What Inspired The World Of 'An Enchantment Of Ravens'?

The world of 'An Enchantment of Ravens' feels like a love letter to classic fairy tales and folklore, but with a fresh twist. Margaret Rogerson drew inspiration from the eerie beauty of European myths, especially those about the fae. The book’s setting mirrors the dangerous allure of faerie realms where nothing is as it seems. The seasonal courts—Autumn, Winter, Spring, Summer—echo traditional Celtic divisions of the year, but Rogerson adds her own spin by making the fae’s immortality brittle. They’re powerful yet hollow, obsessed with human crafts because they can’t create anything themselves. This duality gives the world depth, blending whimsy with melancholy. The protagonist’s role as a painter ties into the theme of artistry versus enchantment, showing how human creativity threatens the fae’s static existence. Rogerson’s background in conservation biology might explain the vivid natural descriptions—every forest and castle feels alive, teetering between dream and nightmare.

Rogerson’s worldbuilding in 'An Enchantment of Ravens' is a masterclass in weaving historical and literary influences into something entirely new. The fae society’s obsession with human artistry isn’t just a plot device; it reflects real-world folklore where fairies coveted human goods, from bread to babies. The Seasonal Courts aren’t just pretty backdrops—they’re political battlegrounds. Autumn’s court, with its decaying grandeur, feels inspired by Gothic romance, while Winter’s icy ruthlessness nods to Norse myths like the Fimbulwinter.

What fascinates me is how Rogerson subverts expectations. The fae aren’t just beautiful immortals; they’re emotionally stunted predators. Their inability to lie comes straight from traditional lore, but their vulnerability to human art is a brilliant inversion. The protagonist Isobel’s paintings destabilize their world because they expose truth—something fae avoid at all costs. Rogerson reportedly studied medieval art, which explains the book’s focus on portraiture as both weapon and salvation. The wild hunt scenes mirror Welsh mythology, but here they’re driven by fae vanity rather than divine punishment. Even the ravens, symbols of prophecy in many cultures, become tools of deception in this world.

The natural settings—especially the enchanted forests—feel ripped from Pre-Raphaelite paintings, all dripping gold and lurking shadows. Rogerson’s world doesn’t just borrow from myths; it dissects them, showing how beauty and cruelty are often two sides of the same coin.

As someone who devours fantasy, what struck me about 'An Enchantment of Ravens' is how it turns fairy tale tropes inside out. The fae aren’t just Tolkien-esque elves with pointy ears; they’re vain, emotionally brittle creatures who steal human creativity because they lack it. Rogerson seems inspired by old-school fairy stories where deals with the fae always go sideways—think 'Tam Lin' or 'Thomas the Rhymer.' The Autumn Prince’s court isn’t some glittering paradise; it’s a gilded cage where every leaf is a potential snare.

The human world’s Whimsy is another gem. It’s not some generic medieval village but a place where art is currency. Rogerson must have dipped into Renaissance history, where patrons like the Medici commissioned masterpieces to flaunt power. Here, painters are both prized and preyed upon. The ravens aren’t just ominous birds; they’re spies, echoing Odin’s Huginn and Muninn but with a twist—they copy art instead of thoughts. The way Rogerson blends myth with original ideas makes the world feel familiar yet full of surprises.