Fairytale Fantasy Week 2026: I just want a good Robin Hood book. . .is that too much to ask????

Fairytale Fantasy Week starts TODAY here at fantastes.com. We love Robin Hood. Don’t we? So why is it so hard to find decent fantasy written or filmed about/around the popular rogue? I know I say I’ll never write about Disney, but oodalolly, people, the 1973 Disney cartoon might be the best of the fairly recent takes on this enduring story.

First, a look backward. Where did Robin Hood come from, anyway? That’s question #1. Then: why were 19th century English authors so fond of the green-hooded fellow, and what did they write? Finally, maybe unanswerable: What is it about HOODS that so intrigues people? Last year’s theme was Little Red Riding Hood. This year’s is the green-hooded Robin. Here’s a general recommendation. If you want to know all there is to know about Robin Hood without getting all scholarly about it, you’d do well to head to the Robin Hood Wikipedia page. Best of all, the Wikipedia entry gives you an extensive bibliography in case you want to take a deeper dive.

Where did Robin Hood come from?

Countless scholars and others have speculated that Robin was based on a real person. The consensus? Maybe. Probably not. This site gives a good quick overview of all the speculations and connections of Robin to actual history.

Whether he really lived or was based on someone like him, some bold and gallant rogue who robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, he was and remains an iconic figure in the folklore of the British Isles. He figures especially as a beloved hero in many of the Childe ballads–folksongs based down through the generations and collected by 19th century anthropologist Francis Childe.

Why was 19th century England so enthralled with Robin Hood?

Anthropologists and folklorists like Childe. . . writers of popular and “literary” and children’s fiction. . . What was it about Robin Hood that fascinated them so completely? One answer: England’s emergence as a world power. Often, a society in this position examines its origins and its heroes and elevates them to consolidate its place in the world. For example: in the age of Augustus Caesar, the poet Virgil wrote his great epic The Aeneid as a way to say to the world, hey! Rome has its Homeric epic too! Rome has heroic origins–we’re not just some backwater Italian bunch of thugs who made good and bullied our way to world domination. For example: in England itself, the stories of King Arthur emphasized the honor and glory of English origins. For example: in France, the tales of Charlemagne did the same.

The heroic deeds of King Arthur and his knights had captured the English imagination in the medieval era and just kept gaining traction, so that in the Victorian era, the triumphant phase of the British empire (“the sun never sets on the British empire”), Arthur became a powerful symbol of national pride and might.

Robin, though, was a humbler sort of hero. Maybe a hero for the people. In Primitive Rebels: Studies in Archaic Forms of Social Movement in the 19th and 20th Centuries (Praeger 1959), British historian Eric Hobsbawm identifies Robin Hood as the typical example of the “social bandit,” seen by the poor as a figure of protest against oppression. They “protect the bandit, regard him as their champion, idealize him, and turn him into a myth” (p. 13). Here’s a good quick site that summarizes that particular Robin Hood theory.

The Robin Hood Childe ballads:

Childe made it his mission to go around the British Isles collecting folk ballads, storytelling in musical form, invented to entertain mostly illiterate people in an era where most people did not read or have easy access to written material. Robin Hood was such a prominent subject of these ballads that Childe devoted a large part of his study to them.

No one knows who invented these ballads first or, often, what their deep origins might have been, but the earliest references to Robin Hood show up around the 14th century, with indications that the legends surrounding Robin Hood may date from even earlier. The ballads Childe collected date from later on–15th and 16th centuries. This web site lists every Robin Hood ballad in the Childe texts–very useful!

Here’s an excerpt from one of the most popular, although this one was printed in S. C. Hall’s The Book of British Ballads (1842):

page from The Book of British Ballads by S. C. Hall
image in the public domain

Because of this 19th century upsurge of interest in folklore, in the British Isles and elsewhere (the Grimm brothers in Germany engaged in similar efforts, and there were others), literary writers began to mine popular folklore for the subjects of their books.

One of the most famous: Sir Walter Scott, a prolific writer of historical (and other) fiction, one of the most celebrated novelists of his day. He used the Scottish Jacobite Rebellion, the court of Queen Elizabeth, and the adventures of Rob Roy MacGregor (a kind of Robin Hood figure) as backdrops for some of his novels. While he never wrote a pure Robin-Hood-themed novel, the most famous of his historical novels, Ivanhoe, features the hooded rogue prominently and embellishes the idea that Robin was involved in the conflict between the Saxon natives of England with their Norman French overlords during the reign of Richard I. In Ivanhoe, Scott combines Robin’s well-known traditional story with his own fictional tale of a Saxon knight’s battle to regain his inheritance. Then Scott further brings in the (sort of) historical account of Richard I’s struggle to wrest his kingdom from the hands of his treasonous brother John. In combining his own imagined tale of a rebel knight with both folklore (Robin) and history (Richard the Lion-hearted), Scott cooked up a literary best-seller.

The novel (and all of Scott’s work) has fallen out of favor recently, not least because Ivanhoe (reflecting the culture from which it emerged) is hideously anti-Semitic, but Scott is universally lauded for his contribution to the development of the historical novel. That subgenre, I contend, should be considered speculative fiction just as much as science fiction. We can’t really retrieve the past–we just think we can. But it is as remote from us as Mars, and just as much subject to imaginative speculation based on (scientific? historical? fact). And the historical novel is also a ripe genre for hybridization with fantasy elements. Think, for example, of Madeline Miller’s Circe, or Susanna Clarke’s absolutely magnificent Jonathan Strange & Mister Norrell.

One more 19th century example: Howard Pyle. Pyle was both a writer and an illustrator specializing in editions of adventure stories for children–actually, by his lights, boys, but pfft, we girls have enjoyed them too. Pyle often chose beloved traditional adventure tales to illustrate and retell. He illustrated a popular collection of pirate stories, a volume of King Arthur stories, and also a compendium of Robin Hood stories, which he stitched together into a novel: The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood (1883). You can read these free on Project Gutenberg, but I found it difficult there to access Pyle’s marvelous illustrations. I had more luck at the Internet Archives web site. Here’s one of Pyle’s Robin Hood illustrations. This one depicts the story of how Robin Hood induced Friar Tuck to take him across a river on his back. Thigh-slapping hijinks ensue. And by the way, Robin Hood’s men are called “merry” in the medieval sense of “stout-hearted,” “stand-up.” But of course we modern readers think “merry” and we think “guffaw.” Therefore, in modern Robin Hood retellings, the merry men are always yucking it up. Sometimes they are in the ballads too, to be fair, and the medieval origins of “merry” do mention jollity along with mere agreeable or pleasant or stalwart traits.

Howard Pyle's illustration of Robin Hood and Friar Tuck
By Howard Pyle – Project Gutenberg, image in the public domain

The takeaway: Robin Hood is a figure who has been popular among English-speaking peoples since at least the late medieval period, and probably earlier. He enjoyed a big revival of interest with the 19th century rise of folklore studies. That interest continued into the 20th century, especially when the new medium of film (like all new media), hungry for content, voraciously devoured Robin Hood and spit him out onto celluloid. More about that in a later post. It remains to see whether the Brave New World of the 21st century will find Robin as fascinating as earlier centuries always have–at least in the English-speaking world–but isn’t the underdog rogue or outlaw figure always fascinating?

So onward into fairytale fantasy week, in which I will explore my own Robin Hood categories–not scientific, especially because they overlap quite a bit:

  • Some interesting Robin Hood retellings
  • Robin Hood favorite characters
  • Robin Hood revisionist history
  • Robin Hood on film and other media
  • Other rogues we love, perhaps influenced by Robin, the arch-rogue himself
  • My favorites

Oh, yes, that hood thing. What is it about the hood? A lot of these stories, including Robin Hood and Little Red Riding Hood, originated in the medieval period, where hoods were a prominent part of the peasant wardrobe. Here’s a nice overview.

A detail from an illustration posted on http://www.fashionfusionpost.com/unisex/medieval-peasant-clothing-a-complete-guide

But why do we still like the hood? Sometimes we like rogues who don’t wear hoods. I mean, Zorro, a Robin Hood-type figure, doesn’t have one. He does have that mask, though. . . Maybe it’s enough to say we love an underdog, we love a sassy rogue who flouts authority, especially an oppressive authority, and leave it at that.


It’s almost fairytale fantasy week 2026

fairytale princess in a green hood

This year’s theme: fantasy novels and fantasy-related novels inspired by the folk ballads about Robin Hood. Every year, I pause any serious stuff for fairytale fluff. . although there have been times over the past years when the fairytale theme produces some deep and surprising recommendations for an excellent reading experience. Robin Hood coming soon, to your screens and inboxes!

It’s Midsummer! Have you been abducted by a fairy yet?

For the past few years at Midsummer, I’ve posted my recommendations for speculative fiction with fairies. June 20th is this year’s summer solstice ushering in the season of summer in the geographical (astronomical) sense. Midsummer, Midsummer Eve–these have been recognized and celebrated by humans since there were humans. I’m speaking of the Northern hemisphere, of course, for in the Southern, the same dates on the calendar begin the tilt into winter.

But in this northern half of the globe, even very ancient people have taken note of this day of the year when the sunlight lasts longest and the night is shortest. In western and northern Europe, ancient peoples erected stone circles as a kind of clock and calendar to track the moment. The English monument Stonehenge is the most well-known of these. Find out more here. The Wikipedia entry will give you a great overview, as well as many sources for follow-up. Certain structures in Meso-America, such as the Pyramids of the Moon and Sun in Teotihuacán, Mexico, may serve a similar function. Find out more about them here.

Sunrise at Stonehenge, summer solstice 2005. Source: CC BY-SA 2.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=195581
Pyramid of the Moon, Teotihuacán, Mexico. Source: Smithsonian Magazine.

Ancient peoples used such structures for practical reasons. But folklore grew up around the coming of summer, especially in a non-scientific age. The light lengthening, the darkness shrinking, the veil between the known and the shivery unknown thinning–irresistible. In western and northern European cultures, fairies are said to come out at Midsummer to do their mischief. People in those cultures mark this most fascinating and most dangerous time of year through a variety of celebrations, festivals, and of course stories. For a quick summary, take a look here.

Storytellers before writing, or before writing was widespread, passed these legends and practices along orally in what we call folktales or fairytales or folk songs. As European cultures gained literacy, storytellers wrote the legends down. Traditionally, most of these Midsummer celebrations took place on June 24 or 25, a bit later than the actual scientific solstice (June 20 or 21). Many of these traditions and stories involved or referenced the fair folk. The fairies, in their alternate world usually invisible to the rest of us.

Now it’s my turn. How shall I, in this blog, celebrate Midsummer fairy madness?

What is more fairy-mischievous than abducting a hapless human and whisking it away to fairyland?

Folklore

Folktales, folksongs, fairytales–many feature people taken by fairies off to fairyland. One of the most well-known is the Scots folktale/folksong Tam Lin. In the story, a young woman picks a flower in forbidden territory. Tam Lin magically appears and takes her virginity. When she gives birth, she reveals that the father is Tam Lin. And who is he? He’s a human abducted by the fairy queen into the land of fairy. After many trials and tribulations, the young woman rescues him from fairy bondage, and he becomes her knight. The ballad, listed as Child Ballad 39 and number 35 in the Roud Folk Song Index, is known in many variations. Here’s a good one.

Literature

The absolute classic of the fairy-abduction genre is, in the English-speaking world, William Shakespeare’s 16th century play A Midsummer Night’s Dream, one of his most beloved. In this play about fairy magic in general and the magic of love, an ordinary guy gets stolen by the fairy queen Titania to be her paramour–except that her jealous fairy king Oberon has blinded her eyes to the ordinary guy’s less than ordinary physique. Oberon has sent his minion Puck to magically skew Titania’s judgment so that she, the most powerful and elegant of fairies, has fallen for a crude unlettered silly man. As an extra turn of the screw, Oberon has magically fastened an ass’s head on the poor human, a “rude mechanical” named Peter Quince.

Image uploaded from this site.

Oberon’s jealousy began when Titania, who has abducted a human boy for a plaything, refuses to give him up to the fairy king, who covets the boy for himself (for what purpose? don’t ask, and Shakespeare didn’t go there). Meanwhile, this fairy plot intersects with the bumbling buffoonish efforts of the “rude mechanicals” to put on a play at the wedding of their own human king. It also intersects with human King Theseus’s efforts to make wise decisions for his subjects while putting on a big do to celebrate his marriage to a foe he has subdued in battle, the warrior woman Hippolyta. More abduction. Finally, the fairy craziness intersects with two interchangeable pairs of lovers stumbling around a magical forest trying to figure out which one loves which other one, and why. The play is a work of genius, and huge fun, as the scales fall from the eyes of all the characters, human and fairy, and they see how inappropriately they have fallen in love, yet how irresistible love is.

Ain’t it the truth. As the play itself notes (Act V, scene 1), “The lunatic, the lover and the poet/Are of imagination all compact.” All share the same crazy rush of emotion. And I, along with the play, blame the fairies.

Here’s an even older story from the same region, England

Another compelling tale of fairy abduction! Sir Orfeo, an anonymous 13th/14th century Middle English poem, repackages the Greek myth of Orpheus and Eurydice. In the hands of this unknown poet, the myth becomes a cautionary tale about the dangers of falling asleep under a tree at Midsummer when the fairies are on the prowl.

In the Greek myth, if you recall, Orpheus the great musician mourns his dead wife Eurydice so terribly that the gods grant him permission to go to the underworld to rescue her. The gods set one condition: if Orpheus looks back to see if Eurydice is following him, she’ll slide back into Hades forever. He does, and the story ends tragically.

The medieval English poet takes the story and gives it a different twist. In his version, Orpheus the harper becomes Sir Orfeo–still a harper, but also a medieval knight, and the lord of his lands. His wife Herodys (Eurydice) does not die but is abducted when she falls asleep (at midsummer! at the woo-woo hour of noon!) and the fairy king spots her. He takes her through a portal in a rock to fairyland. Like Orpheus, Sir Orfeo wanders the world looking for his lost love and playing sad songs. One day he comes upon the fairies parading into their rock, and in their train, he recognizes his wife Herodys. He follows them into fairyland. His music so enchants and moves the fairy king that he allows Herodys to go back to the human realm with her husband. They live happily ever after! Not only that, but the steward Sir Orfeo puts in charge of his lands while he wanders around for years and years is a faithful steward–not the evil guy so many of these fairytale stewards turn out to be–and he gives Sir Orfeo his kingdom back. What an HEA.

If you can find it, the translation I like best is by none other than that great scholar J. R. R. Tolkien. Here’s how to find it. This is hard Middle English, unlike Chaucer’s, which anyone can read with a bit of effort (because it’s the Middle English that evolved into our own modern English). So unless you are a very good scholar of Middle English, a translation is a good idea.

WHAT DO PRESENT-DAY WRITERS DO with the fairy-abduction story? For a midsummer treat, go on to my next few posts for novels that explore that very tricksy matter.