About 163 minutes
Old-Fashioned Fairy Tales — Key Ideas to Explore
Fairy Tales
37,478 recorded words. 9 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #15592This digital edition of Irish Fairy Tales — Context and Discussion is described by source-level measurements including 39,443 words, 2 hr 52 min estimated reading time, and 5 detected text sections.
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About 163 minutes
Fairy Tales
37,478 recorded words. 9 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #15592About 160 minutes
Fairy Tales
36,673 recorded words. 12 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
View Gutenberg source #873About 160 minutes
Fairy Tales
36,656 recorded words. 12 minutes difference from this book's estimate.
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Read on Project GutenbergW. B. Yeats's Irish Fairy Tales (1892) opens with an introduction that directly addresses the reader's skepticism: "An Irish story-teller am often doubted when I say that the Irish peasantry still believe in fairies." Yeats grounds his editorial authority in personal encounters, such as sitting by the turf fire with Biddy Hart, who "would give me no answer but 'I always mind my own affairs and they always mind theirs.'" This framing establishes the collection as a record of living belief, not mere antiquarianism. The tales that follow—selected and arranged by Yeats, with illustrations by his brother Jack B. Yeats—draw from oral sources and earlier published collections, preserving the cadence and idiom of Irish storytelling.
The tales in this collection are marked by a distinctive oral quality, evident in their use of direct speech and repetitive phrasing. In "The Man Who Never Knew Fear," Lawrence's encounters with supernatural beings are punctuated by the same question: "Are you not afraid?" Lawrence's repeated reply—"Indeed I am not"—creates a rhythmic pattern that mirrors folk narrative conventions. Similarly, the bargaining dialogue in the same tale—"If you wait to-night again, I'll give you another twenty pounds"—uses incremental repetition to build tension. Yeats's editorial hand preserves these verbal formulas, which are characteristic of Irish oral tradition and give the stories a performative, almost incantatory quality.
Yeats's selection favors tales where the supernatural intrudes abruptly into everyday settings. In "The Devil's Mill," a priest dismisses parishioners' reports of a black ram because "the churchyard was shut up forty years before that on account of the ghost." The story then pivots to a mass where the ram fails to appear, blending religious ritual with folk belief. Another tale, "The Fairy Greyhound," opens with a man out walking who "saw a large gathering of people looking at two men hurling"—a scene that shifts seamlessly into a fairy encounter. This juxtaposition of the ordinary (hurling, a priest reading mass) with the otherworldly (a head that screeches, a ghostly ram) is a recurring structural device, grounding the fantastic in recognizable Irish life.
Several tales share a narrative pattern in which a protagonist undergoes a series of tests, often for monetary reward. In "The Man Who Never Knew Fear," Lawrence is offered twenty pounds each night to stay in a haunted house, facing a stallion and bull, then two black rams, then a gray old man. The escalating threats and fixed reward create a predictable yet suspenseful structure. Similarly, in "Teigue of the Lee," a character earns money by confronting supernatural beings. These motifs—the haunted house, the challenge to feel fear, the precise sum of twenty pounds—recur across different stories, suggesting a shared folkloric vocabulary that Yeats deliberately highlights through his arrangement.
Yeats's introduction and appendix frame the tales as ethnographic evidence. He notes that "the Irish peasantry still believe in fairies" and defends this claim by recounting his conversation with Biddy Hart, who feared offending the fairies. The appendix, "Classification of Irish Fairies," and the list of "Authorities on Irish Folklore" signal a scholarly intent, yet the tales themselves are presented without annotation, allowing the reader to encounter them as stories first. This dual approach—personal anecdote alongside systematic classification—reflects Yeats's own position as both poet and folklorist. The volume thus serves as a bridge between oral tradition and literary canon, preserving the immediacy of the spoken word within a printed format.
Readers approaching Irish Fairy Tales should attend to the rhythm of the dialogue and the recurring narrative patterns, which reveal the stories' roots in oral performance. Yeats's editorial choices—his selection of tales, his framing introduction, and the inclusion of an appendix—offer a window into late nineteenth-century Irish folklore collecting. The tales reward close reading for their linguistic texture and structural repetitions, rather than for plot alone.
There’s something about the way those old tales linger—how a fairy’s trick or a ghost’s quiet demand feels both strange and familiar. I found that same ache of distance in the Russian collection, where the frost and the fire speak in the same unhurried voice. Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite Folk-lore — Key Ideas to Explore feels like a distant cousin to Yeats’s book, sharing that odd, gentle weight of lands we’ll never quite visit again.
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