Hag: Forgotten Folktales Retold
A review
Our everyday is not a disenchanted place,
however loudly our commuter trains rattle along their tracks or however tall
the tower blocks stand in the place where the trees once grew…
This collection was born out of a literary
experiment curated by Professor Carolyne Larrington. Eight female authors were
provided with a British folktale and asked to write a contemporary retelling
with a feminist twist. In line with the
oral tradition they were inspired by, the stories were first produced as podcasts. Now augmented by two further
stories commissioned from Irenosen Okojie and Imogen Hermes Gowar, they are
being issued in book form by Virago, the indefatigable publisher of books by
women.
The list of authors involved in this Angela-Carteresque
project is a roll-call of some of the finest contemporary writers in the
English language. It is interesting to
note how the subject-matter provides a unifying thread among the featured works,
despite the variety of styles and approaches.
An appendix at the end presents the folktales upon which the
commissioned authors worked their contemporary magic.
Among the best stories are those which let
the original material speak for itself, albeit in a changed context. Natasha Carthew’s The Droll of the Mermaid,
based on The Mermaid and the Man of Cury, retains many of the elements
of the legend which inspires it and, with its song-like run-on phrases, evokes
the cadences of the spoken word. Kirsty Logan returns to her beloved Scottish
myths in Between Sea and Sky, an adaptation of the folk song The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry. I
would have expected Imogen Hermes Gowar to write a story about mermaids. What she comes up with in The Holloway is,
instead, a clever contemporary take on a Somerset folktale about a drunken,
abusive farmer who gets what he deserves at the hand of the pixies. In The Sisters, Liv Little gives a
queer twist to a London legend (originally) about two brothers who fought a
duel in Tavistock Square for the hand and heart of a woman they both loved.
This project has a meta-fictional element to
it, and two of the stories take this to a heightened level. Eimar McBride’s The Tale of Kathleen is
a relatively unembellished version of a folktale from Ireland which pits
against each other Christian belief and fairie traditions. What McBride brings to an otherwise
“straight” account is a strongly opinionated present-day narrator, who keeps
intervening with ironic commentary about the story. I felt that the strident anti-Catholic
rhetoric actually lessened the impact of the original by highlighting and
underlining what is more subtly conveyed in the folktale. More successful, in my opinion, is Daisy
Johnson’s A Retelling. Johnson
blurs the distinction between the author and narrator, starting off with an
auto-fictional description of the writer’s research about the tale of the Green
Children of Woolpit, before things get decidedly uncannier. I remember reading the story of the Green Children
as a little boy, and Johnson’s retelling evoked the same nightmarish, claustrophobic
yet strangely thrilling feelings that the tale had first instilled in me many
years back.
In her preface, Larrington states that many of
the stories “are in dialogue with ‘folk-horror’ or the ‘new weird’”. Although these terms are notoriously hard to
define and classification is difficult, I would struggle to describe this as a “folk
horror” collection. This does not mean
that there isn’t terror aplenty in these stories, especially body horror mediating
female experiences of trauma associated with pregnancy, childbearing and
miscarriage. In this context, Emma Glass
reinvents the Welsh legend of the Fairy Midwife in the disturbing The
Dampness is Spreading whereas Naomi Booth’s Sour Hall unexpectedly
turns a legend about a pesky boggart into a searing condemnation of male
violence and abuse.
Some stories infuse these British tales with a welcome dose of cultural diversity. Irenosen
Okojie’s Rosheen is based on the Norfolk tale of The Dauntless Girl,
but the eponymous protagonist is Okojie’s creation. The daughter of a Trinidadian father and an
Irish mother, Rosheen leaves Killarney in the 60s to seek her luck on a farm in
Norfolk. The horrors she faces there are much darker than the almost comical
accounts found in the original and are conveyed in Okojie’s characteristically ultra-weird
style (I can’t shake off the image of dangling severed heads). Mahsuda Smith is
represented by The Panther’s Tale, which combines an anecdote linked to
a Midlands’ aristocratic family’s coat of arms with shapeshifting legends drawn
from the author’s Bengali folk heritage.
Folktales provide commentary on some of our
timeless needs, desires and fears. Hag
is ample proof of the fact that, in the right hands, the themes of
time-honoured stories can still resonate with readers (and listeners) today.
Hardcover, 288 pages
Expected publication: October 8th 2020 by Virago
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