Category: Books

How to get more out of Celtic mythology books

5/3/2022

I’m writing a lot about reading material these days, but people seem to like it, so here’s another post on the topic, sparked by a discussion in a class today. Not for the first time, someone said something like, “I’ve got those books you recommended, and I’ve read some of them, but . . .” The implication was ‘I’m not sure it did me much good.’

I think this follows on pretty logically from what I was saying in a recent post about people buying up Celtic Studies books and not using them. It reminded me of why this happens, because I know people buy them with good intentions. I often recommend what I see as reference books, but people are trying to read them cover-to-cover.

If you’re interested in Celtic myth and related things, then ultimately the goal is to join up what you learn in one book with what you’ve learned from other books you’ve read. Some books are meant to be read cover-to-cover. That’s obviously the best way to read fiction. It also works really well for non-fiction books with a more-or-less linear narrative structure. Books on history for example, or any topic in which the author is building up a picture – starting with background material, building up layers of knowledge and presenting theories, tying things together in the final chapter.

Books like Celtic Heritage by Alwyn and Brynley Rees, or John Waddell’s Archaeology and Celtic Myth work well read cover-to-cover, as do many others. However, scholarly books such as these are also very useful if you just read the chapters that look most interesting to you. In fact, you may remember what you read better that way, because although these books are somewhat linear, each chapter stands pretty well on its own. And you might get less discouraged by the density of them if you go for things that interest you.

The two books mentioned above are about mythology, but books of mythology are usually collections. I’m thinking of things like Cross and Slover’s Ancient Irish Tales or Koch and Carey’s The Celtic Heroic Age. Many of us like big books. We’re used to reading modern fictional trilogies, for example. But mythology doesn’t read like fiction. It rarely spends much time on what the characters are thinking, or even on description. The narratives are often concise, sometimes downright terse. A lot can happen in a sentence or a paragraph, and you need to adjust the pace of your reading to make the most of such texts. Slow down and give yourself time to picture the details of scenes, consider the motivations and possible emotions of characters, and so on. (There are exceptions. The Tain, or Culhwch and Olwen, for example, are very wordy in places.)

However, the conversation which happened today in class was about a different class of books altogether. One was Rachel Bromwich’s mighty tome Trioedd Ynys Prydein. ‘The Triads of Britian’ seems an innocent enough title, but this is mostly a reference book, or a book to pick up and leaf through for interesting bits. Its two main sections are the triads themselves in Welsh and English with some very interesting notes; and the ‘Notes to Personal Names’. This section has significant essays about the people mentioned in the triads. Essays which reference almost every text outside the triads in which that person appears, plus the etymology of their name, scholarly ideas about them, etc. It’s a gold mine, but you need to know that section is there and use it, not just when you stumble on a triad somewhere, but to find out more about many characters from the Mabinogi and Welsh legend, generally.

Another book which came up was the Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin by Marged Haycock. This is an excellent scholarly translation of a very difficult collection of poems. I love this book, but I can’t imagine most people getting much joy from reading it straight through. Or, at least not unless you go slowly. You could spend a couple of days on the introduction. It's not that long, but if you’re new to the subject it’s still quite a bit to take in.

Each of the poems has a lengthy headnote which is worth reading. Each poem also has many footnotes. Most of these discuss why Haycock translated a word or line the way she did, and possible alternatives. They’re pretty interesting to me – maybe not to you. It’s enriching to read them and perfectly okay to ignore them. Honestly, I’d say one poem a day is enough with this book. Read it thoroughly, read the notes, do it justice. Sleep on it, or go read something a bit lighter. I generally go to this book because I'm reading something which mentions one of the poems, and then I want to go deeper into it.

If you want to read the poetry of Taliesin in a more relaxed but slightly less scholarly format, you might like Lewis and Williams’ The Book of Taliesin, which is another modern, still quite scholarly, translation. It offers you enough information to help you make sense of things, but is more manageable.

Obviously, I can’t talk about ALL the books here! There are lists everywhere of “the best books to read” about Celtic myth or history. Unfortunately, such lists rarely tell you what the book is like, what it’s for, or how to get the most out of it. If you’re asking people who are more knowledgeable than you for book recommendations, it’s helpful if you tell them what, specifically, you want to learn. You want stories. You want the history of ancient Scotland. You want a good dictionary of Celtic mythology. Whatever. There is also no shame is saying, “I got myself a copy of ___ but it’s not making much sense. What am I supposed to use it for?”

You could even ask me in the comments!

Four Essays on Celtic Mythology

A collection of essays on reading mythology for deep meaning.

8.5" x 5.5"

21 pages

See product page for details.

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Understanding The Mabinogi

1/11/2020

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In this recent post I looked at some common pitfalls when reading The Four Branches of the Mabinogi (and other Celtic myth). This is the other side of the coin. Some tips about what’s worth noticing and thinking about as you read The Four Branches.

About the Four Branches
Although the Mabinogi manuscripts that have survived date to the 14th century, dating the stories themselves is a lot harder. In the form that we find them, they may go back a couple of centuries earlier, but it’s much harder to date the material they came from. There are enough common themes and cognate names that are shared with Irish material several centuries older to suggest some common ancestry. There is enough in common with other with Indo-European myth, generally, to suggest that these stories have very long roots.

The “Mab” in Mabinogi means son, or boy and there are a couple of Celtic deities with related names: Maponos, and Mabon ap Modron. (Here’s a link to an in depth look at these deities.) Mabon ap Modron (divine son of the divine mother) has associations in Welsh-language lore with being a divine prisoner, and he is an important character in Culhwch and Olwen, which is in the wider collection of The Mabinogion.

The stories have a theme of mothers and sons and one theory is that many of these stories were originally stories about Mabon/Maponos. It has also been suggested that “Mabinogi” might imply that these are stories for the instruction of boys – specifically for young noblemen who would have been taught by bards, and who would have been expected to learn about the responsibilities and dangers of leadership. I believe that both these ideas have a lot of merit, and there is no reason that they can’t both be true. Probably, the more deeply mythic themes of motherhood, male youth, and kingship represent an older layer. This may have been developed, over time, into stories which would require young men to think deeply about honour, marriage, and leadership. I think it is important to keep these ideas in mind, when reading the Four Branches.

Women’s themes
Women’s themes play a big part in The Four Branches. There is quite a bit of mistreatment of women, and there is also some extremely assertive behaviour by some of the females characters. For the most part, the females don’t sit in towers waiting to be rescued, nor do their lives revolve entirely around producing heirs for their mates. A theory which has not been widely accepted is that the “author” of The Mabinogi was a woman. The reasons for discarding that theory have less to do with disbelief that a medieval woman could be the author, and more to do with the lack of evidence. It's possible that The Mabinogi doesn’t exactly have an author. It almost certainly came down through the oral tradition, and how much responsibility any one individual had for the form in which we know it, is difficult to discern, although its likely that one individual was responsible for pulling The Four Branches together into the version we know. Still, referring to that person as “editor” or “redactor” is probably more accurate than “author”.

The way women are portrayed has caused some students to feel that the “true” stories of some of the female characters must have been altered by medieval patriarchal forces. That’s difficult to prove or disprove. While it’s true that the female characters are not always “good”, neither are the male characters. The motivations for the actions of Arianrhod and Blodeuedd, in particular, are left to the reader to ponder for themselves. Characters in The Four Branches are surprisingly three dimensional, and it’s a mistake to assume that only good (or bad) behaviour is being modelled. A more useful approach is to look for cause and effect, or to consider that the choices open to some characters are limited. What we can be certain of is that as Celtic myths or medieval stories go, The Four Branches seems unusually concerned with the treatment of women and the issues they face.

Overarching themes
Although The Four Branches forms a loosely chronological narrative, it is worthwhile to compare the branches to one another, and perhaps track a progression of ideas as the cycle progresses, rather than just look at them as some kind of saga. There are a number of themes which recur, including: weddings; motherhood; mothers losing their sons; large, futile battles; honour; magic; and deception. It’s worth noting how each of these themes is approached.

To take one example, there is a wedding in every branch, but they are each very different.

In The First Branch, Rhiannon appears in Pwyll’s kingdom and proposes marriage to him. They encounter some difficulties on the way to becoming man and wife, but work together to achieve it. Their relationship encounters more problems, but Pwyll remains essentially loyal, if sometimes a bit ineffective.

In The Second Branch, Branwen, sister of King Brân, is given to an Irish king, seemingly without even being consulted. As in The First Branch, there is trouble at the wedding feast. In this case, it sets Branwen and her husband, Matholwch, up for trouble which ends in widespread tragedy. Branwen does attempt to help herself, but is essentially portrayed as a victim.

The Third Branch finds Rhiannon, now a widow, betrothed to Manawydan by her adult son. However, she and Manawydan like each other when they meet and have a happy marriage, although they have a fairly harrowing adventure together.

In The Fourth Branch, we meet Lleu – a young man whose conception seems to have been achieved through magic or deceit. His mother, Arianrhod, refuses to betroth him to a woman, so his magician kinsmen, Math and Gwydion, create a wife for him out of flowers. She soon falls in love with someone else, tries to arrange Lleu’s murder, and gets turned into and owl by Gwydion.

Just this one theme of weddings and marriages offers quite a bit of insight into The Four Branches. The degree of agency shown by Rhiannon at the beginning of her relationship to Pwyll, is dramatically different that Branwen’s situation, or Blodeuedd’s. A similar trend can also be seen when looking at other themes, like honour. Generally, the trajectory from First Branch to Fourth is not a positive one. So, as well as there being lessons within each story, perhaps we can begin to see bigger philosophical questions being tackled, if we make the effort. To some extent, this may be a commentary on the state of society in which The Four Branches found its form, but I believe that there are also much earlier religious and cultural forces underlying these themes.

Lugh Lleu

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A collection of prose and poetry about two intertwined gods. This is a literary approach based on scholarship, so I have included bibliographical notes for those who want them.

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28 pages

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Reading the Mabinogi. What could possibly go wrong?

27/10/2020

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I’m always encouraging people to read The Mabinogi – and Celtic myths in general. But I’m aware that not everyone gets a lot out of them. I put these thoughts together for a talk I gave recently, so before I forget it all, I thought I’d write it down. It’s safe to say that this advice works pretty well for reading most Celtic myth, not just The Mabinogi.

Thinking it’s damaged goods
This takes two forms:
1. The Christians wrecked it!
Yes, most medieval texts were copied out in monasteries. As modern people, we tend to assume that if someone entered a monastery, then they must have been almost fanatical in their religious views, but there’s no evidence for this. Sure, if you were a religious fanatic a monastery might be where you ended up, but people were there for all sorts of other reasons. Some were given to the church by their parents as children, some were attracted by the access to books and learning, and it’s quite possible that for others it was seen as a path not that different from becoming a Druid. There is even a line of thinking that some Druids were sort of “underground” in monasteries, although I’m not sure we should take it all that seriously.

Many of the monks were local, or had at least grown up in the culture that preserved the stories which became what we think of as The Mabinogi. It's possible that their main motivation for putting these tales on paper was to preserve them. They believed that the stories had value. I think they were prompted by the same urge to preserve lore that sustained the bards and other lore keepers who had existed for millennia.

There is little, if any, Christianisation of the stories in The Mabinogi. There is some Christianised language salted through the dialogue. This may have just been a reflection of how people spoke at the time, or an effort to put a few “key words” into the text, so that it couldn’t be called completely ungodly. You certainly see this with a lot of early bardic poetry, where most of the Christian references are in the opening few lines, or sometimes the last few lines. As if a nod to Him Upstairs would keep any disapproving bishops off the scent. The stories themselves do not feel like Christian stories – they feel closer to pre-Christian myth.

2. The jigsaw is incomplete
For centuries, there has been an industry devoted to trying to reconstruct “all of Celtic mythology” by drawing on reconstructive linguistics and Indo-European studies. When I look at Celtic myth, I’m impressed by how much we have, rather than upset about what we’ve lost. It’s not that I’m really a “glass half full” sort of person, but when it comes to Celtic myth the glass happens to be overflowing. You could probably never read or know all of the texts that survive. There is plenty enough to be going on with, but look outside if it makes you happier.

Math, Son of Mathonwy - Dorthea Braby (1909-1987)
National Museum Wales

I can’t deny that many Celtic myths feel a little fragmented. Sometimes you sense that the story you’re getting must have been part of a bigger story. Other times, a text will refer to a story that we just don’t have anymore. I think it’s important not to get too hung up on this. Often, studying lesser known sources like The Triads and The Book of Taliesin will help fill in some gaps, but not always. Sometimes I do feel very angry at the Romans, the Saxons, and the Anglicised aristocracy, for destroying so much Celtic lore. Equally, I feel extremely proud and awestruck at how much was saved in spite of the cultural trauma being inflicted. I choose to celebrate that.

Reading it as fiction
We live in a society that consumes a lot of fiction in the form of books and films. We tend to plough through large books or multi-episode films with an enormous appetite. There’s an analogy there with a glutton stuffing themselves, but not really tasting their food very much.

Medieval texts are usually very economical with words. Some of that came from the need to be economical with ink and vellum, not to mention the human effort required to hand write things. So, The Mabinogi moves very fast. Almost every sentence is meaningful. Major action happens on every page. You can easily read The Four Branches in a day. But can you digest it?

Another habit we have from consuming fiction is reading mostly for identification. Notice how you read books and watch films. Most of us identify primarily with one character. Successful fiction is often constructed to encourage that. We feel we have a lot in common with the anti-hero or the oppressed female character. Or we long to be beautiful and engaged in romantic intrigue, or to be on a great quest or adventure.

Of course, myth can draw you into all of that, too, but keep your wits about you and you will get more out of it. Rather than wanting to be like one of the characters, or sort of falling in love with a character because you think you have a lot in common, pay attention to what’s going on in the story as a whole and you will find a much more interesting set of layers.

And finally
I believe this is good advice:
Take your time. Read a paragraph, think about it, repeat if necessary. Or read a story, sleep on it, or go for a nice walk and think about it. Then read it again.

Get above the trees and look down a the forest. What is going on in the story as a whole? Can you see causes and effects? What’s the cause behind the cause (behind the cause….).

Prepare for ambiguity and deep thinking. There are messages in myths. I believe that there are layers of messages that reveal themselves as we need them. But they are not black and white morality tales. Deep thinking will reveal surprising insights about justice, cosmology, and honourable behaviour. Those insights won’t be simple, or cut and dried. They will be nuanced. Don’t try to reduce them to some kind of Ten Commandments.

A greatly expanded version of this post appears in Four Essays on Celtic Mythology.

Four Essays on Celtic Mythology

A collection of essays on reading mythology for deep meaning.

8.5" x 5.5"

21 pages

See product page for details.

8.00

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The Work of Bards - The Mabinogi Lives Again

28/11/2018

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A review of The Assembly of the Severed Head by Hugh Lupton

I've been interested in Hugh Lupton's work ever since I first discovered his poem about the Mari Lwyd. Hugh is an ambitious storyteller (not many will take on re-telling the Iliad or Beowulf), as well as a poet and author, so I was intrigued when I heard that he was writing a book based on the Welsh cycle of stories known as The Four Branches of The Mabinogi. I mostly prefer to read Celtic myths in direct translations, these days, because literary re-tellings leave me confused as to which parts belong to the original text and which to the author. Still, I knew that if anyone had potential to do this well, it would be this man.

One of the best things about The Assembly of the Severed Head is the way it places the first transcription of these tales in a meaningful context. Lupton has obviously taken quite a bit of care with this aspect of the work, and set his story up to show that while Christian influence on this event must have been considerable, it is unlikely that the project of collecting these stories in writing was merely an attempt by Christians to suppress pre-Christian ideas. Modern readers agonise a great deal about this question, and I suspect that the picture Lupton paints of a "middle ground" scenario is as close as we will ever get to the reality of what happened. Because of this, I think this book might help readers who are struggling to understand the context in which early Celtic texts came into being. Yes, it's a work of fiction, but it paints a picture which could easily be close to the truth.

The premise of the book is that Cian Brydydd Mawr, the last great bard of Gwynedd, is dying, and that the stories he knows must be recorded in writing or lost. Arrangements are made for a monastic scribe to write the tales down, but the old bard insists that he must have a suitable audience, and so a lay brother, a widow with a struggling farm, and a young lad also attend each storytelling session, over a period of many months, until the work is accomplished.

The scribe leaned across the table and whispered into Llywelyn's ear.
      "Lord, it concerns Cian Brydydd Mawr."
      "What of him?"
He feels the hand of death closing around his heart. His apprentices are dead. Everything he passed on to them, in the old way, with the breath of his mouth, is lost."
      "You do not have to tell me. It wounds me every time I think about it."
      "Lord, he has made a request. He has drawn me aside and asked that certain matters be set down on the page, matters the will otherwise die with him and be forgotten."

      But the Sub-Prior was already standing.
      "Lord, if I may speak?"
      Llywelyn opened his hand in a gesture of approval.
      "Lord, this Matter to be set on the page - it is hardly the province of the Holy Church."

      Llywelyn leapt over the high table. The Sub-Prior found himself seized and shaken for the second time.
      "How many lands have I gifted to your Cistercian Brotherhood?"
      "Many hundreds of acres, Lord."
      "And golden vessels, silver plate?"
      "You have been most kind."
      "And you wish to keep my favour?"
      "We do, my Lord."
      Llywelyn drew him so close that their noses were touching.
      "Then write me my book."

Thus, Hugh Lupton cleverly sets the scene for a background discussion of 13th century events and attitudes, as well as introducing a set of fictional characters and their stories, which are interspersed with Cian's telling of the tales from the Mabinogi. The author does a good job of balancing his sub-plots with the mythological material, while firmly placing the myths centre stage. It is during the telling of the stories that Lupton's ability as a poet and storyteller shines. Here he is especially confident and fluent, as in these passages from the opening of the tale of Branwen.

If I could sing I would sing of Bran the Blessed, High King over the Island of the Mighty.
      I would sing of Bran whose name means Raven.
      I would sing of mighty Bran, son of Llyr, watching the blue sea from the high cliffs of Harlech.
      Look.
      A golden crown is glittering on his broad brow.
          He sits on the soft grass at the cliff's margin.
      His legs hang over the edge. His heels are kicking the rock face.
      His body, from the root of his spine to the back of his head, is the height of the twisted mountain oaks that stand behind him.
      His hands rest on this thighs, each as broad as the spread hide of an ox.
      His eyes are fixed on the open sea.
      Beside him sit three companions.

They saw thirteen ships.
      Their sails were swollen with the wind. Their prows were slicing through the waves. They were approaching Harlech from the western horizon at a smooth and swift speed.
      Bran lifted one of his huge hands to shelter his eyes from the glare of the sun.

A mythic map of Wales by Margaret Jones

I found myself distracted, while reading this book, by my own need to keep tabs on how closely the suthor was following the original myths. If you are deeply familiar with the four branches of the Mabinogi, I suspect that you will find yourself doing the same, and like me, you will find that Lupton is very faithful to the original. I am pleased about that, and the re-telling here is deft and the language beautiful. I would very much enjoy hearing Hugh Lupton tell these stories live.

Mabinogi enthusiasts will enjoy this book, but it would be a perfect gift for someone who enjoys good historical or fantasy fiction, especially if you are trying to spark their interest in The Mabinogi. If you are approaching the four branches for the first time, for study or devotional reasons, I would recommend one of the many excellent translations of these tales instead. However, I think for the general reader who simply likes mythology, or who likes books set in early Britain this book is ideal.

Final analysis. If you are looking for a good read and an easy introduction to The Mabinogi, this is the perfect choice.

The Assembly of the Severed Head is available to order from the publisher, Propolis Books, and from the usual booksellers.

If you enjoyed this post, you might like Of Oracles, Wonder and Inspiration which also features some masterly re-telling of myth.

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Getting started with Celtic Myth

15/7/2018

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Celtic myths can be fun and exciting to read, or they can be daunting and difficult. Newcomers to Celtic studies or Celtic Paganism often don't know where to start. I hope this post will help you to get started well and show you how to deepen your engagement. I'll stick to the main bodies of Irish and Welsh myths for this post, just to keep things simple.

Here's a working definition of myth, to get us started: Stories people have believed for many generations, which cannot be fully confirmed, usually concerning their own origins, culture and gods. These stories have a fairly high degree of stability over time.

The earliest sources we have for Celtic myths are manuscripts created from the 11th to 16th centuries. Most scholars are of the opinion, based on language and other clues, that the material in these old books is older than the books themselves. Some of it has the kind of errors which show that it was copied from another written source (now lost) and some of it shows the hallmarks of having been passed down orally for a long time, before it was finally written down.

There are many medieval books, usually created by monastic scribes, that contain bits of Irish and Welsh myth. Sometimes these are fragmentary because a book got damaged, or because whoever created the book only had access to bits and pieces of a longer tale. Sometimes we find the same thing word-for-word in several manuscripts, sometimes we find quite different versions of the same story in two different books. Fortunately, there are scholars who dedicate themselves to sorting this all out for the rest of us. They don't always get it right, but as time passes they are getting better at it.

Not many of us are ever going to be able to read these things in their original. Even if you speak fluent Irish or Welsh, it wouldn't be easy, because the language has changed so much. I speak English fluently, but I can't read Old English at all, nor Middle English very well. So unless you are a scholar of early forms of Irish and Welsh, you might appreciate a translation. So let's talk about that.

Translations vary. Extremely literal word-by-word translations can be harder to understand than you'd think. They don't explain things like idioms, except maybe in footnotes, and don't always deal well with poetry, or the many grammatical differences between languages. On the other hand, they may give insights that other translations don't. Good examples of this are R. A. S. MacAlister's Lebor Gabála Érenn or Morgan Daimler's The Treasure of the Tuatha De Danann.

Most translations are more "faithful" than literal. The translator tries their best to convey the exact meaning of each phrase, in a way that allows the reader to easily digest it. (Like Patrick Ford's translation of the Mabinogi.) You may also find it helpful to choose a fairly recent translation. Translations from the 19th and early 20th centuries are often available to read free online. Some of them are good, but if you don't enjoy reading Victorian prose, you may give up. (For example Whitley Stokes' The Voyage of Mael Duin's Boat or Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion.)

Next in line for reading choice might be a "faithful re-telling". This is where the author has read the material, either in translation or through their own scholarship, but put it into their own words more than a translator would. A faithful re-telling might simplify the language for children, or condense the action a little for a story collection or encyclopedia, or the author might simply prefer to put it in their own words. However, it shouldn't remove or add anything important. The question here is always "How faithful?", and if you haven't read the myth from a good translation beforehand, how will you know? The fact that I don't recommend any here doesn't mean that none exist. I have seen authors make a good job of individual stories.

Finally there are looser renderings of myths. You may see these in collections in discounted book bins, read them on websites, or find them in literary forms like novels. Some of them are good from a literary standpoint but a long way from the original. Others may have been passed around the internet without anyone bothering to check their accuracy. I generally find the ones written by authors who are members of the relevant culture (James Stephens' Irish Fairy Tales) preferable to those writing from an alien culture who are just mining mythology for a good story with supernatural elements. (Evangeline Walton's Mabinogion Tetralogy for example.) Authors may also appropriate deities and other characters from myths and put them into their own stories, but don't expect to learn much about mythology by reading them.

For anyone wishing to really absorb and engage with Celtic mythology, I would suggest that they read translations first, rather than think they will work their way up via a fantasy novel or a bad synopsis. It's human nature that the first version of a story we hear sticks in our mind as the most true version, in spite of us trying to override that with logic later.

And so , to the tales themselves:

The primary body of Welsh myth is The Mabinogi (or Mabinogion). It is divided into four "branches" or sections, which each stand on their own, but loosely relate to one another. Another seven stories are associated with the Mabinogi, because they were found in some of the same early manuscripts. Some of these will probably be included when you buy a translation of the Mabinogi in book form. The Welsh myths were written down later than the Irish material, the manuscripts are generally in better condition and the tales are much less like a jigsaw with its pieces scattered through many books. Some scholars fell that there is material missing from the Mabinogi, but what, and how much is missing is open to opinion.

Irish mythology is messier. There are more manuscripts, and the material is fragmented and scattered between them. Modern scholars usually group the Irish stories into four "cycles": The Mythological Cycle concerns Ireland's origins and the doings of the Tuatha De Danann; The Ulster Cycle is about Conchobar, Cu Chulainn and the cattle raiding culture of the north; The Fenian Cycle concerns the doings of Fionn MacCumhaill and the Fenian warriors; and The Historical Cycle is a pseudo-history of Irish kings from the 5th-11th centuries.

One author/translator deserves very special attention for her treatment of the Irish material: Lady Augusta Gregory, who made a bold attempt to put the jigsaw of fragments together into a cohesive, chronological narrative for the first three cycles. Certainly, scholarship and attitudes have moved on considerably since Lady Gregory published her translations, and a hundred years later the language is becoming dated. However, I still recommend the collection of her work, called Complete Irish Mythology, as a good way to read the Irish myths for the first time. After you've done that, you will probably want to find newer and better translations of various stories, or delve into early Irish texts that aren't included by Lady Gregory, but you will have a much better grasp of the big picture.

Another handy book of the Irish cycles is Ancient Irish Tales, edited by Cross and Slover. This contains much of the same material as Complete Irish Mythology, although some tales have been edited for length. The translations are also good, and the language a little more approachable.

The Mabinogion is not that long. Even with some notes and all the extra tales it makes a manageable sized book. Complete Irish Mythology is heftier (around 550 pages), but not enormous if you think of it as a trilogy in one volume. It's helpful to read the four branches of the Mabinogi or Complete Irish Mythology in order the first time, but don't devour them too quickly. There is a great deal of action within just a few pages in these stories, and not much exposition. Give yourself time to let each little story sink in. Give yourself time to ask questions, even though you may have no answers. Live with these stories and savour them. There are many scholarly interpretations of these tales, but what is your interpretation? What are your instincts telling you? Take the time to go back over things that don't make sense, or that haunt you. Remember that people once grew up hearing these stories regularly, and continued to hear them throughout their lives. It is only by living with them, that you will find their true depth.

You might like to read the follow-up to this post - Seeking Meaning in Celtic Mythology.

You can also find short reviews of books on Celtic topics on my YouTube channel. Look for the Books from the Coffee Table series

Mythology

A chapbook collection containing the allegorical tale The Story Shawl, a poem about Macha entitled Approaching the House of Cruinniuc, and a long essay called The Beach.

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14 pages

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Macha's Twins, a Review

29/6/2018

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"The mythic reveals itself
When we wait and watch"

These two lines are the final words of Macha's Twins, by Kate Fitzpatrick, a book that is hard to categorize as one thing or another. Part autobiography, a mixture of prose and poetry, a recounting of mystical experiences, I'm glad I read it and yet I'm left wondering what exactly it was that I read. My feelings about this book are incredibly mixed, so all I can do here is try to describe it and leave the reader to decide whether it might be for them.

Macha Curses the Men of Ulster by Stephen Reid

I am not familiar with Kate Fitzpatrick's work. I suspect that she has her own following, and that this book might be more meaningful to them than it was to me. From the book we learn that she has led many workshops on themes of Celtic spirituality and women's empowerment. She plays the fiddle, she is trained in Gestalt work, is a shamanic practitioner, and a regular attendee of various conferences and gatherings. Although she includes a certain amount of autobiographical material in the book, memories from her childhood in Northern Ireland, a few scenes from her adult life, most of this is enigmatic, and somehow leaves me unsure as to how deeply I can trust her to be candid. She offers beautiful, vivid descriptions of different places she has lived, for example, but is vague about how she made a living while in those places. What she doesn't say, or why she doesn't feel comfortable saying it, makes me just a little uneasy. This may not be central to the book, but why does she choose not to mention it, when she often includes other trivial information like what she was wearing?

Trusting the author is important in a book like Macha's Twins because the content is so subjective. Much of the narrative tells of the mystical visions, mostly of Macha, that Fitzpatrick had over a period of years from the early 1990s until 2015. I am always open to things like this. Open to the possibility of the gods and spirits speaking to us. Being open minded also means being open to the possibility that these things are not always genuine, even when we think they are. Making sense of one's own mystical visions and spiritual revelations is challenging enough. Making sense of another person's gnosis is even trickier. Rational thought helps, but so does feel. My feeling here is that the author was keeping something about herself hidden, not in a self-effacing way, or an "I'm a private person" way, but rather that she was being a bit coy about certain aspects of her life. Uncomfortable in her own skin? Afraid of being laughed at? Maybe it's nothing. It bothered me.

The overall theme of the book is that Macha encourages the author to tell Her story, to become involved in work to help heal the land, the people, the old wounds, and especially the women, of Northern Ireland, both from Macha's mythic curse on the men of Ulster, and from the more recent troubles of the 20th century. I found Fitzpatrick's description of her first vision of Macha electrifying. Many other things also ring true, such as this early description of Macha: "Macha was, and still is, The Horse Goddess because her female spirit was akin to that of an unbroken horse. Wild, free and strong. She could run fast and never become prey to the dominant male power of the day."

Other things in the book ring true for me because I have experienced them. Twice the author talks about horses moving in patterns, and this having a kind of mystical aspect. Once she is describing movements required during a conventional riding lesson, the other time she is describing a vision of riders of the Tuatha De Danann. From my years in Parelli Natural Horesemanship, I know how circles, figures of eight and cloverleaf patterns can become like a ceremony, or a form of meditation for both horse and human. I had long put that knowledge aside, because I also know that just that type of work is frequently unpleasant for horses, even unintentionally abusive. However, it's interesting to see someone else noticing the same thing.

Another recurring experience that I've had, but never heard anyone else describe, is seeing people and events from an earlier time somehow overlaid on an event I'm part of. This goes beyond the realms of a vivid imagination, into some kind of momentary clairvoyance. "I look over at the women of the Centre and see them as queens of Navan Fort. ... I watch the men of the staff team standing and greeting people in various corners of the space. They glow with the quiet dignity of ancient royal hosts. In their confidence, humour and generous welcome to the folk arriving. they are like princes of the Tuatha De Danann." Yes. I've had that sense, just a few times, of people from an earlier time coming to lend their spirits, almost in a sense of overlaying another time, a similar event, similar people or ancestors, to something that is happening in the present.

There is much more in this book that rings true for me, as well as some beautiful descriptions of nature. What I've received from this book, however, could have easily been presented in a much shorter work. I found the author's relentless use of the historical present tense throughout the book to be pretentious and irritating. Nor can I understand why some of the sections presented as poetry weren't presented as prose. I got tired of hearing what people were wearing. There were too many descriptions of Shamanic work, spiritual workshops, and so on, which were too vague to be helpful. So okay, this will never stand up as a piece of literature in my eyes. It felt too long in places, but the good parts were very good.

This book contains some beautiful and inspiring passages. Descriptions of visions of Macha, and of the Tuatha De Danann, that not many would be brave enough to publish, and other visions and knowings that made sticking with this book worth the effort. "The gallop of other horses is thundering on the earth over miles and miles of journey. You can hear the endless prayer of the old women who sit in forests over fires. Old women have been waiting for a spark to hit the soul of men. ... Waiting for the lakes and wells and rivers that have held the tears of women, men and children to be emptied of grief and refilled with the sparkling fresh hope of a new dawn. Old women are waiting for all this as they spit their chewed-up rage and impotence into the fires." There are a number of passages that are deeply touching and ring so very true in this book. I'm glad I made a note of some of my favourites, so that I can return to them in future.

My own relationship with Macha has been nothing more than a tentative telling of Her myth at a few gatherings. She's been at my door, and this book has set me on the road to deepening that relationship. Sometimes, the messenger in these things is not so important as the message itself. In spite of my doubts about this book, I certainly feel that my sense of Macha has been greatly increased by reading it. I'm left wanting to parse through all these new impressions, along with re-reading the original myth, so I can ask myself what I feel now. What I know now.

Macha's Twins by Kate Fitzpatrick was published by Immram Publishing, Inishowen, Donegal in 2017 It's available from Amazon and other booksellers.

If you enjoyed this review, you might also like my recent reviews of two other books about horse goddesses: Epona Revealed? and New Book About Rhiannon...

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The Fool and His Dancers

3/6/2018

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It occurs to me, before I review a book about Border morris dancing, that some readers may be left wondering what that even is. So, before I start, allow me to offer you a video, in case you need some context, or just like watching videos of morris dancers, like I do.

A book review of some very dark morris

For someone who has divided their life between Scotland and the US, I spend an inexplicably large amount of time thinking about Morris dancing. I can't explain this. It just is -- and I don't even know when it started. I especially like the way Border morris has exploded in the past decade or so. It's vibrant, dark, edgy and sometimes overtly Pagan. I was pretty excited, then, to discover that someone who's been on the inside of Border morris, even in at the beginning of its revival, had written a book about it.

Turns out the book is pretty good. Rob Elliott is a witty writer, and he strikes a good balance here between serious thoughts and funny stories about morris dancers drinking too much. I like the way he acknowledges the scholarly work done by others, and knows the historical references, but isn't limited by them. He's willing to talk about what feels right, and what feels true, and that's important when working within a tradition that is also a living thing.

They had lost the essence of dance and moved into something labelled 'traditional folk dance display', an embodiment of nostalgia recreating a perceived aspect of life long ago, diminishing these displays to little more than mobile museum pieces. By contrast, Silurian acknowledged the roots and history of morris dancing but were creating something original - a new version of an old principle. We needed to be relevant, to have power over the hearts of the crowd, to bewitch them. If we didn't cast a spell over them, we saw ourselves as having failed. We didn't want to project the two dimensional quality of a film.

What fascinates me about morris is its matter-of-fact public-ness, and the way that the public, and many of the dancers, think of it as an "ancient (Pagan) fertility rite", and are perfectly happy with it taking place in front of the pub on a Saturday afternoon. The extent to which it actually is any of that in the historical sense, has long ago ceased to be the point. And perhaps, if it looks like a duck....

We gave them White Ladies Aston stick dance, which was implemented with such energy that the dancers were blurred by a kind of snowstorm flurry of wood chips as the sticks began to split, feather and disintegrate. This was morris with attitude and woodsmoke and the crowd couldn't get enough. They'd never seen anything like it. We had the audience in our spell, a spell we hadn't knowingly expected to weave.

We began to think about what it must have been like to dance a fertility dance all those millennia ago. Highly speculative of course, because we had no real way of knowing but we just pictured ourselves as twentieth-century torchbearers for something very ancient. After this performance, it was certainly easy to imagine that dancers in pre-Christian communities might have put themselves on a higher plane, and out of reach of ordinary mortals, by clothing themselves in a particular way, introducing a de-humanising disguise and creating some wild dance routines. We understood in that moment how an enigmatic appearance might create mystery, how mystery touches people and moves energy and how energy might conjure magic.

This book tells the story of the first revival Border morris side, Silurian Border Morris, and how it evolved from a white-clad group of hanky wavers, into a blacked-up, tail coated, bunch of hellions. As is always the case when a group is breaking new ground within a tradition, Silurean enjoyed the shock and occasional outrage they inspired, and this aspect adds to the hilarity of some parts of the book. The author does a good job of telling these tales in a way that makes them funny without the reader needing to have been there to get it. If there is a certain amount of self-congratulation involved in some of this, it's not that hard to forgive.

Some of the funniest stories in the book, for my money, are the ones recounting the sheer absurdity of walking around in public in Border morris kit. From punks idling in town squares to German tourists at motorway rest stops, this is likely to get a reaction.

Punk: Why are you dressed like that?
Silurian: Why are you dressed like that?
Punk: I like dressing like this!
Silurean: Well, I like dressing like this!
Punk goes back to friends: He likes dressing like that!

Elliott is very particular to talk about blacking the face as a ritual disguise in this book, and I hope people are listening. Blacked up morris dancers have come in for some flack from people who think that this tradition is somehow racist or relates in some way to black and white minstrel shows. This simply isn't the case. Blacking up is a form of ritual disguise, not of racial impersonation. It has always been a cheap and available way to hide one's identity, using soot from the fire, and to turn the known person into an unknown and potent entity.

Since we had 'gone Border', which carried the same implications as 'gone native' or 'gone feral', we of course blacked up every time we made an appearance. The blacking was not simply part of the kit, it was the essential means by which we exchanged our human form for something altogether more intangible. There was an unspoken acknowledgement amongst us that to make an appearance in kit but without the blacking would be inconceivable.

It was difficult to recognise us individually with our matt black bearded faces, now crowned with black bowler hats. Most people really had no idea what we were all about. It seemed we captivated them and frightened them in equal measure, which helped to create the mystique. We became strongly unified, an effect no one could have predicted.

Only with a performance immanent, would we dress up and black our faces. We would all stick together during this 'ceremony' until the last man was ready and then, completely attired -- bells, hats and all -- we would go...

Interspersed among the tales of lost morris weekends and moments of Silurean triumph, Elliott weaves an interesting thread of the social history of the British folk scene of the late 20th century. If you happen to have been a part of that, you will recognise the draughtsman-like accuracy of his sketches of that time and place. Some of which might evoke a self-directed cringe or two, if you really were there in your corduroy trousers or floral frock.

This is a really good book, and a much funnier book than I have really let on in this review. If you are interested in what public ritual, with a small r, really means, what tradition means, and why it's worth rewilding it, rather than preserving it, you will enjoy this.

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Epona Revealed?

1/5/2018

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This book was published two years ago. I intended to review it much earlier, but with one thing and another I didn't get it done. Still, I suspect many readers won't have heard of it, let alone read it, so I offer my review now.

Epona, Hidden Goddess of the Celts

I'm always pleased to see a book about a horse goddess. Research on them can be frustrating and time consuming, so it's nice to have a collection of ideas and references in one place. Cook has gathered up quite a bit of the evidence relating to Epona in this book, including a few things readers won't have seen, or might not be expecting. His own fondness for Epona as a goddess also occasionally shines through in the more factual sections.

My first leaf through this book felt promising. There are certainly lots of citations, and a useful bibliography. That usually bodes well. However, lots of footnotes do not, on their own, make a work of scholarship. Although the title of this book refers to Epona as both hidden and Celtic, the author seems to feel that the best way to reveal Her is not through focusing on the Celts, their relationships to their deities and to the horse, but by taking us down the long and winding road of classical antiquity. Not being a student of that part of history, I found some of the topics fascinating, but trying to see their links to Epona strained my credulity, and ultimately my patience.

The Celts, with the exception of the Romanized few, did not leave inscriptions to deities, and certainly left no written literature during the Roman period. It is only because Epona was so widely and enthusiastically adopted by the Roman cavalry, many of

whom were Celts, that we have so much material evidence, and a few contemporary written mentions, of this goddess. Cook takes us in search of Epona's Greco-Roman antecedents, when in fact, there is no reason to believe that these exist. Are there deities who share associations with Epona in Roman, Greek and other pantheons? Yes, but that doesn't mean that they relate directly to Epona. However, as the book unfolds, Anatolians, Phrygians, Arcadians, Eleusians and even Egyptians are pressed into service, as required, to help paint a fanciful picture of the Epona-who-might-have-been.

In the prologue, Cook warns us that aspects of the book may shock some readers. Indeed, they might, although I wasn't shocked, personally. This warning refers, I'm sure, to the final section of the book, in which the author reports on interviews with several contemporary, self-styled priestesses of Epona, from various parts of the world, and their male acolytes. Each of these informants tells a similar story in which ritual use of a scourge or other means of inflicting pain is applied by the priestess to her willing male counterpart. Reasons given for this included the woman's need to express her rage and the man's need to learn submission to the female principle/Goddess.

Epona's Day Gift Set

Two greeting cards, two prayer cards, and a collection of writings about horses.

This set contains the two Epona's Day Greeting cards, two Prayer for the Protection of Horses cards, plus a chapbook containing poetry and short fiction about horses.

Greeting cards are 5" x 7" (envelope included).

Prayer cards are 3.5" x 5.75" printed on both sides.

Click here for more information on the chapbook My ears are keen, my breath is warm

20.00

As I say, this didn't shock me, but it certainly surprised me. The author interviewed six women and three men for this section of the book. (All these informants are given full anonymity, which is understandable, but also makes this part of the work impossible to confirm.) While self-declared priestesses of Epona are probably fairly rare, this still seems a small sample, especially considering that the subjects hail from five different countries. Regardless of the sample size, it is extremely surprising that all of them appear to have such similar stories. In my experience, it is rare for several Pagans to have the same personal gnossis or practices around a particular deity, at least unless they are all members of the same group. Use of the scourge is not unknown (but probably not all that common) in groups with a Gardnerian influence, for example, but if all Cook's informants are in some way connected, he doesn't mention it, nor does he share his method of seeking them out. I can't help but think that he was either intentionally looking only in places where he would find this, or that he didn't consider any other form of devotion worthy of reporting. The author gives us little else about the beliefs or practices of these individuals.

Leaving that to one side, if you are interested in Epona, there should be things in this book to interest you. There are plenty of illustrations of artifacts, and exploration of their meanings, and a considered look at some of the inscriptions to Epona, as well as an interesting discussion of sovereignty. The book is also well laced with the goddess theory, and belief in a matriarchal golden age somewhere in our human past. The author is comfortable conflating or making strong connections between many different deities. How the reader receives these ideas will depend on their own beliefs.

When you know where this book is headed, then it is easier to understand why the author insists on following a route through a variety of ancient religions not usually associated with the Celts. While he doesn't directly say so, it seems that his many references to non-Celtic religious thought, and analogies and associations between Epona and non-Celtic deities, are in service to arriving at the conclusion that the modern practices described above are the inevitable, or correct, method of devotion to Epona in the present day. However, Cook falls just short of plainly stating this as his thesis. If you have a controversial theory which you feel is correct, especially on a religious level, and that theory is worthy of the effort of writing a 300 page book with over 1,200 footnotes, then why not just state it outright? I think this book would have made more sense if he'd done that.

I'm am glad that someone has written a book on Epona. I believe that She deserves more attention and understanding than She is getting, both on a scholarly level and a devotional one. This book adds a little piece to that puzzle, but I feel it is not in the same league as Jhenah Telyndru's recent book on Rhiannon, which I reviewed here. I hope that we will be seeing more non-fiction books on the horse goddesses in the next few years, and that this won't be the final word on Epona.

Epona Hidden Goddess of the Celts, by P.D. MacKenzie Cook is published by Avalonia, London. It's available from Amazon and other booksellers.

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A Fruitful Collaboration

13/10/2013

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Barley is vitally important in the history of mankind, especially in Britain and Ireland, right up to the present. The familiar seasonal cycle of ploughing, planting and harvesting is deeply imbedded in our culture. It is truly a collaboration between gods (or God, or nature) and men. Humans first began to cultivate grain, and then to become dependent on it, at a time when they had little back-up. Tribes or villages were so scattered that the hope of rescue or charity in the case of a failed crop was unlikely, so it's no wonder that an elaborate folklore grew up around the rituals of cultivating grain.

When farm work was done largely by hand and at a slower pace, and harvesting grain involved whole communities, there were many traditions associated with things like ploughing the first furrow, cutting the last sheaf of grain, harvest celebrations, etc. Sun Gods, harvest queens, corn dollies and many others have all figured in man's relationship with Barley cultivation. These customs originated at a time when a poor harvest could result in hardship, or even starvation, for a community.

Barley
A fruitful collaboration between gods and men. The rewards of sacrifice.
A gift may be used for good or ill,
but the gift itself is good.

Whether we see "sacrifice" as describing a direct gift offered to these powers, or as the sacrifice of our efforts and good intentions, there is an innate human belief in cause and effect on a plane beyond the concrete and tangible. Hence, Barley is steeped in the most elemental folklore and mythology - representing birth/death, male/female, fertility and sacrifice. The Saxons even had a god called Beowa, who seems to have personified Barley. The old folksong called John Barleycorn describes the process of planting, harvesting and threshing grain as if the Barley were human. Most versions contain a reference to man's dependence on Barley either economically, or his dependence on drink. However, a further interpretation of the lyrics is that it describes ritual sacrifice, or the killing and resurrection of Christ/Osiris/Odin/Lugh.

With its many uses - food for man and beast, straw for bedding and thatch, brewing and distilling. Barley is a great gift to mankind. However, alcohol can be a mixed blessing, depending on whether it is simply enjoyed or misused or becomes addictive. Like almost everything that can have a dark side in addiction, the problem isn't the gift (or substance) but whether we continue to relate to it in a balanced way.

Sowing and harvesting can also be a metaphor for any kind of creative activity, particularly collaborative work. Even with today's farm machinery, it is unusual for one man to produce a Barley crop alone from start to finish. It requires teamwork. Possibly the many archetypes and superstitions surrounding growing grain, and luck and fertility in general are all based on a fear of failure - at a time in history when this could mean starvation and even death. However, the news has always been mostly good! Remember - the gift is good, the collaboration is a fruitful one. Just like life itself.

In a reading, this card often relates to a project of some kind, or to our work and creative endeavours. It points to the need for sharing the effort of this creation with others and with the gods or universal powers that can assist us. It calls on us to consider the concept of sacrifice, too. What can we offer in return for assistance with a successful outcome? It also reminds us to use the fruits of our labours wisely, and to avoid superficial and dualistic value judgements.

Get in touch here, if you'd like a reading.

If you found this subject fascinating and would like to read more, you might find the following two books to be of interest:

The Corn King and The Spring Queen is a novel by Naomi Mitchison. (Quite a big read.)
Amazon UK Amazon US

The Ballad and the Plough is a non-fiction work by David Kerr Cameron, which looks at mostly 19th century Scottish farming customs through the filter of songs sung and created by the farm workers of the day.
Amazon UK Amazon US

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It's Wakes Monday!

8/9/2013

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Today is Wakes Monday. Celebrated in parts of England, mostly the north, and much fallen into disuse now. However, it is still the date of a famous annual fixture in the calendar of traditions - the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance. This is a sort of morris dance performed by six men carrying reindeer antlers accompanied by several other mumming characters and musicians. No one is sure how old the dance is, but the reindeer antlers they use have been carbon dated to around 1050AD. It is unclear as to whether the dance is this old, or indeed it could be even older, some believe that these are actually replacement antlers. (Did they wear the first set out??) Another theory is that the hobby horse (one of the mumming characters involved) predates the horn dance element, which might have been added later. Yet another possibility is that the dance is a relic of some kind of shamanic rite which might stretch back into pre-history. I like that theory, but that doesn't make it true...

Meanwhile, I have just started reading a recently released book called Elen of the Ways, by Elen Sentier. So far I'm enjoying it. The quality of writing is high, and if the content is as good as I expect, look for a review of it on this blog in due course. Elen of the Ways is a female deer deity. In a typical display of synchronicity, I heard of her for the first time a couple of weeks ago, when someone referred me to a piece by historian Caroline Wise, also entitled Elen of the Ways, which references the Abbots Bromley Horn Dance. [Update: Caroline Wise published a book Finding Elen in 2015.]

Here's a nice documentary piece on the dance from BBC 4.

I also wanted to share a video of Thaxted Morris performing a possibly more traditional version of the dance. They dance to the old 19th century tune, which I think is very lovely. Although this tune was in use at Abbots Bromley for nearly a century, it is not as old as the dance, which has traditionally been done to "popular dance tunes of the day".

Finally, here is a link to a third video, not as well photographed as the first two, but rather evocative for being danced in a forest! This is Lord Conyers Morris Men. Like the Thaxted dancers, they appear to be carrying fallow deer antlers. Embedding is disabled on this one, so just click the link.

Happy Wakes Monday!
_______________________________

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Oss Oss!

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Macha's Twins, a Review

The Fool and His Dancers

A book review of some very dark morris

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Epona Revealed?

Epona, Hidden Goddess of the Celts

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A Fruitful Collaboration

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It's Wakes Monday!

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