A Constellation of Fairytale and Myth Books

In this blog, the 2026 J D Forbes Collecting Prize winner Lizzy Adlam tells us about their winning collection entitled ‘Constellation’.

Once upon a time in a land far away… well, in Loughborough anyway, a young girl began collecting fairy stories. My collection did not begin as a collection of books. It started with my learning of little pocket-sized tales to tell my sister under the bedclothes at my granny’s house, past lights-out when it was too dark to read. Often, I would tell stories which related to our adventures of that day: the myth of the kelpies for the beach, Arachne the spider for an exploration of the attic and so on.

The books began as something of a byproduct of this. I chose West Midlands Folktales (2018) because my grandad lives in Sandwell, and there are now several Scottish anthologies from my time in St Andrews. Looking for them in second hand bookshops and charity shops gradually became a conscious act of collecting.

As I gathered more fairytale and myth books my interest expanded beyond individual tales to the books themselves, how they were presented, selected and organised. Many of the texts in my collection are accompanied by beautiful illustrations. These significantly impact how the tales are read and understood: some are soft and whimsical, others sketchy and comedic; some are clearly aimed at children, others are more mature. A few of my books recycle or reframe images taken from elsewhere. There are even some, like my copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology: Timeless Tales of Gods and Heroes (2017), which apply a modern art style to bring new life to a text, this example first published in 1942. The physical design of the books also impacts how they might be interpreted. For example, I have two selections of Hans Christian Anderson’s tales, one of which is a thick, hefty volume, the other lighter with soft watercolour-like pictures, more accessible to a younger readership. This is a genre which has always been in motion, changing with each new audience. This was the case when folktales were contained within an oral tradition and it is still the case now. With each new interpretation, illustration and edition, the meaning of these tales morphs, and a broad collection allows for an understanding of the incredible scope of this process.

My collection is entitled a ‘Constellation’ because in many ways these books and texts are very different. It seems strange to compare, for instance, Moonlight on Fairyland, a collection of original fairytales conceived by a single author, with my copy of Richard Doyle’s version of Jack the Giant Killer (1999), a single story more clearly associated with the traditions of folklore. Yet within my collection, these stories represent two important polar stars of fairytale writing. They display a breadth of time, imaginative style, and purpose, all while sharing a certain principle of simplicity and other associations which come with the label ‘fairytale’.

Where these two examples stand far apart, others contain very similar tales. This allows for closer comparisons, revealing how these stories have been adapted for different purposes. This may be illustrated with a reasonably local example: both Rosemary Gray’s Scottish Myths and Legends (2016), and The Anthology of Scottish Folktales (2021), contain the story of ‘The Fairy Boy of Leith’, the tale of a boy who supposedly played music for fairy folk every Thursday night. Scottish Myths is a dense, quite intimidating volume, which appears to reach back to early traditions. It is perhaps unsurprising that this book presents ‘The Fairy Boy of Leith’ in a near word for word transcription of the oldest account of this tale, written down in 1684 by Richard Bovet, an Englishman. The editor of this collection, Rosemary Gray, chose only to remove the postscript which reveals the author’s snide surprise that the boy should have escaped his questioning given the offers of wine and money which he thought ‘arguments very powerful with lads of his age and fortune’. The Anthology, by contrast, records a very different interpretation of the tale. The text is reclaimed from the Englishmen of the past and rewritten in Scots from the perspective of the fairy boy himself. It is far more sympathetic towards his impoverished position and grants him a slightly happier ending than that implied in the original text. The use of dialect words still familiar in Edinburgh, such as mention of the ‘messages’, and specific place names like Junction Street, roots this second rendering of the tale more deeply in the landscape and culture of Leith, an effective choice for a collection of tales organised by region. These examples give a very brief demonstration of the potential for comparison between these texts.

Taking part in the 2026 James Forbes Collecting Prize has been such an incredible experience. To begin with, the essay made me look at my books in a new way, to consider how they interacted and exactly what connected them to one another. It made me think more intentionally about the directions in which I want my collection to expand, and what collecting means to me. The interview, too, was just great fun. To be talking about the subjects I love, and in doing so evolving my ideas, was such a unique and validating opportunity. Everyone was so lovely and engaging and I want to thank all of the judges very much. It was also amazing to be able to get my books out in the open for the ceremony at the end. I am most grateful to everyone involved directly with this prize, and those who worked behind the scenes to make it happen; it has been a real privilege to take part and is an honour to have won. I look forward to expanding my collection with refreshed enthusiasm; indeed, I have already added a few volumes since the prize concluded!

Lizzy Adlam
Final year student in English and Medieval History