Showing posts with label J. R. R. Tolkien. Show all posts
Showing posts with label J. R. R. Tolkien. Show all posts

Wednesday, January 07, 2026

Some Problems with The Rings of Power


The Rings of Power (2022-24)

The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power
Developed by J. D. Payne & Patrick McKay
Season 1: 8 episodes (September 1-October 14, 2022)
Season 2: 8 episodes (August 29-October 3, 2024)


Quite apart from its dramatic failures (and successes), which have already been thoroughly analysed by a number of commentators, The Rings of Power also purports to be "based on" the material in the appendices to J. R. R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings, along with sundry other writings by him about the early stages of the struggle with Sauron.

Now that two series of the show have appeared, and everyone who watched them has at least had the chance to consider them as a whole, it might be a good time to revisit that claim.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings. 3 vols (1954-55, rev. ed. 1966)


Tolkien's work on the appendices to his novel took so long that the publication of the third volume, The Return of the King, had to be delayed for almost a year. Even then Tolkien wasn't satisfied. He thoroughly overhauled them for the 1966 revised edition, as well as adding a new index.

Here's what they look like in situ:


J. R. R. Tolkien: Appendix A to The Lord of the Rings (1954, rev. 1966)


A bit on the dry-as-dust side, you might think, but then that's always been part of the book's appeal: the sense of reality imparted by all of these scholarly chronologies and other details. Most readers probably skip them, but real fanatics - such as myself - tend to pore over them tirelessly as the culmination of each rereading.

The trouble is, there's not enough of them. Tolkien could only hint at the immense body of lore he'd been creating - or 'discovering', as he preferred to describe it - since before the First World War.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Silmarillion. Ed. Christopher Tolkien (1977)


In particular, the complexities of reducing to order his account of the Elves of the First Age, The Silmarillion, and trying to make it consistent with his other published writings, were so intractable that Tolkien was unable to manage it before his death in 1973. The book only appeared posthumously, in a drastically shortened and rationalised version created by his son Christopher (with the help of future fantasy novelist Guy Gavriel Kay).


J. R. R. Tolkien: Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth. Ed. Christopher Tolkien (1981)


Inspired, presumably, by the unexpected success of this very demanding book, Tolkien's son followed it up with another collection of scraps and fragments called Unfinished Tales. By now it was clear that the appetite for stories set in Tolkien's world had not died with him. If anything, it's only grown greater over the years.

Nothing if not scrupulous about his sources - and piqued at the suggestion that he was in fact the real author of The Silmarillion and these other posthumous works - Christopher Tolkien decided to publish a history of the composition of his father's legendarium in the form of a scholarly edition of the bulk of the surviving manuscripts.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The History of Middle-earth. Ed. Christopher Tolkien (1983-96)


Christopher was well qualified to do so, having trained as a linguist and scholar in his father's footsteps. But his daring decision to retire from his job as an Oxford lecturer in English language in 1975, at the early age of 51, proved an excellent bet. He was able to spend the rest of his life working on his father's legacy in comfortable ease, in the South of France. He died a few years ago, at 95.

The History of Middle-earth, the keystone in his arch, took him some thirteen years and twelve volumes to complete (13, if you count the index). It includes a blow-by-blow account of the composition of both The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings, from their earliest beginnings to the radical rethinking of the original Elvish legends Tolkien was still engaged in at the time of his death.


Jared Lobdell, ed.: A Tolkien Compass (1975)


The important thing to stress about all these publications, early and late, is that they lean most heavily on the first and third ages of Tolkien's imaginary history:
  • The First Age, the period of the war with Morgoth, up to the drowning of Beleriand, is described (mostly from the point of view of the Elves) in The Silmarillion.
  • The Third Age, from the fall of Sauron at the hands of the Last Alliance, to his rise and eventual defeat in the War of the Ring, is the subject matter of The Lord of the Rings - though only the last part of that story is recounted in Tolkien's novel.
There is, however, comparatively little in all this material about the Second Age, the least chronicled period in Tolkien's corpus. True, Christopher Tolkien's version of The Silmarillion does include the Akallabêth, the story of the rise and fall of the island kingdom of Númenor, which might be seen as the central event of that age.

Akallabêth, it should be noted, means "downfall" - in the Adûnaic language native to Númenor. The Quenya (High Elvish) translation of this word is Atalantë. Hence, it would seem, our own word "Atlantis."

An enlarged version of the Akallabêth is included in the Unfinished Tales. More recently all of Tolkien's writings on the subject have been gathered and re-edited by Middle-earth enthusiast Brian Sibley.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Fall of Númenor. Ed. Brian Sibley (2024)





Pauline Baynes: A Map of Middle-earth (1969)

Three Rings for the Elven-kings under the sky,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to die,
One for the Dark Lord on his dark throne;
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
One Ring to rule them all, one Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring them all, and in the darkness bind them;
In the Land of Mordor where the Shadows lie.
The other great event of the Second Age was the creation of the Rings of Power. Tolkien's short essay on the subject, "Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age", is also included in The Silmarillion. His account hinges on Sauron's ability to disguise himself as "Annatar, Lord of Gifts," and to try and persuade the Elves of Middle-earth to try to emulate the glory of Valinor, beyond the sea:
It was in Eregion that the counsels of Sauron were most gladly received, for in that land the Noldor desired ever to increase the skill and subtlety of their works. Moreover they were not at peace in their hearts, since they had refused to return into the West, and they desired both to stay in Middle-earth, which indeed they loved, and yet to enjoy the bliss of those that had departed. Therefore they hearkened to Sauron, and they learned of him many things, for his knowledge was great. In those days the smiths ... surpassed all that they had contrived before; and they took thought, and they made Rings of Power. But Sauron guided their labors, and he was aware of all that they did; for his desire was to set a bond upon the Elves and to bring them under his vigilance.
- J.R.R. Tolkien, “Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age”
[quoted from Tolkien Essays]
The Lord of the Rings also has some interesting things to say about the creation of these "Rings of Power." Gandalf informs Frodo that:
The lesser rings were only essays in the craft before it was full-grown, and to the Elven-smiths they were but trifles – yet still to my mind dangerous for mortals. But the Great Rings, the Rings of Power, they were perilous.
Of the 20 "Great Rings", only Celebrimbor's final three were made without the direct involvement and supervision of Sauron. The Tolkien Gateway article on the subject specifies that:
When Annatar departed from Eregion, Celebrimbor went on to forge the Three Rings using the knowledge he had gained from him, but without his involvement, and finished them around [Second Age] 1590.
Sauron went on to create the One Ring around S.A. 1600, on his own, in the heart of Mount Doom.
As soon as Sauron put on the One, the bearers of the Three [Galadriel, Círdan, & Gil-galad] became aware of him and took them off in fear and anger. They defied Sauron and refused to use the Rings.



Mairon66: The Five Wizards
l-to-r: Saruman / Alatar / Gandalf / Radagast / Pallando

  1. Saruman the White - Curumo - Curunír
  2. Alatar the Blue - Morinehtar - Haimenar
  3. Gandalf the Grey - Olórin - Mithrandir
  4. Radagast the Brown - Aiwendil - Hrávandil
  5. Pallando the Blue - Rómestámo - Palacendo

So far so good, one might say. The Rings of Power series hinges on both of these plotlines: the growing estrangement of the inhabitants of Númenor from the Elves of Valinor, their friends and mentors in previous times; and the machinations of Sauron in suborning Celebrimbor and the Elven smiths of Eregion.

But what of the wizards - or Istari - another principal theme of the TV show? When did the five wizards (pictured above) first appear in Middle-earth? In the chapter about them included in Unfinished Tales, Tolkien mainly gives etymological details about their various names in different languages. It is, however, clear that none of their activities can be reliably dated before early in the Third Age.

Mind you, there is a hint in one of Tolkien's very last writings, "The Five Wizards" - included in The History of Middle-Earth, vol. XII: The Peoples of Middle-earth [384-85] - that:
The 'other two' came much earlier ... when matters became very dangerous in the Second Age. ... Their task was to circumvent Sauron: to bring help to the few tribes of men that had rebelled from Melkor-worship, to stir up rebellion.
This reads to me more like a note-to-self, a reminder to tidy up the matter of the five wizards, than a settled historical fact. It's notable that Tolkien uses the two names Morinehtar and Rómestámo - "Darkness-slayer and East-helper" - here and only here. Elsewhere, in the account of the "Blue Wizards" in Unfinished Tales, he refers to these two as Alatar and Pallando. In another scribbled note, reproduced in the same section of The Peoples of Middle-Earth, he states:
No names are recorded for the two wizards. They were never seen or known in lands west of Mordor. The wizards did not come at the same time [my emphasis]. Possibly Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast did, but more likely Saruman the chief (and already over mindful of this) came first and alone.
So, yes, when it comes to the wizards, there is some - tenuous - justification for including them in The Rings of Power. They were never a very settled part of Tolkien's mythology, unfortunately, despite the huge importance of Gandalf and Saruman in the latter stages of the story.




The Rings of Power: Harfoots


As for the "Harfoots" included in The Rings of Power, Tolkien's essay "Concerning Hobbits," at the beginning of The Lord of the Rings, specifies Stoors, Fallohides, and Harfoots as the three main types of Hobbit:
The Stoors grew facial hair and had an affinity for water, boats and swimming and wore boots; the Fallohides were fair, tall and slim, an adventurous people, friendlier and more open to outsiders. Finally, the Harfoots were the most numerous and instituted the living in burrows.
Tolkien Gateway: Hobbits
The Tolkien Gateway goes on to specify that they come into the records "not earlier than the early Third Age where they were living in the Vales of Anduin in Wilderland, between Mirkwood and the Misty Mountains".
Some time near the beginning of the Third Age ... uneasy because of the growing numbers of alien men from the East who passed the Greenwood and ... the rising Shadow of Dol Guldur ... They took the arduous task of crossing the Misty Mountains, beginning thus their Wandering Days. Some of the Stoors, however, returned ... and it is from these people that Gollum would come many years later.



J. R. R. Tolkien: The Nature of Middle-earth. Ed. Carl F Hostetter (2021)


By now it should be apparent that one of the main problems with the TV series is:

CHRONOLOGY

Ptolemy, and the other astronomers who succeeded him (up to the age of Copernicus), concerned themselves mainly with "saving the appearances." It didn't matter how many conplex cycles and epicycles they included in their description of the structure of the universe as long as they preserved the Platonic principle of perfect circles moving at uniform motion with (of course) the Earth at the centre. The result was some very harebrained schemes indeed.

The problem of reconciling the plot of The Rings of Power with Tolkien's own writings on the prehistory of Middle-earth requires similar feats of legerdemain. Among other things, it involves accepting huge leaps - literally of thousands of years - between the chronology of the Second Age and that of the Third Age.



One can certainly understand the temptation to include the story of Númenor in a series of this sort. And the Númenorean scenes are some of the most impressive in the whole show. Sauron did indeed visit the island, and successfully suborn its people, thus leading to the catastrophe of the inundation. But all that happened during the last days of the Second Age, between S.A. 3255, when Ar-Pharazôn usurped the sceptre from Tar-Míriel, and S.A. 3319, when the world was changed, the island sank, and Sauron was forced to return to Middle-earth as a disembodied spectre.

The forging of the Rings of Power, however, took place roughly between S.A. 1500 and 1600, a millennium and a half earlier.


Emil Johansson.: Visual Timeline of the One Ring (2013)


If we agree with conventional Tolkienian chronology, and set the advent of the wizards (or at least the three featured in The Lord of the Rings) around c. Third Age 1000, you'll appreciate that it's a bit difficult to pull them into the story as well - rather like including King Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon as one of the combatants in the Second World War:

S.A. 1600 - S.A. 3300 - T.A. 1000 = c.2,700 years.

It's not that I'd accuse the makers of the show of ignorance of the finer details of Tolkien's chronology. They have access to the same printed - and, increasingly, online - resources as the rest of us. And they have, it would appear from the credits, Christopher Tolkien's son Simon as their principal consultant. I'm forced to conclude that they know exactly what they're doing, which (I'm afraid) makes it far worse.

Does it matter? Is concocting a kind of atemporal Tolkien soup an acceptable approach to the carefully designed historical framework of his works? Well, I guess it depends on your point of view. Simon Tolkien disagreed with his father on the question of whether or not the Tolkien estate should cooperate with the Lord of the Rings: "It was my view that we take a much more positive line on the film and that was overruled by my father." It led to a long estrangement between the two.

Certainly some liberties were taken in the films - some swapping around of characters, some condensing of storylines - but they remained remarkably faithful to the original, considering the concomitant need to reach an entire new audience. I don't myself feel that the same is true of The Rings of Power, but then I do have the disadvantage of having read all of the materials they're drawing on to make their soup.






\The Cast of the Rings of Power (Season 2: 2024)


Whhich brings us to another, perhaps less cut-and-dried matter:

CHARACTERISATION

I'd accept that many of Tolkien's protagonists are a little underdeveloped in narrative terms. This is not really the case in novels such as The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, where the characterisation may be secondary to the action, but is still perfectly adequate for its purpose. They were, as a result, comparatively easy to translate to film.

In his more mythic or historical writings, though - such as those collected in The Silmarillion - little scrutiny of the inner psychology of his epic heroes and heroines is supplied. And this, again, can be seen as appropriate to their genre.


The Rings of Power: Morfydd Clark as Galadriel (2022-24)


It's a natural enough, even necessary desire to fill in the gaps of many these characters - Galadriel, Elrond, Celebrimbor, even Sauron - for the purposes of drama. The trouble is, given the urgent desire of the producers and writers to create a follow-up series for the hugely successful Game of Thrones, the characters in The Rings of Power seem in many cases to have been reduced to stereotypes of a type familiar in the Age of the Reality Show.

Far from the courtly aristocrat of the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit films, for instance, this Galadriel more closely resembles a gung-ho action queen from Survivor. I myself find the new-look Galadriel far more entertaining, but she's a little hard to reconcile with Tolkien's original vision. Galadriel is, after all, one of the major characters in The Silmarillion, and has a complex back-history which is largely ignored here.


The Rings of Power: Charlie Vickers as Sauron (2024)


There've been two Saurons so far in this production. The first, Jack Lowden, played him as a hotheaded brawler; the second, Charlie Vickers, more like a backstabbing game-player from The Traitors. The true Sauron was, admittedly, a bit of shapeshifter, but the endless intrigues with rival Orc-captains, and vain attempts to disguise his identity do stretch credulity - and genre - a little.


The Rings of Power: Robert Aramayo as Elrond (2022-24)


I suppose the haircut doesn't help - there were some unintentionally amusing scenes during the siege of Eregion where Elrond tried unsuccessfully to fit a helmet over his carefully coiffed locks. I find that I just can't warm to this new Elrond. I understand that he's meant to be a politician, and that he's already a bit on the back foot as a mere half-elven immortal, but does he have to be quite so mean to his old pal Galadriel all the time? She is, after all, invariably right, so it's a bit odd that Elrond's constant weird changes of tack haven't yet managed to undermine anyone else's faith in his judgement.

A Big Brother contestant, perhaps?


The Rings of Power: Charles Edwards as Celebrimbor (2022-24)


As for Celebrimbor ... well, what can I say? He just never seemed remotely like the heir to the great First Age craftsman Fëanor he's presumably intended to be. Again, there's the terrible haircut (or is it a wig?), and the fact that he always looks half-stunned. Maybe an unsuccessful suppliant from The Shark Tank or The Dragon's Den? He certainly comes across as a vainglorious, credulous buffoon.

But then, none of them seem the sort to inspire much respect among others - let alone faith in their leadership skills. There are no Ian McKellen Gandalfs or Viggo Mortensen Aragorns here.

I could go on, but I accept that such reactions are bound to be subjective. Some viewers may admire the aspects of the production I find most disconcerting - the Scots-accented dwarves, for instance - not to mention the supremely irritating Ewok-y antics of the Irish-accented Harfoots, whose smug motto:
Nobody goes off-trail and nobody walks alone
seems somewhat belied by their tendency to abandon anyone, injured or simply careless, who falls behind, and then to recite antiphonally the names of such lost ones before each new migration.

It is, after all, a fantasy world - but my point is that it only tangentially resembles Tolkien's fantasy world. Tolkien's characters may be somewhat over-decorous and dignified at times, but The Rings of Power turns the dial far too far in the opposite direction. It's all kitchen-sink melodrama, with a complete lack of gravitas or restraint.

Mind you, given the material they have to work with, many of these actors do exceptionally well. My favourite, as I mentioned above, is Morfydd Clark's Galadriel, but both versions of Sauron - Charlie Vickers in season 2, and Jack Lowden in series 1 - are very much on point. He's so slimy, and plausible, and loathsome: hats off to the pair of them.

But really, where's Roland Barthes when you really need him? His amusing analysis of the excesses of Hollywood hairdos in the essay "The Romans in Films" from Mythologies might well have been written with The Rings of Power in mind.






Wayne G. Hammond & Christina Scull: The J.R.R. Tolkien Companion and Guide (2007)


My final category is a little more difficult to define. I'd like to refer to it as:

FIDELITY TO THE KNOWN FACTS

if it weren't that those "facts" have had to be deduced from decades of painful cogitation and self-correction by Tolkien himself, multiplied by a legion of commentators - starting with Christopher Tolkien, but now carried on by successors such as Douglas A. Anderson, Carl F. Hostetter, Tom Shippey, and the husband-and-wife team of Wayne G. Hammond and Christina Scull.

I guess that it seems to me that the creators of The Rings of Power have looked at the details of Tolkien's world and asked themselves "what extra stuff can I squeeze in here?" rather than "how can we best reproduce this on screen?" I can't help feeling that this is the direct opposite of Peter Jackson and his collaborators' approach to the movie trilogy. It's true that they had a more fully formed narrative arc to follow, but they treated Tolkien's creations - and, by extension, his fans - with a certain respect.

Cate Blanchett may have been a little too statuesque in her interpretation of Galadriel, but at least she's recognisable as the character from the book. Morfydd Clark, by contrast, plays her more like Lara Croft. There's hardly a moment when she isn't fighting, arguing, sneering, or generally busting up the scenery. Not that I dislike that, exactly. Her super-abundant energy is actually one of the best aspects of the whole production. It's just that she seems a bit too - what exactly? - adolescent to be one of the major players of the First Age, an Elven leader from Valinor, immensely more learned and respected than virtually any other Elf left in Middle-earth.

Did the producers choose the Second Age because there was so little about it (comparatively) in Tolkien's literary remains? It was open season on the rise of Sauron because Tolkien had always concentrated more on the vexed tale of the Silmarils than on the earlier history of the Rings of Ppwer.

That'd be fine if they'd done much with it - but did they have to include a scene where Sauron is killed by his own orcs, then forced to reconstitute himself as chopped mince, and crawl about eating rats until he finds a human or two to provide him with a new backbone? It's the stuff of B-grade horror movies, not the kind of epic particularity which fleshed out even the longueurs of Game of Thrones.

There are certainly plenty of good things about it: the set designs, some of the action sequences. But the title credits are accompanied by music so similar to that of The Lord of the Rings that they set up an unfortunate scale of comparison. The Rings of Power ends up making even The Hobbit trilogy look good!

As for the credits themselves, they're so obviously meant to remind us of the intricate clockwork of Game of Thrones that, again, they end up checkmating themselves. I'm sorry. It's just not an appropriate level of emulation for this production.

The Rings of Power is, after all, still pretty good when weighed against farragoes such as The Witcher or House of the Dragon. But then again, it should be, given it's supposed to be one of the most expensive productions in television history.


Frank Herbert: The Original Dune Novels


Frank Herbert's son Brian had a vexed relationship with his father, whom he felt never took him seriously as a writer or a man. It's hard not to read the decision to create - in collaboration with Kevin J. Anderson - a series of prequels and sequels to the Dune series which now greatly outnumber the original six novels as some kind of act of Oedipal revenge:
"As of 2024, 23 Dune books by Herbert and Anderson have been published."
- Wikipedia: Dune (Franchise)

Herbert / Anderson: Sequels to the Dune Novels


Might the same be postulated of Simon Tolkien? His own father Christopher did, after all, essentially disown him over the question of faithfulness to his father's Lord of the Rings. What better revenge than to 'consult' on a deliberately anachronistic and discordant series of adaptations such as this?

Whatever the reasons for it, I wish the end result had turned out better than this.




Priscilla Tolkien: The Tolkien Family Album (1992)





Wednesday, December 25, 2024

Christmas Books = Christmas Cheer!


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Collected Poems (3 vols: 2024)


Some years ago now I wrote a blogpost called "The Tolkien Industry." It seemed to cause a bit of a stir at the time, and even ended up being reprinted on the Scoop Review of Books (16/6/09).

What I thought were some fairly mild remonstrances at the relentless commercialisation of J. R. R. Tolkien's literary remains apparently touched a raw nerve in quite a few readers. A certain "Mister Lit" enquired:
... does Ross the academic subscribe to the increasingly meaningless dichotomy between ‘high’ and ‘lowbrow’ culture which sees meaningless ‘poetry’ by so-called ‘postmodernists’ studied in great depth while popular, human-oriented authors like Tolkien and Wilbur Smith are regarded as not ‘good enough’?
To which I'd reply (some 16 years later): No, not then and not now. I have to say, though, that I do find the juxtaposition of Tolkien and Wilbur Smith somewhat eccentric. So far as I know, no-one's yet been tempted to publish Wilbur Smith's scribbled notes and papers in vast, annotated, scholarly editions. Perhaps it's just a matter of time, though.

The next comment, by a Henry Saltfleet, was even more indignant:
Jack Ross writes: “What’s a poor collector to do? A poor completist collector, that is.” Well, in his case I think he should get rid of his collection and take up a hobby more suited to his intellect — perhaps bowling. His main argument against newly published Tolkien material seems to be that it takes up shelf space. But what is more egregious is his underlying belief that because (for whatever reason) he isn’t interested in such material that he thinks those of us who are interested in it should be deprived of the chance to read it. Fie on him.
That sideswipe at bowlers and bowling seems rather more egregious than any of my own misdeeds, I must say. What did they ever do to get dragged into this argument? Bowling is (by all accounts) a sport requiring great visual acuity and muscular skill, which puts it a fair few rungs above balancing books on shelves, I would have thought. If only I had chosen to cultivate it in my misspent youth, how much better off I would be now!

As for the rest, I think Mr. Saltfleet rather missed my point. It wasn't that this material isn't interesting - more that this piecemeal, over-annotated and commentated mode of publication doesn't really do it justice. However, my lament (in 2009) that we still lacked a decent Collected Poems for Tolkien, has finally, a decade and a half later, been met by a massive 3-volume boxed-set edition edited by Tolkienophiles extraordinaire Christina Scull and Wayne G Hammond.

WHICH I JUST GOT FOR CHRISTMAS! (all those heavy-handed hints to Santa must have paid off ...)


Christina Scull & Wayne G Hammond, ed.: The Collected Poems of J. R. R. Tolkien (3 vols: 2024)


"Thrills for Noddy!" - as some of the coarser denizens of my old school used to say when encountering excessive displays of enthusiam. Never mind. Damn them if they can't take a joke. It is quite a thrill - for me, at least.




But wait, there's more. As a suitable companion volume, I'd already decided to invest in another absurdly over-elaborate piece of book design, a new edition of Tolkien's The Silmarillion illustrated by its own author!


Christopher Tolkien, ed.: The Silmarillion. Illustrated by J. R. R. Tolkien (2022)


I look forward to rereading it over Summer, savouring Tolkien's clumsy daubs and line-drawings, and perhaps even comparing them from time to time to Ted Nasmith's perhaps slightly over-skilful illustrations for his own 2004 version of The Silmarillion.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Silmarillion. Illustrated by Ted Nasmith (2004)





Curiously enough, I had much the same experience recently comparing two different illustrated texts of Tolkien's masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings.


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings. Illustrated by the author (2021)


On the one hand, there's this sumptuous new hardback edition, with illustrations culled from the author's papers, which I purchased when it first came out in 2021. I mean, what reasonable person could resist the temptation of owning "the complete text printed in two colors, plus sprayed edges and a ribbon bookmark"?


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Lord of the Rings. Illustrated by Alan Lee (1991)


But then, on the other hand, there's this thirty-year old veteran I picked up second-hand a couple of months ago, with illustrations that now look rather prophetic of much of the visual imagery of the feature films.

Not, perhaps, that that's all that surprising when you consider that Alan Lee (together with Canadian illustrator John Howe) was one of the two main concept designers on The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001-03) - as well as working on its prequel, The Hobbit (2012-14).

There's never a shortage of arguments for getting new books, unfortunately - it's persuading yourself that you can jettison some, or (better still) not buy them in the first place, which is hard.




J. R. R. Tolkien: The Hobbit. Illustrated by the author (2023)


I'm not falling for this one, though. I can promise you that! I mean, who needs it? I already own a nice old hardback copy of the original edition, which was already "illustrated by the author":


J. R. R. Tolkien: The Hobbit (1937 / 1974)


And, if that's not enough, I also have copies of the two books below which (between them) surely provide more Hobbit-iana than even the most exigent fan could require:


Douglas A. Andersen, ed.: The Annotated Hobbit (1988 / 2002)



John Rateliff: The History of the Hobbit (2007 / 2011)





What else? Well, there's an intriguing new addition to the Heaney canon, to stand alongside Marco Sonzogni's excellent 2022 edition of The Translations of Seamus Heaney:


Christopher Reid, ed.: The Letters of Seamus Heaney (2024)


There's also the latest Murakami novel, of which I have high hopes after a couple of duds from the Japanese literary superstar:


Haruki Murakami: The City and Its Uncertain Walls. Trans. Philip Gabriel (2023 / 2024)





J. R. R. Tolkien (1895-1973)


To return to Tolkien, though ("Tollers" to his friends - just as C. S. Lewis was "Jack" and his brother Major W. H. Lewis "Warnie").

If by any chance you're still having difficulties disentangling the relationships between his various works: the two main ones published during his lifetime - The Hobbit (1937) & The Lord of the Rings (1954-55) - and that other, posthumous compilation - The Silmarillion (1977); together with its myriad supplementary texts - you could certainly do worse than have a quick squiz at the diagram below:


Ian Alexander: Tolkien's Legendarium (2021)


Clear as crystal, wouldn't you say? In any case, this is just to wish you all a similarly

MERRY CHRISTMAS
& A Happy New Year



Saturday, March 04, 2023

'Of the Devil's party without knowing it'


Andrew Wall, dir. & writ.: The Fantasy Makers (2018)


The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when he wrote of Devils & Hell, is because he was a true Poet and of the Devil's party without knowing it.
- William Blake: The Marriage of Heaven and Hell (1790)

Recently Bronwyn and I watched the documentary "The Fantasy Makers", hoping for some insights into the work of George MacDonald and his successors J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis. I have to say that it was a somewhat disappointing experience. A succession of non-entities - obscure Academics and writers, none of whom I'd ever heard of - came on screen to proclaim the vital significance of the Christian faith to the works of these three authors, and the various ways in which that old-time religion had jump-started their imaginations.



Don't get me wrong. This is certainly a defensible proposition: indeed a pretty obvious one, given the tendency of MacDonald and Lewis in particular to incorporate a good deal of Christian allegory and even straightout preaching in their respective fantasy worlds. There's no doubt, either, about the significance of his Catholic faith to J. R. R. Tolkien.



Where I part company with this documentary is in its selective - and thus quite misleading - account of the growth of the modern Fantasy genre. It's strongly implied in context that reading MacDonald had a decisive effect on Tolkien - whereas it's really Lewis who was more influenced by him. It's true that The Hobbit is deeply indebted to MacDonald's The Princess and the Goblin, but William Morris's series of heroic romances were the real catalyst for Tolkien's own peculiar fusion of mythology and folktale.


William Morris: The House of the Wolfings (1889)


So why leave out Morris? There were, of course - there always are - limitations of space. You can't put in everyone. In this case, though, there was a simpler reason: he wasn't a Christian. He was, admittedly, brought up as one, but in later life he espoused atheism, along with a very militant form of Communism. He was as independent a thinker as he was a writer and artist.


William Morris: William Morris (1834-1896)


It puts me in mind of an account I once heard of a Children's TV programme which one of my school friends inadvertently found himself watching one idle afternoon. The kids were all sitting around in a circle while the house band, called (I think) the Certain Sounds, performed various uplifting numbers.

This led to a "discussion" (i.e. harangue) where the hosts of the show denounced the excesses of contemporary Rock music - this was, admittedly, the era of Ozzy Osbourne and Black Sabbath - and stressed how wholesome, by contrast, were the songs they'd just been listening to. Those confirmed degenerates the Rolling Stones came in for a bit of a tongue-lashing, too.

All of a sudden a youth leapt up from the floor and shouted "The Rolling Stones are great - and the Certain Sounds are sh ..." They cut to commercial before he could finish what he was saying - but I think the audience got the message. Ah me, the perils of live TV!

When the programme resumed the lone rebel had, of course, been removed - and no doubt taken backstage for indoctrination. But, as the poet Horace once observed: "you can drive out nature with a pitchfork, but still she'll come back" [naturam expelles furca, tamen usque recurret]. His work there was done.



The more the speakers in The Fantasy Makers stressed how hip-hop-happening the Bible was, and how deeply it had influenced the whole course of storytelling through the ages, the more I could hear the voice of my sister-in-law trying to persuade the rest of us at one extended-family gathering that Christian Rock was cool, and it was we who were the fuddy-duddies in sticking to more conventional forms of Rock 'n' Roll.

The Bible is undoubtedly a great source of stories, and Tolkien and his friends were very religious, but the intense vehemence with which the assorted talking heads in the documentary asserted these simple truths was in itself enough to make one feel suspicious.


J. R. R. Tolkien: On Fairy-stories (2008)


It was, after all, Tolkien himself who stressed the vital need to make a distinction between the realm of Faerie and its two nearest neighbours, Heaven and Hell. In his classic 1939 essay "On Fairy-Stories", he quotes from the old Border Ballad of Thomas the Rhymer:
O see ye not yon narrow road
So thick beset wi' thorns and briers?
That is the path of Righteousness,
Though after it but few inquires.

And see ye not yon braid, braid road
That lies across the lily leven?
That is the path of Wickedness,
Though some call it the Road to Heaven.

And see ye not yon bonny road
That winds about yon fernie brae?
That is the road to fair Elfland,
Where thou and I this night maun gae.
Having first mistaken her for Mary Mother of God, Thomas is inveigled into accompanying the Fairy Queen down the third of these paths, and so:
Till seven long years were gone and done
True Thomas on earth was never seen.
He brings nothing back with him from this mysterious realm except the ability to make rhymes and music.

Mind you, it isn't all good - and there's certainly nothing safe about it. Thomas was lucky to get back home at all: centuries can easily go by in the blink of an eye for those who've been taken away to Faerie. And there is, of course, the little matter of the Devil's teind (or tithe) - a tax of souls enforced by Hell in exchange for allowing this realm to exist independently.


Henry Fuseli: The Faerie Queene (1788)


'Of the Devil's party without knowing it' - well, no, not quite. Tolkien, Lewis, and MacDonald were quite clear in their opposition to that gentleman, witness their respective portraits of him as Morgoth in the Silmarillion (along with his chief lieutenant Sauron in The Lord of the Rings); the Infernal Minister served by civil servant Screwtape in The Screwtape Letters; not to mention the gloomy landlord depicted in MacDonald's introduction to Valdemar Adolph Thisted's Letters from Hell.

It is undeniable, though, that - as a reader - you feel a certain sense of excitement in Tolkien whenever he allows himself to revel in the imagery and atmosphere of the pre-Christian Teutonic heroic age. The story comes to life. In Lewis, too, when he allows his English children entry to a country where fauns and centaurs and the other nature spirits of Classical Paganism are permitted to roam freely.

Milton, according to Blake, "wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels & God, and at liberty when he wrote of Devils & Hell" - Tolkien, too, could write freely enough of both Middle-earth and Mordor, but when it comes to Valinor and the Blessed Realms, it all just fades off into sunlight and singing.


Pauline Baynes: Father Christmas (1950)


Think, too, of how embarrassing is the sudden appearance of Father Christmas in Lewis's first Narnia book The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. It just seems so jarringly wrong to drag St. Nick into the midst of all these talking animals and powerful magicians. Not even the superbly imaginative Pauline Baynes can do much with this intrusion. But Lewis must have learned from the experience, because he never did anything quite so crass again.

Tolkien detested Lewis's Narnia books precisely because of their imbalance of tone and seriousness. Nymphs and Their Ways: The Love Life of a Faun, the title of one of the raunchier books on Mr. Tumnus's bookshelf, exemplified for Tolkien everything that was wrong about this mish-mash of pagan and contemporary themes.


Ludovico Ariosto: Orlando Furioso (1516-32)

If Ariosto rivalled it in invention (in fact he does not) he would still lack its heroic seriousness. No imaginary world has been projected which is at once so multifarious and so true to its own inner laws; none so seemingly objective, so disinfected from the taint of an author’s merely individual psychology; none so relevant to the actual human situation yet so free from allegory. And what fine shading there is in the variations of style to meet the almost endless diversity of scenes and characters – comic, homely, epic, monstrous, or diabolic!
- C. S. Lewis, Blurb for The Lord of the Rings (1954)
Lewis, by contrast, was careful to praise Tolkien's "heroic seriousness", but suggested that his inventiveness might find a parallel (if not a rival) in Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. Tolkien, characteristically, bristled at the comparison, but one suspects that it was not made idly.

Lewis felt, it would seem, that Tolkien was at risk of starting to believe his own ideas about 'sub-creation' - that he was, in effect, within a hair of setting himself up as the god of his own creation. And there is certainly little that's ostensibly Christian about Tolkien's world: its values seem far more firmly based on Old Norse stoicism and blind courage.

Whatever bargain these writers may have struck with their own consciences, it seems clear to me whenever I read them that both Lewis and Tolkien were more in love imaginatively with the Queen of Faerie than they could ever could be with the minutiae of their own religion. That was theology; this was fantasy.

I don't question (or doubt) the sincerity of their faith, just as I don't doubt that of Milton - or Blake, for that matter. I may not share it myself, but I did in my younger days, so have at least some understanding of the mind-set involved.

The creative instinct, however, is an unruly thing: once you start to discipline it and push it in the directions demanded by dogma, you end up with (at best) Hymns Ancient and Modern; at worst, Socialist Realism.


C. S. Lewis: The Cosmic Trilogy (1938-45)


The reason, I suspect, that none of the more distinguished commentators on Lewis, Tolkien, and their fellow Inklings - the ones you might actually have heard of - could be persuaded to appear in this rather tin-eared documentary, is that they could see at once that it was attempting to shrink them to the size of mere Christian propagandists.

And yes, on one level, that is what they were - C. S. Lewis, in particular. But you don't have to be a Christian to delight in Out of the Silent Planet or Perelandra, just as The Lord of the Rings cuts across creeds and cultures to engage with real human truths.

Both of them took the road to fair Elf-land, and both paid a certain price for doing so. George MacDonald is a more complex case - his guilt over such lapses from the party-line threatens time and again to overturn his fantasies in mid-course. But the greatness of his narrative gift keeps us reading At the Back of the North Wind and the 'Curdie' books despite any failures of taste or consistency within them.


The Marion E. Wade Center Museum (Wheaton College, Illinois)


There's a reason why this particular set of seven British authors have been granted their own research centre at a major American university, and it's not because of the orthodoxy of their belief systems:
  1. George MacDonald (1824-1905)
  2. G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)
  3. Charles Williams (1886-1945)
  4. J. R. R. Tolkien (1892-1973)
  5. Dorothy L. Sayers (1893-1957)
  6. Owen Barfield (1898-1997)
  7. C. S. Lewis (1898-1963)
Barfield was an Anthroposophist, Chesterton and Tolkien were Catholics, Lewis and Sayers were Anglicans, MacDonald was probably more of a Unitarian than anything else, and it's very hard to say just what precisely Charles Williams was: he certainly dabbled in magic and occultism more than any of the others.

Where they stand together is in the superreal vividness of their imaginations. Their respective versions of Christian faith may well have been a help in this, but all seven of them had to cast their nets wider than that to write anything worth reading. The details of their individual bargains with Faerie remain sealed up with their bones.


George MacDonald: Phantastes: A Faerie Romance (1858)




George MacDonald (1860)

George MacDonald
(1824-1905)

    Fantasy:

  1. Phantastes & Lilith. 1858 & 1895. Introduction by C. S. Lewis. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1964.
  2. At the Back of the North Wind / The Princess and the Goblin / The Princess and Curdie. 1870, 1871, 1882. London : Octopus Books, 1979.
  3. The Princess and the Goblin. 1871. Illustrated by Arthur Hughes. A Puffin Book. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1973.
  4. The Princess and Curdie. 1882. Illustrated by Helen Stratton. A Puffin Book. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1980.
  5. The Gifts of the Child Christ: Fairy Tales and Stories for the Childlike. 1882. Ed. Glenn Edward Sadler. 2 vols. Grand Rapids, Michigan: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1973.
  6. The Light Princess and Other Tales: Being the Complete Fairy Tales. Illustrated by Arthur Hughes. Introduction by Roger Lancelyn Green. 1961. Kelpies. Edinburgh: Canongate, 1987.
  7. The Complete Fairy Tales. Ed. U. C. Knoepflmacher. Penguin Classics. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1999.

  8. Novels:

  9. The Marquis of Lossie. 1877. London: Cassell & Co., 1927.

  10. Non-fiction:

  11. 'Preface' to Valdemar Adolph Thisted. Letters from Hell. 1866. Trans. Julie Sutter. 1884. London: Macmillan & Co., Ltd., 1911.
  12. George MacDonald: An Anthology. Ed. C. S. Lewis. 1946. London: Geoffrey Bles: The Centenary Press, 1947.

  13. Poetry:

  14. MacDonald, George. The Poetical Works. 2 vols. London: Chatto & Windus, 1911.

  15. Secondary:

  16. Raeper, William. George MacDonald. 1987. Herts, England: A Lion Book, 1988.




George MacDonald: The Gifts of the Child Christ (1882)