way into the city. People eat the fruit & go slightly batty. Our distinctly British heroes must find out how and why. There's a mysterious widow, a lost son, a sinister doctor and good gentle servants. Honestly I don't know how I'd never heard of this book before. It has EVERYTHING I enjoy.
Mirrlees' writing is A+ stuff too. It's both elegant and languorous in showing the everyday ways of the city of Lud-In-the-Mist, but as our characters delve further into the mystery of the contraband fairy fruit, becomes menacing and sharp. There's a real unexpected edge of danger and I genuinely feared for the lives of our central characters more than once.
I wish I could put into words why this book has snagged something so deep in my heart. I read it a month ago. I've read three other books since, but it's this one that keeps floating through my minds eye when I'm driving to work, or walking on the beach, or about to go to sleep.
I'm at a loss for what else to say about this magical experience. I'll leave this review with a quote, and a wish that you read it too.
"Was it possible that Ranulph, too, was a real person, a person inside whose mind things happened? He had thought that he himself was the only real person in a field of human flowers. For Master Nathaniel that was a moment of surprise, triumph, tenderness, alarm.”
It's a perfect example of a book I would have never found without Goodreads. It has it all: pre-Tolkien genre concepts, fantasy that leans more towards the faerie than the fairy, and a comfortingly British cast to follow.
The story is very rote Agatha Christie stuff. Taboo fairy fruit keeps finding its way into the city. People eat the fruit & go slightly batty. Our distinctly British heroes must find out how and why. There's a mysterious widow, a lost son, a sinister doctor and good gentle servants. Honestly I don't know how I'd never heard of this book before. It has EVERYTHING I enjoy.
Mirrlees' writing is A+ stuff too. It's both elegant and languorous in showing the everyday ways of the city of Lud-In-the-Mist, but as our characters delve further into the mystery of the contraband fairy fruit, becomes menacing and sharp. There's a real unexpected edge of danger and I genuinely feared for the lives of our central characters more than once.
I wish I could put into words why this book has snagged something so deep in my heart. I read it a month ago. I've read three other books since, but it's this one that keeps floating through my minds eye when I'm driving to work, or walking on the beach, or about to go to sleep.
I'm at a loss for what else to say about this magical experience. I'll leave this review with a quote, and a wish that you read it too.
"Was it possible that Ranulph, too, was a real person, a person inside whose mind things happened? He had thought that he himself was the only real person in a field of human flowers. For Master Nathaniel that was a moment of surprise, triumph, tenderness, alarm.”
August 22, 2021
Another instance of my enjoying the book immensely and then being quite disappointed by the ending.
What I enjoyed most about it was that Susanna Clarke was obviously to some extent influenced and inspired by it; for a Clarke fan that I am, it has been a pleasure to explore how these two authors developed the themes of our Good Neighbours and all the curious consequences of having any relations with them. There are many similarities in tone and subject, but also many differences, and one can spend a lot of time in interesting comparisons.
The other aspect I thoroughly enjoyed is the development of the characters. They are intentionally presented in a very detached way and then often surprise us by demonstrating quite unexpected qualities, while the changes in them are described in a very low-key manner, - a very modern device for a book written in 1926.
Also, of course, it is quite exciting that this is a fantasy novel written by a lady and before Tolkien.
But then the ending, in my opinion, does not manage to successfully explain all the beautiful and mysterious happenings of the book, and kind of makes a lot of the action meaningless.
An enjoyable read all the same, but especially if it doesn't matter much to you how it all ends.
What I enjoyed most about it was that Susanna Clarke was obviously to some extent influenced and inspired by it; for a Clarke fan that I am, it has been a pleasure to explore how these two authors developed the themes of our Good Neighbours and all the curious consequences of having any relations with them. There are many similarities in tone and subject, but also many differences, and one can spend a lot of time in interesting comparisons.
The other aspect I thoroughly enjoyed is the development of the characters. They are intentionally presented in a very detached way and then often surprise us by demonstrating quite unexpected qualities, while the changes in them are described in a very low-key manner, - a very modern device for a book written in 1926.
Also, of course, it is quite exciting that this is a fantasy novel written by a lady and before Tolkien.
But then the ending, in my opinion, does not manage to successfully explain all the beautiful and mysterious happenings of the book, and kind of makes a lot of the action meaningless.
An enjoyable read all the same, but especially if it doesn't matter much to you how it all ends.
July 6, 2019
This was such a truly delightful Fantasy read!
I loved the language, the somewhat dated feeling and the weird, yet loveable, characters. The description of country and people is vivid and colourful, the plot has enough fairy mystery and who-done-it elements to make me turn pages.
I all-embracingly enjoyed this feel-good read and I'm glad for my SFFBC group, cause otherwise I would have never picked it up.
I loved the language, the somewhat dated feeling and the weird, yet loveable, characters. The description of country and people is vivid and colourful, the plot has enough fairy mystery and who-done-it elements to make me turn pages.
I all-embracingly enjoyed this feel-good read and I'm glad for my SFFBC group, cause otherwise I would have never picked it up.
January 26, 2023
Whoville and the war on drugs.
July 17, 2019
It was fine. Inoffensive but not particularly engaging or memorable.
August 14, 2009
ahhhh this rocked!!! It's funny how this mostly takes place in the Real World (as opposed to Fairyland) and Neil Gaiman's Stardust mostly takes place in Fairyland (not the Real World), and yet there is more magic in a single serif on any letter of any word on any page of Lud-in-the-Mist than there is in the ENTIRE BOOK of Stardust.
I should note that its handling of race is weird -- Tolkien-style "all the non-white people are from somewhere else". Indigo people appear to be the world's analogue for black/brown people, and one point a character says, "White is supposed to be better than black" -- he isn't talking about skin colour, but still.
I should note that its handling of race is weird -- Tolkien-style "all the non-white people are from somewhere else". Indigo people appear to be the world's analogue for black/brown people, and one point a character says, "White is supposed to be better than black" -- he isn't talking about skin colour, but still.
July 6, 2019
An unexpected, charming and witty fairytale meets murder mystery with sinister undertones. Mirrlees’ often florid prose did nothing to draw me into the world at the beginning, but I’m glad I persevered through her paragraph-long sentences to find the heart of this multi-layered story. On the surface, this is an old-fashioned murder mystery set in a fairytale land, which by itself is an engaging story. At the same time, it is also a modern parable about the fear of the unknown and the potential rewards of opening oneself up to the possibilities of wild imagination, unfettered emotion and a world beyond one’s comfort zone. Truly a worthwhile read.
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