Book Review: The Fairy Ring by Mary Losure

To the 19th century mind, the camera captured truth. You placed an object in front of it, clicked the button, and it created an indelible record of reality…or so it seemed. Yet in 1917, two young girls produced photographs which claimed to document fairies. If you are curious, click here to see the photos and find out more about the Cottingley fairies.

The Fairy Ring by Mary Losure tells the well-known story from the girls’ point of view, first from the perspective of Frances on her arrival in England (Part I), then from the perspective of Elsie (Part II) and then the story intersects to weave the tale of both girls and how their own personal fairytales ended. Losure consults primary sources like previously undisclosed personal letters to build her narrative.

In an era where Photoshop makes edits invisible, the story of the Cottingley fairies holds great fascination. To our sophisticated 21stcentury eyes, the series of fairy photographs is obviously faked, yet the girls persuaded one of the great minds of the 19th century, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Conan Doyle, who wrote one of the most skeptical anti-heroes of all time, Sherlock Holmes, was infamous in his own lack of skepticism. He believed in mystics and communications with his dead son through séance. Conan Doyle published a public defense of the photographs in the noted The Strand magazine, much to embarrassment of the girls’ parents.
The Fairy Ring has all kinds of engaging little details, like the fact that Frances was originally from Cape Town, South Africa. Or the fact that 15 year old Elsie was rather older than Frances, at nine. The language is delightful and reminds me strongly of Frances Hodgson Burnett – my favorite author who writes children’s books that are more than children’s books. It would be the perfect book to read aloud, as the prose has a charming freshness that lends itself to speaking.
The book has excellent high-quality scans of the photographs, which in itself is a pleasure to those who love Edwardian photography. There is a lot of argument about the final photograph in the Cottingley series. Fairy enthusiasts point out how different it is from the others, which clearly contain paper cut-outs. Here is the photo. The flanking fairies look like paper, but the central creature has a magnificent translucence – what do you think?

You should read this book if you love fairies and wish there was a touch more magic in the world. 

Pre-order The Fairy Ring; also available as an audio book. 
Candlewick Press, 2012. Thanks to @quellelove for the fantastic recommendation and ARC .

The Perils of Period Film Research

All those rumors you heard are true. I did post over at Dasia’s amazing blog, Dasia Has a Blog. You can go read it here: Anna’s Guest Post on Dasia Has a Blog – Top Ten Torrid Moments in Period Film.

Disclaimer: This guest post includes a great deal of blushing and self-fanning, as well as some of the most torrid moments in period film I could find. It was too saucy for this blog, which ranks it roughly at PG-13.

I’m still missing my number 10, so head over there and share your favorite. Seriously. Because there’s only so many times I can watch some of these scenes over and over again before people start talking.

WARNING: May cause quickened breathing and increased heart rate. Just saying.

Blog Hop, or Terror in my Soul

You may notice even though I frequently refer to writing on this blog, I have not actually posted much writing. That is because it’s far more pleasant to muse idly on the beauteous creations of others than to expose your own tender work to the knives of the internet comment board.

However, I have decided this is a cowardly stance. In support of my awesome and amazing writing friends, Lillie McFerrin, Daniel Swensen, Angie Richmond and Angela Goff, I am entering my tiny, humble piece-ling into their Super Cool Blog Hop Contest. In 300 words or less, write a piece of flash fiction, poetry or song using the photo prompt below. You can go here for the details. Below is my wee entry. *covers eyes* Okay, now you can read it.


Hour of Light
She kept walking. The Wood wasn’t bright enough this time of night, so she thought – luminosity – and it steadily grew brighter. Time and again, she had told the trees to grow in straight lines, but they never listened. The dark trunks jutted from the ground in irregular clusters, silhouetted in the gloom. She trailed her hand over the flowertops, gently dotting dewed petals with her fingertips.  As she brushed past them, they sang along with the wind in a lonesome susurrus. She placed a finger to her lips and tasted the dew; it tasted of memories.
This was how she always walked in the Wood, towards the light. The starflowers grew so deep this time of year; they were already above her knee. Her bare feet grew cold as she squished through the grass, so she decided it was warmer than she thought. 
 
She took great breaths of the air, scented with dead and growing things. The sky was growing steadily lighter, for she knew it was the hour of light. Sometimes when she walked through the mist, she could not decide which way was forward and which was back. So she kept walking. Was there a time she had ever not walked in the Wood? She finally reached the hanging light bulb and reached up, up, up so carefully on her tippy-toes. She pulled the cord and the light went out.