The Mythology of the British Islands An Introduction to Celtic Myth, Legend, Poetry, and Romance — Key Ideas to Explore

Comparative Framing and Source Use

Squire consistently reads Celtic figures through classical and Norse analogues. Creudylad, called "the most splendid maiden" in the Mabinogion, is identified as "the British Persephoné," with a note that alternative traditions make her daughter of Llyr rather than Lludd, leading to Shakespeare's Cordelia. Gwydion son of Dôn is presented as "the druid of the gods," a figure of illusion and culture-hero comparable to Odin. These comparisons are not merely ornamental; they structure Squire's argument that Celtic myth belongs to the same Indo-European family as Greek and Norse traditions. The preface acknowledges that the book does not address scholars, but rather readers familiar with other mythologies who might find a "nearer" source of poetry in Celtic material.

Diction and the Language of Transformation

Squire's prose registers the mutability of mythic figures across time. He describes a trajectory from "unquestioned godhood" through "various transformations" to a "last doubtful, dying recognition" as fairies. This vocabulary of decline is echoed in specific passages: Dylan, the dark twin, is killed by his uncle, and the sound of the sea at the Conway's mouth is called "Dylan's death-groan." Squire uses phrases like "beautiful legends grew up around his death" to signal accretion of folk tradition. The language often personifies natural forces—waves "wept" for Dylan, and the sea's clamour is "the expression of their longing to avenge their son." Such diction blurs the line between mythographic analysis and the poetic material it describes.

Structure and the Descent from Gods to Folklore

The book's architecture follows a clear hierarchy: it begins with the Gaelic pantheon, moves to the British gods of Dôn and Llyr, then to heroic cycles (Red Branch, Fenians), and finally to Arthurian romance and fairy belief. Squire explicitly states that Arthur and his knights "belong to the same mythic company" as the earlier gods. This structure enacts a narrative of degradation from divine to human to folkloric, a pattern common in 19th-century mythography. Within individual sections, Squire often moves from a general claim to a specific tale, then to an etymological or toponymic detail—as when he notes that a promontory in Carnarvonshire preserves Dylan's name. The effect is a layered argument that treats landscape as a repository of myth.

Recurring Motifs: Twins, Light and Dark, and the Underworld

Several motifs recur across the excerpts. The twin birth of Dylan and Lleu, representing darkness and light, is paralleled by the alternating victory of Creudylad's suitors, who "each alternately winning and losing a bride who would seem to represent the spring." The underworld appears as a source of wisdom and wealth: Mâth, whose name means "coin, money, treasure," is compared to Plouton, and Gwydion fights "niggardly underworld powers" for good gifts. Squire also notes the Celtic association of darkness with the sea, and the sea-god Llyr's connection to the underworld. These repeated patterns give the book a thematic coherence that transcends its encyclopedic scope, suggesting a unified mythological system beneath the surface diversity of Celtic tradition.

Squire's work is best approached as a period synthesis rather than a primary source. Readers should note that his comparative claims, while suggestive, often rely on speculative etymologies and 19th-century assumptions about racial myth. The value of the book lies less in its conclusions than in its assembly of material from the Mabinogion, Gaelic saga, and bardic poetry into a single accessible narrative. For those new to Celtic myth, it offers a structured entry point; for scholars, it documents an influential moment in the reception of these traditions.

Years spent among these shelves taught me that Gwydion’s clever transformations, in Squire’s old book, are not so very far from the soldier’s sly bargaining with Death in that Russian tale. Both whisper that wit may outwit even the oldest powers. There is a quiet kinship there, a shared wink across centuries. The Soldier and Death A Russian Folk Tale Told in English by Arthur Ransome — Context and Discussion holds that same knowing glint.