A World of Her Own

Diane Purkiss brings up an interesting point, particularly in light of the literature we have been discussing this semester, regarding the gender specificity of fairy stories. In the Renaissance, as now, fairies were women's territory. The majority of fairy lore revolved around things like childbirth, children, and caring for the sick and the dead - feminine areas of expertise - so men had significantly less leeway into the fairy realm than did women. Nevertheless, to some men the female world of birth and death beckoned with the magic of the unfamiliar.

One position offering men a glimpse into this other world was that of the "cunning" man, a village "counselor, healer, and diviner" who combatted black and reclaimed lost magic (Purkiss 134). This man's implicit interaction with the ill and dying forced him to confront those facets of life normally sealed off to his sex, and, in turn, increased his chances for a fairy encounter. In most stories of men's dealing with fairies, however, there is an underlying current of unease, the sense that the man (more so than women in similar situations) enters territory that may be best left untouched. Often encounters with the fairy queen belittle masculinity; for the fairy realm, in contrast with the outer world, exists under the dominion of woman.

Some men, however, welcome their glimpse into this hidden kingdom. We can see one such example in the case of Andro Man, a Scottish cunning man and one of few men tried for witchcraft. He first encounters the fairy queen when she comes to deliver his mother of a baby when he is a child. At that time she promises him the knowledge to treat and cure all sorts of sickness. He continues to commune with her, and as he grows, she requires sex of him. This is typical of fairy stories - many are highly sexualized - but, of course, the human half of the relationship is usually female. Fairies throughout lore seem to be fascinated with human children (changelings are one example) and to want them for their own, so when a woman gives birth to a fairy's child, the fairy will often try to claim it though the woman does not want to let it go. Andro's case is simpler because he can give the queen babies without any parental attachment. His role is masculine, but his intimacy with the queen offers him special insight into a feminine realm. Not only does he gain the abilities to heal and counter enchantments, but he becomes known especially for his skills in treating women's diseases.

I have mentioned in at least a couple of other entries my fascination with the Renaissance portrayal of women as "other." This idea of a world where man is the outsider, where he must become more like woman in order to thrive, is an intriguing counter. I think I may be beginning to see a trend in the folks with whom fairies sympathize. They root for the underdogs - the weak, impoverished, and oppressed of society. Perhaps much of their reputation for darkness comes from the fact that their stories appear most often among those whose lives are dark to begin with. To those people, they may well have brought light. At a time when women hardly had a voice, the other world gave them power. Whether that world was a fantasy was irrelevant, so long as they believed in it.

Now I am curious. Did stories of fairyland spring up among quiet women whose unspoken desires wove their way into their tales? Or was fairyland's feminine reputation planted by men whose opinion of women mixed awe and disgust? Either way, it is clear that the original fairies were a thing of female empowerment.