Tolkien's legendarium: essays on The history of Middle-earth / 9780313305306

Table of contents :
The history
Rayner Unwin — Early Days of Elder Days
Christina Scull — The Development of Tolkien's Legendarium: Some Threads in the Tapestry of Middle-earth
Wayne G. Hammond — 'A Continuing and Evolving Creation': Distractions in the Later History of Middle-earth
Charles Noad — On the Construction of The Silmarillion
David Bratman — The Literary Value of The History of Middle-earth
The languages
Christopher Gilson — Gnomish is Sindarin: The Conceptual Evolution of an Elvish Language
Arden R. Smith — Certhas, Skirditaila, Futhark: A Feigned History of Runic Origins
Patrick Wynne and Carl F. Hostetter — Three Elvish Verse Modes: Ann-thennath, Minlamad thent / estent, and Linnod
The cauldron and the cook
Joe R. Christopher — Tolkien's Lyric Poetry
Paul Edmund Thomas — Some of Tolkien's Narrators
Verlyn Flieger — The Footsteps of Ælfwine
John D. Rateliff — The Lost Road, The Dark Tower, and The Notion Club Papers: Tolkien and Lewis's Time Travel Triad
Marjorie Burns — Gandalf and Odin
Richard C. West — Túrin's Ofermod: An Old English Theme in the Development of the Story of Túrin
Appendix
Douglas A. Anderson — Christopher Tolkien: A Bibliography

Citation preview

TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM Essays on The History o f Middle-earth

EDITED BY

Verlyn Flieger and CarlF. Hostetter

Recent Titles in Contributions to the Study o f Science Fiction and Fantasy Offensive Films: Toward an Anthropology o f Cinema V om itif M ik it a Brottman Into Darkness Peering: Race and Color in the Fantastic Elisabeth Anne Leonard Trajectories o f the Fantastic: Selected Essays from the Fourteenth International Conference on the Fantastic in the A ns Michael A. Morrison, editor Transformations o f Language in Modern Dystopias D avid W. Sisk Folklore and the Fantastic in Twelve Modern Irish Novels Marguerite Quintelli-Neary A Century o f Welsh M yth in Childrens Literature Donna R White Strange Constellations: A History o f Australian Science Fiction Russell Blackford Immortal Monster: The Mythological Evolution o f the Fantastic Beast in Modern Fiction and Film Joseph D. Andriano Young A dult Science Fiction C W Sullivan III, editor Spiritual Exploration in the Works o f Doris Lessing Phyllis Sternberg Perrakis, editor The Road to Castle Mount: The Science Fiction o f Robert Silverberg Edgar L Chapman Back in the Spaceship Again: Juvenile Science Fiction Series Since 1945 Karen Sands and Marietta Frank

TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM Essays on The History o f Middle-earth

EDITED BY

Verlyn Flieger a n d C arl F H ostetter

Contributions to the Study o f Science Fiction and Fantasy, Number 86 C. W. Sullivan III, Series Adviser

G R E E N W O O D PRESS W estport, C onnecticut • London

Library o f Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Tolkiens legendarium : essays on T he history o f Middle-earth / edited by Verlyn Flieger and Carl F. Hostetter. p. cm.— (Contributions to the study o f science fiction and fantasy, ISSN 0193-6875 ; no. 86) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0 -3 1 3 -3 0 5 3 0 -7 (alk. paper) 1. Tolkien, J. R. R. (John Ronald Reuel), 1892-1973. History o f Middle-earth. 2. Fantasy literature, English— History and criticism. 3. Fantasy literature, English— Criticism,Textual. 4. Middle Earth (Imaginary place). I. Flieger, Vertyn, 1 9 3 3 II. Hostetter, Carl F. III. Series. P R 6039.O 32H 5727 2000 823'.912— dc21 9 9 -2 7 1 8 5 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data is available. Copyright © 2000 by Verlyn Flieger and Cari F. Hostetter All rights reserved. N o portion o f this book may be reproduced, by any process or technique, without the express written consent o f the publisher. Library o f Congress Catalog Card Num ber 99-27185 ISBN: 0 -3 1 3 -3 0 5 3 0 -7 ISSN :0193-6875 First published in 2000 Greenwood Press, 88 Post Road West, Westport, C T 06881 An imprint o f Greenwood Publishing Group, Inc. www.greenwood.com Printed in the United States o f America

0" The paper used in this book complies with the Permanent Paper Standard issued by the National Information Standards Organization (Z 39.48-I984). 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Copyright Acknowledgments The editors and publisher gratefully acknowledge permission for the use of the following mate­ rial: Quotations from J.R.R. Tolkiens works in the Legendariurn 2nd from materials in the Allen & Unwin archive are used by courtesy of theTolkien Estate. From the following works by J.R.R. Tolkien: The Hobbit (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1937); The Annotated Hobbit, Douglas A. Anderson, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988); The Fellowship of the 7?7n^( London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954; Second edition, revised impres­ sion, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987); The Two Towers (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954; Second edition, revised impression, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987); The Return o f the King (London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1955; Second edition, revised impression, Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987); Tree and Leaf (London: Unwin Books, 1964; Second [i.e., third] edi­ tion, London: Unwin Hyman, 1988; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989); The Road Goes Ever On, music by Donald Swann, 1967 (Second, revised edition, London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Bos­ ton: Houghton Mifflin, 1978); The Silmarillion, Christopher Tolkien, ed. (London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977); UnfinishedTales ofNumenor and Middle­ earth, Christopher Tolkien, ed. (London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1980); Poems and Stories (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1980; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994); The Letters off.R R . Tolkien, Humphrey Carter, ed., with the assistanceof Christopher Tolkien (London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981); The Monsters and the Criticsand Other Essays (London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1983; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984); LNG FLam na*Ngoldathon: The Grammar and Lexicon o f the Gnomish Tongue, Christo­ pher Gilson, Patrick Vtynne, Arden R. Smith, and Carl E Hostetter, eds. Parma Eldalamberon, no. 11. (Walnut Creek, Calif: 1995); Finn and Hengest: The Fragment and the Episode, Alan Bliss, ed. (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1983). Used by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. From ChristopherTolkien, ed., The History o f Middle-earth: I. The Book ofLostTales, Part /(Lon­ don: George Allen & Unwin, 1983: Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984);//. The Book ofLostTales, Part I I (London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1 9 8 4 );///. The Lays o f Beleriand(London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1985); TV The Shaping of Middle-earth (London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1986); V The Lost Road and Other Writings (London : Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987); VI. The Return o f the Shadow (London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988); VII. TheTreason ofIsengard(London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989);/X. Sauron Defeated (London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, I992);X. Morgoth's Ring (London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1993); XL The War o f the Jewels (London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994);X//. The Peoples o f Middle-earth (London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1996). Used by permission o f HarperCollins Pub­ lishers Ltd. From Humphrey C arpenter,/.R.R. Tolkien: A Biography (London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1977). Used by permission o f HarperCollins Publishers Ltd. From book reviews printed in Mythprint, copyright 1984-1997, by permission of Mythprint: The Monthly Bulletin oftheMythopoeic Society.

We dedicate this book with gratitude to CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN By his labors and service — fridda sunu his feeder — he is, like his father, Ailfwine Widldst “Elf-friend the Far-travelled” but by the same neither his father nor he is any longer Eriol “One who dreams alone"

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments Introduction Conventions and Abbreviations

ix xi xv

I. The History RAYNER UNWIN

Early Days o f Elder Days

3

CHRISTINA SCULL

The Development o f Tolkien's Legendarium: Some Threads in the Tapestry o f Middle-earth

7

WAYNE G. HAMMOND

“A Continuing and Evolving Creation": Distractions in the Later History o f Middle-earth

19

CHARLES E. NOAD

On the Construction o f “The Silmarillion”

31

DAVID BRATMAN

The Literary Value o f The History of Middle-earth

69

II. The Languages CHRISTOPHER GILSON

Gnomish Is Sindarin: The Conceptual Evolution of an Elvish Language

95

ARDEN R. SMITH

Certhas, Skirditaila, Fu|>ark: A Feigned History o f Runic Origins

105

PATRICK WYNNE AND CARL F. HOSTETTER

Three Elvish Verse Modes: Ann-thennath, Minlamad thent / estent» and Linnod

113

III. The Cauldron and the Cook *e> JOE R. CHRISTOPHER

Tolkien's Lyric Poetry

143

PAUL EDMUND THOMAS

Some o f Tolkien’s Narrators

161

VERLYN FLIEGER

The Footsteps o f /Elfwine

183

JOHN D. RATELIFF

The Lost Road, The Dark Tower, and The Notion Club Papers: Tolkien and Lewis’s Time Travel Triad

199

MARJORIE BURNS

Gandalf and Odin

219

RICHARD C. WEST

Turin’s Ofermod: An Old English Theme in the Development of the Story o f Turin

233

DOUGLAS A. ANDERSON

Christopher Tolkien: A Bibliography

247

Suggested Further Reading Index About the C ontributors

253 255 271

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

We are grateful to the Tolkien Estate and to HarperCollins for their kind permission to quote from Tolkien’s published works and from unpublished correspondence in the Allen & Unwin archives. We are also indebted to Cathleen Blackburn and Baillie Tolkien for their assistance and encouragement.

After a time Niggle turned towards the Forest. Not because he was tired of the Tree, but he seemed to have got it all clear in his mind now, and was aware of it, and of its growth, even when he was not looking at it. As he walked away, he discovered an odd thing: the Forest, of course, was a d istan t Forest, yet he could approach it, even enter it, w ithout its losing th a t p articu lar charm . He had never before been able to walk into the distance without it turning into m ere surroundings. It really added a considerable attraction to walking in the country, because, as you walked, new distances opened out; so that you now had double, treble, and quadruple distances, doubly, trebly, and quadruply enchanting. You could go on and on, and have a whole country in a garden, or in a picture (if you preferred to call it th at). You could go on and on, but not perhaps forever. There were the M ountains in the background. They did get nearer, very slowly. They did not seem to belong to the picture, or only as a link to som ething else, a glimpse through the trees of som ething different, a further stage: another picture. Niggle walked about, but he was not merely potter­ ing. He was looking round carefully. The Tree was finished, though not finished with— “Just the other way about to what it used to be,” he thought. J. R. R. Tolkien, Leaf by Niggle

INTRODUCTION

In 1996 Christopher Tolkien published The Peoples of Middle-earth, the twelfth and final volume of his History of Middle-earth. Begun in 1983 with The Book of Lost Tales, this series gives a coherent picture, filled out by Mr. Tolkien’s extensive notes and commentary on his father’s work, of the growth and development of J. R. R. Tolkien’s invented mythology, left unorganized and unpublished at the time of his death in 1973. Including two preliminary volumes, The Sibnarillion and Unfinished Tales, the total amount of material required to be quarried out of competing and overlap­ ping drafts, sequentially organized, chronologically arranged, and edited comprises well over six thousand pages. The whole offers Tolkien’s read­ ing audience an unprecedented chance to be as it were in at the creation, as well as the opportunity to trace the development of a remarkable work of art. The genesis of the present collection of essays was a desire of the edi­ tors to give The History of Middle-earth the critical assessment it deserves, and that has perforce been kept in abeyance until the entirety of the proj­ ect was available for consideration. The publication in 1977 of The Sibnarillion deepened readers’ perception of Tolkien’s world. This volume amplified and extended material in the Appendices to The Lord of the Rings, which for thirty years had tantalized readers with glimpses of a wider cosmology, and showed us all that the story of Frodo and the Ring was in fact only one story (albeit an important one) in a wider collection of mythological and heroic tales. The publica­ tion three years later of Unfinished Tales expanded the vision still further and whetted appetites for more. The successive publication in the ensuing years of the twelve volumes of The History of Middle-earth not only satisfied those appetites but showed the immense breadth, depth, and height of Tolkien’s legendarium. As Tolkien himself once described it, the whole was to be “a body of more or less connected legend, ranging from the large and cosmogonic, to the level of romantic fairy-story.” With the appearance of each new volume in the series we learned with ever-increasing interest that the elements of this “more or less connected legend,” when laid out for our contemplation, did a number of things. They gave a picture of a world at once richer and darker than the one we thought we knew. They showed the growth of that picture as, like that of the painter Niggle in Tolkien’s own short story Leaf by Niggle, it changed and shifted, develop-

xii

INTRODUCTION

ing and expanding over the course of many years. And they showed the concomitant maturation of an artist as his own confidence in his powers of sub-creation grew and strengthened. Tolkien’s whole vision, for so long unorganized and unedited, therefore unread and unappreciated, is now set out for consideration. It is time to take the measure of his world as we now have it in the context of the editorial process that has made it available. As our idea for this volume grew, we found that our enthusiasm for the project was more than matched by those whom we invited to contribute. The book is divided into three sections, each focusing on an aspect of The History o f Middle-earth. Part I, “The History,” looks from a variety of per­ spectives at the entirety of the sequence. Rayner Unwin very kindly agreed to start us off with a general history of The History, an account of the early adventure in publishing that resulted in the sequential appearance of The Siltnarillion, Unfinished Tales, and finally o f the twelve volumes of The History o f Middle-earth. Following Mr. Unwin’s essay, Christina Scull fol­ lows som e threads in the tapestry, tracing some m ajor motifs and themes that run throughout the mythology. Wayne G. Ham mond looks at the evolution of the mythos and examines in detail the way in which Tolkien’s own ideas of the later history were pushed in different directions by competing forces. Charles E. Noad does a piece-by-piece study o f the con­ struction of the macro-mythology and offers an educated guess as to what The Silmarillion might have looked like had Tolkien ever finished it to his own satisfaction. Finally, David Bratman discusses the literary value of The History as a whole, dividing it into its major component parts and showing the part each plays. Part II, “The Languages,” is devoted entirely to study and analysis by linguists o f aspects o f Tolkien’s invented languages. Christopher Gilson explores the evolutionary relationship of the early Gnomish language to the later Sindarin with which most readers are familiar. Arden R. Smith places two of Tolkien’s invented runic writing systems in the context of historical runic systems, and Patrick Wynne and Carl F. Hostetter examine the names and features of three Elvish verse modes. Taking its title from Tolkien’s own m etaphor of the Cauldron o f Story, Part III, “The Cauldron and the Cook,” looks at Tolkien as a poet and storyteller. Joe R. Christopher’s essay begins this section with a close analysis of Tolkien’s lyric poetry. Paul Edmund Thom as’s essay on Tolkien’s nar­ rative voices focuses on changes in narrative persona and tone, in both The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings, from the vernacular voice of the story­ teller to the formal, epic voice of the bard. Verlyn Flieger traces the path laid across the legendarium by one ofTolkien’s earliest, most enduring, and

INTRODUCTION

xiii

m ost perplexing characters, the voyager and sometime frame narrator /Elfwine. John D. Rateliff considers the relationship of Tolkien’s two time­ travel stories, The Lost Road and The Notion Club Papers, to C. S. Lewis’s The Dark Tower. Marjorie Burns connects Tolkien’s invented mythos to prim ary myth by demonstrating the relationship between his Gandalf and the Odin of Norse mythology. Richard C. West looks at the ofermod, or overmastering pride, of Tolkien’s tragic hero Turin in the context of Tolkien’s own scholarly criticism. Finally, Douglas A. Anderson’s bibliography of the works of Christopher Tolkien gives the reader some idea of the breadth of Mr. Tolkien’s schol­ arship and demonstrates his eminent fitness— even apart from being his father’s son— for the m onumental task he set himself and at which he has so thoroughly succeeded. It is our hope that readers of this volume will find as much pleasure in exploring its contents as the editors and contributors have gotten from assembling them. VERLYN FLIEGER CARL F. HOSTETTER

CONVENTIONS AND ABBREVIATIONS

We follow Christopher Tolkien’s convention of using “The Silmarillion” in quotation marks to refer to Tolkien’s mythology in general, and The Silmarillion in italics to indicate the volume by that title published in 1977. We also follow his practice with respect to italicization of the titles of his father’s works. The spelling of names in Tolkien’s legendarium changed as the mythology and languages developed (e.g., Pengolod, Pengoloth, Pengolodh/Pengoloi). Rather than impose regularized forms, we have generally adhered to Tolkien’s own spelling at the various stages of this development. The following abbreviations are employed for frequently cited works by J. R. R. Tolkien. These works are not included in the list of works cited after each essay, except where some variant edition is indicated. H

The Hobbit. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1937. Fiftieth anniversary edition, Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1987.

FR

The Fellowship o f the Ring. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954. Second edition, revised impression, Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1987.

TT

The Two Towers. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954. Second edition, revised impression, Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1987.

RK

The Return o f the King. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1955. Second edition, revised impression, Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1987.

TL

Tree and Leaf. London: Unwin Books, 1964. Second (i.e., third) edition, London: Unwin Hyman, 1988; Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1989.

R

The Road Goes Ever On. Music by Donald Swann. 1967. Second, revised edition, London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1978.

5

The Silmarillion. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1977.

UT

Unfinished Tales o f Nunienor and Middle-earth. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1980.

PS

Poems and Stories. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1980; Boston: Hough­ ton M ifflin , 1994.

L

The Letters o f J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Humphrey Carpenter with the assistance o f Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin; Boston: Houghton M ifflin , 1981.

xvi MC

CONVENTIONS AND ABBREVIATIONS The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984.

LNG I Lam na-Ngoldathon: The Grammar and Lexicon of The Gnomish Tongue. Edited by Christopher Gilson, Patrick Wynne, Arden R. Smith, and Carl F. Hostetter. Parma Eldalamberon, no. 11. Walnut Creek, Calif.: 1995THE HISTORY OF MIDDLE-EARTH

I

The Book of Lost Tales, Part One. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984.

II

The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984.

Ill

The Lays of Beleriand. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1985.

IV

The Shaping of Middle-earth. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1986.

V

The Lost Road and Other Writings. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

VI

The Return of the Shadow. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988.

VII

The Treason of Isengard. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989.

VIII

The War o f the Ring. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1990.

IX

Sauron Defeated. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1992.

X

Morgoth’s Ring. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1993.

XI

The War of the Jewels. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Harper­ Collins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994.

XII

The Peoples of Middle-earth. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1996.

Works by other authors: Bio

Carpenter, Humphrey. J. R. R. Tolkien: A Biography. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1977. Published in the United States as Tolkien: A Biography. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977.

Part I The History

RAYNER UNWIN

EARLY DAYS OF ELDER DAYS

When, in the autum n of 1937, J. R. R. Tolkien offered The History o f Middle­ earth— or at least some parts of it— to his publisher it was turned down flat. The Lost Road was described as “a hopeless proposition” by Susan Dagnall (who, as much as anyone, had been responsible for “discovering” The Hobbit), and “The Geste of Beren and Liithien” was bluntly declared to be “not worth considering” by Edward Crankshaw. It was a bad start. But, as Christopher Tolkien has pointed out in one of those invaluable appendices without which no book by either of the Tolkiens can be con­ sidered complete, his father was less cast down than might have been expected, partly because of the tactful phrasing of my father’s letter of rejection, but even more so by its unintended ambiguity. My father, when he first met Tolkien soon after the publication of The Hobbit, made a note of what he thought Tolkien was going to submit. W hat in fact arrived, and was entered in the Incoming Manuscripts Ledger, was slightly different. But my father would not have analysed the discrepancies. It is very unlikely that he did more than flick the pages of the various bundles of m anuscript when they arrived before allocating them to appropriate readers— either in­ house or external. Christopher says that a fairly complete version of “The Silmarillion” was amongst the submissions, and this, therefore, m ust have been what the Manuscripts Ledger describes as “The Gnomes M aterial.” Yet in my father’s note of what was likely to arrive the “History of the Gnom es” was quite distinct from the “Volume of Fairy Stories in various styles,” of which he noted that only three or four were ready and were identified as “Sil M arillion.” Be this as it may, it is evident that no one except Susan Dagnall and Edward Crankshaw left written reports on any of the M atter of Middle-earth, and both were dismissive. “The Gnomes Material” probably never moved out of the M anuscripts Departm ent, and was returned along with the “Long Poem.” I suspect that my father, who was looking for a potential children’s story, would have glanced at “The Gnomes M aterial” and found it fairly incomprehensible. But the art of the storyteller could be detected even without serious study,

4

TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM

and it was this that my father wanted Tolkien to exploit in the sequel to The Hobbit in which he was principally interested. It was a happy chance, therefore, that in his letter of rejection he slurred the distinction between the few pages of the prose Beren and Luthien, which Crankshaw had com ­ mended, and “The Silmarillion,” which was also in prose but no one had examined with any care. Invention and originality on the scale in which Tolkien had immersed himself was a lonely business, and encouragement from outside his very small circle of sympathetic friends— even in the most general terms— could inspire confidence. I believe that, quite fortuitously, my father gave the impetus towards what was, seventeen years later, to become The Lord o f the Rings by not actively condemning the Legends of the Elder Days as they were then presented. Christopher wonders whether, if we had actually read “The Silmarillion” at that time, it might have been deemed publish­ able. I doubt it. But if it had, I doubt even more that it would have found a market. It is even more difficult to categorize than The Lord o f the Rings, and book buyers during the inter-war years were conservative about cat­ egorization. It took twenty-six years and a W orld War before The Worm Ouroboros achieved its first reprint. If “The Silmarillion” had been pub­ lished and failed to achieve immediate success, it would in all likelihood have been engulfed and forgotten during the war and have had to wait as long as Eddison’s book for gradual recognition. Against this scenario would Tolkien have felt any encouragement to start writing The Lord o f the Rings7. W ithin a year or two of the publication of The Lord of the Rings, as I well know, it was not for lack of urging that “The Silmarillion” failed to be published. I was shown from time to time the serried ranks of box files that contained, as I was told, like beads without a string, the raw material of “The Silmarillion,” and I tried to be encouraging. But by then it was too late. Christopher, by his detached, scholarly, and scrupulous work, has now shown how the complexity of the material, its ever-expanding ramifications, and a reluctance to finalise any part for fear of destabilising some other aspect, made the completion of “The Silmarillion” impossible during his father’s lifetime. The lapidification of the Elder Days was som e­ thing that, perhaps unconsciously, he could not contemplate. We owe Christopher an enormous debt for letting us share the totality of his father’s work and understand, at least a little, the m anner of its composition. The Silmarillion was obviously the first task that confronted Christopher as literary executor. Linked to the ever-growing popularity of The Lord o f the Rings the word Silmarillion had become a talisman. Few

EARLY DAYS OF ELDER DAYS

5

really knew what it consisted of, and many imagined it would be a single, continuous adventure story like The Lord o f the Rings. When Christopher drew the work together— stringing the beads into a single volume, an unobtrusive task o f great skill that has never been adequately recognised— the excitement was intense. But it was not a book for casual readers, and neither was Unfinished Tales, which followed. There were artificially high subscription sales in expectation ofsom ething entirely different, and then, after the brouhaha was over and the publisher had had his fun, both titles settled down to a m ore temperate, though generally increasing, heartbeat of sales that most living authors would envy. In the decade after J. R. R. Tolkien’s death his publisher learned an im portant truth: all books by Tolkien would continue to sell year after year, whereas books about him usually had a far shorter lease of life. After Unfinished Tales I did not believe that much more would come from the box files via the literary executor. I was quite wrong. Christopher, and probably only Christopher, knew what they contained, and believed that a true vision of M iddle-earth was incomplete if the serious pilgrim could not be guided along all the paths, and variants, and blind ends of his father’s creation. It would obviously not make easy reading, though there were always flashes of greatness, but an unflinchingly scholarly treatm ent of the palimpsests in the box files would, ultimately, provide a m uch closer understanding of the totality of his father’s vision. W hen Christopher first put this proposal forward we were talking about four volumes. Neither of us thought there would be huge sales, but much water had passed under the bridge since I had agonised about the print num bers of The Lord o f the Rings. This time we knew that the books would not be price-sensitive, that there was a hard core of potential purchasers, and even if they never reprinted they could at least expect gradually to sell out and pay their way. The tradition of the profit-sharing agreement had already been established, and Christopher was under no illusions that the work he proposed to undertake would be rewarding on a purely com m er­ cial basis. That it would be rewarding in other ways has now become self-evident. N ot four but twelve volumes have appeared at regular annual intervals. I cannot now remember how we drifted beyond the four that the contract originally laid down. It d id n ’t really matter: we trusted each other, and to my surprise reprints and paperback versions were called for; and although, as usual, literary reviewers studiously ignored The History o f Middle-earth, the sales of volume after volume were remarkably stable. A rhythm of production and publication began to develop once the layout had been

6

TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM

determined. Christopher sent in immaculate copy, and his publisher had little more to do than choose a new colour for the dust jacket. Now the work is complete and one can survey it as an astonishing achievement. Many more books by Tolkien have been published since his death than during his lifetime, and although over the years some authors have written at greater length, few if any have left behind a m ore purpose­ ful yet inchoate creative complexity than Tolkien. Equally, no other author has ever had the advantage of a literary executor with the sympathy, the scholarship, and the humility to devote half a lifetime to the task of unob­ trusively giving shape to his own father’s creativity. In effect one m an’s imaginative genius has had the benefit of two lifetimes’ work.

CHRISTINA SCULL

THE DEVELOPMENT OF TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM Some Threads in the Tapestry of Middle-earth

One of the most valuable features of The History o f Middle-earth is the view it gives us of Tolkien’s method of writing: as if we were watching over the author’s shoulder» with expert commentary. By “method of writing” I mean especially the way in which Tolkien tended to begin his texts and to revise them, but rarely to finish them — at least, in the usual sense of “finished.” Practically speaking, of course, none of the M atter of Middle­ earth was “finished” but continued to evolve, and was open to second thoughts, while Tolkien lived. His methods of working and composition, revealed in The Book o f Lost Tales, which he began circa 1916, are a good example of those that pre­ vailed throughout his life. He drafted some of the tales on loose sheets, which were then placed inside notebooks in which a revised copy had been made. On other occasions he wrote a more finished ink version over the original pencil draft. Sometimes he did not complete the reworking in ink, and only the pencil draft survives. In most cases he erased the pencil version underneath, presumably as it was superseded; sometimes he did not. Where possible in the published Book o f Lost Tales in The History of Middle-earth Christopher Tolkien has compared the draft and revised texts of the tales and found that usually they are quite close. But even small variaations are interesting, since Tolkien’s mythology tended to evolve through successive small changes rather than dramatic large ones, and in his pencil drafts for The Book of Lost Tales one can look back to the very first versions of these parts of the mythology. The desire to revise, improve, and polish was characteristic of Tolkien. His obituary in the Times of London, obviously written by someone who knew him well,1 says that “his standard of self criticism was high and the mere suggestion of publication usually set him upon a revision, in the course of which so many new ideas occurred to him that where his friends had hoped for the final text of an old work they actually got the first draft of a new one” (“Professor Tolkien,” 15). When he made typescripts with carbon copies of some of his works he might amend both original and

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carbon at different times, with no reference to the other, so that the same basic text would be developed in two differing ways. Since he did not always make a new copy when he wanted to change a text, but amended an existing m anuscript or typescript, often in successive stages, the origi­ nal might become almost unreadable and the layers of changes difficult to distinguish. W hen at work on a new phase in the writing of The Lord o f the Rings Tolkien on occasion even cannibalised the previous version of a manuscript by extracting from it (and leaving it incomplete) such pages as did not need too much changing to fit them into the new scheme. Sometimes he made draft outlines as to how the story might proceed or be changed. These were often on loose scraps of paper, or scribbled into a notebook, with no clue as to at what stage of the composition they were made. Christopher Tolkien’s task in compiling his m onum ental History of Middle-earth was not easy or straightforward; it was not a m atter of just copying typewritten or handwritten texts (many of the latter not easy to decipher), but of taking apart layers of amendments in the same text made at different times, and looking for any evidence of dating provided by different inks and papers, or changing names and ideas. Only thus could he put his father’s writings in order and explain their relationship to one another. It was an enorm ous task, complicated by the num ber and variety of the texts. Tolkien never completed The Book of Lost Tales; however, from 1920 until his death, except for long periods while he was working on The Lord o f the Rings, he continued to develop his legendarium, or parts of it, and in several formats: in alliterative verse and octosyllabic couplets; in prose ver­ sions of varying length; as a series of annals; as essays on particular topics. Only a few of these were completed, and most exist in multiple versions. In his many revisions and different versions of the legendarium Tolkien each time tended to go back to the beginning and stop before he reached the end, or returned to work on favourite stories, so that the earlier parts of the mythology, or those favoured stories, are much more developed than later or other parts. Indeed some of the events of the last years of the First Age were never written about at any length, and others exist only in early forms inconsistent with the more developed texts, or in much abridged forms. But Tolkien’s constant “niggling” with his works was not without pur­ pose or effect. Hum phrey Carpenter writes that when he wrote The Silmarillion Tolkien believed that in one sense he was writing the truth . . . that he was doing more than inventing a story. He wrote of the

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tales that make up the book: ‘They arose in my mind as “given” things, and as they came, separately, so too the links grew. An absorbing, though continuously interrupted labour (especially, even apart from the necessities of life, since the mind would wing to the other pole and spread itself on the linguistics): yet always 1 had the sense of recording what was already “there”, somewhere: not of “inventing”.’ (Bio, 91-92) To use an artistic comparison, one might compare Tolkien’s labours in finding out the “tru th ” of his legendarium to Michelangelo’s Slaves or Captives for the tom b of Pope Julius II: because they are unfinished, the artist seems to be freeing them from the marble and not carving them from it. Or we m ight use Tolkien’s own words in The Two Towers, when Gimli tells Legolas how the Dwarves would labour to reveal the beauties of the caverns of H elm ’s Deep: “We would tend these glades of flowering stone, not quarry them . W ith cautious skill, tap by tap— a small chip of rock and no more, perhaps, in a whole anxious day—so we could work, and as the years went by, we should open up new ways, and display far chambers that are still dark, glimpsed only as a void beyond fissures in the rock” (7T, 153). The general outline of the Creation and the First Age o f Middle-earth is present in Tolkien’s mythology from the beginning, but without many of the themes, motifs, and ideas gradually introduced in successive retell­ ings. These weave the various stories into an almost seamless cloth that one cannot imagine has been m ade up from previously only loosely con­ nected threads. By the early 1950s, when it reached its most developed form (before Tolkien tried seriously to introduce radical changes), almost every event in the mythology seems inevitable and has a meaning and purpose in which one feels the pattern of the Music of the Ainur, the fulfilling of the design of Eru Iluvatar. A summ ary of the climax o f the First Age in its developed form is that Earendil2 with the help of a Silmaril managed to reach Valinor and, speaking for both Men and Elves, obtained the help of the Valar against Morgoth (also known as Meiko or Melkor). Yet none of this is present in the earliest versions of the mythology. By way of illustrating the points I have made, I would like to trace the evolution o f one strand in detail, after which I will speak briefly of a few others. The legendarium began as The Book o f Lost Tales and became, after many years and alterations, “The Silmarillion.” In its earliest version the Silmarils in fact are not especially im portant. The tale of The Coming o f the Elves in The Book o f Lost Tales tells how the Noldoli fashioned many gems, and when they finally made diamonds, challenged any to make fairer. Feanor o f the Noldoli accepted this challenge and made the three Silmarils. He gath-

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ered the light of other gems, “the sheen of pearls and the faint half-colours of opals, and he [?bathed] them in phosphorescence and the radiant dew of Silpion, and but a single drop of the light of Laurelin did he let fall therein, and giving all those magic lights a body to dwell in of such perfect glass as he alone could make . . . he made a jewel . . . yet have all held who ever saw them that the Silmarils of Feanor were the most beautiful jewels that ever shone” (I, 128).3 So the Silmarils at their first appearance were no m ore than the most beautiful of many gems made by the Noldoli. This part o f the tale exists only in pencil draft and was not revised. In suc­ cessive versions o f his legendarium Tolkien gradually made the Silmarils more powerful, more significant, more fateful, even holy, and eventually he referred to the whole legendarium as “The Silmarillion.” The tales continue, and as in later versions of the mythology the Silmarils and other gems are stolen by Meiko, the evil Vala, but they are the only jewels he withholds from the payment he makes to Ungoliont for destroy­ ing the Two Trees. The tale of The Flight of the Noldoli tells how Feanor roused many of his kin to join him in pursuing Meiko “to seek the gems that are my ow n” (I, 162). Notes made by Tolkien in the manuscript show that he felt that the significance of the Silmarils should be stressed more: “Increase the element of the desire for Silmarils” and “wants a lot of revision: the [?thirst ?lust] for jewels— especially for the sacred Silmarils— wants emphasizing” (1,169). Unfortunately the story of the early deeds of the Noldoli after their return to Middle-earth is one that Tolkien never completed for The Book of Lost Tales, and we have to rely on outlines and notes for its continuation. In the outlines we are told that after the Noldoli were defeated by Meiko in battle, “then the Seven Sons of Feanor swore an oath of enmity for ever against any that should hold the Silmarils” (I, 238). We first hear that Meiko has placed the Silmarils in his crown in The Tale of Tinuviel, which we have only in its revised form, and which there­ fore is probably later than The Flight o f the Noldoli, which exists only as a draft. Here already Tolkien seems to have acted on his note that the Silmarils should have greater importance: “the fame of the Silmarils of Feanor was now great throughout the world ... and many that had escaped from Angamandi had seen them now blazing lustrous in the iron crown of Meiko. Never did this crown leave his head, and he treasured those jewels as his eyes” (11, 13). Tinwelint (later called Thingol) demands that Beren bring him one of the Silmarils as the bride-price of his daughter, Tinuviel (later also called Liithien), thinking that in this way he will get rid of an unwelcome suitor. Beren accepts the challenge, and aided by Tinuviel he succeeds in cutting one of the gems from Meiko’s crown; but while escap-

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ing, they are challenged by Karkaras, the wolf who guards Meiko’s doors. Karkaras devours Beren’s hand as well as the Silmaril it is holding. We are told: Behold now that Silmaril blazeth with a white and hidden fire of its own nature and is possessed of a fierce and holy magic—for did it not come from Valinor and the blessed realms, being fashioned with the spells of the Gods and Gnomes before evil came there; and it doth not tolerate the touch of evil flesh or of unholy hand. Now cometh it into the foul body of Karkaras, and suddenly that beast is burnt with a terrible anguish and the howling of his pain is ghastly to hear. (II, 34) Karkaras, raging in his pain, invades Tinwelint’s realm, and Beren is m or­ tally wounded in the hunt that kills the wolf, but before dying gives the recovered Silmaril to Tinwelint. The Silmaril later descends to Elwing, the granddaughter of Beren and Timiviel. Elwing weds Earendel and lives with him by the sea at the mouth of Sirion. The Tale o f Edrendel was never written, even in draft, and Christopher Tolkien had to try to work out from notes and outlines what his father intended. While Earendel is sailing the oceans Sirion is sacked, and Elwing and her Silmaril are lost when she is shipwrecked. At this stage of the w rit­ ing of the legendarium nothing is said of what became of the other two Silmarils after they were recovered from Meiko, and Tolkien himself did not know, for in an isolated note he asks that very question. Christopher Tolkien writes: “My father at this time gave no answer to the question; but the question is itself a testimony to the relatively m inor importance of the jewels of Feanor, if also, perhaps, a sign of his awareness that they would not always remain so, that in them lay a central meaning of the mythology, yet to be discovered” (II, 259). The Silmarils play no part in The Lay o f the Children of Hurin> begun circa 1918, but their significance is advanced in a brief, unfinished poem in alliterative verse, The Flight o f the Noldoli, which Tolkien probably began circa 1925 when he abandoned the Lay. The oath of Feanor and his sons is now sworn before they leave Valinor, after Feanor has made a rousing speech that links the making of the Silmarils more strongly to the Two Trees. He says that he will hunt endlessly till I find those fair ones, where the fate is hid of the folk of Elfland and their fortune locked, where alone now lies the light divine. (HI, 134)

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At the time that Feanor made this speech» the Valar had not yet fash­ ioned the Sun and the Moon from the fruit and flower of the Two Trees, so the light of the Trees was indeed only preserved in the Silmarils. In later writings Tolkien would make it clear that the Silmarils alone preserved the light of the Trees before they were poisoned by Ungoliant, and that the light of the Sun and Moon was less pure because the Trees had produced the fruit and flower from which they were made after the poisoning. Here also Tolkien introduces the idea of the Silmarils governing the fate of the Elves. Later they would govern the fate of all Arda. Since The Lay ofLeithian (1925-31) tells the story of Beren and Liithien, there are frequent mentions of the Silmarils. However, most of these do not advance their importance in the story, though they are called “the gems of fate” and later “the holy jewels three” (III, 296, 303). In the Sketch o f the Mythology (1926) Tolkien shows the growing im por­ tance and power of the Silmarils, “wherein a living fire combined in the light of the Two Trees was set, they shone of their own light, impure hands were burned by them ” (IV, 14); Morgoth lusts for the immortal gems, and when he achieves them, “he forges an iron crown and sets therein the Silmarils, though his hands are burned black by them, and he is never again free from the pain of the burning” (IV, 17). Even one of the mightiest of the Valar cannot control their power, or bear to give them up. Tolkien had now decided what happened to the Silmarils: they end up in the sea, the earth, and the air. Elwing casts herself and her Silmaril into the sea. The other two are recovered by the army sent by the Valar against M orgoth: one is stolen by Maglor, son of Feanor, but because of his evil deeds it burns him and he casts both it and himself into a pit; the Valar give the other to Earendel, and with it on his brow he sails his boat through the skies as the Evening Star, keeping watch lest M orgoth return. (In The Book of Lost Tales he also became a star, but shone not with the light of a Silmaril but with diam ond dust and from the greatness of his grief.) As Christopher Tolkien remarks, “We thus have a remarkable stage of transition, in which the Silmarils have at last achieved primary importance, but where the fate of each has not arrived at the final form; and the conclusion, seen to be inevitable once reached, that it was the Silmaril regained by Beren and Liithien that became the Evening Star, has not been achieved” (IV, 72). A prophecy is made that after the Last Battle “the Silmarils shall be recovered from sea and earth and air, and Maidros shall break them and Belaurin with their fire rekindle the Two Trees, and the great light shall come forth again, and the M ountains of Valinor shall be levelled so that it goes out over the world, and Gods and Elves and Men shall grow young

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again, and all their dead awake” (IV, 40-41). Notes associated with The Book o f Lost Tales had foretold the rekindling of the Trees, but no mention is made of any part played by the Silmarils. Now they are essential to the restoration of Arda, after the final defeat of Morgoth. In 1930 Tolkien wrote the Quenta, a reworking and expansion of the Sketch. These two were the only completed prose versions of the m ythol­ ogy. In the Quenta the importance of the Silmarils is stressed from their creation: In those far days Feanor began on a time a long and marvellous labour, and all his power and all his subtle magic he called upon, for he purposed to make a thing more fair than any of the Eldar yet had made, that should last beyond the end of all. Three jewels he made, and named them Silmarils. A living fire burned within them that was blended of the light of the Two Trees; of their own radiance they shone even in the dark; no mortal flesh impure could touch them, but was withered and was scorched. These jewels the Elves prized beyond all the works of their hands, and Manwe hallowed them, and Varda said: ‘The fate of the Elves is locked herein, and the fate of many things beside.’ (IV, 88)

In the first text of the Quenta the fates of Elwing and Earendel were not changed; but in a second text, probably written very soon after, the final version of the story is reached. When Sirion is attacked by the sons of Feanor, Elwing casts herself and her Silmaril into the sea. She is saved by Ulmo and brought to Earendel’s ship. With the aid of the Silmaril that he has bound to his brow, Earendel reaches Valinor and obtains help from the Valar against M orgoth. The Valar place his ship in the sky, and with the Silmaril he sails the heavens as a star and brings hope to M iddle-earth. But one of the Silmarils still ends in the sea: both of those recovered from M orgoth’s crown are now seized by sons o f Feanor, and in anguish from the burning are cast one into the sea and one into the earth. Another power of the Silmarils is revealed in the Later Annals o f Beleriand, from the 1930s. W hen Elwing joined the refugees at the m ouths of Sirion, the “Silmaril brought blessing upon them, and they were healed, and they multiplied” (V, 142). A title page associated with the Annals is headed “ The Silmarillion ” recognising the primary importance of the gems (109). Tolkien began a new prose version of the mythology, the Quenta Silma­ rillion) probably in the mid-i93os, and laid it aside when he started The Lord o f the Rings. One of the title sheets associated with the Quenta Silmarillion is even more assertive about the Silmarils and their preeminent position in the mythology: “The Silmarillion I The history of the Three Jewels, the

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Silmarils of Feanor, in which is told in brief the history of the Elves from their coming until the Change of the World” (V, 202). One change the Quenta Silmarillion makes is that whereas previously in the Quenta the Silmarils could not be touched by impure mortal flesh, now they are dangerous to all Men: “No mortal flesh, nor flesh unclean, could touch them, but was scorched and withered” (V, 227). Thus the fact that Beren was unharmed by the one he cut from Morgoth’s crown is made more significant. In the revision of The Lay of Leithian that Tolkien made circa 1950, the Silmaril that Beren cuts from the Crown of Morgoth is described as . . . the hope of Elvenland, the fire of Feanor, Light of Morn before the sun and moon were born, thus out of bondage came at last, from iron to mortal hand it passed. There Beren stood. The jewel he held, and its pure radiance slowly welled through flesh and bone, and turned to fire with hue of living blood. (HI. 362)

In the Annals of Aman, written at about the same time, Tolkien described the making of the Silmarils at length, but in a more metaphysical manner than the detailed ingredients of The Book of Lost Tales: In this year the Silmarils were full-wrought, the wonder of Arda. As three great jewels they were in form. But not until the End, when Feanor shall return . . . shall it be known of what substance they were made. Like the crystal of diamonds it appeared and yet was more strong than adamant, so that no violence within the walls of this world could mar it or break it. Yet that crystal was to the Silmarils but as is the body to the Children of Iluvatar: the house of its inner fire, that is within it and yet in all parts of it, and is its life. And the inner fire of the Silmarils Feanor made of the blended Light of the Trees of Valinor which lives in them yet, though the Trees have long withered and shine no more. Therefore even in the uttermost darkness the Silmarils of their own radiance shone like the Stars of Varda; and yet, as were they indeed living things, they rejoiced in light and received it, and gave it back in hues more lovely than before. . . . and Varda hallowed the Silmarils, so that thereafter no mortal flesh nor any evil or unclean thing might touch them, but it was scorched and burned with unendurable pain. (X, 94-95)

And we learn later that had Yavanna been able to bring the light of the Silmarils to the Two Trees before their roots withered, she could have

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recalled them to life despite the poison of Ungoliante. In the same work it is said that the light of the Sun and the Moon cannot recall the light of the Two Trees before they were touched by the poison of Ungoliante; that pure light now lives only in the Silmarils. Tolkien’s description of the making of the Silmarils in his reworkings of the Quenta Silmarillion in the early 1950s adds some new ideas, especially that Feanor made the Silmarils to ensure that the light of the Trees might be preserved. This text presents Tolkien’s conception of the Silmarils in its most developed form and in some of his most lucid and beautiful prose: And in that time there was done the deed most renowned of all the works of the Elvenfolk. For Feanor . . . was filled with a new thought, or maybe some shadow of foreknowledge came to him of the doom that should be; and he pondered how the Light of the Trees, the glory of the Blessed Realm might be preserved imperishable. . . . Three jewels he made, and named them Silmarils. A living fire burned within them that was blended of the Light of the Two Trees. Of their own radiance they shone, even in the dark of the deepest treasury; yet all lights that fell upon them, however faint, they received and returned again in marvellous hues to which their own inner fire gave a surpassing loveliness. No mortal flesh, nor flesh unclean, not any thing of evil will could touch them, but it was scorched and withered; neither could they be hurt or broken by any strength in all the kingdom of Arda. . . . and Varda hallowed them, and Mandos foretold that the fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within them. (X, 186-87)

The idea that the Silmarils alone preserved the pure light of the Two Trees, and that the Sun and the Moon were made after the Trees had been poisoned, had become one of the most essential threads of the mythology. But from the beginning Tolkien intended that Arda be our own world, and that his legendarium relate part of its early history. It did not worry him that, in contradiction to known facts, in his cosmology Arda was originally flat, and only became a globe after the Fall of Numenor, nor that the Sun and the Moon were fashioned from the fruit and flower of the Two Trees. However, briefly in the 1940s and again in the late 1950s and the 1960s Tolkien no longer felt it possible to have a cosmology contrary to scientific fact. But in reworking the cosmology to make Arda a round world, and the Sun and Moon in existence from the beginning, he found it hard to m aintain the position that the light of the Two Trees, and hence that of the Silmarils, was superior to that of the Sun and the Moon. He tried out vari­ ous ideas in rough, often unfinished, notes: that Varda had been entrusted with some primeval light by Eru, and used this in the creation of the Trees after the Sun and the Moon were contaminated by M orgoth; or that the Trees were kindled with the light of the Sun and the Moon before they

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were tainted (X, 369-90). He was trying with difficulty to fit the mythic and poetic elements of the legendarium that he had been developing for over forty years into a new, more realistic cosmology. However, his new ideas remained only ideas and were not fully worked out. Christopher Tolkien notes that “it seems at any rate arguable that while comm itted in m ind to the abandonm ent of the old myth of the origin of the Sun and Moon my father left in abeyance the formulation and expression of the new. It may b e . . . that he came to perceive from such experimental writing as this text that the old structure was too comprehensive, too interlocked in all its parts, indeed its roots too deep, to withstand such a devastating surgery” (X, 383). In a related thread, in The Book o f Lost Tales Earendel does not seek or obtain help in Valinor for Elves and Men beleaguered in Middle-earth by Morgoth. He is the most famous of all mariners, and reaches Valinor w ith­ out the help o f a Silmaril. There he finds the city of K6r deserted by the Elves, who had heard of the plight of their kin from birds and had already left for Middle-earth. During the 1930s the story evolved that Earendel deliberately set out to seek aid from the Valar. In the first version of the Quenta (1930) it is Ulmo who rouses the other Valar to rescue M iddle­ earth from M orgoth. Earendel sails to Valinor to bring a message to the “Gods and Elves of the West, that should move their hearts to pity on the world and the sorrows of M ankind” (IV, 149), but when he arrives the Elves have already left at Ulmo’s prompting. At the bottom of the page with this text, Tolkien wrote a note to himself: “Make Earendel move the Gods” (150-51). In the revised version Ulmo still begs the Valar to inter­ vene: “But as yet Manwe moved not. . . . The Quendi have said that the hour was not yet come, and that only one speaking in person for the cause of both Elves and Men, pleading for pardon upon their misdeeds and pity on their woes, might move the counsels of the Powers” (IV, 151). After unsuccessful attempts, at last with the aid of the Silmaril Earendel finally reaches Valinor and is greeted with the words: “Hail Earendel, star most radiant, messenger most fair! Hail thou bearer of light before the Sun and Moon, the looked-for that comest unawares, the longed-for that comest beyond hope! Hail thou splendour of the children of the world, thou slayer of the dark! Star of the sunset hail! Hail herald of the m orn!” (IV, 154). But he was able to reach Valinor only with the aid of Elwing’s Silmaril. The story of Beren and Luthien also became much more significant in later versions, since the Silmaril they recovered enabled Earendel to reach Valinor. Their love for each other became deeper in successive retellings, and seems at last foreordained in the Music of the Ainur. In its earliest

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form the story has many fairy-tale aspects, in places it is even amusing, and the love between Beren and Tiniiviel is not so deep; they only decide to make a second attem pt to gain a Silmaril when Timiviel becomes tired o f living in the woods with Beren and feels homesick. In The Lay o f Leithian and later versions Beren feels honour bound to seek the Silmaril and fulfill the task that Liithien’s father had lain on him as a condition of granting him her hand, and Luthien refuses to let him go into peril alone. In the Quenta Silmarillion it is said that Beren could not have found his way through the Girdle o f Melian “if his fate had not so decreed. Neither could he have passed the mazes that Melian [Luthien’s m other] wove about Doriath, unless she had willed it; but she foresaw many things that were hidden from the Elves” (V, 299). Indeed it would seem that she may have encouraged Beren to demand the hand of Luthien from Thingol, for it is said that “his glance went also to the face of Melian; and it seemed to him that words were put into his m outh. Fear left him ” (S, 166).4 When Melian tries to calm the wrath with which Thingol greets Beren’s demand, she says: “For not by you . . . shall Beren be slain; and far and free does his fate lead him in the end, yet it is w ound with yours. Take heed!” (S, 167). Melian is even m ore explicit in the Grey Annals (early 1950s), for when Thingol bans all Men from entering Doriath, she tells Galadriel: “Now the world runs on swiftly to great tidings. And lo! one of Men, even of Boor’s house, shall indeed come, and the Girdle of Melian shall not restrain him, for doom greater than my power shall send him; and the songs that shall spring from that coming shall endure when all M iddle-earth is changed” (XI, 50). But an im portant element of the story is also that only one who could speak for both Elves and Men could obtain aid from the Valar. From the beginning o f the mythology Earendel had been the child of a hum an father, Tuor, and an Elven m other, Idril, so Tolkien did not need to make a change here. But he did introduce foretellings of the importance of the founding and survival of Gondolin, which provided a safe haven where Earendel was born. Huor, who in the Battle of Unnum bered Tears dies guarding the retreat of Turgon, ruler o f Gondolin, first appears in the Sketch o f the Mythology, but not until the Grey Annals does Huor say to Turgon that his retreat is necessary because it is im portant that Gondolin survive a little longer: “if it stands but a little while, then out of thy house shall come the hope of Elves and Men. This I say to thee, lord, with the eyes of death; though here we part for ever, and I shall never look on thy white walls, from thee and me shall a new star arise” (XI, 76). Tuor was the posthum ous son of Huor. Even the sufferings of Hurin, who refused to tell

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Morgoth of the whereabouts of Gondolin, become meaningful, and the sad though heroic life of Turin becomes more than another story. T u rin ’s long resistance to Morgoth drew his attention and prolonged the survival of Gondolin. In O f Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin in Unfinished Tales, Ulmo says when he sends Tuor to Gondolin: “it is not for thy valour only that I send thee, but to bring into the world a hope beyond thy sight, and a light that shall pierce the darkness” (L7T, 30). Ulmo also sends T uor to Gondolin in The Book o f Lost Tales, but there all he says of Earendel, whose birth he foretells, is that “no man shall know more of the uttermost deeps, be it of the sea or of the firmament of heaven” (II, 155). I have followed the evolution of some of the main threads in Tolkien’s great tapestry in detail, and The History o f Middle-earth allows any of Tolkien’s readers who have the interest, patience, and time to do the same for many other threads. Not all will be as serious as the ones I have chosen; those who were present at the banquet at the 1987 Mythopoeic Society Conference in Milwaukee will remember Christopher Tolkien’s amusing treatment o f a thread from The Lord of the Rings: the transformations of Odo and what happened to him. NOTES

1. Humphrey Carpenter suggested (Bio, 133) that the obituary was written by C. S. Lewis, but it is not listed with Lewis’s works in recent bibliographies. It is possible that the obituary was written by Lewis but altered by someone else, since Tolkien outlived Lewis by nearly ten years. 2. Tolkien frequently altered the names of people (and places). I have used names as they appear in the texts referred to. In many cases the change in name is minor and the continuity of the character is clear, where it is not I have put the later or earlier names in brackets at the first mention of the character. 3. Laurelin and Silpion were the Two Trees that gave light to Valinor. 4. The section of the Quenta Silmarillion relating the story of Beren and Luthien was used almost unaltered in the published Silmarillion, and only differences are noted in The Lost Road and Other Writings. WORK CITED

“Professor J. R. R. Tolkien: Creator of Hobbits and Inventor of a New Mythology” [Obituary]. Times (London), 3 September 1973:15.

WAYNE G. HAMMOND

“A CONTINUING AND EVOLVING CREATION” Distractions in the Later History of Middle-earth For more than twenty years it has been known that J. R. R. Tolkien had a tendency to revise and refine his stories of M iddle-earth, and to produce multiple versions of them. He himself admitted, in two interviews in 1966, that he was “a natural niggler” and a pedant for whom “everything has to be worked out.” 1 Hum phrey Carpenter in his 1977 biography (with an undertone of disapproval, it seems to me) described Tolkien as a habitual perfectionist, an author so passionate about accuracy and with so high a standard of self-criticism that he was compelled frequently to revise and even to drastically rewrite his works, and as a consequence completed few of them: The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings were published in his life­ time, the larger “Silmarillion” mythology was not (Bio, 135, 138, 194-95). Later in 1977 Christopher Tolkien remarked in his brief foreword to The Silmarillion that the manuscripts from which that book was derived were “in truth a continuing and evolving creation extending over more than half a century”; that his father in time altered them “even in certain fun­ damental ideas concerning the nature of the world” they portray; and that he came to retell “the same legends. . . in longer and shorter forms, and in different styles” (S, 7). Well-chosen words, and scrupulously correct; yet until now one could not fully appreciate them. W ith the completion of Christopher Tolkien’s further study of his father’s manuscripts, beginning with Unfinished Tales (1980) and culminating in the twelve volumes of The History o f Middle-earth (1983-96), one can now view almost every turn of the remarkably circuitous course of composition Tolkien’s major writings followed.2 These resources, together with published letters, make it pos­ sible to see with splendid fullness that Tolkien’s tendency to revise and rewrite was not an eccentricity but one of the ways in which his particular genius worked. It is now clear that Tolkien did not write according to (in T. A. Shippey’s words) 3 a Grand Design or guiding star, excepting broad elements of plot such as the motive in The Lord of the Rings that the Ring had to be destroyed. Rather, he tended to feel his way, working out through trial

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and error the “true” story among different versions that came to mind. Indeed he sometimes felt that he was not so m uch writing stories as dis­ covering something already written. Through this process Tolkien at last “discovered” the importance of the Silmarils, and the nature of the One Ring, and that the mysterious figure at the inn at Bree was not after all a hobbit named Trotter but a man, Aragorn, who would become the King Elessar— many, in fact, of the myriad details of character and plot, land­ scape and language, that contribute to the success of Tolkien’s writings as works of art. On the other hand, his mythology grew and changed as long as he lived, and was indeed left unfinished, or at least was not put into a final coher­ ent form. Ars longa, vita brevis, though Tolkien lived to be eighty-one. In his writing he was like the painter in his story Leaf by Niggle— a significant name— who “used to spend a long time on a single leaf, trying to catch its shape, and its sheen, and the glistening of dewdrops on its edges.” His description of Niggle’s ever unfinished painting of a tree bears a strong resemblance to his own “continuing and evolving creation”: “It had begun with a leaf caught in the wind, and it became a tree; and the tree grew, sending out innumerable branches, and thrusting out the most fantastic ro o ts.. . . Niggle lost interest in his other pictures; or else he took them and tacked them on to the edges of his great picture. Soon the canvas became so large that he had to get a ladder; and he ran up and down it, putting in a touch here, and rubbing out a patch there” (TL, 75, 76). By the time he wrote Leaf by Niggle (circa 1938-39) Tolkien had developed his mythology for some twenty years. He continued to work on it for more than thirty years after that, broadening or altering its scope, and exploring different avenues of thought concerning his invented world: its languages, history, philosophy, cosmography. In all that time, Christopher Tolkien has writ­ ten, his father’s vision of Arda and Middle-earth “underwent a continual slow shifting, shedding and enlarging” (I, 7). All possibly to the good; but in the end “The Silmarillion” became too large and too complex a book for its aged and weary author to complete in a publishable form.4 It is now also clear, however, that this final dilemma was not wholly the result of a temptation to “niggle.” As Shippey has noted, it was in part forced upon Tolkien against his will (Shippey, 274)— that is, by circum ­ stances, though some were the result of his own actions. For decades his mythology was almost entirely a private affair, written, revised, or begun anew as its author wished.5 In Christopher Tolkien’s words, “he was free, being both creator and interpreter, to develop it, to devise new detail, to suppress old motives and to discover new ones” (C. Tolkien, 6). In Sep-

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tem ber 1937 this began to change, as the publication of The Hobbit set in m otion a series of events that affected Tolkien’s work on his larger cre­ ation in profound ways. The Hobbit at that time was only peripheral to the M atter of M iddle-earth, a mere tributary to the mainstream of his thoughts, which were on "The Silmarillion”: “the construction o f elaborate and consistent mythology (and two languages),” he said, “rather occupies the m ind, and the Silmarils are in my heart” (L, 26). This was written in December 1937, when his “Silmarillion” m anuscripts had just been rejected by George Allen & Unwin (as unsuitable to follow The Hobbit), at the end of a rich period of their composition. They were now set aside for a long time, and Christopher Tolkien has argued that this was a fatally destruc­ tive break (X, viii). But the public had embraced Bilbo Baggins, and Tolkien's publisher wanted another book about Hobbits. Tolkien, on his part, wanted to sat­ isfy his readers, and began work on a sequel. As shown in The Return o f the Shadow he started to write his “new H obbit” very much in the same playful children’s-story mode and with the same sort of parental narration he had used (by and large) in the earlier book. But neither was now to his liking, and The Lord o f the Rings very quickly became more elaborate and sophisticated, and darker in tone. Although it remained a sequel to The Hobbit as intended, it became also an extension o f the legendarium that remained dom inant in Tolkien's thoughts, and that served as back­ ground to The Lord o f the Rings. He wrote to his publisher in February 1950 that “The Silmarillion” had “bubbled up, infiltrated, and probably spoiled everything (that even remotely approached ‘Faery’) which I have tried to write sin ce.. . . Its shadow was deep on the later parts of The Hobbit. It has captured The Lord o f the Rings, so that that has become simply its continu­ ation and completion” (L, 136-37). Even so it was in the first instance a sequel to The Hobbit, and because the details of that book were “fixed,” in print and in the minds o f his read­ ers, Tolkien felt bound to follow them. The introduction of Frodo into The Lord o f the Rings allowed him to skirt his statement in The Hobbit that Bilbo had “remained very happy to the end of his days”— so he had, while it was his nephew who had the new adventure. But Tolkien was “driven to more and more intricate shifts to get round” (VII, 27) the story in the first edition of The Hobbit that the Ring was a “birthday present” that Gollum would willingly have given Bilbo as a prize in the riddle-game, and that Gollum peacefully showed Bilbo a way out o f the goblin tunnels. None of this was now likely, given the more sinister, lying, murderous character of Gollum and the power and possessive nature of the Ring (so much

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m ore than a device that conferred invisibility) as they had developed in the sequel. In 1947 Tolkien sent his publisher a “specimen” o f rewriting for The Hobbit in which he altered chapter 5 to suit his new conception; but having heard nothing more about it, and assuming therefore that no alteration was possible, he completed The Lord o f the Rings with the origi­ nal Hobbit in mind. The matter was not resolved until his “specimen” revision was unex­ pectedly presented to him in proof for a second edition of The Hobbit (published 1951). By good fortune it was not too late to alter The Lord o f the Rings, which was still in draft. Tolkien made up his mind “to accept the change and its consequences,” as he informed his publisher. “The thing is now old enough for me to take a fairly impartial view, and it seems to me that the revised version is in itself better, in motive and narrative— and certainly would make the sequel (if ever published) much m ore natural” (L, 141). Still he was left with two versions of a “crucial incident”: “Either the first must be regarded as washed out, a mere miswriting that ought never to have seen the light; or the story as a whole must take into account the existence of two versions and use it. The former was my original simpleminded intention, though it is a bit awkward (since the Hobbit is fairly widely known in its older form) if the literary pretence o f historicity and dependence on record is to be m aintained” (142). In the event he chose the latter solution, and introduced the brilliant idea that Bilbo’s story of gaining the Ring in the original edition o f The Hobbit was a deliberate falsehood, designed to justify his possession of the Ring, which had come to possess him. By this clever device Tolkien salvaged his earlier writing as a form of the “tru th ”; and he further supported the change to the story in his foreword to the first edition of The Lord o f the Rings (later much altered). There he noted that his “previous selection from the Red Book, The Hobbit" had been “drawn from the early chapters, composed originally by Bilbo himself. I f ‘composed’ is a just word. Bilbo was not assiduous, nor an orderly narrator, and his account is involved and discursive, and sometimes confused” (FR [1st ed.J, 7). Tolkien further revised The Hobbit for the various American and British editions of 1966, and later thought to tinker with it even more, but aban­ doned the attem pt.6 He never made the book thoroughly consistent with The Lord of the Rings: Gandalf, for example, who in the latter work is learned in rune lore, in The Hobbit cannot read the runes on the swords found in the troll cave. “Though no one expects consistency between the two [works] to be exact,” Tolkien wrote in 1965, “it is a pity that some pas­ sages in [The Hobbit]"— which through its sequel had been brought into

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the larger mythology— “should be completely impossible in [The Lord of the Rings]” (Ham m ond, 38). He clearly wished for a better alignment, and one suspects that his very accommodating publishers would have allowed him to “niggle” The Hobbit until he achieved it. But the book would have lost much of its original charm if it had undergone too great a revision. It was not entirely “fixed,” in that Tolkien was willing to make changes; on the other hand, he seems to have known that to do too much to it would make it no longer the work he had created years earlier, for his children. And it is probably significant that it was, in fact, a book for children, who will generally accept much that is inconsistent in a story, as long as the story is entertaining. The Lord o f the Rings was a very different matter. It was not written for children, after its earliest workings; and it was written to be published, whereas The Hobbit had been meant for a private audience and only by chance had come to the attention of the world. The History o f Middle-earth shows in detail the remarkable pains that Tolkien took to make The Lord of the Rings as good, as consistent, as correct as he possibly could, for the sake of readers he did not know but could only anticipate. It says a great deal about his character that he assumed such a significant burden of responsi­ bility not only to those who had read and liked The Hobbit, but even more so to a public he could not be sure would exist, for a much longer and darker book that might never be printed. His published letters show that he was very appreciative whenever some­ one liked what he wrote, and was eager to oblige fans who asked him questions about what they had read. His own daughter, he wrote to his publisher in October 1937, after The Hobbit had appeared, “would like something on the Took family. One reader wants fuller details about Gandalf and the Necromancer” (L, 24). Tolkien was able to satisfy both requests in The Lord o f the Rings. After that book was published, in 1954-55, he found himself overwhelmed by queries. In April 1956 he remarked to a correspondent that many of the readers of The Lord o f the Rings “demand maps, others wish for geological indications rather than places; many want Elvish grammars, phonologies, and specimens; some want metrics and prosodies.. . . Musicians want tunes, and musical notation; archaeologists want ceramics and metallurgy. Botanists want a more accurate description of the mallorn [et al.] . . . ; and historians want more details about the social and political structure of Gondor; general enquirers want informa­ tion about the W ainriders, the Harad, Dwarvish origins, the Dead Men, the Beornings, and the missing two wizards (out of five).” He planned to write a “specialist volume” (£, 247) to meet his readers’ demands— “a big

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volume, even if I attend only to the things revealed to my limited under­ standing!” (L, 248). It never appeared as a separate book; instead some new information was included in the revised appendices to The Lord o f the Rings in the edition of 1965. Tolkien tried to accommodate requests for more information about Middle-earth, but it was impossible to respond to them all. He did not retire from his Oxford professorship until 1959, there were academic works he was expected to finish, and especially “The Silmarillion” was now urgently wanted by his publisher. M ore than just a successor (or “prequel”) to The Lord o f the Rings, it was the essential remaining part of the “Saga of the Three Jewels and the Rings of Power,” as Tolkien once described it (1,138). Although The Lord o f the Rings had appeared first, the two works were one in his mind, divided only by the necessities o f publication. But the presentation of “The Silmarillion” needed “a lot of work,” he noted, “and I work so slowly. The legends have to be worked over . .. and made consistent; and they have to be integrated with [ The Lord o f the Rings]; and they have to be given some progressive shape” (L, 333). The latter book, like The Hobbit before, was now “fixed” in print, and Tolkien felt obliged to adhere to what he had written, though his imagination sometimes strayed, and now and then he forgot small details. An example o f this is related in The Peoples o f Middle-earth, in which Tolkien, after elaborating on the ele­ m ent -ros in the name Elros, suddenly realized that m ost of this late text failed because he had already established a different etymology of -ros in the name Cair Andros, explained in Appendix A of The Lord o f the Rings (XII, 367-71). However it was not simply a m atter of returning to his old legends of Beren, Turin, and so forth, and making them consistent with each other and with work he had already published. In the process of writing The Lord o f the Rings, and subsequently, new legends and forms of legends sprang to m ind, and offshoots that extended the background history of The Lord of the Rings or clarified aspects of the story only sketched in the published text. The book was a powerful catalyst for further storytelling, some of which went in unforeseen directions, sometimes to dead ends, sometimes back to The Lord o f the Rings, which Tolkien continued to revise and enlarge, at least for his private satisfaction. He became interested in the further history of Gondor and Rohan, for example, and in details of Sauron’s hunt for the lost Ring, finally published in Unfinished Tales. Most notable of all, he added to the mythology the im portant character of Galadriel, writing backwards in invented history from her introduction in The Lord o f the Rings. But although Tolkien continually worked at it, in the

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end this “prim ary strand in the history of M iddle-earth,” in Christopher Tolkien’s words, never received a settled definition, let alone a final written form. The inclusion of the unpublished narratives and sketches of narrative on this subject [in Unfinished Tales] therefore entails at once the acceptance of the history not as a fixed, independently-existing reality which the author ‘reports’ (in his ‘persona’ as translator and redactor), but as a growing and shifting conception in his mind. When the author has ceased to publish his works himself, after subjecting them to his own detailed criticism and comparison, the further knowledge of Middle-earth to be found in his unpublished writings will often conflict with what is already ‘known’. (UT, 3) Elsewhere Christopher Tolkien has observed that as his father’s life went on he became detached from his oldest legends. He could now study them, as if he had discovered rather than invented them; and as he did so his mythology and poetry “sank down behind his theological and philosophi­ cal preoccupations: from which arose incompatibilities of tone” (S, 7). As one can see in his published letters, the questions Tolkien received from readers, especially about The Lord of the Rings, inspired much of this thought. No doubt the knowledge that so many people cared so deeply about his creation, even regarded it as if it were real history and geography, encouraged even more his already strong natural tendency towards perfec­ tion and consistency. The am ount of thought and new detail he put into some of his replies to queries is astounding. His letter of 14 October 1958 to Rhona Beare (L, 278-84), for example, deals with, in turn, the distinc­ tion of O versus A in the phrase Gilthoniel O Elbereth-, the meaning of that phrase, and of other Elvish words; his error in using the word bridle when he should have written headstall, with regard to the equipment of Glorfindel’s horse; the meaning of Sauron’s Ring, and his defeat in the Akallabeth; the colors and missions of the five wizards; details of clothing of various peoples of Middle-earth, with a drawing of a Niimendrean crown, and further discourse on Elvish words; the semiscientific, but also m ytho­ logical, nature of the W itch-king’s flying steed; the names and natures of Manwe and Varda (or Elbereth) among the Valar; and finally, the nature of his writings, as “an imaginative invention, to express, in the only way I can, some of my (dim) apprehensions of the world” (283). What enthusiasts today would give to be able still to write to Tolkien, and even m ore to receive such a lengthy and well-considered reply. But even the creator of Middle-earth adm itted (at the beginning of the afore­ mentioned letter), “I do not ‘know all the answers’. Much of my own book

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[The Lord o f the Kings] puzzles me; & in any case much of it was written so long ago (anything up to 20 years) that I read it now as if it were from a strange hand” (1, 278). He was of two minds about the game he was play­ ing with his work, treating it as “real,” which his readers often seemed to enjoy even more than he. He wrote to his publisher in 1955, while strug­ gling to complete the appendices to The Lord of the Rings: “I am not now at all sure that the tendency to treat the whole thing as a kind of vast game is really good— cert, not for me, who find that kind of thing only too fatally attractive. It is, I suppose, a tribute to the curious effect that story has, when based on very elaborate and detailed workings of geography, chronology, and language, that so many should clam our for sheer ‘infor­ m ation’, or ‘lore’” (L, 210). Yet he was himself caught up in the “game,” sometimes to an extent that might have been fatal to his work. He left parts of “The Silmarillion” untouched, or scarcely revised, while in other respects he expanded his mythology, for example the story of Hurin. Also, as readers of Morgoth’s Ring were shocked to learn, Tolkien thought to introduce major, even potentially destructive conflicts into his legendarium. In his later years, Christopher Tolkien wrote of his father, he became absorbed in “analytic speculation” concerning the “underlying postulates” of his invented world, now partly unveiled in The Lord o f the Rings. But “before he could prepare a new and final Silmarillion” he felt that “he must satisfy the requirements of a coherent theological and metaphysical system, rendered now more complex in its presentation by the supposition of obscure and conflicting elements in its roots and its tradition” (X, viii). As early as the mid- to late 1940s Tolkien attempted to “demythologize” his story of the origin of the Sun and the M oon, and of the shape of the Earth, and change it into one in accord with known science. This would have rejected the “Flat Earth” ver­ sion of his Ainulindale, which had stood for many years, in favor of a world round from the beginning. One cannot make too many claims for direct influence on Tolkien by his readers; however in this instance it seems that his friend Katherine Farrer achieved it, by declaring that she liked the “Flat Earth” version better. “The hope of Heaven is the only thing which makes m odern astronomy tolerable,” she said; “otherwise there must be an East and a West and Walls: aims and choices and not an endless circle of wandering” (X, 6).7 Farrer’s astute observation seems to have convinced Tolkien to set aside this radical change in his mythology, though it later returned to his thoughts and he attempted it once more. We look at these attempts and are shocked because, of course, we have read the published Silmarillion, in which Christopher Tolkien rejected the

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change. (As one enthusiast remarked, there are Tolkien’s latest thoughts, his best thoughts, and his published thoughts, and these are not necessarily the same.) 8 Tolkien was quoted in an interview in 1963 as declaring that “you can’t expect people to believe in a flat earth any m ore” (Curtis, 16), and in one of his texts he wrote of “the astronomically absurd business of the making of the Sun and M oon” (X, 370). It is clear, Christopher Tolkien states, that his father “had come to believe that the art of the ‘Sub-creator’ cannot, or should not attem pt to, extend to the ‘mythical’ revelation of a conception of the shape of the Earth and the origin of the lights of heaven that runs counter to the known physical truths of his own days. . . . And this opinion is rendered more complex and difficult of discussion by the rise in importance of the Eldarin ‘loremasters’ of Aman, whose intellectual attainm ents and knowledge m ust preclude any idea that a ‘false’ astron­ omy could have prevailed am ong them.” Christopher concludes that his father “was devising— from within it— a fearful weapon against his own creation” (X, 371). Indeed this would have had a deadly effect on the whole of the mythology, because it went to the elements at its heart: the Two Trees, and the Silmarils that captured their light. In the end the changes were left in abeyance. Christopher Tolkien suggests that his father may have come to perceive that “the old structure” of his mythology “was too comprehensive, too interlocked in all its parts, indeed its roots too deep, to withstand such a devastating surgery” (X, 383). Tolkien’s difficulty» which increased as the years passed, was that he was pulled in two directions by competing forces: by Mythology on one side, and by History and Science on the other. He appreciated the power of Myth, as few others in our time have done. His analysis of it in On FairyStories is brief but seminal. But he was also a child of his time, and from his youth delighted in natural sciences such as botany and astronomy, and by training as a philologist knew the value of logic and fact. These are difficult forces to assimilate without conflict. Yet it can be done— Tolkien did it— so long as one does not lose sight of the purpose of Mythology, or Fantasy, as Tolkien seems to have done when he considered such drastic changes to his legendarium. In his essay On Fairy-Stories he observed that “probably every writer making a secondary world, a fantasy, every sub­ creator, wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it. If he indeed achieves a quality that can fairly be described by the dictionary definition: ‘inner consistency of reality’, it is difficult to conceive how this can be, if the work does not in some way partake o f reality. The peculiar

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quality of the ‘joy’ in successful Fantasy can thus be explained as a sudden glimpse o f the underlying reality or truth” (TL, 64). But Reality m ust not intrude too strongly, and Myth can be more powerful than Fact. I am inclined to feel that Tolkien, in his last internal debates over his writings, understood that his “old” mythology was a m ore successful construction than his later conception. The changes he contemplated in fact presented very difficult problems, in that they required additional, substantive changes to legends later in the sequence. Tolkien finally could not have all that he wanted. As Christopher Tolkien warned in his foreword to The Silmarillion, “a complete consistency (either within the compass of The Sibnarillion itself or between The Silmarillion and other published writings o f my father’s) is not to be looked for, and could only be achieved, if at all, at heavy and needless cost.” Indeed, Christopher adds, his father had come to see this work as “a compilation, a compendious narrative, made long afterwards from sources of great diversity (poems, and annals, and oral tales) that had survived in agelong tradition” (S, 8), in which a certain am ount of inconsistency m ight be allowed, even expected. This is by far the best way to view the legendarium, indeed no different from the way we should view any collection of stories, even “historical” ones, from our own reality, in which fact and fiction, logic and legend are more closely intertwined than we tend to acknowledge. It is for this reason that one finds the desire of some Tolkien enthusiasts for definitive answers, no contradictions, and absolute consistency in his works so distressing. We do not always have definitive answers to ques­ tions in our own world, not even in Science, still less in History. It is possible to have them in a fictional setting; but then, how “real” would it seem to us, how “natural”? From an artistic point of view, would it be good fiction? “Real” myths and legends, and the best storytelling, do not tell all, but leave something to the imagination. Thus Tolkien, a master storyteller, rightly left Tom Bombadil an “enigma” and kept Sauron in The Lord o f the Rings unseen except as a roving eye, or a shadow upon his m in­ ions and his deeds. In a late letter Tolkien himself noted that “it is better not to state everything (and indeed it is more realistic, since in chronicles and accounts o f ‘real’ history, many facts that some enquirer would like to know are omitted, and the truth has to be discovered or guessed from such evidence as there is)” (L, 354).

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NOTES

1. The first statement was first (and most fully) quoted in Castell, 146; the second was first published in Cater, 61, from an interview conducted in 1966. 2. Excepting only The Hobbit, whose history is to be written separately by Mr. John D. Rateliff. 3. Shippey, 260; and chapter 9 generally. 4. Cf. statements by Christopher Tolkien in J. R. R. T : A Film Portrait. 5. In September 1965 Tolkien remarked that so far only three persons, apart from his immediate family, had read “all of a considerable part of my ‘mythology’ of the First and Second Ages” (L, 361). 6. As revealed by Christopher Tolkien at the 1987 Mythopoeic Society Conference in Milwaukee. 7. Written ?October 1948. 8. Here I am paraphrasing Mr. Jeremy Marshall, from a post to the Tolkien Internet listserv, 12 May 1995. This post, titled “Re: Ainur, Canon,” is archived at: http://www.lstud.ii.uib.no/~s674/alt/tolkien/bjornts/archives/log95o5. WORKS CITED

Castell, Daphne. “The Realms of Tolkien.” New Worlds 50 (November 1966): 143-54. Cater, William. “The Filial Duty of Christopher Tolkien.” Sunday Times Magazine (London), 25 September 1977. Curtis, Anthony. “Hobbits and Heroes.” Sunday Telegraph. 10 November 1963. H am m ond, Wayne G., with the assistance o f Douglas A. Anderson. J. R. R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography. Winchester: St Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Books, 1993. J. R. R. T : A Film Portrait o f J. R. R. Tolkien. Visual Corporation, 1992 (released 1996)Shippey, T. A. The Road to Middle-Earth. Second edition. London: Grafton, 1992. Tolkien, Christopher. The Silmarillion [by] J. R. R. Tolkien: A Brief Account of the Book and Its Making. [Boston]: Houghton Mifflin, 1977.

CHARLES E. NOAD

ON THE CONSTRUCTION OF “THE SILMARILLION”

“The Silmarillion”— the saga of the three great Jewels wrought by Feanor in ancient time, the epic of the First Age of the World, the mighty matter of the Elder Days— was the main current of J. R. R. Tolkien’s creative endea­ vours during a long life. He began it as a young man during the Great War, and was still working on it, leaving it in an incomplete and, as we now know, fairly inchoate state, when he died. I propose to look at one aspect of the matter: that of the textual subunits of which the book might have been composed had Tolkien ever brought it to completion. The Silmarillion published in 1977 consisted of two shorter preliminary pieces, the Ainulindale and the Valaquenta, followed by the Quenta Silma­ rillion, or “Silmarillion proper” as its editor, Christopher Tolkien, termed it (S, 8), ending with two independent pieces, the Akallabeth and O f the Rings o f Power and the Third Age. Now the Quenta is indeed “The Silmarillion” proper, and in the published version it was made to carry the whole burden of the narrative. But even in his foreword, Christopher Tolkien indicated an underlying textual complexity at which the published version did not hint: The same legends came to be retold in longer and shorter forms, and in different styles. . . . My father came to conceive The Silmarillion as a compilation, a compendious narrative, made long afterwards from sources of great diversity (poems, and annals, and oral tales) that had survived in agelong tradition; and this conception has indeed its parallel in the actual history of the book, for a great deal of earlier prose and poetry does underlie it, and it is to some extent a compendium in fact and not only in theory. (S, 7-8) Elsewhere he observed that by the time of his father’s death, the huge quantity of material on the Three Ages varied in content “from heroic verse in the ancient English alliterative meter to severe historical analysis of his own extremely difficult languages: a vast repository and labyrinth of story, of poetry, of philosophy, and of philology” (C. Tolkien, 6). The decision to produce a version edited into a single, finished narrative form,

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rather than the bulky, scholarly volume tracing the detailed evolution of the work that had been considered, resulted in the Quenta Silmarillion car­ rying the major textual burden, with no other complexities being allowed to surface. With the publication of Unfinished Tales, readers got an inkling of the complexity of the constituent writings, an appreciation deepened by The History o f Middle-earth, which explored their evolution in unprecedented detail. That appreciation has prom pted the present inquiry. So much of the revealed material consists not just of earlier, abandoned versions of already known “Silmarillion” material, but of writings—some in a finished state, many not— that are of the greatest interest in understanding Tolkien’s cre­ ation. These are not simply straightforward narratives of various kinds but take the form of distinct texts presented as the works o f ancient authors or compilers concerning even older historical or legendary matter, usually given titles of their own to reflect this status. Perhaps the main reason behind this kind of approach to literary cre­ ativity lies in Tolkien’s professional concern with real texts, for instance, Beowulf, Sir Gawain, and Pearl. He was concerned not simply to produce tales and narratives in themselves, but to produce the distinctive texts that contain those narratives and chronicles, texts that are in themselves his­ torical artefacts. He may have never finished “The Silmarillion” because he judged the texts of which it was composed with the same scholarly dis­ cipline he brought to real texts, and found himself a stern judge, one very hard to please. The principal fictional works that he managed to finish and publish in his lifetime, The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings, were not themselves conceived as texts per se: they were simply narratives, their author free of the constraints that producing texts seemed to impose. That they were explained as being based on extracts from the “Red Book of W estmarch” does not detract from that interpretation. The point is that, to Tolkien, the nature of “The Silmarillion” was highly distinctive: an assemblage of texts, each with its own history and provenance, and, by implication, a relation­ ship between the world in which it is a text and the world of which the text itself speaks. A major element of the problem of what might have been produced had Tolkien completed “The Silmarillion” to his satisfaction lies in the question of what textual units the book as a whole would have comprised. A finished “Silmarillion” would contain the Ainulindale, the Valaquenta, and the Quenta Silmarillion itself. But what of those other texts that either split off from the Quenta or grew independently— such as The Lay of

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the Children o f Hiirin, The Lay o f Leithian, the Ambarkanta, the Annals of Valinor and of Beleriand in their various forms, the Athrabeth, the unfinished revision of The Fall o f Gondolin, and the Narn (with the rest of the Turin material)? This enquiry will attempt to establish which texts properly belong in “The Silmarillion,” as well as to examine the factors that have a bearing on the status of those texts within the context of the mythology they seek to define. TOWARDS THE COUNCIL OF LONDON

On November 25,1911, J. R. R. Tolkien, then a first-year undergraduate at Oxford University, signed out C. N. E. Eliot’s A Finnish Grammar from Exeter College Library (Priestman, 24). This had profound consequences: it enabled him to read the Finnish national epic, the Kalevala, in the origi­ nal language, leading him to a deeper appreciation of the linkages between language and mythology; and this reading engendered the desire for som e­ thing similar to the Kalevala for England. Having first encountered the Kalevala in English, he wanted to be able to read it in its original language; but even in English it affected him: “I was immensely attracted by som e­ thing in the air of the Kalevala, even in Kirby’s poor translation” (£, 214). The Finnish gram m ar enabled him to get something of the linguistic feel of the work. Primarily, it impressed him as the expression of a national mythology: “These mythological ballads are full of that very primitive undergrowth that the literature of Europe has on the whole been steadily cutting and reducing for many centuries,” he told a college society at the time, adding, “I would that we had more of it left— something of the same sort that belonged to the English” (Bio, 59). He was much taken with the language itself: “It quite intoxicated m e,” he recalled later, “and I gave up the attempt to invent an ‘unrecorded’ Germanic language, and my ‘own language’— or series of invented lan­ guages— became heavily Finnicized in phonetic pattern and structure” (L, 214). Reading the Kalevala in Finnish helped to focus Tolkien’s mind on myth per se, but especially with reference to the mythologies of Europe. Given the “intoxication” he felt with the original, he may have reflected on how it was that such “mythological undergrowth” was so aptly expressed in its native language, as though the aesthetic of the one meshed with that of the other: “Finnish . . . provided a glimpse of an entirely different m yth­ ological world” (L, 345). Another effect of reading the Kalevala was to show how closely linguis­ tics and mythology ran together, although it was not until some two years

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had passed that Tolkien came fully to understand the connection: “It was just as the 1914 War burst upon me that 1 made the discovery that ‘leg­ ends’ depend on the language to which they belong; but a living language depends equally on the ‘legends’ which it conveys by tradition. . . . So though being a philologist by nature and trade . . . I began with language» I found myself involved in inventing ‘legends’ of the same ‘taste’” (L, 231). Language and legend» then» had occupied much of his imaginative and intellectual landscape since childhood and early youth. As he remarked in his 1951 account of his mythology for Milton W aldm anr“Many children make up, or begin to make up, imaginary languages. I have been at it since I could write. . . . But an equally basic passion of mine ab initio was for myth (not allegory!) and for fairy-story, and above all for heroic legend on the brink of fairy-tale and history” (£, 143-44). Still later he recalled: “1 began the construction of languages in early boyhood. . . . But I was also interested in traditional tales (especially those concerning dragons)” (L, 345)Tolkien’s involvement with fairy tales, again, goes back to childhood. The first great impression made on him was the G rim m s’ The Juniper Tree, whose beauty and horror remained with him throughout his life, yet whose chief flavour was one of “distance and a great abyss of tim e” (TL, 32). His attempt to write a story, involving a “green great” dragon, took place at about the age of seven, when he started to compose one based on the tale of Sigurd and the dragon Fdfnir. He didn’t continue with it, and wrote no more such tales for many years; but he “desired dragons with a profound desire” (Bio, 23; TL, 40). At King Edward’s School he came into contact with Beowulf, Pearl, and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight in their original tongues. And in his last year at school, he encountered the Kalevala in W. H. Kirby’s translation (Bio, 46, 49). The immediate consequences were twofold: (i) he abandoned his “neo­ Gothic” for an invented language that had much more to do with Finnish; (ii) he began an attempt to turn one of the stories of the Kalevala, the tale of Kullervo, “into a short story somewhat on the lines of M orris’ romances with chunks of poetry in between” (L, 7). The dating of this exercise is unclear. He later thought he began it “in the H onour Mods period” (L, 214). Since his Honour M oderations began at the end of February 1913 (Bio, 62), his belief that the period when he started this piece of writing was “1912 to 1913” (L, 215) is borne out. And yet he was still working on the tale in October 1914 (L, 7). Plainly this was an undertaking of some moment. He later considered that this effort was “the beginning of the legendarium” (L, 214), and the “germ of

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my attem pt to write legends of my own to fit my private languages” (L, 345). Insofar as Kullervo served as the germ for Turin, this was in one sense the beginning of the legendarium, but only as a model for future work (Bio, 96; L, 150). It is not claimed that Tolkien’s “Kullervo” itself incorporated any invented languages, although it is difficult to be certain as no part of it has been published. In any case, given the time that Tolkien spent on it, it was useful practice for future work. Also at this time he began to study the Poetic and Prose Eddas. Tolkien had produced several poems of various degrees of seriousness from about 1910 (Bio, 47). It is notable that it is in the poetry that we find the first datable piece of creative writing especially about the mythology, The Shores o f Faery, written July 8-9,1915. Its earliest version began: “West of the M oon, East of the Sun / There stands a lonely hill.” (The date is pos­ sibly two m onths later than when it was actually written, since he painted a picture entitled The Shores o f Faery, illustrative of the poem, that he dated “May 10 1915” [Hammond and Scull, 47].) In a later note Tolkien described it as the “First poem of my mythology” (II, 271). Up to this point some of his poems had been about “fairy-folk” or the like, but none was part of a structured mythology; but by now Earendel had made his entrance. Tolkien had begun to respond with greater acuity and sensitivity to the linguistic as well as to the purely imaginative aspects of the ancient English and northern writings he encountered. In late 1913 or early 1914 he read the Old English poem, Crist, and “felt a curious thrill” when he read Eala Earendel engla beorhtast o f er middangeard monnum sended.

“There was something very rem ote and strange and beautiful behind those words, if I could grasp it, far beyond ancient English” (Bio, 64). This was Tolkien speaking in the person of “Lowdham” in The Notion Club Papers of 1945-46; he goes on to say that “it may derive its curiously moving qual­ ity from some older world” (IX, 236). Thus it was that in September 1914 he wrote “The Voyage of Earendel the Evening Star,” which began “Earendel sprang up from the Ocean’s cup I In the gloom of the mid-world’s rim ” (II, 268). This is still not quite mythological: it reflects no structured leg­ endarium, and the descriptions are general: not even mentions of the “Ship of the M oon,” the “Haven of the Sun,” and “W esterland” make it so. At this stage, Earendel is no part of an existing mythology. When Tolkien showed the verses to G. B. Smith, Smith asked him what they were really about, to which he replied: “I don’t know. I’ll try to find out” (Bio, 75).

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And m uch later he remarked that Earendel had been “adopted” into his mythology ( 1 ,385). The Bidding o f the Minstrel, about Earendel, written in the winter of 1914, does not reflect a developed mythology, and seems more an exercise in lyrical expression (II, 269). However, on one o f the sheets associated with the early workings of the poem is a rough account of Earendel’s w ander­ ings that, in its earliest version and omitting later additions, shows some development of his history. This is mostly set in our world, with Earendel wandering by Iceland, Greenland, and the Mediterranean or Atlantic, but also stranger places— “The home of Night. The Spider. He escapes from the meshes of Night with a few comrades”— all indicating that a story was in the process of forming around him (II, 261). One feels that Tolkien was groping for a synthesis of existing ideas. Kor, of April 1915, is a lyrical exer­ cise, although the situation described corresponds with part of the history of the Elves as later defined (1,136). A painting of about this time, Tanaqui, reflects the description in this poem (Ham m ond and Scull, 47). But it is The Shores o f Faery that shows the first glimmerings of a structured mythology. This is not simply an exercise in lyrical beauty or description of a vision; its references to Taniquetil, Valinor, and Eglamar reflect an organised history and geography. Tolkien rightly called it the “First poem of my mythology” (II, 271). Poems still to come had more to do with lyrics about fairy-folk, but some also began to reflect an origi­ nal mythology. Tolkien’s note to The Shores o f Faery continues: “Valinor [?thought of about] 1910.” Although Valinor has not been m entioned before, it must have been present in some form, if not by that name, in Tolkien’s mind from 1910, the year he started to write poetry. This con­ cept seems to have formed a distinct thread, one to which Earendel was linked at quite an early stage: it was to The Shores o f Faery that Tolkien attached his note referring to his thoughts on Valinor as having begun in 1910, thereby implying a linkage of a kind. Since the first piece of writing to reflect a coherent mythology, The Shores o f Faery, goes back to July (or May) 1915, is it possible to date with any m ore accuracy the initial formulation of the invented mythology? Given that it almost certainly did not spring fully formed from Tolkien’s head, and given also that many of the relevant notes in both volumes of The Book o f Lost Tales are impossible to date with much accuracy, it might be useful to ask instead, W hen did the idea of constructing a mythology first occur to Tolkien? In the absence of more definitive data, we must look to the meeting of the “T. C. B. S.”—Tolkien, Christopher Wiseman, R. Q. Gilson, and G. B. Smith— at W iseman’s family’s house in London in the

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Christmas vacation o f 1914, the “Council of London” as Tolkien shortly after called it. In a letter to Smith of 12 August 1916, he wrote: “I cannot abandon yet the hope and ambitions (inchoate and cloudy I know) that first became conscious at the Council of London. That Council was as you know followed in my own case with my finding a voice for all kinds of pent up things and a trem endous opening up of everything for m e” (L, 10). It may have been at this meeting that the idea of a mythology for England became a conscious ambition» with the results that the tale o f Kullervo was abandoned (if it had not already been) and the shape of a reinvented mythology became the object of immediate concern. It was a time for the drawing together of the threads that had existed in (more or less) isola­ tion until then. The m atter of Earendel had to be fitted in, for it was this that hinted at a real link with “something very remote and strange and beautiful . . . far beyond ancient English.” The Kalevala had provided the inspiration, but Earendel had pointed to a connection. It may be that this was a project conceived not for Tolkien only, but for the T. C. B. S. as a whole; but Smith and Gilson did not survive the Somme and only Tolkien could take on the task subsequently. Carpenter notes that Tolkien decided after the Council of London that he was a poet (Bio, 73). Certainly he produced a good deal of verse after 1914; but poetry as such plays a minor though not unim portant part in his creative oeuvre. As for language, given his understanding of the connection between language and myth, it was natural that he should seek to find a place for it— espe­ cially for its speakers— in the invented mythology. Thus, the first half of 1915 saw a coalescence of all the previously separate strands, and the attem pt to make of them one consistent whole. The problem was not just one of content: there was the form in which it should be presented. Since the material was mythical and legendary, it had to be presented in something like the form that such material usually takes; and Tolkien was by now familiar with such things: the Kalevala, the Poetic Edda, the Prose Edda. Beowulf. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Pearl, the Volsungasaga. and so on. These have survived more or less intact from antiquity or else incorporate ancient material, even if only relatively recently compiled. But it is not just their antiquity that distinguishes them (three-thousand-year-old financial accounts are still financial accounts), but their literary and poetic character. Tolkien’s mythology had to reflect the form of ancient epic transmitted over long periods of time. This typi­ cally involves a fixed text transmitted through time by being repeatedly copied; and it was as such a text or texts that Tolkien wanted to present his mythology.

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He had been writing the tale of Kullervo in a mixed prose-and-poetry style influenced by William Morris. The form chosen for the mythology bore some resemblance to Morris’s The Earthly Paradise, wherein a party of sailors, having sailed the seas for long years, at last find harbour in a new land, where they are told various myths and legends (Bio, 90). This is all in verse, whereas Tolkien was to write in prose. The initial form taken by the mythology involved the fifth-century m ariner Eriol’s sailing west from the middle part of the Danish peninsula (the original home of the English) to the Elvish Isle of Tol Eressea. There he is told tales of its fairy inhab­ itants. He writes them all up under the general title of The Book o f Lost Tales, which can be regarded as another Old English text. Conceivably Tolkien contemplated producing a version in Old English once it was completed (and small sections of the later writings he did indeed put into Old English), but that is to get ahead of ourselves. At some period follow­ ing the Council of London he was in a position to have a good idea of both the form and the content of his invented mythology. LOST TALES AND AFTER

The Book o f Lost Tales was not written in sequential order; rather, the individual “lost tales” told to Eriol were put on paper to the extent that Tolkien had them established in his m ind and could bring them to coher­ ent form. The first was The Fall of Gondolin, some time in late 1916 (L, 215). Notably, it is the final parts of The Book o f Lost Tales that appear to have caused the most difficulties and that remained in the form o f notes and outlines without achieving the stature of tales told. These dealt with the fates of Earendel and Eriol. The tale of Earendel never became a finished prose piece; and the fate of Eriol and his book is bound up with the prob­ lem of closure: how the events of the mythology are resolved; how the mythology itself evolves into history; and how it is transmitted to that later history by its original writer. The most definitive form of this latter set of concerns is the outline in what Christopher Tolkien terms Notebook C; but an outline it remained. We shall continue to see how these problems are treated in subsequent texts. Since the title assigned to a text reveals its author’s intention, we may note that the most complete title of this collection was “The Golden Book o f Heorrenda / being the book of the Tales of Tavrobel” (II, 290). Here, Heorrenda is a son of Eriol, but since Tolkien eventually decided that Eriol survived after all to complete his book, we may as well substitute his name in the title. Tavrobel is Great Haywood, since at this stage Tol Eressea even-

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tually becomes the island o f Britain after it is dragged back to the Great Lands for the Faring Forth. Thus the mythology stood, uncompleted, at some time in the early 1920s, with Britain occupying a central place in it. Concurrently with The Book o f Lost Tales, Tolkien continued to work on his two major invented languages, and he had gone so far as to com ­ pose lexicons for them . That for Qenya was begun in 1915, and that for Goldogrin, or Gnom ish, in 1917. These, too, appear to have at some stage been considered to be texts composed by Eriol, as the title page at least of the latter attributes it to him. The “Gnomish G ram m ar” was appar­ ently the work either of Rumil the Sage of Tol Eressea or of Eriol (LNG, 6). 1 Although it may be difficult to imagine that he thought these lexicons would find a ready public, they should still be accounted among the texts of that period relating to the mythology since they come within the fram­ ing device for the Lost Tales, i.e., a retelling by Eriol of Elvish material, or even such material in direct translation. In this earliest form of the mythology, Tol Eressea has yet to be drawn back to the Great Lands for the Faring Forth of the Elves of Tol Eressea to rescue the Elves o f the Great Lands. But when this does happen, the enterprise ends in disaster, and the Elves retire to Tol Eressea, which becomes the island o f Britain. In about 1925-26 (precise dating is impos­ sible), Tolkien undertook a major revision of the framing device. Eriol had been a man of the fifth century, but Notebook C had indicated that “many ages” were to pass before Tol Eressea was drawn back to the Great Lands for the Faring Forth (I, 23-24; II, 283). Due, perhaps, to a desire to have a more coherent time scheme, Eriol, now called /Elfwine, becomes a man of eleventh-century Wessex who sails west from Britain to Tol Eressea (now distinct places), where he hears the tales of the Elves. The Faring Forth is now the original March of the Elves of Kor to the Great Lands, rather than the drawing of Tol Eressea back east (II, 302). In this revision the Elves from the Great Lands take refuge in Luthany (Britain), and there is friend­ ship between the Elves and the invading Ingwaiwar (the coDective name for the Angles, Saxons, Jutes, and Frisians). However, as with the previ­ ous invasions of Luthany, many Elves sail west to Tol Eressea, and those who knew the language of the Ingwaiwar could speak to /Elfwine in his own tongue. Even so, the term Faring Forth still has a prophetic meaning, for the time when the Elves will reoccupy Luthany and “replant there the magic trees” (II, 307). Also introduced is the matter of Ing (or Ingwe). At first the king of Luthany, which is still connected to the mainland, he meets the retreating Elves and, later, Earendel, either of whom allows him to become immortal

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by giving him limpe to drink. Ing departs Luthany for the west (after which the remaining Elves cut a channel to separate Luthany from the Great Lands), but is shipwrecked on the other side of the North Sea in the region of Denmark. He becomes the half-divine king of the Ingwaiwar, prophesy­ ing that they will one day go to Luthany (II, 301-9). This scheme was never put into finished form, and is interpreted by Christopher Tolkien from disjointed notes; but it shows that Tolkien wanted to retain a connection with early English history. A coherent text, /Elfwine o f England, did emerge, tracing the story of /Elfwine to his diving into the sea at sight of the Lonely Isle. Christopher Tolkien speculates that it may have constituted the beginning of a complete rewriting of the Lost Tales; and since the first outline goes back as far as 1920, Tolkien may have been contemplating a revision to the “Eriol story” for some time (II, 312-22). This tale contains adum brations of Niimenor in its depiction of the island of Eneadur, and a hint of the cataclysm m ark­ ing the end of the Elder Days in the division of Ireland from Britain (now back, it seems, to having always been an island) “in the warfare of the Gods” (II, 325, 323-24). This last contains a hint of the difficulties Tolkien would face in trying to fit the British Isles into the scheme of things once the Lost Tales schemes were dropped. At this point the main text is The Book o f Lost Tales, left unfinished and perhaps about to be subject to a massive revision of its framing device, but that soon petered out; whereas the Elvish lexicons (and grammars), what­ ever their status as texts, were part of the much more volatile subject of language. Tolkien’s next major effort was to retell two of the tales in verse: The Lay of the Children o f Htirin, and The Lay of Leithian, which touched on the central topic of Beren and Luthien. Htirin was begun at an early date, certainly before the prose Lost Tales was abandoned, and continued until the summ er of 1925 (III, 3-4). It is difficult to assess Htirin in terms of its status as a text. As it is written in the alliterative m eter characteristic of Old English poetry, one might imagine it to be a retelling by TElfwine of Elvish matter (in translation), but nothing in title or text indicates that. However, the Qenta Noldorinwa of 1930 carries a reference to the “Children of H urin,” in the section dealing with T urin’s troubles, as an independent text (IV, 122), so perhaps we can consider this a text by reference, maybe a source text behind the Lost Tales account. Leithian was written between the summ er of 1925» when Htirin was abandoned, and September 1931 (III, 150). Again, there is no reference to /Elfwine, either as author or as editor, although the earliest version has a remarkable allusion (“from England unto Eglamar / on rock and dune

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and sandy b ar” [III, 182]). Tolkien returned to the poem in the early 1950s, shortly after completing The Lord o f the Rings, but there is no apparent alteration in its textual status (III, 330). The Qenta Noldorinwa, in the sec­ tion on Beren and Luthien, refers to “the lay of Luthien” and to “the lay of Leithian” (IV, 112,115), so this, too, might be regarded as a source text, or at least a text closer to the original events than the Tale. In the early 1920s, Tolkien embarked on three other poetical works con­ nected with the mythology: (i) The Flight o f the Noldoli from Valinor (circa early 1925), an alliterative poem on the departure o f the Elves after the destruction o f the Two Trees; (ii) an alliterative lay of Earendel; (iii) The Lay o f the Fall o f Gondolin, in rhyming heptameters (III, 131,141,144). The earliest tide o f the first work states that it is “as sung in the Halls ofThingol” (III, 131). The second, in its m ention of “Wade of the Helsings,” establishes a link with an obscure figure o f N orthern mythology, but exacdy what is impossible to say (III, 143). The third is simply an attem pt to retell The Fall of Gondolin in verse, apparendy on a compressed scale (III, 144-45). All these were abandoned and have no framing device that might establish them as texts in o ur sense, so they will not be considered further. Also from about this time are a few surviving prose fragments. One is tided Turlin and the Exiles o f Gondolin. It would seem, as Christopher Tolkien points out, to relate closely to The Fall o f Gondolin, and perhaps belongs to a time when the Lost Tales as such were still being actively co n ­ sidered in Tolkien’s mind (IV, 3). An untided piece returns to the Exile of the Gnomes from Valinor (IV, 5-6). And “an isolated slip of paper” (how many o f these there are!) appears to be an oudine of the situation in Valinor after the destruction of the Trees, again with some development towards later versions (IV, 9). These are all transitory and need not be considered further. A NEW BEGINNING

In 1926 Tolkien produced a Sketch o f the Mythology for R. W. Reynolds, to whom he had lent the m anuscript o f Hiirin, in order to explain the background o f the poem (IV, 11). Although not a text in the sense we are considering, it formed the basis for a new conception o f “The Silmarillion” that would replace The Book o f Lost Tales. Changes o f significance concern the overthrow o f Morgoth and the status of Britain. Now, the “sons o f the Valar,” led by Fionwe son of Tulcas, joined by all the Qendi of Valinor, march to the overthrow of M orgoth, who is captured and thrust through the Door of Night into the outer dark. In that struggle the “Northern and

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Western parts of the world are rent and broken” (IV, 37, 39-40). After this the “Elves set sail from Liithien (Britain or England) for Valinor” (IV, 39). This implies that Britain is a rem nant of the northwestern parts of the world after the Last Battle. There is an expansion of the prophecy of the Second Faring Forth for the recovery of the Silmarils (which have greater significance than before), the rekindling of the Trees, the leveling of the Mountains of Valinor, and M orgoth’s death blow struck by Turin (IV, 40-41). The sometimes confusing m atter of the Faring Forth and the status of Britain has been clarified. Even so, there are still the “Walls of the W orld,” implying that as in the Lost Tales (where there was the “Wall of Things”) we are still in the flat world (IV, 40). It is not known just how Tolkien regarded this m atter at the time. Since his cosmology was at total variance with that of the real world, whose remote past the mythology was m eant to describe, he may have given some thought to the matter; but there is no published contem porary record o f it. At the end of the “Sketch” we learn that “the tales of the days before the days” are still told to Eriol, who alone of mortals sailed to the Lonely Isle and back (IV, 41). In 1930 Tolkien created a new vehicle: the Qenta Noldorinwa, “the brief History of the Noldoli or Gnomes, drawn from the Book of Lost Tales which Eriol of Leithien wrote, having read the Golden Book, which the Eldar call Parma Kuluina, in Kortirion in Tol Eressea, the Lonely Isle” (IV, 77-78). The Book of Lost Tales, which continues to exist in some m anner, now comes from Eriol’s reading o f the Golden Book in Tol Eressea, and may be ErioFs translation of the Golden Book, and the Qenta his further condensation of it, with a title in Elvish. The Qenta is itself a “brief his­ tory” of these tales. We thus have an epitome of a redaction. The status of Britain, elaborated from the “Sketch,” is essentially the same: “the Northern regions of the Western world were rent and riv e n .. . . there was a mighty building of ships . . . especially upon the great isles, which in the disruption of the Northern world were fashioned of ancient Beleriand.. . . some [Elves] lingered . . . especially in the western isles and the lands of Leithien [i.e., Britain]” (IV, 160, 162). The British Isles are the shattered remnants of Beleriand after the Last Battle. As a supposed epitome of ear­ lier texts, there are references to the accounts that stand behind the Qenta, such as the Lays of the Children of Hiirin and of Leithian. The “song of the Sun and M oon” is noted, but seems to have no existence beyond that note (IV, 97). The Fall of Gondolin is referred to, indicating perhaps the continued existence of the old tale as a source text (IV, 144). The “song of Tuor that he made for his son Earendel” is reproduced in an appendix as

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The Horns o f Ylmir (IV, 213, 215). In the writing of the Qenta the tale of Earendel begins to take its final shape; he becomes the messenger of Elves and Men, and his Silmaril finds its final significance. A “Lay of Earendel” is referred to (IV, 153-55,150). W ith the Qenta are fragments of Eriol’s (origi­ nal) translation into Old English of parts of it (IV, 206-7). This would seem to make Eriol the author of the Qenta as well as of its source, the Lost Tales. At about the same time as the Qenta Noldorinwa, Tolkien worked on the earliest versions of the Annals ofValinor and the Annals o f Beleriand. These give the events of the mythology, from the creation itself through to the Great Battle, as entries against a year, so establishing a consistent chrono­ logical framework. The Annals are said to have been written by “Pengolod the W ise” of Tol Eressea, “there seen and translated by Eriol of Leithien, that is yElfwine of the Angelcynn,” so these are definitely texts in our sense (IV, 263). Additions to the text imply that the first part of the Annals o f Valinor, up to M andos’s warning against Feanor and his departing host, was written by Rumil, the “Elfsage ofV alinor” (IV, 271, 292). O ther than the statem ent that “Beleriand was no m ore” at the end of the Annals of Beleriand, there is nothing to illuminate the geography (IV, 310). There are specimens of Eriol’s translations into Old English (IV, 281-82, 284-88, 290-91, 338-40). It may have been soon after the earliest Annals that Tolkien decided to elaborate the “cosmogonical m yth” of the events before the time that the Valar came into the World, beginning with their creation by Iliivatar. This had been the first “Lost Tale” to be told, and this new text is its direct descendant. Here, the Ainulindale, the “Music of the Ainur,” is described as the work of Rumil of Tun, although the work proper begins, “These are the words that Rumil spake to /Elfwine” (V, 156). Presumably this Rumil is the same “Elfsage of Valinor” responsible for the earliest part o f the Annals. Despite the apparent discrepancy between something written and something spoken to /Elfwine, we may regard this as another text trans­ lated by /Elfwine. Note that the original Lost Tales account of the Music of the Ainur was told by Rumil to Eriol (cf. I, 49). This is undoubtedly a text in our sense. Revised forms of the Annals o f Valinor and the Annals o f Beleriand appeared at this time. As before, these are the work of Rumil and Pengolod (V, 116). (It is not stated that Pengolod wrote the latter, but it seems safe to assume he did.) yElfwine is not mentioned, but he may be supposed still to be their translator. The only geographical information is that “Beleriand was shattered and changed” in the Great Battle (V, 144). An associated title

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page» “The Silmarillion 12 Annals of Valinor / 3 Annals of Beleriand,” indi­ cates that Tolkien conceived of “The Silmarillion’*as consisting of at least these three m ajor parts» confirmed by the headings of “SILMARILLION II” and “SILMARILLION III” for the Annals (V, 109» 110» 125). Associated with these is the earliest version of The Tale of Years. As it is not reproduced, little can be said about its supposed authorship» although a later version ascribes it to Q uennar Ondtimo with a continuation by Pengolo6 in Eressea (X, 49, 56-57; XI, 342-43). Possibly The Tale of Years was intended at this time as a summary of the existing chronology by jElfwine, but its uncertain status leaves it out of the textual reckoning for the present. In approximately the mid-i93os, Tolkien decided to produce an orderly description of the world in which his mythology was set. This was the Ambarkanta, “The Shape of the W orld,” here ascribed to Rumil. On that basis we may suppose it to be another text, seen and perhaps translated by/Elfwine in Tol Eressea (IV, 235). In this m iniature universe the surface of the world lies on the upper, flat part of a hemisphere floating in the lower half of the ellipsoid whose surface forms the Ilurambar, the Walls of the World. On any reasonable interpretation of scale, the ellipsoid is no bigger than the (real) Earth itself; and beyond the Ilurambar lies not the astronomical universe, for the stars are contained inside the Walls, but the Void, the “Night without form or time” (IV, 237). Obviously this model universe is incompatible with the “real” world if it is meant to represent the remote past of that world. There may have been a nod towards compatiibility in that Map V, showing the lands after the first defeat of M orgoth, reveals a continent shaped vaguely like Africa (IV, 251). If it is m eant to be Africa, it is far too small, if the interpretation of scale by Karen W ynn Fonstad is anything to go by: the Africa-shaped land in Map V m ust be some two thousand miles from north to south, whereas the real continent of Africa stretches about five thousand miles (Fonstad, 4-5). In any case, the Ambarkanta must be considered to constitute a “Silmarillion” text. In perhaps 1936, Tolkien and C. S. Lewis agreed each to write a story, one on space travel, the other on time travel. After tossing a coin, Lewis sat down to write the former, Tolkien the latter. Lewis completed Out of the Silent Planet by the autum n of 1937, and saw it published by The Bodley Head the following year (V, 7-8). Tolkien embarked on The Lost Road, but never completed it. The story tells of Alboin, son of Oswin Errol, who hears snatches of “Eressean” (or “Elf-latin”) and “Beleriandic” in his dreams, and attempts to discover their meaning. And then his own son, Audoin, has dreams that have no words or sounds but show him scenes from “a sort of phantom story” (V, 52). Then he steps through a door into

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darkness— and the next chapter brings the reader straight to the Atlantislike island realm of N um enor, where Elendil and his son Herendil discuss the untoward influence of Sauron upon the King. After two chapters the story breaks off. There is a good deal of other material relating to N orthern myth and legend, alongside a kind of repeated father-son “affinity” stretch­ ing backwards from Audoin and Alboin all the way to Herendil and Elendil. The idea is apparently not that of reincarnation, but of pairs of descen­ dants having the ability to see and to hear, separately. Assuming that Tolkien had the same idea when he came to write The Notion Club Papers, which takes up much of the Lost Road material, what he states in the latter work can apply to the former: “The theory is that the sight and memory goes on with descendants of Elendil and Voronwe . . . but not reincarna­ tion; they are different people even if they still resemble one another in some ways even after a lapse of many generations” (IX, 278)? Although The Lost Road is plainly not a “Silmarillion” text, it nevertheless reflects Tolkien’s thought on the relation of the mythical era to history (it is sug­ gested as taking place before the Ice Age [V, 77]), and has something to say on /Elfwine. In associated notes /Elfwine, an Englishman of the tenth century, and father of Eadwine, is said to have sailed “the Straight Road” to Eressea, where he “is told the Lost Tales” (V, 78). The Straight Road came in with Num enor and the World Made Round. At about the same time as The Lost Road, Tolkien began The Last Tale: The Fall o f Numenor, which, in successive early versions, rapidly acquired its familiar shape. W hether Num enor began life as subject m atter for the time-travel story and was only later integrated into the mythology (as Tolkien himself came to believe later), or (as Christopher Tolkien thinks more probable) was integrated from its beginning, it was handy for the new story (V, 7-10), adding a significant new dimension to the existing mythology. After the Great Battle and the overthrow of Morgoth, just as the Elves are allowed to return to Eressea, the Men of the houses faithful to the Elves are granted a new land to dwell in, “raised by Osse out of the depths of the Great Sea, and established by Aule and enriched by Yavanna” (V, 24). Called at first by other names, but Numenor by the Men who came to dwell there, the realm grows in power until, inspired by the lies of Sauron, the fleet of Num enor assails Valinor itself, at which point the Gods bend back the edges of Middle-earth and make it into a globe, and New Lands come into being beneath the Old World (V, 16). Num enor is cast down. Although the world is round, a straight path to the West, the same that

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existed in the flat world, still runs along “the Plain of the Gods” (V, 17). To an observer on the ground it would seem a straight line that climbs ever farther from the ground, but one who could sail along it would see the world drop away beneath him, as, indeed, happens to jElfwine in a note to The Lost Road: “Looking down /Elfwine suddenly saw lands and [m oun­ tains] down in the water shining in the sun,” i.e., the round world as seen from the Straight Path (V, 78). The introduction of this new material can be seen as a logical response to the shortcomings, felt at least since the Ambarkanta, of the myth as it had existed: it at last gets over the incompatibility between the ancient flat world and the modern globe— there is now a proper transition between them — and allows an elaboration of hum an history in the form of an Atlantis-like realm whose destruction is part of the process o f “globing.” The m atter of /Elfwine is retained by his sailing the Straight Path to the West. (In the early versions of the Fall o f Numenor it was indicated that Tol Eressea itself had perished in the cataclysm, but this was a tem porary aberration.) There are changes from what has gone before, apart from the funda­ mental change to a round world. Beleriand continues to exist, for though “changed and broken,” it remains a coherent entity since it continues to have a king (V, 18). N othing is said of rem nant isles. Given that in this work, Tol Eressea was (initially) held to have drowned, it may be that here are the first signs that Tolkien was contemplating a reworking that gave up completely the framing device of^Elfwine and the emergence of Britain as a rem nant of the world of the mythology, even though the contem porary Lost Road still adhered to that device. Perhaps this was what Tolkien meant when he recalled that the legends of N um enor were “originally unrelated” and had later to be brought “into relation with the main mythology.” The last passage of the second version relates how Sauron after the Fall of N um enor rebuilds his fortresses in “M ordor the Black C ountry” (V, 29), a piece of history useful in plotting The Lord of the Rings. Given this understanding of The Fall o f Numenor, and given also that the source of the work is not stated, other than being a “tale of the ancient world, as the Elves keep it” (V, 18), we are probably justified in excluding it from the textual tradition as it stood at this time. The Lhammas, or “Account of Tongues,” is a description o f the rela­ tionships of the languages spoken by the peoples of the mythology. It is the work of Pengolob of Tol Eressea, “using the work of Rumil the sage of T u n ,” and was seen by iElfwine (V, 167). Statements that it was “very many ages” since the overthrow of Morgoth and “the ruin o f Beleriand,”

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and “many thousands of years” since the fall of Gondolin, indicate that these apply to the situation at /El twine’s visit (V, 179-80). This is a text in the main tradition. There is also the Lammasethen, Pengolod’s “shorter account” of the Elvish tongues (V, 192). At about this time (not long before all “Silmarillion” work was put aside) Tolkien composed Beleriandic and Noldorin names and words: Etymologies. This appears to have no standing as a text, and may be considered as Tolkien’s private notes on his invented languages rather than as a part, however obscure (e.g., /Elfwine’s diction­ ary?), of the mythology (V, 343). We now come to “The Silmarillion” as it stood late in 1937 before Tolkien turned to the sequel to The Hobbit. This was written on a new manuscript, distinct from the Qenta Noldorinwa, but later, like so many of his m anu­ scripts, “was changed into a chaotic palimpsest, with layer upon layer of correction and wholesale rewriting, of riders and deletions” (V, 199). A typescript of the earlier chapters, including all existing emendations, sub­ titled “Silmarillion : l Eldanydre, ‘The History of the Elves’,” was made at an early date, but this, too, was “reduced to a shambles” in post-Lord of the Rings revision (V, 199). Although something of a finished work in the opening chapters, the Quenta deteriorates into a series of manuscripts rep­ resenting different attem pts to continue the story, but with an ending still finally reached. The first title, that of the primary manuscript, runs: “The Quenta Silma­ rillion / Herein is Qenta Noldorinwa or Pennas inGeleidh or History of the Gnom es.” A subsidiary paragraph explains that this is a “history in brief drawn from many older tales,” and was composed by Pengolod of Gon­ dolin, translated “into our speech” by jElfwine, who added nothing save explanations of some few names. It contains much old matter that is still recounted in full by the Eldar of the West, but “many of these were not recalled by Eriol” (V, 201). This last implies that Eriol did know at least some, if not all, of the old histories and songs that are epitomized in the Qenta. An initial version of the title page to go with the typescript shows Tolkien’s intentions for the structure. Under the general heading “The Silmarillion' are listed: “1 Qenta Silmarillion” “To which is appended / The houses of the princes of Men and Elves / The tale of years I The tale of battles”; “2 The Annals o f Valinor”; “3 The Annals ofBeleriand”; and “4 The Lhammas or Account of Tongues” (V, 202). “The Silmarillion” emerges as a general title for this material, as distinct from the Qenta specifically. The announcem ent of the appendices to the Qenta introduces some difficulties. Genealogical tables of Elves and Men of this period do exist (V, 403); The Tale o f Years has been referred to

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above as having been of Elvish authorship, although little is actually known of its status at this period; and nothing is known of the “tale of battles.” The impression is that these would have been brief summaries of material already existing or implied in the main texts. A further version of the title page omits the Lhammas. A surviving preamble consists of a note by TElfwine stating that the histories were originally the work of Pengolod of Gondolin, later of Tol Eressea, who used material from Rumil ofValinor in the Annals ofValinor and in the account of tongues, “and he used also the accounts that are preserved in the Golden Book” (V, 203). We may say then that there were various ancient Elvish histories and songs, some or all of which were col­ lected in the Golden Book. There were also the works of Rumil, which included the original versions of the Annals ofValinor and the Lhammas. From these, Pengolod made an epitome of the Elvish legends, in large part from the Golden Book, called the Qenta Silmarillion, and completed the Annals ofValinor and composed the Annals o f Beleriand. /Elfwine, having reached Tol Eressea, read and translated much of the works of Pengolod and Rumil into Old English. Since the Golden Book is associated with Tol Eressea, we might assign to it the great tales of Beleriand that the returning Elves recorded. As Christopher Tolkien notes (V, 324), much is missing from this unfinished version of the Qenta Silmarillion: most of the tale of Turin, the destruction of Doriath, the fall of Gondolin, and the earlier part o f the tale of Earendel. But they had not been forgotten. Although it was never returned to, the alliterative Lay o f the Children o f Hurin still existed, and, since he returned to it in the early 1950s, The Lay ofLeithian cannot be said to have been abandoned (both Lays are referred to in the text [V, 296,317], as also is the “song of the Sun and M oon” [V, 240]). A version of the tale of Beren and Luthien, albeit far from complete, was marked “Fragment of a fuller form of the Geste of Beren and Luthien told as a separate tale” (V, 295). In terms of its status as a text, we could consider this “fuller form ” as one of the underlying originals of the Quenta, perhaps a part of the Golden Book, a consideration that could also apply to the Lays. The noncom ple­ tion of the end of Doriath and the tale of Earendel remained a problem, however. As regards the geographical situation, after the Great Battle “the n o rth ­ ern regions of the western world were rent asunder” (V, 329) and there is still a “great building of ships . . . upon the great isles which, in the disrup­ tion of the northern world, were fashioned of ancient Beleriand” (331). Not all the Eldalie took ship westwards, and some lingered many an age, “espe-

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daily in the western isles and in the Land of Leithien” (332). We are still with what might be called the “standard model” of Britain as a rem nant of drowned and broken Beleriand. We are in the tradition of the Qenta Noldorinwa rather than The Fall ofNtimenor. which still looks like an inde­ pendent tradition. We may speculate on what “The Silmarillion” would have consisted of at this time, had Tolkien been encouraged to finish it. Quenta Silmarillion (possibly with the Genealogies and the Tale of Years and the Tale o f Battles as short appendices) The Annals ofValinor The Annals o f Beleriand Lhammas (possibly with Lammasethen as an appendix) Appendices Ainulindale Ambarkanta The Lay o f the Children o f Hiirin The Lay of Leithian (The “fuller form” of the tale of Beren and Luthien) A few words should be said about The Hobbit, which Tolkien had been working on since about 1928 (Tolkien, Annotated Hobbit. 1). Its relation to the overall mythology is complex. Tolkien used his mythology as it then existed as background to the tale, with no intention that The Hobbit was itself to be considered as part of, or an extension to» that mythology. But in order to isolate the mythology proper from the story of Bilbo, mythology and story had to be separated by vast ages of time. Thus the glimpses o f that mythology, e.g., “the strange stories before the beginning of History, the wars of the evil goblins and the elves and the first men in the N orth” (H, 61) or the account of the unnam ed Thingol’s dealings with dwarves having taken place in “ancient days” (179)» place it in the remote past. Since no reference to the drowning of Beleriand or the Land of Leithien was needed, Tolkien had a free hand in constructing maps for Bilbo’s adventure. None of this would have been of any consequence for the mythology were it not for the sequel to The Hobbit: this grew to be very much a part of the mythology, and so, retrospectively, The Hobbit, with its historical and geographical frames of reference, had to be fitted in, with profound consequences for the mythology’s framing device. However, when Tolkien

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submitted the Qenta Silmarillion to Allen & Unwin, it was rejected with­ out having been submitted to their reader; so he proceeded with the “new Hobbit” instead (III, 364-67). AFTER TH E LORD OF THE R IN GS

Towards the end of writing The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien turned back to reconsider various aspects of what had now become the background of that great work. The third text of The Fall of Numenor is thought to belong to a period quite early in the writing of The Lord of the Rings, although revi­ sions were made in about 1945-46, the time that The Notion Club Papers came into being (IX, 339). This version no longer has Eressea destroyed, and omits the passage about Sauron’s subsequent defeat in Middle-earth. It is not considered a text for the same reasons as applied to the previous version. Roughly contemporary with this is The Drowning of Anadune, also an account of the Fall of Numenor but told from a different standpoint and using unfamiliar names. A note of several years later states that The Drowning of Anadune represents the “Mannish tradition,” The Fall of Numenor the “Elvish tradition,” and the later Akallabeth the “mixed Diinedanic tradition” (IX, 406). In a draft letter of late 1948, Tolkien referred to The Drowning of AnadUne as a ‘“Man’s version of the Fall of Numenor,” one, moreover, set in a “Round World”: “The Elvish myths are ‘Flat World’. A pity really but it is too integral to change it” (X, 5). Since both the Fall and the Drowning were, in effect, merged into the Akallabeth, nothing more will be said of their textual status until we consider the lastnamed work. In the Drowning, the world is said to be round even before the cataclysm. Although this is presumably intended as a reflection of the ignorance of the Men who wrote that work, Tolkien was soon to take seri­ ously the wider cosmological difficulties implied by the concept of a flat world. The Notion Club Papers of 1945-46 cannot form part of the “Silmarillion” texts, but it reveals Tolkien’s thought concerning the relationship of his mythology to history. Discussions between Frankley and Jeremy hint at a way in which the past as recalled by myth and legend might have a reality of its own, distinct from the “true” past. To Frankley’s “But that doesn’t make such things as the Arthurian romances real in the same way as true past events are real,” Jeremy responds, “I didn’t say in the same way. There are secondary planes or degrees” (IX, 228). Jeremy later remarks that “the distinction between history and myth might be meaningless outside the

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Earth. I think it might at least get a great deal less sharp on the Earth, further back. Perhaps the Atlantis catastrophe was the dividing line?” (IX, 249). Different pasts, in “secondary planes or degrees,” can exist, and the line where one mythical past and the “real” past converged was the fall of Atlantis/Numenor. So far as I know this is the only place where Tolkien explores such a notion; had he developed it, it might have saved him all m anner of difficulties when he felt he had to restructure the cosmological aspects of his mythology. The Notion Club lives in a world that is part of the m odern astronomical universe, and it is a pity that Tolkien seems to have aban­ doned a notion that would have allowed the cosmology of the Ambarkanta and that of our universe to coexist in separate time streams. (In a 1964 interview, Tolkien seemed to say that M iddle-earth was not our world at a different era, but at a different stage of imagination [Tolkien, “Interview,” 4] ) Notably, /Elfwine is presented here as a man of the tenth century who sails west along the “straight road” and “gets view of the Book of Stories,” in Tol Eressea presumably (IX, 279). Tolkien’s concern about the limitations of a flat-world cosmology sur­ faced in a revision of the Ainulindale. By 1948 he had written what he later described as a “Round W orld” version of this text. In this, the “Halls of Anar .. . where the Sun o f the Little World is kindled” (X, 40; the emphasis is Christopher Tolkien’s) appears to mean the solar system; the sun exists from the beginning, and the moon is a portion of the Earth torn away by Melkor so that from it he can observe the world below. We have come a long way from the mythology of the Two Trees. After this version, Tolkien returned to revisions of the Ainulindale more in keeping with the tradi­ tional cosmology. These, also written in the late 1940s, are presented as the work of Riimil, extended by Pengolob, and introduced to Ailfwine. They return (apparently) to a flat world, yet there is a suggestion that the W orld (in the sense of the whole physical universe) now resembles an astronomical universe: “amid all the splendours of the World, its vast halls and spaces, and its wheeling fires, Huvatar chose a place for their habita­ tion . . . in the midst of the innumerable Stars” (X, 12). Yet references to the Earth itself seem in accord with the Ambarkanta. At this stage Tolkien appears to contemplate a flat Earth, its three “airs,” its stars created by Varda, all consistent with the Ambarkanta> but set amidst an indeterminately larger universe of innumerable stars. Undoubtedly this version was heavily influenced by the preceding “Round W orld” version. It is possible that the Ainulindale was written as it was in part to reflect the imperfect cosmological knowledge of the Eldar, and the interest of the

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Valar in the Earth to the exclusion of all else. But the problem is not just one of scale: the difficulty lies in the very flatness of the Earth. The m inia­ ture universe of the Ambarkanta was at one with the hemispherical bulk of the Earth; but the astronomical universe hinted at in the present versions of the Ainulindale militates against the credibility of that kind of world exist­ ing at all. Round worlds are, for physical reasons, the predom inant natural form in an astronomical universe: flat worlds are unnatural and im prob­ able. The preferred model for the “Flat W orld” version of the Ainulindale seems to involve embedding what is essentially the miniature universe of the Ambarkanta— perhaps with most of the upper half of the Ilurambar removed, leaving only a surrounding “wall”— inside the larger astronom i­ cal universe. If so, it seems even more incredible than the Ambarkanta universe on its own: it is as though Tolkien was more concerned about the general scale of the universe than with the shape of the Earth. If we try to reset the established Elvish mythology in the real universe with a round world, we run into difficulties: there can be no “straight road” to the west, as it was never straight to begin with; the Sun and M oon can no longer be the last fruits of the Two Trees (and what were the Two Trees for if not to give light to the land of the Valar?); and where on the Round W orld can Valinor and Eressea be located? The whole of the mythology up to the time that the Sun and Moon arose would have to be rewritten. Tolkien attempted to save the concept of a flat world by attributing it to the faulty knowledge of Men, but this still left the necessity of trying to give a coherent account of what the Elves’ ancient history really was. The Ainulindale is presented as the work of Rumil, but contains a sup­ plement of Pengolo6’s responses to /Elfwine’s enquiries (X, 8,17). Thus it is a text in our sense, whatever may be the consistency of its cosmology. Perhaps it was at about this time of reconsideration of the cosmology of his world that Tolkien added the words “Make world always a globe but larger than now. M ountains of East and West prevent anyone from going to Hidden Half” to Diagram I of the Ambarkanta (IV, 242-43); but this concept does not appear to have been developed further. Little is known about the text in the published Silmarillion entitled “O f the Rings of Power and the Third Age: in which these tales come to their end,” other than that it was in existence by 1948 (X, 5-6), and that, along with the Akallabeth, it was included in The Silmarillion according to Tolkien’s explicit intention (S, 8). The third version of The Fall ofNum enor was headed “The Last Tales / 1. The Fall of Niimenor,” and a draft of a 1948 letter speaks of “the Later Tales: ‘The Rings of Power’, and ‘The Fall of N um enor’” (IX, 331; X, 5). With the Akallabeth replacing The Fall of

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Niimenor, we may postulate a distinct subunit of the mythology, the “Later Tales,” comprising the Akallabeth and O f the Rings of Power. The former was originally a speech of Pengolob’s to /Elfwine, but this framework was removed from the version published in The Silmarillion. It would be of interest to see what Tolkien had in mind for the latter, and whether it too was conceived to be a writing of /Elfwine’s. Sometime in 1950 Tolkien once more took up The Lay o f Leithian. His revisions were extensive, but soon petered out. About one sixth of the original Lay was rewritten (III, 330, 363). As with the original version, it is perhaps best to regard it as intended to represent one of the original texts that lie behind the summary version in the Quenta, perhaps from the Golden Book. There is a substantial prose version from this period, too, but as it is said to read in places as little more than a paraphrase of the Lay, the verse form is given “priority” (V, 295). In about 1951 Tolkien started to work on the Quenta Silmarillion again, with a good deal of elaboration and remoulding of the existing material but no advance in source and origination over that of 1937. It consists of the Quenta, the Annals ofValinor, and the Annals o f Beleriand, with Pengolob given as the author, using earlier materials by Rumil (cf. X, 143, 200; V, 203). The later chapters were not advanced, and the original cosmology is only in part adhered to: thus in the 1951 version, we have, “beyond it [the Outer Sea] are the Walls of the W orld to fence out the Void and the Eldest Darkness” (X, 154), but earlier there are “the innumerable stars which Varda had made in the ages unrecorded of the labours of Ea” (X, 153), and “Long they laboured in the regions of Ea, which are vast beyond the thought of Elves and M en” (X, 144). This corresponds with what might be termed the “com prom ise” model, an Ambarkanta-like Earth embedded in a quasi-astronomical universe of stars. Also in 1951 Tolkien started a revision o f the old Fall of Gondolin ( UT, 5). We may regard this as one of the source texts behind the Quenta, although there is no reference to Pengolob or Rumil in this version. Tolkien here achieved one of his finest prose pieces; it is heartbreaking that it was never completed. The story O f Maeglin was begun about this time, although revised in about 1970. In view of the unfinished revision of The Fall o f Gon­ dolin, it is interesting to see that Tolkien added a note to the 1970 version to the effect that it was “to be inserted in FG in its place” (XI, 317). Thus O f Maeglin is intended as a part of the other, unfinished text. Belonging to this renewed activity in the early 1950s is a revised version of the Annals ofValinor, now called The Annals of Aman. Rumil is their author, incorporating work by Q uennar Onotim o (X, 48-49). Parts of the

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Annals end with “quoth Pengoloft,” as well as a “Quoth /Elfwine” at one point (X, no). Yet Tolkien was moving away from the “Pengolo6-/Elfwine” tradition. In a typescript of the early part of these Annals that Christopher Tolkien assigns to this period, an alternative form of the transmission has Rumil still as the original author, but the “parts which we learned and remembered were thus set down in Niim enor before the Shadow fell upon it” (X, 65). The idea that Niimenor was the route of transmission repre­ sents a fundamental shift away from the Pengolo6-/Elfwine framework. In these Annals there is a movement away from short entries against a date to full-blown narrative. They reflect the compromise cosmology of the Ainulindale. e.g., “It came to pass that hearing afar of the war in Arda Tulkas the Strong came thither out of distant regions of Ea to the aid of M anwe” (X, 52). Even so, Melkor has to return “over the Walls of the N ight” (X, 53), and the Moon and Sun retain their arboreal origins (X, 129-31). A revision of the Annals o f Beleriand was given a new title: “The Annals of Beleriand or the Grey Annals” (XI, 3). It may or may not be significant that there is no m ention of its authorship, by Pengolob or another. Possibly this too represents a stage in Tolkien’s turning away from the PengolobjElfwine framework. However, it does not reach a conclusion, and so has no mention of the Last Battle and of the relation of Leithien to the remnant of Beleriand. As with the Annals o f Am an. the annalistic form progres­ sively turns into narrative, especially when the story of Turin comes up. We reach only to the year 501 of the First Age and the beginnings of the wanderings of Hurin. Tolkien’s long letter to Milton W aldman (L, 143-61) is of interest here. O f especial note are his thoughts (passim) on the ordering of the parts of his mythology: The cycles begin with . . . the Music of the Ainur. . . . It moves then swiftly to the History of the Elves, or the Silmarillion proper (146). The Silmarillion is the history of the War of the Exiled Elves against the Enemy... . Several tales of victory and tragedy are caught up in it; but it ends with catastrophe, and the passing of the Ancient World, the world of the long First Age (148). The chief of the stories . . . is the Story of Beren and Luthien the Elfmaiden (149). There are other stories almost equally full in treatment, and equally independent and yet linked to the general history. . . . the Children of Hurin. the tragic tale of Turin Turambar and his sister Niniel. . . . the Fall of Gondolin. . . . And the tale, or tales, of Earendil the Wanderer (150). The three main themes [of the Second Age]. . . . are dealt with annalistically, and in two Tales or Accounts, The Rings of Power and the Downfall of Niimenor (151).

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At this time, then, “The Silmarillion” perhaps is composed of the Quenta (the Silmarillion proper), together with the Ainulindale. but with longer independent accounts of Beren and Luthien, the Children of Hurin, the Fall of Gondolin and of Earendil the Wanderer. The story of Beren and Luthien has both a prose form and a poetic form; the Children o f Hurin existed in the old alliterative verse form, but Tolkien was moving to the long prose form. The Fall of Gondolin has its uncompleted revision. The most extended account of Earendil appears to be Bilbo’s poem at Rivendell. The two accounts related to N um enor and the Rings of Power are noted, though this was not necessarily intended to be a complete listing of every­ thing that was to go into “The Silmarillion.” Nothing is said about any framing device or about the geographical-historical relation of Britain to any of this. Belonging, it would seem, to the time that The Tale o f Years in The Lord o f the Rings was being completed is the Akallabeth. the final account of the Fall of Num enor, set within the Pengolob-TElfwine framework as an account told by Pengolob to /Elfwine. There is no m ention of Leithien/ Britain, and Pengolob’s last words indicate that he thinks that none will believe jElfwine when he retells these tales (XII, 140, 159). At this time, when he was contemplating the historical background of The Lord o f the Rings. Tolkien thought N um enor could be fitted into the Pengolob/Elfwine framework. A note written during the early composition of that work describes the remnants of Beleriand after the Great Battle with no mention of Leithien (VII, 124). It may be useful to look at how Tolkien understood the textual status of The Lord o f the Rings at the time it was published. It is presented as a new selection from the “Red Book of W estm arch,” The Hobbit being the previ­ ous selection. Thus what is really a straightforward narrative becomes an extract from an altogether new textual source, the Red Book, which can surely not be ascribed to TElfwine. Since the Third Age of Middle-earth is “now long past,” “the shape of all lands has been changed,” but Hobbits still linger where they lived then: “the North-W est of the Old World, east of the Sea” (FR. 11). The Akallabeth is mentioned as being held among the records of G ondor, 3 and records the Downfall of Num enor, while “The Silmarillion' tells the tale of the silmarilli (FR. 24; RK. 314). The Third Age is now long past, and although there is no mention of Leithien or /Elfwine, it is notable that reference is made to the Akallabeth. a text that Tolkien had only recently made, and that refers to Pengolob (implicitly) and /Elfwine. The original version of “The Tale of Years of the Third Age” indicates a vast amount of time between that Age and our own time, the “Afterworld”:

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it is said that Eldarion “should rule a great realm, and that it should endure for a hundred generations of Men after him.” Given that in his initial sketch for “The Tale of Years of the Second Age,” Tolkien estimated that an “Age” should last for approximately three thousand years, which could be understood as corresponding to a hundred generations of Men, he seems to be saying here that the new realm endured for a whole age, “until a new age brought in again new things,” and perhaps that there was another age beyond that before we come to our own time, for the editor of “The Tale of Years of the Third Age” says that “even the chronicles of the House of Elessar . . . are lost” (XII, 244-45). The Tale of Years, originally written to go with the later Annals o f Valinor and Annals o f Beleriand. appears to have been a summary of the dates and entries in those works, adding nothing to them (XI, 342). At about the same time as the Annals of Am an and the Grey Annals. The Tale o f Years was the subject of further work, resulting in a clear manuscript, at least to begin with. Quennar Onotim o is the author up until the passing of Fingolfin’s people to Middle-earth, fol­ lowing Feanor, with Pengolob in Eressea providing a continuation, giving glimpses of the events of the final part of the Elder Days, and supplem ent­ ing the Grey Annals where that falls short, but with nothing further on the ruin of Beleriand. Here something should be said concerning the N am i Chin Hurin. This long prose version of The Children o f Hurin took up much of Tolkien’s time and efforts during the 1950s, but never attained a finished form. It was begun in 1951, and worked on at various times later in the 1950s (XI, 144). There is extensive manuscript material: Christopher Tolkien refers to “the vast assemblage of the Narn papers,” and “the vast, unfinished work on the ‘Saga of T urin 1 that engaged him during the 1950s” (XI, 144, 244). Parts of these papers have seen publication in The Silmarillion. Unfinished Tales, and The War of the Jewels. There is nothing to indicate “authorship,” but we can assume that it is meant to represent one of the background texts epitomised in the Quenta. O f importance, however, is an introduc­ tory note that exists in two texts, and that appears to date from at least the mid-1950s. In the earlier, a m odern editor (he refers to Queen Elizabeth II) states that the work was in origin that of a Mannish poet of the Havens of Sirion, written in verse form. Although he perished, it was remembered by the Elves and “held in memory in Eressea.” iElfwine translated this lay into prose, incorporating “in the m argins” matter from Elvish commentaries (XI, 311-12). The second is by /Elfwine himself, so these are not different versions of the same thing but simply the m odern editor’s introduction followed

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by /Elfwine’s. At a time when Tolkien was contemplating the notion that the “Great Tales’* derived from Niimenor» he still viewed /Elfwine as the transmitter of ancient Elvish lore; and /Elfwine is explicitly the translator of one of the source texts of the Quenta. Plainly Tolkien had not made up his mind. An addition to the end of the Grey Annals of the early 1950s declares the Narn to be a tale “made by Men’* (XI, 103). From perhaps the early 1950s is the Dangweth Pengolod (“The Answer of Pengolob”) (XII, 395» 396), a dictated response to yElfwine’s question con­ cerning linguistic change among the Elves with glimpses of a cosmology in the Ambarkanta model (“in Aman ere the Rising o f the Moon»’*“the wars of Beleriand, when the Sun was young’* [XII, 398])» but incorporating the change from a flat to a spherical world (“Yet long since» yElfwine, the fash­ ion of the W orld was changed** [401]). We can consider this a constituent “Silmarillion” text, as also the contemporary short piece, OfLembas> also by Pengoloft. In a letter of 18 September 1954» Tolkien referred to the Elder Days material as a “mixture of Elvish and Num en6rean legend’* (L, 185). A week later he wrote that “the whole ‘legendarium’ contains a transition from a flat world . . . to a globe** (1,197). Tolkien returned to the Quenta Silmarillion in the late 1950s. The title page retains the division into three parts (the Quenta and the two Annals) and the translational function o f /Elfwine (X» 200). This may not mean that he at that time firmly adhered to the Pengolob-zElfwine frame, rather that he was not certain that he should change it. However, in the final version of the story of Morgoth and the Two Trees, there is a hint of a far-reaching change to the cosmology: on her way to destroy the Trees, Ungoliante pauses on a m ountaintop and sees “the glimmer of the stars in the dome o f Varda’* (X, 286). This is explained in possibly contemporary notes (discussed below) in which Tolkien tries to preserve something of the old cosmology but adapted to the real solar system (X, 375-90). It is of note that the chapter describing the making of the Sun and Moon from the last fruit and flower of the Two Trees is absent from the 1958 version. A late change makes The Lay o f Leithian a song of Niimenor rather than of the N oldor (XI, 243). Associated with this new work are two new texts. The first is the splitting off of what had once been the first chapter of the Quenta t “O f the Valar»’* into a separate text, the Valaquenta, which must» like the Ainulindale, have the same textual status as the Quenta. The other is to do with the extraordinary m atter of Finwe and Miriel. O f the Laws and Customs among the Eldar has a Preamble by/Elfwine» and various interjec­ tions by him (X, 209). Appended are various “Notes’*best seen as Tolkien’s

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notes to himself to record his thoughts, rather than as part of the text as such. In the 1958 revisions, little further work seems to have been done on the Annals. Because they had already gone a good way towards becoming nar­ rative prose, sometimes almost exactly the same prose as in the Quenta, it may be that Tolkien was considering abandoning the Annals as such, using what there was of them as a “constituent draft text” for “The Silmarillion” as a single work (X, 291). Since The Tale o f Years did not so degenerate, it could be that Tolkien was considering using that text as the sole vehicle for the purely annalistic summary of events in the First Age, as was The Tale of Years of the Second and Third Ages in The Lord o f the Rings, and leaving the existing Annals uncompleted. It is difficult to come to a conclusion, yet it is arguable that Tolkien’s use of the existing Annals in this m anner did not necessarily mean that he did not hope some day to come back to them and restore them to their epitomising form; but he never did. Until the end of his life Tolkien produced essays, notes, sketches, narra­ tives, and the like dealing with aspects of his created world. Few of these are “texts” in the sense understood here, so they will be ignored except where they say something affecting the “framing” of the “Silmarillion” material. Some may have been written with the intention that they form part of the mythological texts (such as the intriguing “sketch of a narrative” about the choosing of the Istari [UT, 393 ] ), but they are o f such an unfinished nature as to render their consideration more trouble than it is worth. Some, too, can be regarded as Tolkien’s notes to himself, even if they take the form of a narrative or dialogue (e.g., The Converse ofM anwë and Era [X, 361-62]). The m atter of Finwë and Miriel prompted Tolkien to reconsider the differences in the natures of Elves and Men in Arda, especially the m or­ tality of the one and the immortality of the other. In 1959 he began an essay discussing this, entitled Aman (X, 424, 304). This led to a dialogue, the Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth (“The Debate of Finrod and A ndreth”), which he subsequently separated from the essay. This has no “au th o r­ ship,” other than its being something “recorded in the ancient lore of the Eldar” (X, 304). It is succeeded by a commentary with notes, both of which appear to be aides-mémoire for Tolkien rather than part of the lore of the Eldar, for the Commentary’s second paragraph begins, “It is in fact simply part of the portrayal of the imaginary world of the Silmarillion' (X, 329). Nevertheless, on newspapers used to wrap the Athrabeth texts, Tolkien noted: “Addit. Silmarillion / Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth / Com m entary”; from which we can surmise that the Athrabeth proper was intended to be part of “The Silmarillion” (X, 329).

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At this stage Tolkien had again become concerned about cosmology. Notes to the Athrabeth reflect something of the quasi-astronomical uni­ verse of the “Round W orld” version of the Ainulindale: “Physically Arda was what we should call the Solar System” (X> 337). Apparently, such “Flat W orld” legends as exist are Elvish tradition adapted by ignorant Men to their own beliefs: “The traditions here referred to have come down . . . through Men who received ‘lore’ from the Elves, but who had myths and cosmogonic legends, and astronomical guesses, of their ow n” (X, 337). It is stated that “The myth that appears at the end of the Silmarillion [the Second Prophecy of Mandos] is of Num endrean origin,” another sign of the shift towards the Num enorean origin of much First Age material (X, 342). In the late 1950s Tolkien tried to work out how his mythology could retain its principal features yet be set in the real universe. In some rem ark­ able texts given in Morgoth*s Ring, he conceives of the Valar entering Ea (the created physical universe) at the beginning of Time to seek out the place where they should establish the Kingdom of Arda (the solar system) and prepare it for the coming of the Children of God. The conflict between Melkor and the other Valar during the making of Arda corresponds to the geological eras of Earth’s past. Some of the holy light given to Varda by Iluvatar before she entered Ea she gives in turn to Arie, a spirit who will regulate the Sun. But Melkor ravishes Arie: she is released from Ea, and the Sun is bereft of its holy light. Then Melkor returns to the Earth and builds his underground fortress of Utumno. The Valar make the (real) M oon to bring light at night to counter his baneful influence during the absence of the Sun. The Two Trees are made and are infused by Varda with the holy light. She also makes out of mist or cloud a great dome to keep out the spies of Melkor. On its inner side are traced simulacra of the constel­ lations. It is removed after the death of the Trees, when the holy light of Iluvatar remains only in the Silmarils (X, 375-83,385-87). In brief, that is how Tolkien thought his mythology might be accom ­ m odated to the real universe. Beyond these writings, however, this scheme finds little echo in contem porary and later texts. The “Dome of Varda,” however, retained an appeal. It is m entioned in the late-i95os Quenta Silmarillion, and referred to in the linguistic essay Quendi and Eldar, of about 1959 (XI, 399). The fundamental difficulty with setting the m ythol­ ogy in the real universe is the disparity in scale between the powers of the Valar and the size of the cosmos. If the Valar’s powers correspond only with the Earth or the solar system, then they are reduced to insignificance because the Earth and the solar system are infinitesimal compared with the

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universe at large. Conversely, if they have powers on a truly cosmic scale, they would be beings of inconceivable power, which would be inconsistent with their deeds and powers as given in the existing legendarium. Perhaps associated with these texts is a note indicating that “the Three Great Tales [Beren and Luthien, The Children o f Hurin and The Fall of Gondolin] must be Num en6rean, and derived from m atter preserved in Gondor. They were part o f . . . the Legendarium of the Fathers of M e n .. . . Should not these be given as Appendices to the Silmarillion?” (X, 373). On the back of this same note, Tolkien wrote: “The cosmogonic myths are Num endrean, blending Elven-lore with hum an myth and imagination. A note should say that the Wise of Niim enor recorded that the making of stars was not so, nor of Sun and M oon” (X, 374). An undated note, pos­ sibly of the late 1950s (406), declared, “It has to be remembered that the ‘mythology’ is represented as being two stages removed from a true record: it is based first upon Elvish records and lore about the Valar and their own dealings with them; and these have reached us (fragmentarily) only through relics of Num en6rean (human) traditions, derived from the Eldar, in the earlier parts, though for later times supplanted by anthropocentric histories and tales” (401-2). W ritten towards the end of the 1950s (XI, 258), The Wanderings o f Hurin is a straightforward third-person narrative, with no attem pt at a “high” style. It is difficult to know what Tolkien intended with this. In a note responding to the criticisms of Prof. Clyde Kilby, Tolkien wrote that “this is a fragment of a great saga” (XI, 310). The Narn, presumably, but, if so, written in a different style. We might say that it is part of the saga of the children of Hurin “retold,” in the same way that The Lord o f the Rings can be understood as a retelling of Frodo’s original writings in the Red Book. But such retelling is out of step with the kind of thing— stately, elegaic— that “The Silmarillion” is intended to be stylistically. Its status as a text remains problematic. A short text entitled Anaxartaron Onyalie (“O f the Ents and the Eagles”) goes back perhaps to the early 1960s (XI, 340-41). It is hard to imagine what Tolkien intended with such a short but “finished” piece of Elvish myth, unless to form a chapter or part of a chapter of the Quenta, as, indeed, was done with it in the published Silmarillion. The extensive linguistic essay Quendi and Eldar, of 1959-60, is of signifi­ cance in understanding the linguistics of Tolkien’s world, but its textual status is uncertain (XI, 359). It is meant to date at least from the Third Age (X, 418). Pengolodh, “the Loremaster of Eressea,” is cited on various m at­ ters linguistic, hinting that the author is /Elfwine, though he is nowhere named; perhaps, rather, it is a “contem porary” editor of the work (XI, 393,

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397, etc.). It is said of Pengolodh that he was “one of the survivors of the destruction of Gondolin, from which he rescued a few ancient writings, and some of his own copies, compilations, and commentaries. It is due to this, and to his prodigious memory, that much of the knowledge of the Elder Days was preserved” (XI, 396). Against a post-Third Age dating is the fact that the Orcs “still . . . come forth from the lightless places” (X, 421). One would want this long, finished, and im portant text to be incor­ porated somewhere in the final “Silmarillion,” although its status needs clarification. (It would be a pity to lose the accompanying “legend of the Awakening of the Q uendi” [XI, 420-23].) Belonging to about i960, A Description o f the Island o f Numenor is set within the Num endrean-Gondorian tradition, based on materials in the archives of the Kings of Gondor. It is made explicit that the surviving Niimenorean materials were preserved either in Gondor, or in the North, in Imladris, in the care of Elrond ( UT, 165; XII, 163). The Description serves as a preamble to Aldarion and Erendis: The Mariner's Wife. This tale, also of about i960, was in a far-from-finished form, and the version in Unfinished Tales has had a good deal of editorial reshaping (XII, 163; UT t 7-8). No clue is given as to its provenance, but it m ust be presumed to be another story of Num enor preserved in the archives of Gondor. Perhaps also of this period, although the dating is far from certain, is The Line of Elros, a list­ ing of the Kings of N um enor (UT, 218-24), which remarks that the author o f the “Downfall of N um enor” was Elendil himself, probably represent­ ing a conscious change rather than an oversight (UT, 224). Presumably the Akallabeth is meant. (Perhaps not that new an idea: “Elendil has a book which he has w ritten,” says a note to The Notion Club Papers [IX, 279].) The Line o f Elros cannot in any case be considered a part of “The Silmarillion.” 1962 saw the publication of The Adventures o f Tom Bombadil. Although these verses, supposedly found in loose leaves and in the margins of the Red Book, contain little of significance for our purposes, the delightful pseudoscholarly preface refers to the “High-elvish and Niimenorean legends of Earendil,” another instance of the idea of Numen6rean transmission of the legends (PS, 10). “The Hoard” is said to contain echoes of the tale of Turin and Mim the Dwarf, and also to depend on “the lore of Rivendell, Elvish and Niim enorean” (PS, 11). The hint that Rivendell was the reposi­ tory of both Elvish and Niimendrean lore is important. (Note that “The H oard” itself starts, “W hen the moon was new and the sun young” [PS, 59].) In a letter of September 1963, Tolkien averred: “The legends have to be worked over . . . and made consistent; and they have to be inte-

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grated with The L.R.; and they have to be given some progressive shape” (1, 333)— which, if anything, suggests a degree of uncertainty about what exactly to do with the “legends.” Tolkien added a “Note on the Shire Records” at the end o f the prologue to The Lord o f the Rings in preparation for a second edition. Although it cannot be assigned an exact date, it must have been ready by about mid-1965, as it was first published in the Ballantine edition of late that year. Here, “The Silmarillion,” while not so named, is assigned to Bilbo’s “Translations from the Elvish” in “three large volumes,” which are “almost entirely concerned with the Elder Days” (FR, 23-24). Tolkien noted: “It belongs to Preface to The Silmarillion" (XII, 14). The notion that the myths and legends of the Elder Days were transmitted through Rivendell is consistent with Rivendell being the repository of Elvish and Niimendrean lore, as expressed in the preface to The Adventures o f Tom Bombadil. But this makes the matter even more difficult, for if the reason for selecting the Niimen6reans as the transmitters o f Elvish myth was to preserve the “flat world” cosmology as a consequence of primitive Mannish beliefs imposed upon the true “round w orld” Elvish history, then to go one step further and have the Mannish versions transm itted through Rivendell vitiates the concept, for would not certain of the “living sources,” Elrond and Glorfindel especially, have been acquainted with the true Elvish history and been in a position to make cor­ rections to whatever Bilbo found in manuscript form? Possibly Tolkien’s idea was to add a note of the sort already referred to: “The cosmogonic myths are Niimendrean, blending Elven-lore with hum an myth and imag­ ination. A note should say that the Wise of Niimenor recorded that the making of stars was not so, nor of Sun and M oon” (X, 374). The Road Goes Ever On of 1967 cannot be said to add anything to our knowledge of Tolkien’s then-preferred cosmology, apart possibly from the sentence “The Valar assumed these forms when, after their demiurgic labours, they came and dwelt in Arda, the ‘Realm’” (R, 74). The phrase “demiurgic labour” occurs in the notes to the Athrabeth (X, 330); “demi­ urgic beings” (of the Valar) in one of the Iate-i95os texts on restructuring the cosmology (X, 370); and ‘“demiurgic period’” in another (X, 387): all contexts in which Tolkien was considering a much-expanded cosmology. The essay titled by Christopher Tolkien The Shibboleth o f Feanor was written some time after February 1968 (XII, 331). Since the first words of this primarily linguistic essay are “The history of the Eldar is now fixed and the adoption of Sindarin by the Exiled Noldor cannot be altered,” and later we have “The use by Galadriel, as reported in The Lord of the Rings," this m ust be regarded more as Tolkien’s notes to himself than as

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another mythological text (XII, 331» 332). It throws no light on matters cos­ mological, but does note that “The Silmarillion.. . . is not an Eldarin title or work. It is a compilation, probably made in Num enor, which includes (in prose) the four great tales or lays of the heroes of the Atani, of which ‘The Children o f H urin’ was probably composed already in Beleriand in the First Age, but necessarily is preceded by an account o f Feanor and his making of the Silmarils. All however are ‘M annish’ works” (XII, 357). In a letter of 17 July 1971, he said, “The legends are mainly o f ‘M annish’ origin blended with those o f the Sindar. . . and others who had never left Middle­ earth” (L, 411). Finally, in a discussion of Elvish reincarnation written in the last year of his life, Tolkien again stressed the M annish origin of the legends: “nearly all the matter of The Silmarillion is contained in myths and legends that have passed through M en’s hands and minds, and are (in many points) plainly influenced by contact and confusion with the myths, theories, and legends of Men” (XII, 390). IN CO N CLU SIO N : TH E S ILM A R ILLIO N R ESTO R ED ?

The very earliest form of the mythology was presented as a collection of the tales gathered by Eriol that he was told in the Elvish isle of Tol Eressea. This isle is later dragged back to the Great Lands for the Faring Forth of the Elves, and becomes Luthany, or Britain. Eriol, who has gained the im m or­ tality of the Elves by drinking limpe, sees the final outcom e of this venture. His Golden Book tells the full history. In order to avoid difficulties of chronology, this was revised into a scheme whereby Britain and Eressea are quite distinct. /Elfwine (Eriol renamed) becomes an eleventh-century (later, tenth-century) Englishman who somehow reaches Tol Eressea in the west. There he is told the tales of the Elves’ history, which he records and brings home. All this had been set in a small, flat world. In the 1930s Tolkien organised the cosmology of the tales in the Ambarkanta. The late 1930s saw the introduction of Numenor, significant for two reasons: first, because it introduced the concept of a transition from a flat to a round world; second, because it implied that there was a good deal of unrecorded history between the era of the Elvish myths and our known history. Num enor was not immediately incorporated into “The Silmarillion” as it then stood, which continued to reflect the “standard” model. However, the changes in cosmology and history introduced by the Num enor material may have reflected the first stirrings of doubt about the standard, “Ambarkanta” model o f the world in which the myths were set: that was a flat world in a miniature universe, whereas we, who are sup-

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posed to accept the myths as, in some sense, a true history, live on a round world in an unimaginably vast universe. These doubts seem to have been exacerbated during the composition of The Lord o f the Rings, begun as a sequel to The Hobbit, which had not been intended as a part of the mythology, although it used the mythology as a background. Now that The Lord o f the Rings had become the story of the passing away of the Elder World, the immediate consequence was a great extension of the historical framework: the First Age for “The Silmarillion”; the Second Age for the rise and downfall of Niimenor; the Third Age for the post-Num en6rean kingdoms and the final reemergence of Sauron, ser­ vant of M orgoth, culminating in the quest of Frodo the Ringbearer. From the Fourth Age on is the Age o f Men, which must eventually turn into known history. One consequence is that the island of Leithien, or Britain, as the rem nant of shattered Beleriand, has ceased to have a meaningful role. It plainly does not lie off the shores of Second or Third Age Middle-earth, unpeopled and unhistoried. Now it can only emerge as a separate entity in some future evolution of the lands of the North-W est of Middle-earth, as can Europe as a whole. This tends to loosen the “English mythological” connection. About this time Tolkien became exercised about the cosmological set­ ting of his world, and I think it was more the m atter o f overall scale that concerned him than the flatness of the world. These considerations led him to two new alternative models: one essentially that of the m odern astronomical universe, with a round earth from the beginning; the other, something of a compromise universe, apparently consisting of what is pretty much the old Ambarkanta world embedded in a much larger region of “innumerable stars”—a quasi-astronomical universe at least. The latter seems to have been the preferred model for some years, although it is sometimes difficult to tell exactly which is being referred to. In so altering his cosmology, Tolkien was faced with a problem. The old stories of his mythology that were tied to the Ambarkanta universe— the starmaking activities of Varda, the origin of Sun and Moon from the Two Trees, and so on— could no longer be true. Since the Elves must be supposed to have true astronomical knowledge from the Valar, the old myths could no longer originate with the Elves (specifically with Pengolofc). Tolkien considered jettisoning the entire Pengolo6- r) m, (m)

N e 0, ( e > e ) N m nd [D], nj [M] !"• 1 t,(t) □ q & 0 M d

u, (u) nd [D], nj [M]

Germanic runes for /a, e, i, o, u/, respectively, denote Id, 6, i, u, a/ in the Angerthas. The consonantal signs correspond in a similar fashion, but such correspondences as those between Angerthas /b/ and Germanic /r/ would appear to rule out phonological development from the Elvish values to the Proto-Ger manic. The other m ajor difficulty in positing a development o f the fuf>ark out of the certhas lies in the differing arrangements of the systems. The Elvish systems are arranged according to phonological relationships between the signs. The original Runes of Doriath (VII, 460) are arranged thus: vowels, voiceless stops, voiced stops, voiceless fricatives, voiced fricatives and liq­ uids, nasals, semivowels. The Angerthas Daeron is organized differently, but also for the most part according to phonological principles: labials, den­ tals, palato-alveolars, velars, labiovelars, liquids (+/ng/), sibilants (+/nd/), vowels (along with semivowels and /h/). The Germanic system has no pho­ nologically based arrangement; the fuj>ark order appears to be as arbitrary as that of our own alphabet, and its origin remains open to speculation. One possible solution to the problem of deriving the fujtark from the certhas might be to assume that the runes were borrowed by some Mannish tribe before they had been systematically arranged by the Elves. Tolkien does in fact tell us that the assignment of values to the cirth was originally unsystematic, but that I $ H A “were vowels and remained so in all later developments” (RK, 401).6 The “Appendix on Runes,” however, states that it was in the order of the Runes of Doriath outlined above that the alphabet “was borrowed in Ossiriand, and so in E. Danian and Taliska” (VII, 460).

no

TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM

Another solution would be to assume that the tribe of Edain that cre­ ated the fujtark borrowed the idea of runes rather than the actual forms. A historical parallel can be found in the case of Sequoyah, whose Cherokee syllabary contains a num ber of letters from the English alphabet, but with very different values.7 However, the correspondences between vocalic runes and vocalic cirth and between consonantal runes and consonantal cirth would seem to indicate that the creators of the fufrark had a better knowledge of the Elvish runes than Sequoyah had of the Roman alphabet. In the end, we are left with a num ber of questions that cannot be answered with certainty. Did Tolkien actually design his cirth to be a m yth­ ological source for the Germanic runes? If so, through whom were these signs supposedly transmitted from the Sindar of Doriath to the Teutonic tribes of N orthern Europe? W hat brought about the changes in the values of the individual runes? W hat motivated the rearrangement of the signs into the seemingly arbitrary fujtark order? Perhaps Tolkien desired to cast only a little light on the history of the runes— or rather his feigned history thereof—in order to preserve the mystery from which the runes got their name. NOTES

i. The letter represents the t/i-sound of English thorn, by which name this letter is generally known. 2. The Old English o-rune, called ôs, was derived from the Germanic a-rune, *ansuz, because of the phonological change of Proto-Germanic */ans/ to /ôs/ in Old English and Old Frisian. The Old English sounds represented by y and ea did not exist in the Proto-Germanic language for which the runes were originally designed. See Elliott, 44-45. 3. See also Christopher Tolkien’s discussion of the link between the runes in The Hobbit and those in the “Appendix on Runes” (VII, 452). 4. Tolkien remarks that there was no z-rune in the Old English runic alphabet employed in The Hobbit, stating that “the dwarf-rune A may be used if required” (H, 8). 5. Values of cirth presented in Appendix E (RK, 402-3) are distinguished as necessary by means of the following abbreviations: D = Angerthas Daeron; M = Angerthas Moria; E = Mode of Erebor. Values of Doriath runes from the “Appendix on Runes” (VII, 460-63) are given in parentheses. 6. With regard to the correlation between the Elvish value /e/ and the Germanic value /h/ for the rune H, note the similar correspondence between Greek H (êta) and Latin H. 7. For example, Cherokee D has the value /a/ and Cherokee L has the value /tie/; see Daniels and Bright, 587-89.

CERTHAS, SKIRDITAILA, FUpARK

ill

WORKS CITED

Arntz, Helmut. Handbuch der Runenkunde. Halle/Saale: Niemeyer, 1935. Behrens, E. Zur Herkunft der Runen. Leipzig and Strassburg: Heitz, 1941. Bork, Ferdinand. “Zur Entstehungsgeschichte des FuJ>arks.” Mannus 16 (1923): 126-37. Bugge, Sophus. Norges indskrifter med de celdre runer. Christiania: A. W. Brogger, 1905-13. Daniels, Peter T., and William Bright, eds. The World's Writing Systems. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1996. Diringer, David. The Alphabet: A Key to the History of Mankind. Second edition. New York: Philosophical Library, 1949. Elliott, Ralph W. V. Runes: An Introduction. Second edition, New York: St. Martin’s, 1989. Friesen, O tto von. “De germanska, anglofrisiska och tyska runorna.” Nordisk Kultur 6 (1933): 1-79. Hammarström, Magnus. “Om runeskriftens härkomst.” Studier i Nordisk Filologi 20 (1930): 1-65. Kabell, Aage. “Periculum runicum.” Norsk Tidsskrift for Sprogvidenskap 21 (1967): 94-126. Kirchhoff, A. Das gothische Runenalphabet: Eine Abhandlung. Second edition. Berlin: Wilhelm Hertz, 1854. Marstrander, Carl J. S. “Om runene og runenavnenes oprindelse.’’ Norsk Tids­ skrift for Sprogvidenskap 1 (1928): 85-188. Moltke, Erik. “Er runeskriften opstäet i Danmark?” Fra Nationalmuseets Arbejdsmark (1951): 47-56. Pokorny, Julius. Indogermanisches etymologisches Wörterbuch. Bern: Francke, 1959-69Shippey, T. A. The Road to Middle-Earth. Second edition. London: Grafton, 1992. Sibley, Jane T. “J. R. R. Tolkien’s Runes.” Vinyar Tengwar 6 (1989): 7-8. Taylor, Isaac. Greeks and Goths: A Study on the Runes. London: Macmillan, 1879. Vries, Jan de. Altnordisches etymologisches Wörterbuch. Third edition. Leiden: Brill, 1977. Watkins, Calvert, ed. The American Heritage Dictionary of Indo-European Roots. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1985. Weinhold, Karl. Altnordisches Leben. Berlin: Weidmann, 1856. Wimmer, Ludvig F. A. Runeskriftens oprindelse og udvikling i norden. Kobenhavn: Prior, 1874.

PATRICK WYNNE AND CARL F. HOSTETTER

THREE ELVISH VERSE MODES A n n -th en n a th , M in la m a d thent / estent, and Linnod

J. R. R. Tolkien believed that the chief criterion by which one could mea­ sure the success of an “art-language” was the ability to use it to write poetry. In his essay on such created languages, A Secret Vice, Tolkien wrote: Of course, if you construct your art-language on chosen principles, and in so far as you fix it, and courageously abide by your own rules, resisting the temptation of the supreme despot to alter them for the assistance of this or that technical object on any given occasion, so far you may write poetry of a sort. Of a sort, I would maintain, no further, or very little further, removed from real poetry in full, than is your appreciation of ancient poetry (especially of a fragmentarily recorded poetry such as that of Iceland or ancient England), or your writing of ‘verse’ in such a foreign idiom. (MC, 218-19) Tolkien’s own art-languages, the Elvish languages in particular, were quick to achieve this sort of poetic success. As early as 1915-16 Qenya had been elaborated and polished to the point where Tolkien could use it to write Narqelion, a twenty-line meditation on ‘A utum n’ in rhyming verse. Throughout the subsequent decades of Tolkien’s creative life, poetry con­ tinued to play a prom inent role as a means of artistic expression in the Elvish languages, with the result that a significant proportion of the texts in Quenya, Noldorin, and Sindarin available to us today appear in the form of poetry. In addition to the artistic content of his Elvish poems, Tolkien also gave much thought to the underlying technical aspects of Elvish prosody, as is amply demonstrated by his detailed notes to Namdrie and A Elbereth Gilthoniel in The Road Goes Ever On. This attention to technical details included the invention o f Elvish names for three modes of Sindarin verse: ann-thennath, M inlamad thent / estent, and linnod. In the pages that follow we discuss each of these three modes in detail, determining the meaning and etymology of their Sindarin names, as well as explaining how these names describe defining characteristics of the verse modes to which they refer. Along the way we see some of the chosen principles Tolkien followed

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in constructing Sindarin, as well as some of the rules he abided by in the creation of Sindarin poetry. A N N -T H E N N A T H

In the published corpus there are five poems written in Sindarin: A Elbereth Gilthoniel, G andalf’s opening spell before the West-gate of Moria, Sam’s invocation to Elbereth, Gilraen’s linnod, and Liithien’s hymn to the M oon in the 1950 revision of The Lay o f Leithian. (For convenience, the complete texts of these poems, with our scansions, are given as an appendix to this essay.) In addition to poems of this type written in actual Sindarin, Noldorin, or Quenya, several of the English poems in The Lord of the Rings are portrayed as translations from Elvish originals into Westron, the Com m on Speech, represented in The Lord o f the Rings by M odern English (see RK, 411). For example, Legolas says that his song of Amroth and Nimrodel “is a fair song in our woodland tongue; but this is how it runs in the Westron Speech, as some in Rivendell now sing it” (FR, 353). Similarly, Treebeard tells Merry and Pippin that the song of the Ent and Entwife was originally “an Elvish song,” adding, “This is how it runs in your tongue” (77, 80); and after Sam’s recitation of The Fall o f Gil-galad, Strider comments that the original lay “is in an ancient tongue. Bilbo must have translated it” (FR, 198). There is no evidence that Tolkien ever actually wrote any of the original Elvish poems said to underlie these “translated” versions, but such references provide an additional layer of depth to the sub-created world, implying that Middle-earth was home to a vast body of authentic Elvish verse of which we are shown only tantalizing glimpses. Another “translation” of this type is Strider’s tale ofTimiviel (FR, 204-5), which he chants to the Hobbits as they sit around a campfire in the little dell on the slopes of W eathertop. This begins: The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen O f stars in shadow shimmering. Tinuviel was dancing there To music o f a pipe unseen, And light o f stars was in her hair, And in her raiment glimmering.

At the end of this poem Strider tells the Hobbits, “That is a song . . . in the mode that is called ann-thennath among the Elves, but is hard to render

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in our Com m on Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it.” Here Tolkien carries the pretense o f translation a step further by naming the poetic mode of the putative Elvish original, which we can reasonably assume was in Sindarin, since the term ann-thennath is itself a Sindarin word. Although the meaning of ann-thennath is not given, it appears to contain the follow­ ing elements: • ann ‘long’ appears in the adverb anann ‘long’ (< an- ‘for’1 + ann ‘long’) in Cuio i Pheriain anann! ‘Long live the Halflings!* (RK, 231; £, 308). The forms an- and and- also occur, for example in Anfalas ‘Langstrand’ and Andrath ‘Long Climb’ (RK, 43; UT, 418). The Etymologies, under the base ANAD-, ANDA-, gives the Noldorin forms and, ann ‘long.’ • thenn probably means ‘short,’ judging from its close resemblance to Noldorin thent ‘short’ and thinnas ‘shortness,’ given as derivatives of STINTA- ‘short’ in the Etymologies. Also related is the Noldorin suffix -(e)then in Lammasethen, “The shorter account of Pengolod,” title of the abridged version of the Elvish sage’s Lammas or Lhammas ‘Account of Tongues’ (V, 167,192). A Sindarin word thent, identical to N. thent ‘short,’ also occurs in the name of the mode Minlamad thent / estent, which is discussed below. • -ath, a Sindarin suffix “used as a group plural, embracing all things of the same name, or those associated in some special arrangement or organization,” e.g., elenath ‘the host of the stars’ and Argonath ‘the pair of royal stones’ (R, 74-75). Thus ann-thennath appears to literally mean *‘long-shorts,’ or more freely *‘longs and shorts (in some special arrangement or organization)’— not inappropriate as the name of a mode of verse, since the terms long and short are comm only used in prosody to describe syllables of contrast­ ing length in quantitative verse (such as Latin), stressed versus unstressed syllables in accentual verse (such as English), and poetic lines consisting of varying num bers of syllables or metrical feet. The OED even cites an expression longs and shorts dating back to the sixteenth century, meaning “quantitative (esp. Latin or Greek) verses or versification,” though as we shall see, Sindarin poetry was primarily accentual rather than quantitative. Assuming that this basic translation of ann-thennath is correct, we are still left with the question of what specific kind of ‘longs and shorts’ is referred to, and what kind of “special arrangement or organization” these occur in. Although Strider says that his version of the poem provides “but a rough echo” of the original Sindarin mode, it is nonetheless likely that

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Tolkien intended the term ann-thennath to describe at least some of the characteristic features seen in the English poem, especially considering that the English version of the poem was apparently the only one ever writ­ ten. 2 Moreover, as will be shown in the following discussion, many of the distinguishing features of the English poem are also found in genuine Sindarin verse. O ur examination of the characteristic features of ann-thennath focuses on three areas: meter, rhyme scheme, and rhyme types. Meter Strider’s poem consists of nine stanzas of eight lines each, rhymed abac» babe. If the ‘longs and shorts’ referred to by ann-thennath are in fact long and short syllables, then we might expect Strider’s poem to be trochaic» i.e., composed of metrical feet in which a long (or accented) syllable is followed by a short (unaccented) syllable: ( ' w ). However, precisely the opposite is true: the meter of the poem is primarily iambic» i.e., composed of metrical feet in which an unaccented syllable is followed by an accented syllable: ( w ' ).3 The a- and M ines consist of four such feet: The leaves | were long, | the grass | was green, The hem|lock-um|bels tall | and fair

This meter, known as iambic tetrameter» predominates am ong our exam­ ples of Sindarin rhymed verse. In Tolkien’s commentary on A Elbereth Gilthoniel in The Road Goes Ever On» he notes that the hymn to Elbereth is in “accentual iambic metre, each line having 4 feet” (R» 71). The same m eter also occurs in Sam’s invocation to Elbereth and Liithien’s song to the Moon. The only rhymed Sindarin poem that is not in this meter is G andalf’s opening spell.4 This suggests the alternate possibility that ann-thennath could refer to the regular alternation between short and long syllables in iambic verse. However, the very prevalence of iambic meter in Sindarin poetry makes it an unlikely prospect for the principal distinguishing feature of ann-then­ nath. Strider’s rem ark that the mode “is hard to render in our Common Speech, and this is but a rough echo of it” implies that ann-thennath involved more complex or subtle characteristics than simple iambic meter, which was apparently as common and easily achieved in Sindarin poetry as it is in English. A likelier candidate emerges in the c-lines of Strider’s poem. Unlike the a- and M ines, the M ines consist of just three iambic feet, followed by two unstressed syllables:

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Of stars |in sha|dow shim|menng. And in | her rai|ment ghm|mering. This sort o f ending, in which the last stressed syllable of an iambic line is followed by one or two unstressed extrametrical syllables, is called a fem i­ nine ending. The a- and M ines, in contrast, feature masculine endings with the stress on the final syllable of the line. Tolkien uses the lighter, quicker sound of these feminine line endings to produce a highly evocative effect. In all stanzas of the poem save the last, the Mines end with trisyllabic pres­ ent participles in -ing,5 the majority of which describe ephemeral, softly fluctuating light or sound: shimmering, glimmering, glistening, quavering, wavering, quivering, shivering, bubbling. Thus the lightness of the feminine endings with their falling stress pattern ( ' w w ) echoes metrically the m ean­ ings of the words themselves: the c-lines seem to shim m er and fade away at the end, like the evanescent lights and sounds they describe. This provides a delicate counterpoint to the more forceful masculine endings (usually monosyllables) of the a- and M ines, with their rising stress pattern (~ ') . It is possible, then, that ann-thennath ‘longs and shorts’ refers to the contrast between the poem ’s “long lines” of four iambs, and its “short lines” of three iambs with a feminine ending.6 This would mean that annthennath was a Sindarin type of tail-rhyme stanza, i.e., a stanza consisting of long and short lines in which the two rhyming short lines serve as “tails” to sections of the stanza. An example of this type of stanza in English poetry is Chaucer’s Sir Thopas, rhymed aabaab, in which the M ines have four iambic feet and the M ines three. Genuine Sindarin poetry features both stressed and unstressed line end­ ings, though the two types never occur together in the same poem. The line endings in A Elbereth Gilthoniel, Sam’s invocation, and Luthien’s song are all stressed (i.e., masculine), while Gandalf’s opening spell and Gilraen’s linnod feature unstressed endings with a single unstressed final syllable: [ammen, lammen] and [anim ].7 Feminine endings o f the type seen in Strider’s poem, with two unstressed final syllables— [glimmering]— are nowhere to be found in the genuine Sindarin poems, and evidence suggests that this type o f feminine ending may not have been possible in Sindarin. In his notes to Namdrie in The Road Goes Ever On, Tolkien says that final syllables in Quenya words of two syllables such as yulma ‘cup’ were n o r­ mally unstressed, but “in the very frequent cases of words ending in two short 8 syllables, as undtime, tellumar, lumbule, hisie, etc. they received a light stress that could be used metrically. This is seen especially at the ends

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of lines, which in a highly inflected language like Quenya will naturally have as a final word one ending in inflexions or derivative suffixes” (R, 69). Thus tellumar is stressed [tillum&r], and so on. Similar principles seem to have governed Sindarin stress patterns, at least in poetry, with the final syllable of words ending in two short syllables also receiving a secondary stress. A Elbereth Gilthoniel, for example, only scans as iambic if Elbereth, Gilthoniel, miriely etc. receive a secondary stress on the final syllable: A £l|bereth | Gilthd|niel, siliv|ren p£n|na mf|ridl

This metrical use of secondary stresses in Sindarin raises an interesting point regarding ann-thennath. Although the c-lines in Strider’s poem all end in present participles except for the last stanza, it is unlikely that the equivalent lines in any Sindarin original would end in Sindarin present participles in -iel, for example palan-diriel ‘gazing afar’ in Sam’s invoca­ tion (< TIR ‘watch,’ Ry 72-73). The reason for this is metrical: although the suffix -iel (which also functions as a feminine suffix and past parti­ ciple ending) appears frequently at the end of lines in the extant poems, its meter is always iambic, as in Gilthoniel and miriel in the lines diagrammed above. Therefore the use of -iel at the end of the c-lines would not only result in masculine rather than feminine line endings, it would also make the c-lines the same length as the a- and b-lines by adding a fourth iambic foot. If feminine endings were required in the c-lines of ann-thennathy then words of the form lammem anim with a single final unstressed syllable would need to be employed. Sindarin undoubtedly had words of this pat­ tern capable of expressing participial concepts, for example the adjective silivren [silivren] ‘glittering’ in A Elbereth Gilthoniel. Rhyme Scheme Rhymed Sindarin verse was not uncom m on, existing alongside unrhymed poetic modes such as the linnodand (probably) Minlamad thent /estent. In fact, most of our extant examples of genuine Sindarin verse fall into the rhyming category. Ann-thennath was apparendy a rhymed mode, judging from the regular rhyme scheme abac, babe of Strider’s version, and the placement of the c-lines within this scheme m ight provide another referent of the term ann-thennath. While the a- and b-rhymes could be considered ‘short’ in that they are only separated from one another by a single intervening line, the c-rhymes are distinctively ‘long’ in comparison, being separated from one another by three lines. This sort of “long dis-

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tance” rhyme may have been a feature unique to ann-thennath, since no comparable separation of rhyming lines appears in the genuine Sindarin poems: Sam ’s invocation and Gandalf’s opening spell consist of simple couplets (aabb andaa, respectively) and A Elbereth Gilthoniel and Liithien’s song feature a combination of couplets and alternate-line rhymes (aababcc and ababb).9 Rhyme Types Another consistent pattern in Strider’s poem is the alternation between masculine and feminine rhymes.10 A masculine rhyme is one in which the rhyming words or portions of words, called “rhyme-fellows,” are m ono­ syllabic (dawn-fawn-, ap/plaud-de/fraud-, pala/din-harle/qum ). W hen the rhyme-fellows consist of two or more syllables, the rhyme is said to be feminine (waking-breaking, master-di/saster). Feminine rhymes with rhyme-fellows of three syllables are sometimes referred to as triple rhymes (attitude-latitude, germinate-exj terminate). In Strider’s poem, the rhymes in the a- and M ines are all masculine (fair-there-hair, roam-Elven/home, sound-under/ground) while those in the c-lines are uniformly triple-fem i­ nine (listening-glistening, bubbling-un/troubling,11 morrowless-sorrowless), forming a pattern parallel to that already seen with masculine and femi­ nine line endings. Both masculine and feminine rhyme types are also found in genuine Sindarin verse. Masculine rhymes occur in Liithien’s song (E ni/chindin), A Elbereth Gilthoniel (ele/nath-enno/rath), and Sam’s invocation (di’nguru/r/ios-Fanui/Zos), while the rhyme in G andalf’s opening spell is feminine (ammen-lammen). A Elbereth Gilthoniel also includes a triple rhyme (miriel-palan/diriel). In addition to these instances of true rhyme, Sindarin poetry also made frequent use of a kind of near rhyme. For exam ­ ple, in A Elbereth Gilthoniel, the words miriel and palan-diriel are rhymed with Gilthoniel, the latter containing no true rhyme but echoing the ter­ m ination -iel. This sort of near rhyme in -iel is also found in Liithien’s song (dtriel-gilthoniel-Tinuviel) and Sam’s invocation (Gilthoniel-palandiriel). Near rhyme is also an old device in Welsh and Irish verse, which is interesting in light of the fact that Tolkien modeled the Sindarin language after Welsh. This regular alternation between masculine rhymes in the a- and M ines and triple-feminine rhymes in the c-lines provides yet another possible ref­ erent for the ‘longs and shorts’ of ann-thennath: masculine rhymes could be considered ‘short’ because the rhyme-fellows are monosyllabic, in con-

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trast to ‘long’ feminine rhymes in which the rhyme-fellows consist of two or more syllables. M IN L A M A D T H E N T /E ST E N T

There is a second mode of Elvish verse of which, like ann-thennath, we are given the Sindarin name, but no translation of that name and no Elvish examples of the mode. In the chapter “/Elfwine and Dirhaval” o f The War o f the Jewels, Christopher Tolkien sets forth in full two versions of a note that his father intended to serve as an introduction to the N a m i Chin Hurin, the great ‘Tale of the Children of H urin.’ Both versions relate that the Narn has come down to us via a translation into Old English prose, by the Anglo-Saxon m ariner /Elfwine, of an Elvish verse original com ­ posed by the Mannish poet Dirhaval.12 In the second version o f this note, /Elfwine himself explains that Dirhaval composed the N am in “the Greyelven tongue,” i.e., Sindarin, employing “that mode of Elvish verse . . . which was of old proper to the narn,” a verse mode “not unlike the verse of the English” (XI, 313). In the first version this mode of Elvish verse is named: “M inlamad thent / estent” 13; and we are again told that it “was not wholly unlike the verse known to yElfwine” (XI, 311).14 As Christopher Tolkien notes (XI, 314), the “verse of the English” that is “known to /Elfwine,” an Anglo-Saxon m ariner of the Old English period, must be the alliterative verse mode in which all extant Old English poetry was composed. Nor is it likely mere coincidence that Tolkien’s unfinished Lay o f the Children o f Hurin of the 1920s was composed in this alliterative mode (though in Modern English), here illustrated by a few lines from the Lay (III, 6): Lo! Hurin Thalion in the hosts of war was whelmed, what time the white-clad armies of Elfinesse were all to ruin by the dread hate driven of Delu-Morgoth. The essential characteristics of Old English alliterative verse may be con­ veniently summarized by quoting from Tolkien’s own concise treatm ent of the m atter in Part II (“On M etre”) of his essay On Translating Beowulf 15 : The Old English line was composed of two opposed word-groups or ‘halves’. Each half was an example, or variation, of one of six basic patterns. The patterns were made of strong and weak elements, which may be called ‘lifts’ and ‘dips’. The standard lift was a long stressed syllable (usually with a

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relatively high tone). The standard dip was an unstressed syllable, long or short, with a low tone. (MC, 61-62) The selected patterns were all of approximately equal metrical weight.. . . The line was thus essentially a balance of two equivalent blocks. These blocks might be, and usually were, of different pattern and rhythm. There was in consequence no com m on tune or rhythm shared by lines in virtue of being ‘in the same m etre.’ The ear should not listen for any such thing, but should attend to the shape and balance of the halves. Thus the rdaring sda rdlling Idndward is not metrical because it contains an ‘iambic’ or a ‘trochaic’ rhythm, but because it is a balance. (62-63) Alliteration in this metre is the agreement of the stressed elements in beginning with the same consonant, or in beginning with no consonant. All words beginning with a stressed vowel of any quality ‘alliterate’. (66) The main metrical function of the alliteration is to link the two separate and balanced patterns together into a complete line. (67)

We may suppose then that the Sindarin name Minlamad thent / estent of an Elvish verse mode that is “not wholly unlike” the alliterative mode of Old English poetry, denotes a similar alliterative verse mode: that is, a verse mode characterized by the opposition and balance within a single line of two half-lines, linked by an agreement or repetition of the initial sounds of the stressed elements of the half-lines. That this is the case is shown by an analysis of the name, the apparent literal meaning of which describes characteristics shared by Old English alliterative verse. Although untranslated, the Sindarin name Minlamad thent / estent appears to contain the following elements: • min- *‘first,’ as in S. minuial *‘first twilight’ (RK, 389), cognate with Quenya minya ‘first’ (V, 373 s.v. MINI-; XI, 380).16 • lam- *‘echo.’ The elem ent lam in Sindarin had two distinct meanings: (1) ‘tongue’ (and by extension ‘language’); cf. lam, both ‘tongue’ and ‘language’ (XI, 394), and lammen ‘of my tongue’ (FR, 320; S, 363); and (2) ‘echo’ or ‘echoing voice,’ as in Lammoth ‘The Great Echo’ (X, 296), Eryd Lammad ‘Echoing M ountains’ (XI, 192), and Lanthir Lamath ‘waterfall of echoing voices’ (XII, 349); cf. Q. Idma ‘ringing sound, echo’ (V, 367 s.v. LAM-). Given the context, it is most likely the latter meaning, ‘echo, echoing voice,’ that is intended in minlamad. • -ad is a Sindarin gerundial/infinitival ending appearing in such forms as genediad ‘reckoning’ (IX, 128-29), suilad ‘greeting’ (ibid.), and aderthad ‘reuniting’ (XI, 34).

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M inlamad may thus be translated as *‘first-echoing,’ indicating the “echoing” or repetition of initial sounds, and hence less literally as ’"‘allit­ eration.’ • thent and estent are apparently variant forms of each other and of the element thenn- *‘short’ that appears in ann-thennath. The Etymologies lists Noldorin thent ‘short’ as a derivative of the base STINTA- ‘short’ (V, 388); and estent can be explained as derived from the same form by the addition of prefixed sundoma or base-vowel (which prefix, like the sundoma in both forms thent and estent, has been lowered by ^-affection from *i- to e-): i.e., *stinta > *istinta > estent.i7 (Cf. also the element *-(e)then in Lammasethen, “The shorter account [oftongues]” [V, 192].) The precise significance of these variant forms and of the slash that divides them is uncertain, but two main possibilities suggest themselves: 1. By writing “thent / estent,” Tolkien may have m eant simply to indicate that the two forms are interchangeable variants: i.e., that the verse form was (or could be) called both Minlamad thent and Minlamad estent. It is then to be noted that thent (estent) ‘short’ is in the usual Sindarin adjectival position, following the modified n o u n . 18 In this case, the adjective thent (estent) presum ably characterizes this as a particular, short type of minlamad that is distinct from another, (by contrast) long type. 2. Alternatively, the slash and the variant forms may have a structural significance: that is, in the same way that ann-thennath *‘long-shorts’ apparently refers to verse characterized by an arrangement of alternating long and short units, M inlamad thent / estent may signify that the allitera­ tive verse line is composed of paired units: one short unit (thent) followed by and linked by alliteration to another short unit (estent). In this case, “thent I estent” presumably indicates a sequence of two “short lines,” as half-lines are sometimes called,19 joined by alliteration to form, as it is usually called, a long line of alliterative verse. The slash may thus represent the caesura between two half-lines, usually represented in editions of Old English poetry by several spaces.20 O f these two interpretations of thent / estent, it remains of the first to examine what aspect of verse in the mode of Minlamad thent / estent might be characterized as “short,” and thus distinct from another, (presumably)

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long type of minlamad. It seems that thent I estent cannot make reference to the length of such a poem as a whole, since M inlamad thent I estent is the mode o f the Narn i Chin Htirin, “the longest o f all the lays that are now remembered in Eressea” (XI, 313). And since it is not the whole of the poem that is “short,” it m ust be that some subunit of the poem is short. That this unit might be a half-line (“short line”) has already been discussed. Of the remaining candidate units (stanza, line, syllable, etc.), the one about which we can say m ore is the line. In their discussion o f the meter of the Middle English poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (SGGK), Tolkien and E. V. Gordon note that its “Long Alliterative Lines” (118) are distinguished from those o f the mass of Old English poetry by (among other factors) their greater num ber of syl­ lables: The number of unstressed syllables is considerably greater in ME. lines [than in OE. lines). The m inim um half-line of four syllables, frequent in Beowulf, is rare in Sir Gawain.. . . In ME. the first half-line may have three lifts instead o f two [as in OE.[: usually all three then take the alliteration. (118) Most lines have two or three alliterating staves in the first half, one in the second half. The type in which there is only one stave in the first half-line, one in the second half (so frequent in OE.) is still used, but is comparatively infrequent. (120)

In this sense, the mass of Old English poetry could be said to be composed in an alliterative m ode that is “short,” relative to that of SGGK, because its lines, having in general fewer syllables and alliterating staves, are gener­ ally of shorter metrical length. It seems possible then that Minlamad thent I estent similarly indicates a type of alliterative verse mode that is “short” because its half-lines have a smaller num ber o f syllables and/or alliterating staves than some other unnamed type. O f further note in this connection is the statement that Minlamad thent / estent “was o f old proper to the narn" (XI, 313, emphasis added). It may be that, just as the “longalliterative lines” o f the Middle English SGGK are distinguished by their length from the older, shorter types of Old English poetry, M inlamad thent / estent is distinguished as an older type by (at least) the length of its line.21 Minlamad thent / estent may thus be analyzed as describing a verse mode characterized by an “echoing” or repetition of initial sounds, i.e., allitera­ tion. O f what we judge to be the two likeliest interpretations of “thent I estent" one suggests that the mode is further characterized by lines with a relatively small num ber of syllables and/or alliterating staves, the other by

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pairs of short lines linked by alliteration to form a long line. In either case, the name describes characteristics shared by Old English alliterative verse. Although we have no examples of Elvish verse in the mode of Minlamad thent I estent by which to more precisely determine its features, Tolkien does tell us indirectly of one further characteristic of the mode. In a foot­ note to the second version of “/Elfwine and Dirhaval,” Tolkien explains that “nam am ong the Elves signifies a tale that is told in verse to be spoken and not sung” (XI, 313). From this we may conclude that the verse mode Minlamad thent / estent, “which was of old proper to the narn” (XI, 313), was properly spoken rather than sung. It would be interesting to know whether this feature of Minlamad thent / estent was thought by Tolkien to be one held in com m on with the Old English alliterative mode, or one in which it differed. Spoken rather than sung performance is considered by some scholars to be typical of all alliter­ ative verse traditions: “In all literatures where a[liberation] is practiced,. . . it is more p ro m in e n t. . . in verse which is meant to be spoken rather than sung or chanted” (Preminger, 15). However, scholarship on the m anner of performance o f Germanic alliterative verse in general, and of Old English verse in particular, has long been divided into two main schools of thought: one maintaining that the Old English half-line, as it has come down to us in surviving poetry, was arrhythmic and nonisochronous (i.e., of vary­ ing temporal length), and consequently intended to be spoken rather than sung; the other that the half-line was indeed rhythmical and isochronous (i.e., of uniform temporal length), rendered so by a system of musical beats and rests, and so was probably sung. The chief proponent of the arrhythmic, nonisochronous, and so spoken m anner of performance was Eduard Sievers, who in his landm ark Altgermanische Metrik of 1893 set forth the five-type system of Old English meter that bears his name and that, despite more than a century of criti­ cism, still forms the basis of nearly every account of the meter. Tolkien’s own brief account of Old English m eter in his essay On Translating Beowulf, quoted above, is based on and agrees in its particulars with that of Sievers.22 This essay shows that, at least at the time that he wrote it (i.e., circa 1940), Tolkien agreed with Sievers and his followers that Old English verse was arrhythmic and nonmelodic: [Half-lines] might be, and usually were, of different pattern and rhythm. There was in consequence no common tune or rhythm shared by lines in virtue of being ‘in the same metre’. The ear should not listen for any such thing. (MC, 63)

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Tolkien had expressed this same view more fully in 1936, in his famous lecture, Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics2 5 : The very nature of Old English metre is often misjudged. In it there is no single rhythmic pattern progressing from the beginning of a line to the end, and repeated with variation in other lines. The lines do not go according to a tune. They are founded on a balance; an opposition between two halves of roughly equivalent!*] phonetic weight, and significant content, which are more often rhythmically contrasted than similar. They are more like masonry than music.. . . Judgement of the verse has often gone astray through listening for an accentual rhythm and pattern: and it seems to halt and stumble. (MC, 29-30) [* Author’s note: Equivalent, but not necessarily equal* certainly not as such things may be measured by machines. (47 n.30)] Another claim, held by some to be proof of the spoken performance of Old English verse, is exemplified by that made by Henry Sweet, that the patterns of its meter were those natural to spoken English: The most essential element of OE metre is the natural stress of the spoken language, the rules of sentence- as well as word-stress being rigorously observed. This proves that OE poetry must have been recited, not sung? Again, Tolkien seems to echo this opinion is his essay On Translating Beo­ w ulf in which he notes that the stress patterns of the Old English half-line are the normal patterns of four elements into which Old English words naturally fell, and into which modern English words still fall. They can be found in any passage of prose, ancient or modern. Verse of this kind differs from prose, not in re-arranging words to fit a special rhythm, repeated or varied in successive lines, but in choosing the simpler and more compact word-patterns and clearing away extraneous matter, so that these patterns stand opposed to one another. (MC, 62) Taken together, these statements show that, at least circa 1936-40, it was Tolkien’s view that the Old English alliterative verse m ode was arrhythmic and nonmelodic, and followed the natural accentual patterns of prose. As a consequence, they suggest that, at that time at least, Tolkien probably agreed with Sievers and his followers that Old English alliterative verse, like the alliterative mode Minlamad thent / estent of the Sindarin narn* was not intended to be sung. But in 1942, just two years after Tolkien’s essay On Translating Beowulf was first published, the late John C. Pope published The Rhythm o f Beowulf a highly influential response to the work of Sievers and his followers, in which he sought to refute the theory of the arrhythmic, nonisochronous

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nature and necessarily spoken manner of performance of Old English poetry. Pope proposed an alternate system of Old English verse analysis, expressed in musical terms and notation, employing a system of beats and rests in uniform measure, and indicating performance rendered rhythm i­ cal and isochronous through the use of an accompanying instrument (most likely, a harp) to keep the beat and mark the rests.25 Consequently, the view of Pope and his followers is that Old English verse was intended to be sung, employing melodic patterns regulated by musical accompaniment. It is not clear whether Tolkien was at any tim e among those scholars convinced by Pope’s argum ent for the rhythmical, isochronous nature and musical performance of Old English alliterative verse, or by similar theo­ ries that had preceded Pope’s. A review of Tolkien’s various portrayals of the minstrelsy of^Elfwine in The History o f Middle-earth might be thought to establish that he was. For instance, in The Lost Road we find the follow­ ing preface to jElfwine’s performance of an alliterative poem about King Sheave: “Suddenly /Elfwine struck a note on his harp. ‘Lo!’ he cried, loud and clear, and men stiffened to attention. *Lo!’ he cried, and began to chant an ancient tale” (V, 87). The presence here of a harp in /Elfwine’s hand might be thought to be conclusive evidence that he sang the verses that followed with harp accompaniment; but in fact it is not. That the Anglo-Saxons employed harps in their halls is dem onstrated by various references to them in Old English poems, e.g., Beowulf lines 88-9oa: he dogora gehwam dream gehyrde hludne in healle; peer wees hearpan sweg, swutol sang scopes. (“he every day heard loud m irth in the hall; there was the harp’s sound, the clear song o f the scop.")

and The Fortunes of Men, lines 80-82: Sum sceal m id hearpan cet his hlafordes fotum sittan, feoh piegan, ond a snellice snere wreestan. (“One shall sit with harp at his lord’s feet, receive a fee, and ever sm artly pluck the harpstring.”)

and, again from Beowulf lines 1063-67: Peer wees sang ond sweg samod cetgcedere fore Healfdenes hildewisan.

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gomenwudu greted, gid oft wrecen. Donne healgamen Hroftgares scop cefter medobence mcenan scolde. (“There was song and music together before Healfdene’s war-captain; harp was played, ever and anon, a tale was duly told. Then Hrothgar’s bard, in performance of his office, recounted a thing for the entertainment of those in hall upon the benches.”)26

Sievers and his followers were, of course, not unaware of these and other such passages. But no such passage conclusively demonstrates how or in accom panim ent to what type o f song or verse the harp may have been employed by the scop. Thus despite such passages, the view could be and has been maintained that, although the Anglo-Saxon minstrel undoubtedly employed a harp in the hall in some manner, perhaps in the performance of songs o f some type, it was not employed as melodic or metronomic accom panim ent to the performance of those examples of Anglo-Saxon alliterative verse that have come down to us.27 Moreover, even among those who allowed that the harp may have been used during the perfor­ mance of Old English alliterative verse, it was not necessarily seen as an indication that the verse was sung. For example, in his introduction to the book The Battle o f Maldon and Other Old English Poems, Bruce Mitchell (who was a student ofT olkien’s at Oxford in the 1950s)28 writes: “An audi­ ence would require time to grasp the implications of such sophisticated ‘riddling’ comparisons [as are made by kennings]; this and the fact that there seems to have been a harp accompaniment would suggest that Old English poetry was recited much more slowly than modern poetry” (23). If we take Mitchell’s use here of the word recited as exclusive of sung per­ formance (as it was for Henry Sweet, quoted above)— and nothing in the rest o f his introduction suggests otherwise— then it appears that the scop’s harp served, in Mitchell’s view, a purely m etronom ic or decorative, not melodic, function. Thus the presence of a harp in /Elfwine’s hand is not sufficient to dem ­ onstrate that he sang his alliterative verses. Indeed, it may be significant that in The Lost Road it is explicit only that ./Elfwine strikes his harp at the beginning of his recitation; it cannot be said whether he continued to employ it in his performance. vElfwine’s harp note here may be noth­ ing m ore than a musical interjection, equivalent in purpose to his “Lo!” the Hwcet! that begins so many Old English poems, serving to elicit the audience’s attention and silence. At any rate, it seems reasonable to expect that this portrayal, written circa 1937, would not be intended by Tolkien to

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be taken as disagreeing with his roughly contemporary statements in his essay Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics (quoted above), that the lines of Old English alliterative verse have “no single rhythmic pattern” and “do not go according to a tune.” We may thus be justified in inferring that even if /Elfwine here is to be understood to have employed the harp throughout his performance of the poem, it was not used, as Pope proposed, to mark a regular rhythmic pattern or to accompany a tune. In The Notion Club Papers, written some eight years after The Lost Road, and some three to four years after Pope’s influential book of 1942 (but still perhaps a decade before the composition o f the two texts of “/Elfwine and Dirhaval”), the poem King Sheave is performed not by vElfwine, but by Triow ine, and it is said that “he gave [his words] out strong and true, now loud, now soft, as the theme asked, without help of harp” (IX, 273). The specific detail that Triow ine used no harp in his performance might be taken to indicate that Tolkien was not convinced by Pope’s argum ents for harp accompaniment o f Old English poetry. However, one implication of this statement may be that T riow ine’s unaccompanied m anner o f perfor­ mance is noteworthy precisely because it was unusual: that is, that unlike some or even most others, he was able to give a “strong and true” perfor­ mance of this verse despite the lack of the aid of harp accompaniment. It may be therefore that, at least circa 1945, Tolkien’s view was that the perfor­ mance of Old English alliterative verse was sometimes, and perhaps usually, aided in some m anner by harp accompaniment, at least by the early tenth century, the setting of T riow ine’s performance (cf. IX, 293 n. 96). Further complicating interpretation in this m atter is the semantic range of the various words Tolkien uses to describe the manners of /Elfwine’s and T riow ine’s alliterative verse performances. For example, in The Lost Road, /Elfwine is bidden by the king and his men to sing, but it is said o f his performance that he "chanted aloud, but as one speaking to himself,” and when he ends his audience feels that his words “were not spoken to their ears” (V, 84). In The Notion Club Papers, ?Elfwine tells how his “m outh did not speak" the verse he intended, but instead “said" a different verse (IX, 271-72). In both versions, an old man defends vElfwine’s performance by urging others to let him “say what his m ood bids” (V, 84; IX, 273). But T riow ine’s verse, performed “without help o f harp,” is referred to as a song, and it is said of the “old poets” that composed such verses that they “sang in Angel of the grey North-seas” (IX, 273); and such verses are referred to as “the old songs" (IX, 276). After Triow ine ended his perfor­ mance, /Elfwine rose and “finished his song for him ” (IX, 276). These terms may seem carelessly inconsistent, if not contradictory. But it

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need not be thought that Tolkien was anything but deliberate in ranging so freely over the semantic range of speak /sa y — chant— sing in indicating the m anner of performance of Old English alliterative verses, since it reflects (and was no doubt intended to reflect) the semantic situation in Old English. For example, the Old English verb singan, the ancestor of modern sing, had as one of its meanings that of our verb, but it was also used variously in contexts where we would use read, recite, narrate, or chant', further, the Old English nouns sang and leojf could both variously mean song, poem, or lay. This situation is further reflected in Tolkien’s transla­ tion of the king’s request of/Elfwine that he “Sing me nu hwcetwegu: sum eald leoth, gif thu wilt'1 as “Recite me something, some old poem if you like” (IX, 271-72), in which Tolkien selected the words recite and poem, and not the unambiguously musical (in modern usage) sing and song. There is, moreover, a statement (made, in a sense, by^Elfwine himself) earlier in The Notion Club Papers that may imply that Old English verse was properly spoken. Arundel Lowdham (whose given name was actually /Elfwine, and who by dream-travel “becomes” the tenth-century minstrel of the same name) remarks of the Old English that “comes through” to him audibly that it is so slow! Compared with us urban chirrupers the farmers and mariners of the past simply mouthed, savoured words like meat and wine and honey on their tongues. Especially when declaiming. They made a scrap of verse majestically sonorous: like thunder moving on a slow wind, or the tramp of mourners at the funeral of a king. We just gabble the stuff. (IX, 242) The term declaim may be significant, as it primarily refers to spoken perfor­ mance; as the OED has it, it means “to speak aloud with studied rhetorical force and expression.” The portrait is of spoken verse, delivered in force­ ful and solemn procession, supporting and conveying both somber and majestic emotion not through melody, but through force of expression.29 Perhaps the best evidence we have for Tolkien’s thoughts on the m anner of performance of Old English verse contem porary with the composition of the two texts of “>Elfwine and Dirhaval” (which Christopher Tolkien ass^ns to the latter half of the 1950s, following the publication of The L jrd o f the Rings', cf. XI, 313-14) is to be found in a recording of Tolkien’s dram atic performance (with sound effects) of his alliterative poem The Homecoming o f Beorhtnoth, made by him sometime after December 3, 1954-30 In this recording, there are several points at which Tolkien, in the role of one of the Anglo-Saxon characters of the poem, performs Modern English alliterative versions of actual or putative Old English verses. At

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most of these points, the stage direction in the published poem indicates that the verses that follow are chanted. Tolkien performs these verses in a m anner distinguishable from the speech o f his characters, which occupies the bulk of the poem, in part by an at-times noticeably quicker tempo, but primarily by a higher pitch: sometimes a raised monotone, as when, near the end of the performance, Tolkien as Torhthelm chants a translation of two lines from The Battle o f Maldon; at other times rising and falling with the natural stress of the spoken words and in consonance with their em o­ tional force. These verses thus have a certain elevated tone (both musical and emotional) not usually found in normal speech,31 but there is no tune, no regular rhythm, and no fixed measure. Tolkien’s performance of these English verses is less musical even than his performance of Latin chants with which the poem ends. It appears then that, at least circa 1955, Tolkien thought that Old English alliterative poetry was, or could be, chanted, when it was not simply spoken. If in saying that M inlamad thent I estent was intended to be “spoken and not sung,” Tolkien meant to exclude the sort of chanted performance of alliterative verse he employed in The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, then it appears that he meant this Elvish alliterative verse mode to differ from that of Old English in at least this respect. But it is not entirely clear that Tolkien meant to exclude this sort of chant from spoken performance; for if chant is not the same as speech, it is also not the same as song. It has a musical tone, but not a tune; and, as A. J. Bliss notes o f Gregorian chant, it “is certainly not isochronous: its rhythm is variable, and is entirely dependent on the natural prose rhythm of the words sung” (Bliss, 107). Thus, both spoken and chanted manners of performance share certain rhythmical characteristics that distinguish them from song: they are nonisochronous, and, in Tolkien’s words, “there is no single rhythmic pattern progressing from the beginning of a line to the end, and repeated with variation in other lines,” and their stress patterns are the “normal pat­ terns . . . into which . . . words naturally fell.” Indeed, these may have been the essential characteristics of Minlamad thent / estent that Tolkien intended to convey by specifying that it was properly spoken. Thus, despite the lack of any Elvish examples of verse in the mode of Minlamad thent I estent> we may reasonably surmise, from its name and from what Tolkien says of its proper manner of performance, that it was like the Old English alliterative mode in being characterized by an opposition and balance within a single verse line of two arrhythmic, nonisochronous short lines, the stress patterns of which are those of normal speech, linked by an “echoing” or repetition of initial sounds.

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LIN N O D

The final m ode of Sindarin verse to be considered here is the linnod, the only mode for which we have both the Sindarin name and an example in the original language. It appears in The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, in a passage telling of Gilraen’s final meeting with her son, Aragorn (RK, 342). When Aragorn tries to comfort his mother after she predicts her own impending death, she answers him “only with this linnod”: Onen i-Estel Edain, u-chebin estel anim .

This is glossed as “I gave Hope to the Diinedain, I have kept no hope for myself.” We might suppose from this single pithy line of verse, laden with grim irony, that the linnod was a mode traditionally used for aphorisms or similar brief utterances of grave import.32 This aphoristic quality also suggests that the linnod typically consisted of one line only, as in our sole example. Metrically, Gilraen’s linnod consists of a line of six feet with a caesura between the third and fourth, dividing the line into two identical halves, each with seven syllables in the pattern dactyl-trochee-trochee: Onen i-|£stel | idain, || u-chebin | estel | anim. As with ann-thennath and M inlamad thent I estent, Tolkien did not pro­ vide a translation of linnod. However, the metrical structure of Gilraen’s verse points to the meaning of the term, which appears to consist of the following two elements: • linn *‘song, chant,’ a noun appearing in the com pound aerlinn *‘holy chant, holy song’ in the Sindarin subtitle of A Elbereth Gilthoniel: aerlinn in Edhil 0 Imladris *‘hymn of the Elves of Rivendell’ (written in tengwar, R, 70). The first element aer appears to be the Sindarin cognate of Q. aira ‘holy’ (XII, 363). Also compare the Sindarin verb linn- in linnathon ‘I will sing, I will chant’ (R, 72). It is unclear whether aerlinn is simply a general term for ‘hymn’ or refers to a specific mode of verse. In any event, the poetic particulars of A Elbereth are thoroughly discussed by Tolkien in The Road Goes Ever On and need not be repeated here. • od *‘seven’ is apparently a com pounding form of S. odo ‘seven’ (S, 364). This same form, assimilated to os-, is the initial element of Ossiriand ‘the Land of Seven Rivers’ (XI, 385). od appears to derive directly from the simple base OT- ‘seven,’ given in the Etymologies along with extended forms OTOS (whence Q. otso and probably S. odo) and OTOK (whence N. odog).

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A common type of Sindarin com pound consists of two nouns, the second of which modifies the first. A few examples include ithildin ‘star­ m o o n / Sirannon ‘Gate-stream,’ elanor ‘sun-star,’ and Adanedhel ‘Elf-Man’ (ER, 314, 331; RK, 306; 5, 210). The word linnod also seems to be of this type, with the meaning *‘seven-chant’ or *‘chant of seven,’ referring to the seven syllables that characterize each half-line of the verse. Thus the linnod was, as we surmise of Minlamad thent / estent, a verse mode “characterized by the opposition and balance within a single line of two half-lines.” In the case of the linnod this meant seven syllables in each half-line arranged in an identical metrical pattern. No doubt the “opposition and balance” employed in M inlamad thent/estent differed in its specifics. Another feature the linnod as a verse mode might, or might not, have shared with M inlamad thent I estent is alliteration. Certainly, Gilraen’s linnod alliterates, at least by the standards of Old English verse, in which words beginning with a stressed vowel o f any quality were held to alliterate. However, in Old English verse there were also rules governing how many stresses or “lifts” in each half-line could alliterate (no m ore than two in the first half and one in the second) and where these m ight occur, whereas in Gilraen’s linnod every stressed syllable begins with a vowel, so that they all alliterate. Lacking another example of a linnod, it remains uncer­ tain whether the alliteration in Gilraen’s linnod represents a characteristic feature of the mode, or whether it arose coincidentally in this particular example from the available vocabulary. We have seen in this discussion of ann-thennath, M inlamad thent / estent, and linnod that an extensive structure of chosen principles and rules underlies what appears on the surface to be three simple Sindarin terms. This will come as no surprise to anyone who has ever delved deep into the study of Tolkien’s writings, in which there is no such thing as an unim port­ ant (or simple) detail. It is a marvelous quality of the world that Tolkien created that when one takes the time to examine some small aspect of it more closely, new and unexpected vistas are likely to open up. This is particularly true for those who study Tolkien’s art-languages in all their myriad forms and ever changing complexity. As Christopher Tolkien said of his father’s late historical-philological essays presented in The Peoples o f Middle-earth: Almost all of this work was etymological in its inspiration, which to a large extent accounts for its extremely discursive nature; for in no study does one thing lead to another more rapidly than in etymology, which also of its nature leads out of

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itself in the attempt to find explanations beyond the purely linguistic evolution of forms. (294)

This, then, is part o f the fascination of studying Tolkien’s languages, for one is often led “beyond the purely linguistic evolution of forms” along unfore­ seen paths into new, sometimes unguessed areas o f structure, significance, and insight; indeed, at times, into the heart and soul of the mythology itself. You can look closely at a single word, and be rewarded with a glimpse of “a W orld in a grain of sand.” APPEN DIX : Sindarin

verses with scansions

• A Elbereth Gilthoniel (FR, 250): A £l|bereth | Giltho|mel, siliv|ren pen|na ml|riel o me|nel ag|lar e|lenath! Na-chae|red pa|lan-di|nel o ga|ladhrem|m m en|norath, Fanu|ilos, | le lin|nathon nef ae|ar, si | nef ae|aron! • G andalf’s opening spell (FR, 320): A nnon e|dhellen, || edro hi | ammen! Fennas no|gothnm , || lasto beth | lammen! • Sam’s invocation to Elbereth (TT, 339): A £l|bereth | Giltho|niel o me|nel pa|lan-di|nel, le nal|lon si | di’ngu|ruthos! A ti|ro nin, | Fanu|ilos! • Gilraen’s linnod (RK, 342)” : O nen i-|£stel | £dain, || u-chebin | estel | anim. • Luthien’s hymn (III, 354)3 4 : Ir fjthil am |m en £|ruchin menel-|vir si|la di| riel si loth | a ga|ladh las|to din! A H ir | Anniin | giltho|niel, le lin|non im | TinQ|viel!

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NOTES

We are grateful for the comments, insight, and encouragement of Geoffrey Russom and Tom Shippey, who reviewed an earlier version of this essay. i. Prefixed an- ‘for’ also occurs in anim ‘for myself’ in Gilraen’s linnod; compare im ‘I’ in the inscription on the West-gate of Moria. 2. The English poem was in existence long before The Lord of the Rings was begun, with the earliest surviving text dating to 1923; see Christopher Tolkien’s “Note on the poem ‘Light as Leaf on Lindentree’” (III, 120-22). The term annthennath, on the other hand, did not emerge until shortly before the publication of The Lord o f the Rings. 3. Tolkien occasionally included some minor variations in the poem’s iambic pattern, e.g., an anapaest (two unaccented syllables followed by an accented:"" ' ) in the first foot of “And her hair | like sha|dow following,” and a trochee in the first foot of “Long was | the way | that fate | them bore.” 4. Gandalf’s spell (see the appendix) alternates between dactyls (an accented syllable followed by two unaccented:' * ” ) and trochees. 5. In the final stanza the c-lines end with the adjectives morrowless I sorrowless. This change from the usual participial pattern was perhaps intended to mark the conclusion of the poem. 6. It has been demonstrated by analysis of recordings of English accentual verse that a stressed syllable generally takes about twice as long to pronounce as an unstressed syllable. Thus while the a- t b-> and c-lines all generally have eight syl­ lables, the c-lines are subtly but audibly shorter due to the final two syllables being unstressed. 7. Technically speaking, the term feminine ending only applies to a line that ends in one or more extrametrical unstressed syllables. This is not the case with the unstressed line endings in Gandalf’s spell and Gilraen’s linnod, in which the unstressed final syllabic of each line is metrical: that is, it is the second syllable of a trochee ( ' * ) that is an integral part of the normal meter (see the metrical analy­ ses of these poems in note 4, and the section on the linnod). For the purposes of this discussion we use unstressed ending as a general term that encompasses both metrical and extrametrical unstressed line endings. 8. It is important to note that here Tolkien is not using “short” in the sense “unstressed” but rather to describe a syllable containing a short vowel followed by only one (or no) consonant; cf. the discussion of Elvish stress in Appendix E to The Lord of the Rings (RK> 394). 9. The rhyme scheme of Strider’s poem also features various patterns of repeti­ tion, with the final word of the first line often repeated at the end of the sixth, and the final word of the second line often repeated at the end of the seventh. Both kinds of repetition occur in stanzas 3, 4, 5, and 7, and one or the other in stanzas 6 and 8. Only stanzas 1, 2, and 9 have no repetition. While such repetition may very well have been a feature of the Sindarin original, the irregularity of its application makes it an unlikely referent of the term ann-thennath, unless we are to assume that repeated rhyme-words such as far I far (lines 1» 6) and strewn I strewn (lines

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B5

2, 7) in the fifth stanza were considered ‘long’ because they are separated by four lines, in contrast to ‘short’ rhymes such as far / star (lines 1, 3) and moon / strewn (lines 5, 7) separated by one line. 10. Our thanks to Christopher Gilson for first bringing this feature of the poem to our attention. 11. In Tolkien’s recorded recitation of this poem (The Hobbit andThe Fellowship of the Ring, Collins I Caedmon), he pronounces bubbling and untroubling in the sixth stanza as [bubb'-oling] and [untroub'-aling], maintaining the trisyl­ labic pattern, though the pronunciation in everyday speech is usually [bubb'-ling, untroub'-ling]. Cf. the pronunciations given in the OED. 12. In the first version of the note, the Mannish poet’s name is given as Dirhavel. We employ Dirhaval uniformly as the later form. The first element of Dirhaval is almost certainly Sindarin dir/ dir- ‘adult male, man (elf, mortal, or of other speak­ ing race)’ (cf. V, 354 s.v. DER-). The second element *-haval might derive from the base SAM- ‘unite, join’ (V, 385) by regular phonological development. Original s> h- as the initial of the second element of a compound, as in Edhelharn ‘Elfstone’ < sarn ‘stone’ (IX, 128; V, 385 s.v. SAR-), and original intervocalic -m- > -v- as in 'laman(a) > S. lavan ‘animal’ (XI, 416 n. 33). The final -I may correspond to the Quenya present participial ending -la or the abstract nominal ending -/e; cf. Q. kaila, N. cael ‘lying in bed, sickness’ < KAY- ‘lie down’ (V, 363) and Q. makale ‘commerce’ < MBAKH- ‘exchange’ (V, 372). Also note the development of N. rhofal ‘pinion, great wing (of eagle)’ < *ramale (V, 382 s.v. RAM-). The element -haval might therefore be an abstract noun meaning, literally, ♦‘joining, uniting.’ Less literally, the element might mean ‘poetry,’ as the artistic product of joining or uniting poetic feet and/or verses; cf. Irish uaim, literally ‘stitching,’ but metaphorically also ‘composing (of a poem, etc.)»’ and— notably— more specifically ‘alliteration.’ It is possible then that the element -haval *‘joining, uniting’ may likewise refer specifically to alliteration. The name Dirhaval might therefore mean *‘Man of Poetry’ or more specifically *‘Man of Alliterative Poetry.’ (For examples of Sindarin noun-noun compounds of this type, in which the second noun modifies the first, see our discussion of linnod.) 13. As Christopher Tolkien explains in his introductory note to these two texts, he gave “a very condensed and selective account” of their content in Unfinished Tales (XI, 311), and he further notes (XI, 315 n. 3) that the spelling Minlamad in that account (l/T, 146) is erroneous. 14. In the first version of the note, in which the Elvish verse mode is named “Minlamad thent I estent" Dirhaval’s long lay is called not the Narn i Chin Hurin ‘Tale of the Children of Hurin,’ but rather the Hurinien ‘Children of H urin.’ In the second version, a long space is left in Tolkien’s typescript in which the name of the verse mode of the Narn was to be inserted, but this name was never supplied. It is thus strictly true that Minlamad thent / estent is not given as the name of the verse mode of the Narn, but since the titles Hurinien and Narn i Chin Hurin are applied to a verse composition that is in both versions said to be “all that Dirhaval ever made” (XI, 311, 313), and since this composition in both versions is called a “lay” and is said to have been composed in a verse form not unlike that known

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to yElhvine, we feel justified in identifying the Minlamad thent / estent of the first version with the unnamed Elvish verse mode “proper to the narn" of the second version. 15. MC, 49-71. These remarks were first published in 1940 as a preface to John R. Clark Hall’s Beowulf and the Finnsburg Fragment: A Translation into Modem English Prose (1911. New revised edition. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1940): vii-xli. 16. Another Sindarin element min- ‘between’ is attested in the name Minhiriath ‘Between the Rivers’ (UT, 261) of the lands between the Brandywine and the Greyflood. While it is possible that this element is present here, we judge min‘first’ as more likely to be the intended element in the present context. 17. The Etymologies demonstrates that original *st in initial position uniformly became th in Noldorin: e.g.» *stanka > N. thane ‘cleft, split’ (V, 388 s.v. STAK-). In contrast, original *st in medial position remained unchanged, as seen in verbs such as N. misto ‘to stray’ (V, 373 s.v. MIS- ‘go free, stray, wander’) and presto ‘to affect, trouble, disturb’ (V, 380 s.v. PERES- ‘affect, disturb, alter’), in which medial *st derived from the final -s of the base plus a verbal suffix beginning with t-, most probably *-ta. Other examples of the retention of medial *st are the prefixed forms EN. nestegi ‘insert, stick in’ < STAR- ‘split, insert,’ and N. gwa-star ‘hummock’ < gwa- ’together’ + STAR- ‘stiff (whence also thdr ‘stiff grass’). There are, however, several examples of Noldorin forms in which th < *st appears medially, for example havathang ‘throng-cleaver’ (= Q. sangahyando}, containing thang ‘throng’ < *stanga (V, 388 s.v. STAG-); and Lhamthanc ‘forked tongue,’ containing thane ‘cleft’ < *stanka (V, 388 s.v. STAR-). The likeliest expla­ nation for these forms is that they were compounds of later origin, made only after the change of initial > th had already taken place and words such as thang and thane were no longer distinguished from words in which initial th derived from original *t/i, e.g., thoron ‘eagle’ < THOR- ‘come swooping down’ (V, 393) and thind ‘grey, pale’ < THIN- (V, 392). Conversely, the retention of *st in nestegi and gwa-star indicates that the addition of prefixes to these forms derived from bases with initial *st- must have taken place before the change of initial *sf > th. Similar rules seem to apply to Sindarin. In a late note (XI, 318-19) Tolkien says that the root 'Istel ‘remain firm’ gave in Sindarin the verb thel ‘intend, mean, purpose, resolve, will,’ and (with prefixed sunddma) the noun estel ‘hope.’ The Sindarin imperative verb lasto ‘listen’ (S, 363), presumably < LAS2 - ‘listen’ (V, 368), also exhibits retention of medial *st, comparable to that seen in N. misto, presto. And assuming that the etymologies of N. thang and thane were the same in Sindarin, then S. Durthang (said to contain thang ‘oppression’ in S, 364) and Orthanc ‘Forked Height’ (S, 345) demonstrate that initial th < *st remained th when occurring medially in compounds of later origin. 18. Cf. lant laur ‘Old Bridge’ (literally ‘bridge old,’ XI, 333), Eryn Vorn ‘Dark W ood’ (lit. ‘woods dark,’ UT, 436), etc. 19. As, for instance, by Eduard Sievers: “Die rhythmische einheit des alliterationsverses ist die sog. kurzzeile oder halbzeile, und je zwei halbzeilen werden durch die alliteration zu einem verspaar, der sog. langzeile, gebunden” (“The rhythmi-

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cal unit of alliterative verse is the so-called short-line or half-line, and every two half-lines become bound through alliteration into a verse-pair, the so-called longline.11] (Altgermanische Metrik, 24). 20. Note too the use of a solidus “ / 11 to mark the division of verse lines quoted in linear fashion. 21. A similar contrast in the metrical length of alliterative lines is found among the Old Norse verse types represented in the poems of the Poetic Edda. The most metrically concise of the Eddie meters is the fornyrtiislag, which can be translated as “old story meter,” and which is closely similar to the Old English alliterative meter (all of Sievers’s types are represented), though in some respects even more metrically conservative (e.g., half-lines having only three syllables occur, while Old English half-lines exhibit a minimum of four). Although the precise mean­ ing and significance of the names of the Eddie meters have been a matter of some debate, the characteristically concise fornyrfislag has, as its name suggests, gener­ ally been regarded as the oldest of the Eddie meters, and as the meter proper (at least anciently) to heroic narrative verse. 22. It is not uncommon to describe Sievers’s system as having six types, as Tolkien does, rather than five, because Sievers divides one of the five main types (labeled A through E) into two subtypes. That this is what Tolkien has done is shown by his labeling of the six types: A, B, C, Da, Db, and E. It should be noted that Sievers himself eventually modified his views somewhat in response to claimed rhythmical deficiencies of his five-type system, and so to allow a more musical aspect to it, based upon ideas he presented in a highly idio­ syncratic essay entitled Ziele und Wege der Schallanalyses (“Objectives and Methods of Sound-Analysis”), published in Stand und Aufgabe der Sprachwissenschaft: Festschrift fur W. Streitberg (Heidelberg, 1924). Tolkien’s response to this work, laboring to be politely suspicious of Sievers’s special pleading (where he is not outright vexed by it), can be read in his contribution “Philology: General Works” to The Year's Work in English Studies 1924, pp. 40-44. 23. Tolkien read this essay on November 25, 1936 as the Sir Israel Gollancz Memorial Lecture to the British Academy. It was published on December 30,1937 in The Proceedings o f the British Academy 22: 245-95 (Hammond, 3). We may fur­ ther note in this connection that, of the six songs in Old English that Tolkien contributed to Songs for the Philologists (ed. E. V. Gordon; London: University College, 1936), all of which “go according to a tune” (see Hammond 293-94), all are rhymed (a feature found only rarely and sporadically in the mass of Old English poetry), none are strictly alliterative, and none conform to the metrical strictures of the Old English half-line. 24. Henry Sweet, An Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse, 7th ed. (1894), Ixxxvi. It is to this work, and to this or closely subsequent editions, that Tolkien and Gordon refer the reader of their discussion of the meter of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (118 n. 2). Editions prior to the seventh were published before Sievers’s work, and so have a much different, and much briefer, discussion of meter, with none of the terminology, derived from Sievers’s, that Tolkien and

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Gordon adopted. Editions subsequent to the ninth omit the grammatical intro­ duction, including the discussion of meter, entirely. 25. As A. J. Bliss notes, disapprovingly, in The Metre of Beowulf Pope’s system holds that the stresses of the Old English half-line “recur at equal intervals irrespec­ tive of the amount of speech-material that separates them” (106). Bliss considers it “indeed highly probable that Old English poetry was sung,” but he also consid­ ers that “the tacit assumption that Anglo-Saxon music, like modern music, was isochronous is difficult to defend” (106). Bliss was a student of Tolkien’s at Oxford from 1946 to 1948. 26. Tolkien’s reading and translation (Finn and Hengest, 150-51). 27. Cf. Pope, Rhythm of Beowulf 88; and Sievers, Altgermanische Metrik, i86ff. It is noteworthy in this connection that some have maintained that poetry in the Eddie fornyrdislag (see note 21), an alliterative meter closely similar to that of Old English, was (or was originally) recited without harp accompaniment; cf. Hofmann, 22-25. 28. Mitchell began attending Tolkien’s lectures at Oxford in 1952—before which time he lived in his native Australia—and completed his doctoral studies in 1959, the year Tolkien retired from his professorship (On Old English, 326,340). 29. The claim made here by one of Tolkien’s characters is an elaborated version of that stated more baldly by one of Tolkien’s erstwhile students, Bruce Mitchell, mentioned previously: “Old English poetry was recited much more slowly than modern poetry.” Indeed, Mitchell may well have come to this opinion via Tolkien. Mitchell reports in On Old English that Tolkien “often made verbally” the point that Anglo-Saxon poetry “was recited more slowly than in most modern readings” (198). If Mitchell’s recited is here taken as before to exclude sung performance (as by Henry Sweet), and if it was indeed Tolkien’s term and usage, this is further evidence, and roughly contemporary with “/Elfwine and Dirhaval,” that Tolkien thought that Old English poetry was, like Minlamad thent I estent, not intended to be sung. 30. The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, read by J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien. This audiocassette was distributed to members of the 1992 J. R. R. Tolkien Centenary Conference in Oxford. According to Christopher Tolkien’s spoken introduction, his father made the recording sometime after the December 3,1954 broadcast of a BBC radio production of the poem (cf. Hammond, 303). The poem was first published in Essays and Studies, new series no. 6 (1953): 1-18, but is now perhaps most conveniently found in PS or The Tolkien Reader (New York: Ballantine Books, 1966). 31. However, certain elevated and/or emotional prose and poetic styles can exhibit the pitches that characterize these chanted verses. Indeed, certain of the more dramatic passages of speech by the characters in Beorhtnoth are performed by Tolkien in a manner not readily if at all distinguishable from that of some of the chanted verses. 32. As with ann-thennath, the term linnod and the actual Sindarin verse itself arose late in the writing of The Lord of the Rings, occurring only as additions to

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the final typescript of The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen-, cf. Christopher Tolkien’s comments in XII, 269. 33. According to Douglas Anderson, the initial vowel of Onen CI gave’ is marked long in all settings of the first edition of The Return of the King, but the accent was removed, apparently unintentionally, in subsequent resettings. 34. The second foot of the second line of this poem appears to be a spondee: i.e., a foot consisting of two stressed (or long) syllables: ( ' ' ). The use in the source text of a circumflex over the vowel of the final element of the compound menel-vir indicates that the vowel is both long and stressed, as, for example, in Annún (line 4); cf. RK, 393-94: “In Sindarin long vowels in stressed monosyllables are marked with the circumflex, since they tended in such cases to be specially prolonged. [footnote:] So also in Annün ‘sunset’.” WORKS CITED

Bliss, A. J. The Metre of Beowulf Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1958. H am m ond, Wayne G., with the assistance of Douglas A. Anderson. /. R. R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography. Winchester: St Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Books, 1993. Hofm ann, D ietrich. Die Versstrukturen der altsachsischen Stabreimgedichte Heliand und Genesis. Vol. 1 (Textband). Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1991. Mitchell, Bruce. On Old English. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1988. Mitchell, Bruce, ed., and Kevin Crossley-Holland, trans. The Battle of Maldon and Other Old English Poems. London: Macmillan, 1966. Pope, John Collins. The Rhythm o f Beowulf. 1942. New edition. New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1966. Prem inger, Alex, Frank J. W arnke, and O. B. H ardison, Jr., eds. Princeton Encyclopedia o f Poetry and Poetics. 1965. Enlarged edition. Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1974. Sievers, Eduard. Altgermanische Metrik. Sammlung kurzer Grammatiken germ anischer Dialekte, supplem entary series no. 2. Halle: Max Niemeyer, 1893. Sweet, Henry. An Anglo-Saxon Reader in Prose and Verse. 1876. Seventh edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1894. Tolkien, J. R. R. Finn and Hengest: The Fragment and the Episode, edited by Alan Bliss. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1983. --------- . The Hobbit and The Fellowship of the Ring. Selected readings by the author. Collins I Caedmon 1477. Audiocassette. ---------. The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth. Read by J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien. Grafton. Audiocassette. ---------. “Philology: General Works.” In The Year’s Work in English Studies 2924, 26-65. London: Oxford University Press, 1926. Tolkien, J. R. R., and E. V. Gordon, eds. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. 1925. Corrected edition. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1930.

Part III The Cauldron and the Cook

JOE R. CHRISTOPHER

TOLKIEN’S LYRIC POETRY

Among the many aspects of Middle-earth for which readers are indebted to Christopher Tolkien is poetry. About thirty-five poems appear for the first time in his editing of The History o f Middle-earthy and about forty that had been previously published. Since Tolkien’s poems tend to develop out of each other, probably no one will quite agree to these numbers; but the high num ber of new poems— even if almost all the longer ones are incom­ plete— is at least suggested by the count. W. H. Auden, back in 1967, wrote of Tolkien’s poetry: His meters are as exciting as they are various and, though most of his poems belong to the category of “Light Verse,” there are a number, notably The SeaBell— in my opinion his finest—which are anything but “light-hearted.” It should be remembered, also, that Hobbit poetry is not the only kind which he enjoys. (W. H. Auden, quoted in Poems and Songs of Middle Earth) Auden was writing when the poems in The Hobbity The Lord o f the RingSy and The Adventures o f Tom Bombadil were almost all that were available. The twelve-volume collection certainly includes a number of unlight verses. In what follows I should like to discuss four of the poems that appear in The History o f Middle-earthy one of them for the first time, two others in forms other than have been previously published, and only one of them included (in a different form) in one of the three titles m entioned above. I will seem perverse to some readers since I do not consider their relation­ ship to Tolkien’s legendariumy but Christopher Tolkien has already done that. My concern is with them, insofar as space permits, as poetry. Most readers would not expect Tolkien to write a sonnet— a sonnet, after all, is not a Teutonic or medieval English verse form. But one of the new poems is a sonnet, if an irregular one. “Kor. In a City Lost and Dead” (I, 136) begins as if it is going to be an English sonnet in rhyme scheme (ABAB CDCD), but then it has a couplet (EE), followed by an Italian style quatrain (FGGF)— or one could say it has an English “octave” and a type of Italian sestet (EEF GGF). The irregularity, as first here described,

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is related to the organization of the content of the poem. The first ten lines are one sentence, and the last quatrain is another. The first sentence describes the city externally; the second sentence emphasizes its having no inhabitants. The first ten lines can be further subdivided in content, although the pat­ tern only partially matches the rhyme scheme. The first five lines (ABABC) describe the city on the hill, mentioning its temples and halls; the next three lines (DCD), following a semicolon, describe the shadows of trees on the walls; and the final two lines (EE), introduced as a comparison with Like, compare the trees and their shadow to a grave vault. The final qua­ train, divided into three clauses by semicolons and ands, emphasizes three different aspects of the emptiness of the city: the days and shadows (FG), the lack of voices (the first two feet of Gz), and the marble towers (the rest of Gz and Fz). The division within the thirteenth line changes the line em pha­ sis of the rest of the poem, but it can be defended as an intensification of imagery coming near the end of the poem. The style is also interesting. Here are the first five lines: A sable hill, gigantic, rampart-crowned Stands gazing out across an azure sea Under an azure sky, on whose dark ground Impearled as ’gainst a floor of porphyry Gleam marble temples white, and dazzling halls.

The diction, of course, is old-fashioned. This was an early poem, written in 1915, and Tolkien is writing in the late nineteenth century’s Romantic style. For example, porphyry today refers to rocks having large crystals, but Tolkien is thinking of the root meaning of the word, purple. The dark ground has white temples on it, like a purple floor with pearls on it. The high num ber of adjectives is also typical of this style: sable, gigantic, rampart-crowned, azure, azure, dark, marble, white, dazzling. The divided adjectives of “marble temples white” is a Miltonism. In the first line, the short, stressed a's of gigantic and rampart tie the description together with assonance; the long a s o f sable in the first line and gazing in the second create another assonance. Crowned and -cross alliterate across the lines. If the Old and Middle English rule of all open, stressed vowels (even with an h in front of them) alliterating holds true, then hill, az-, Un-, az-, and whose unite the first three lines. Certainly, the repetition of azure in the second and third lines helps, whatever is true of the alliteration. More certainly alliterating is the hard g of gigantic, gazing, ground, and gleam. The p ’s in the fourth line, in -pearled and porph-, also

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alliterate» as perhaps do the hw- sound of white and the simple h of halls of the fifth. (If the vowel and h + vowel alliteration is observed, then this hwsound and h- cannot be considered.) The rest of the poem need not be considered in this detail, but a few comments can be added. The adjectives tawny, ivory, and massy in the sixth, seventh, and eighth lines echo each other in their form; but they are not the diminutives of poetry trying to be cute, and the trisyllabic ivory keeps the repetition from being mechanical. In the last two lines, Tolkien adds an extra stress (technically a trochee) in the first part of the line, for an emphatic close: “And no voice stirs,” “White, h6t and sdundless.” The style has been called Romantic; so is the content. The Romantics had a tendency to tell of the passing of greatness or beauty: The Fall o f Hyperion, The Last o f the Mohicans, The Last of the Barons. Edgar Allan Poe, in “The Philosophy of Com position,” said that the death of a beau­ tiful woman is the greatest topic for a lyric poem. If Tolkien writes of a dead city rather than a dead woman, that suggests his temperament was healthier— or less commercial— than Poe’s. But more can be made of Tolkien’s treatm ent than these generalizations. The poem introduces the ramparts, temples, and halls of Kor in the first five lines; then, in the next three lines, the “massy trees”— evidently ancient, large trees— cast long-fingered shadows on these structures. Shadows are traditionally symbols of death. Here the suggestion seems to be that the trees are gradually returning the city to nature. This is reinforced by the comparison of the trees to “pillars of the vault / W ith shaft and capital of black basalt”: that is, dark trees, which here cast shadows, implicitly like the darkness of a vault. The three images of the last four lines start from “slow . . . days” reaping “shadows,” which ties to the shadows just mentioned; the lack of voices is presented; then the sonnet shifts from the images of shadows and darkness to “the marble towers” (echoing the “marble temples” earlier), which rise into the sunlight above the trees: the “towers / W hite, hot and soundless, ever burn and sleep.” So the sonnet ends with a different image of death than the dark vault, but the idea is the same. Thus Kor can be discussed positively in terms of structure, style, and meaning. But a critic should not claim too much. The sonnet is a m inor Romantic poem; it is doing much the same as John William Burgon’s “Petra,” with its memorable couplet: Match me such marvel» save in Eastern clime,— A rose-red city— “half as old as Tim e”!

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Tolkien is im portant because he wrote a great prose romance in The Lord o f the Rings; this sonnet is a m inor accomplishment of the author— nicely done, but not great in itself. A second poem is Winter comes to Nargothrond (III, 129), chosen for its use of the alliterative meter. The content is descriptive and rather like that of Kor, except that here it is a winter storm that descends on a territory, not shadows on a city. This poem was written nine years or more after the first (III, 81,127). The structure is that of two verse paragraphs. In the first— the first seven and a half lines— sum m er has passed and the leaves are falling. In the sec­ ond— the last nineteen and a half lines— after a reddish moonrise, a storm hits the city. To divide the content further is basically to summarize sen­ tences. In the first verse paragraph, the topics are these, one per sentence: (1) the summ er is over; (2) a wind arises; (3) the leaves are blown from their trees. The second verse paragraph has these: (4) the moon rises; (5) winter comes, with sleet and hail; (6) the rivers are full; (7) the storm dies; (8) frost appears; (9) ice covers nature. This summary suggests a clear organization; but, of course, clarity is a limited part of artistry. The diction is no doubt influenced in part by the verse form chosen. The need for alliteration may well have called into being the metaphoric “whiplash” in this line, describing the sleet and hail— “whistling whiplash whirled by tem pest”— but the reference to a whip fits the imagistic time of the poem, for the moon is given the shape of a sailing ship: The shining vessel of the sailing moon with slender mast, with shrouds shapen of shimmering flame, uprose ruddy on the rim of Evening by the misty wharves on the margin of the world.

(Presumably this describes a moon appearing through a red sunset; the other possibility, a harvest moon, would be more orange than “ruddy.”) Even without knowing anything of Nargothrond, a reader would find a fitting relationship between the imagery of the poem and the choice of tra­ ditional verse form. (I do not mean, of course, that the alliterative meter cannot be used for modern topics; W. H. Auden’s The Age o f Anxiety has shown that it can be.) Other aspects of the diction, perhaps influenced by the tradition of Old English verse— the descriptions of winter in such poems as The Wanderer and The Seafarer— are certainly stronger than the more passive descrip­ tions of K6r; “sleet came slashing, and slanting hail / from glowering heaven

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grey and sunless.” The use of two present participles in slashing and slant­ ing, besides being active descriptions, produces a semi-rhyming effect in their alliteration, their assonance, and their identical unstressed syllables, tying the line together. Other techniques add to the alliteration of the poem. In the second line, “waned and faded” has assonance. In the eighth line, “shifting and drift­ ing” rhymes in its description of the blown leaves. The personification of winter, in lines 13-14, refers to the folklore tradition of the Wild Hunt: W ith winding horns winter hunted in the weeping woods, wild and ruthless.

The first of these lines, besides the double alliterative pattern, has a pattern of n ending the stressed syllables: -nd-, -ns-, -nt-, and -nt-. The allit­ erative words of line 21— tum ult and tempest— have a two-syllable t-mpattern. The nineteenth line has assonance in “sweeping seaward.” A type of off-rhyme appears in the n-endings of “Stony-glinting” in the twentythird line. Assonance ties together the first and last stresses of line 24: “icehung . . . wide.” The last two lines have a simile that is striking: “woods standing / as frozen phantom s.” Ghosts or other spirits do not freeze easily, one assumes. Probably most of these devices were not planned by Tolkien; the techniques of sounds are a m atter of a “good ear” for writing poetry. Does the poem have any significance? Probably not, if one is looking for an obvious moral. It is simply a description of the coming of winter on a land. Since winter was a period of suffering and evil for the Teutons (one thinks of the ice giants in their myths), then the poem could be read, metaphorically, as the appearance of hard times. In this connection, the final lines may be important: Stony-glinting icehung evening was opened wide, a dome of crystal over deep silence, over windless wastes and woods standing as frozen phantom s under flickering stars.

When the “evening was opened wide,” the perspective enlarges to take in the territory generally. Winter comes to Nargothrond, then, is a descriptive mood piece— which is not a bad description for m any lyrics. This one happens to be written in the alliterative meter. The third poem to be considered, Light as Leaf on Lindentree (III, 108-10), is a rhymed poem first published in a journal in 1925 (III, 1211 and included

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in The Fellowship of the Ring in a much revised version (FR, 204-5). It was written about the same time as the second poem considered above, and it is (frankly) not quite as good in its first version. Tolkien seems to have mastered the alliterative meter sooner than he did the rhymed lyric, or lyric-cum-narrative, form. The eight-line stanza form is rhymed on three sounds: ABACBABC. The C rhymes are double ones, glimmering and a-shimmering in the first stanza, giving the effect of a refrain. Once the C rhymes are off-rhymes: in the second stanza, sorrowing and a-following. Several times Tolkien uses repetition rather than rhyme in the C position: in the fourth and ninth stanzas, Doriath in both positions; in the sixth stanza, a-flickering and flick­ ering. But there is also much repetition instead of rhyme in the A and B positions. The first stanza can suggest all the repetitions: thin, thick, in, quick, thin, and thick. In the third line of the second stanza, Tolkien uses a shift of accent (as in some ballads) to get his rhyming sound: “As Beren from the wild country.” The meter is iambic tetrameter, with a high number of anapestic substitutions: all but the seventh stanza have at least one substitution, and the third, for example, has three. The rep­ etitions, not, as in medieval English verse, with different meanings, but with the same meanings, would seem to make for monotonous poetry; but the actual effect, when the poem is read aloud, is not usually bother­ some, perhaps because the eight-line stanzas are large enough to separate the repetitions from immediate chiming. The narrative structure of the poem is based on the traditional motif of the fairy dance that the mortal interrupts. Past literary examples include Chaucer’s The Wife of Bath’s Tale, in which the hag remains when the fair­ ies vanish, and Edmund Spenser’s The Fairie Queene, Book VI, Canto X, in which the shepherd-piper remains after the vanishing of the semiclassical fairies. In Tolkien’s poem, only one fairy dances, and she vanishes when the human intervenes; the second time he sees her dancing, she pauses when he calls after her—and so they are united. The fairy’s dance is described in the first stanza, to flute music played by a male—presum­ ably a male elf; the man’s approach in the second; his interruption (he enters dancing, oddly) and her and her flautist’s vanishing in the third. The sentence carries over from the third into the fourth, with the emphasis on the man’s reaction and the coming of autumn. The fifth stanza has his search for her and his finding her dancing. The seventh stanza continues the dancing (the flautist is named again), and has the man dance out again and has the fairy vanish again—all of this repetition of material is handled in a smaller space the second time through. But the movement slows down

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in the eighth stanza when the man calls her and she pauses; in the ninth stanza, the man kisses her and they are joined by love. The last stanza deliberately echoes the first in some of its phrasing, to provide a frame around the narrative. Simply as a narrative, the story is well organized. The diction is most likely to bother a modern reader. Here are some lines from the first stanza: The old tree-roots wound out and in, There went her white feet lilting quick, And D airon’s flute did bubble thin.

“W ound out and in” does not very clearly describe the tree roots; presum ­ ably the phrase means that they intertwined, or perhaps they went into the earth and then hum ped up, or the top soil washed away, slightly later on. “Lilting” is acceptable since it can mean moving lightly, here with the suggestion of moving to a happy tune. The auxiliary verb did is used for meter, not for emphasis; in modern poetic terms, it is mere padding (“And D airon’s flutings bubbled thin”). Also, “bubble thin” seems very odd; it can be defended, since “bubbling” can mean “expressing joy” and flute music can be described as lacking resonance— one of the meanings of thin. (The use of thin for thinly is no doubt colloquial, but there is also much precedence for such expressions in verse.) It must be admitted, however, that this is an intellectual defense of “bubble thin,” and a reader will prob­ ably have to stop and think about the words to find “expressing joy without musical resonance” in them. O ther questions of diction will occur to the reader, but the preceding discussion may stand for most of them. Perhaps it is worth noting that a reader, considering this poem by itself, may wonder why there is so much emphasis on the hemlock and its flowers in the description (“the hemlock umbels thick,” “the hemlock sheaves” twice, “the hemlocks thick”); the association of the herbaceous plant (Conium maculatum) and the poison made from it may create an unpleasant connotation for some in the poem ’s audience. But the flowering plant does exist, and this setting for the fairy’s first dance gives some freshness— and perhaps a suggestion of danger— to a standard motif. (Tolkien’s actual reason— or his main reason— for the choice was autobiographical [Bio, 97], but that does not come into the reading that is being offered here.) If one is bothered by the description of the elfin maid dancing “neath” the “umbels,” the clusters of white flowers, it should be noted that the biennial can grow up to eight feet tall.

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Tree roots have been mentioned; fallen leaves also appear. In addition to the tall herb, actual trees are nearby. The beech appears in the fourth stanza, and a generalized “tangled woods of Elfinesse” in the third—as well as the lindentree in a simile in the title. (Perhaps it should be added, since Christopher Tolkien does not note it, that the first version of the title—“Light as Leaf on Lind” [III, 108, 119]—may have been proverbial in Middle English. Chaucer's advice to wives in “Lenvoy de Chaucer” to The Clerk's Tale is to “Be ay of chiere as light as leef on lynde” [IV, 1211]; and William Langland’s Piers Plowman speaks of love being incarnated into this world: “And whan it hadde of this fold flessh and blood taken, / Was nevere leef upon lynde lighter thereafter” [B Version, Passus I, lines 155-56]. In the fourth stanza of the revised version of Light as Leaf on Lindentree, the sound of the fairy’s feet is “as light as linden-leaves.”) The meaning of the poem lies in its presentation of a rather idealized love story. The love of a mortal man for a dancing elfin maiden can be interpreted in two ways. First, the dance and the flute music stand for art, and the man’s attempt to dance as he tries to join the elf is an attempt to create art. In this interpretation the maiden is a Muse, so to speak, who inspires her worshipper to artistic expression. In the next-to-last stanza, when it says Till moonlight and till music dies Shall Beren by the elfin maid Dance in the starlight of her eyes,

the poem is asserting that the mortal is inspired for the rest of his life by this Muse. Second, the maiden here is above the man—“on a pedestal” in the traditional phrase. She is an elf; he is merely a mortal. Although she finally allows herself to be caught and kissed by him, there is still a sense that her nature is finer, higher, better, than his. No doubt this can be said to arise from Tolkien’s Victorian background; at any rate, it can be said to capture a fairly common attitude of that period—and an attitude that occasionally reappears in the relations between the sexes today. Is this a good poem? In one sense, love stories do not need any justification. Love is a normal human attitude, and no doubt millions of love poems have been written. This one seems to work at two levels, human and artistic, but a person can love art as well as another human being. The artistic “goodness” of the work may be more in doubt—the structure and theme are better than the expression. This suggests that a final point should be made about this poem: simply that the revision of the poem for The Lord of the Rings shows how much Tolkien had learned

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about poetry in the years since he published the first version. Here is the first stanza of the first version that has been quoted in part above: The grass was very long and thin, The leaves of many years lay thick, The old tree-roots wound out and in, And the early moon was glimmering. There went her white feet lilting quick, And D airon’s flute did bubble thin, As neath the hemlock umbels thick Tinuviel danced a-shimmering.

(Those who are unsympathetic to Tolkien’s old-fashioned imagery, with the almost halo-like effect of the “shim m er,” will no doubt associate the last line with that popular dance of the 1920s, the shimmy.) And here is the first stanza of the version given in The Fellowship of the Ring: The leaves were long, the grass was green, The hemlock-umbels tall and fair, And in the glade a light was seen O f stars in shadow shimmering. Tinuviel was dancing there To music of a pipe unseen. And light o f stars was in her hair. And in her raiment glimmering.

Tolkien gets rid of the thick and thin he played with in the first version; he eliminates the flute player, whose relationship to the elfin maiden is never fully explained; he substitutes starlight for moonlight— and he eliminates all of the problems discussed above in connection with the diction. (If one wanted to say something negative about the final version— allowing for the topic at all— it would be that Tolkien felt he had to summarize the rest of the story of Beren and Liithien in the last stanza, instead o f just shaping the poem into an account of a falling in love; the structure is not as good as the revised diction.) The fourth poem to be considered is The Death o f St. Brendan. It was written in, perhaps, 1946, when the second part of The Notion Club Papers was written (IX, 147), since it was inserted in that unfinished work; a revised version was published in a periodical as Imram in 1955 (IX, 296). Both versions appear in The History o f Middle-earth (IX, 261-62 and 296-99, respectively), and thus either could be considered here. The openings and closings of the two versions are much alike, and the changes in the center

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are a m atter of style, not of structure, so much of what one says applies to both. (Unless otherwise indicated, the line and other specific references are to The Death o f St. Brendan.) The framing device of the poem is St. Brendan on his death bed, having returned from his westward trip into the Atlantic Ocean; his monastery was founded at Clonfert (Cluain-ferta in the poem, line 7) in 559 (IV, 292). A brother in the monastery asks him about his voyage, and the center of the poem is his answer. The organization in this account is set up in this quatrain (lines 21-24): ‘The things I have seen, the many things, have long now faded far; only three come clear now back to me: a Cloud, a Tree, a Star.’

The cloud is the result of a volcano on an island the mariners approach (lines 29-52). The tree is a huge one on a second island; it seems to be covered with leaves, but, when St. Brendan and his m onk sing after land­ ing, the “leaves” fly off like disturbed birds and unbirdlike singing is heard from the air (lines 57-104). The star shines from the mythic world of the flat ocean, when the real globe’s ocean curves (lines 109-16,121-32). This simplified account of three things gives a clarity to St. Brendan’s voyage that the string o f adventures of the original legend does not have. A useful comparison is to the adventures in Alfred, Lord Tennyson’s “The Voyage of Maeldune,” in which half the islands are from Irish myth (the matching one of each pair being Tennyson’s addition); some of the islands Maeldune visits also appear in the legend of St. Brendan, and, indeed, one of St. Brendan’s mariners is found on one island in Tennyson’s version. The Isle of Shouting (section 4 in Tennyson) has shouting birds, not singing birds; but one of the accounts of St. Brendan refers to less deadly birds with hum an voices (Ricks, 1277 n.). Tennyson’s Isle o f Fire (section 7) is one of Tennyson’s inventions, but it may be the source o f Toikien’s volca­ nic island (unless Tennyson is adapting an Irish account that Tennyson’s editor, Christopher Ricks, did not locate). (Tennyson has ten islands, to Tolkien’s two islands and a suggestion of a third. Technically, Tolkien’s third could be a continent, or any place else where flowers could grow; but the St. Brendan tradition, so to speak, is of islands.) The verse form used by Tolkien suggests, to a degree, the ballad stanza. The basic form is a quatrain rhyming ABCB, where A and C are tetrameters and the Bs are trimeters. This is the ballad stanza. But Tolkien complicates the form by rhyming the first and fourth stresses of the A and C lines, as

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in the first line: “At last out of the deep seas he passed.” The ballad stanza is normally in iambics, if sometimes rather irregular iambics; Tolkien’s love o f the alliterative meter, with its stresses sometimes adjacent, prob­ ably explains his treatment o f the second and third stresses in the above line: “At Idst o u t of the deep s6as he pissed.” Finally, the ballad stanza has each quatrain complete in itself; but Tolkien’s first quatrain runs into the second without a break (lines 3-6): under clouded moon the waves were loud, as the laden ship him bore to Ireland, back to wood and mire, to the tower tall and grey.

The suggestion of the ballad stanza is appropriate for a poem about sea voyage (as in “Sir Patrick Spens” and Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s “The Rime of the Ancient M ariner”), but Tolkien’s modifications o f the form keep it from being anything more than a mere suggestion. Tolkien’s use o f the rhymes in the tetrameter lines is interesting. Some­ times (as indicated above) these are simply pure masculine rhymes (last and passed); occasionally, they are feminine rhymes (seven and Heaven in line 19). Frequently, they are rhymes on the stressed syllables, where one or both rhymes have a following syllable that is ignored in the rhyming (here, clouded and loud, Ireland and mire; but also kindred and lingers, line 101). Likewise, there may be an additional consonant sound (usually a d o r an s) at the end of a rhyming syllable that is ignored, as in line 33 (Upreared and sheer). A few times one rhyme picks up the consonant following, as the first n in line 29 (“We saw no sun at set or dawn") and the first m in line 83 (“they grew more close than swan-wing plumes"). Twice Tolkien repeats a word instead of rhyming (“The things I have seen, the many things,” line 21; “As a green cup, deep in a brim of green,” line 69); once he uses an off-rhyme— technically, an assonance with a ts and st reversal following (“Through gates of stone we rowed in haste," line 65); and once he rhymes not on the first and fourth stresses but on the second and fourth (“on its ashen head was a crown of red," line 45). (In Imram Tolkien drops the second repetition substituted for a rhyme, and also the rhyme on the second and fourth stresses just given, but adds a different rhyme on the second and fourth stresses: “In that hidden land we saw there stand," line 67.) (Although it is beside the purpose o f this essay to consider the context o f the poems, perhaps— again, because Christopher Tolkien does not point it out— it may be worth noting that, in The Notion Club Papers, this poem is given to Frankley, one of the characters, who is elsewhere identified

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with C. S. Lewis [IX, 150]; since Lewis was Irish and since he often experi­ mented with verse forms, such as rhyming early and late stresses of every line in “Conversation Piece: The Magician and the Dryad,” The Death o f St. Brendan seems appropriate for him in both content and form. Tolkien presumably intended the appropriateness, although his choice of an Irish saint’s legend may speak more to his own Catholicism than to Lewis’s “mere Christianity.” Lewis’s version of the genre of the imrama of course came about six years after this poem, in his Narnian series: The Voyage of the “Dawn Treader”; but, if Lewis was responding to this poem, his choice was unfortunate, for Tolkien had already indicated his dislike of the Narnian tales. There is a possibility, not a certainty, of other appropriate­ nesses of the poem to Lewis/Frankley; those will be mentioned below.) The style of The Death o f St. Brendan may be considered on the basis of the fourth section of the poem, the description of the volcanic island: Upreared from sea to cloud then sheer a shoreless mountain stood; its sides were black from the sullen tide to the red lining of its hood. No cloak of cloud, no lowering smoke, no looming storm of thunder in the world of men saw I ever unfurled like the pall that we passed under. We turned away, and we left astern the rumbling and the gloom; then the smoking cloud asunder broke, and we saw that Tower of Doom: on its ashen head was a crown of red, where fires flamed and fell. Tall as a column in High Heaven’s hall, its feet were deep as Hell; grounded in chasms the waters drowned and buried long ago, it stands, I ween, in forgotten lands where kings of kings lie low.

Some of the diction is certainly old-fashioned: “I ween,” most obviously— but that example can be defended either as appropriate for the medieval subject or as appropriate to the ballad tradition. (Ezra Pound said, “Make it new,” so one can hardly expect modern or postm odern critics to accept Tolkien’s unironic aesthetic choice; but genre critics might accept it.) In the first of these five quatrains, “cloud then sheer” is an adverb + adjec­ tive following the noun the adjective modifies— presumably it means that

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the cloud is thin enough for the mountain to be seen. (Again, Ezra Pound announced, “Poetry must be as well written as prose” which meant, am ong other things, no inversions.) One thing that sheer does do nicely is produce consonance with shore- in the next line. The second quatrain is a marvelous example of the inversions that Pound wanted to eliminate. Here is a prose paraphrase in standard order: “I never saw ‘unfurled’ in the inhabited world a heavy cloud, a threatening [reading lowering as louring] wall (or bank or cloud) of smoke, or a loom ­ ing thunderstorm like that ‘pall’ we passed under.” (Smokes meaning of mist or fog is possible here, but the volcano suggests that the m ore stan­ dard meaning is intended.) In Tolkien’s verse, three direct objects precede the subject and verb (which are themselves in reverse order: “saw I”); the prepositional phrase with its dependent clause does come at the end, but in Tolkien’s quatrain, they are separated by a line from the direct objects they modify. Despite (or perhaps because of) the proven charge of inversions, Tolkien does manage to alliterate cloak and cloud, to have an assonance on the diphthong in cloud and lowering, to alliterate and structurally echo in lowering and looming, and to alliterate pall and passed. The m etaphor of cloth runs throughout the quatrain: a cloak, an unfurling, a pall. The third, fourth, and fifth quatrains actually split into six + six lines, according to the sentence structure. The first six lines are more simply phrased than the previous four; the word choice does include an ofif-rhyme in rum- and gloom’, alliteration of smok-, -sun-, and saw; and alliteration of all three stresses in line 46: “where fires flamed and fell.” The last six lines have the near-rhyme of Tall and col-’, the alliteration of “High Heaven’s hall” and Hell (where hall also provides consonance with Hell); the asso­ nance o f feet and deep; the alliteration (and near-consonance o f the first two) of long, lands, and “lie low”; the alliteration of -go- and -got-; and the repetition of kings. The actual content of the final quatrain of this section resembles Kdr in one way: this is another evocation of a lost civilization. The volcano has developed out of the “forgotten lands” where great kings (“kings of kings”) are buried; these lands are now under the ocean. (The kings “lie low” in the double sense that they are buried and that their burial places are under the sea.) Perhaps Tolkien was thinking of the volcanic explo­ sion that wiped out the island of Thera in the M editerranean about 1500 B.C .— and gave rise to, some believe, the legend of Atlantis. (Thera was part of the M inoan culture.) When Tolkien revised this passage for Imram, he shortened it to three quatrains:

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Tolkien has eliminated the quatrain with the extensive inversions and changed “I ween” to “I guess.” He has created a parallelism between “its sides were black” and “but its spire was lit”; and he has introduced the alliteration of lit and liv-. Again, his revisions have improved a poem. But what does the poem mean? Is it just a series of mysterious adven­ tures? A Romantic (or neo-Romantic) poem will not be openly didactic, most probably; but the images may well suggest meanings. In both ver­ sions, for example, the volcanic fire is said to reach from Hell (where the lava comes from, imagistically) to Heaven. This image of fire and its cloud of smoke can hardly have a positive connotation, and this unifying of Hell and Heaven by means of fire seems dubious theologically. O f course, the “from Hell to Heaven” could just be used to characterize St. Brendan in his expression of his theological worldview, but usually the images in a Romantic poem are more im portant than this. (If this poem is aimed at Lewis, perhaps the Hellish depths, the m ountain, and Heavenly halls are meant to be an ironic depiction of Dante’s universe, since Lewis was given to imitating Dante. The strong imagistic emphasis on the hellish in this volcanic island might be due to Lewis’s reputation, which, at the time, was based on The Screwtape Letters, which, after all, he had dedicated to Tolkien.) The second island— “holy it seemed to be” (line 68)— contains a huge “tree m ore fair than ever I deemed / might climb in Paradise” (73-74). The connotations are obviously positive in a religious sense; but when the white birds fly from the tree and sing, From the sky came dropping down on high a music not of bird, not voice of man, nor angel’s voice; but maybe there is a third

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fair kindred in the world yet lingers beyond the foundered land. (lines 97-102)

All o f these images are essentially the same in Imram. The third kindred are presumably the elves, neither human nor angelic (fallen or unfallen), but here somehow identified with the birds. The whiteness of the birds and the emphasis on the “fair kindred” here seem as positive as the descrip­ tion o f the island (Imram even adds on the island “a dale . . . like a silver grail I with carven hills for rim ” [lines 65-66]), so these voices are not the Unseelie Court, but rather Tolkien's idealized elves. Why are the birds and elves identified here? And why in this religiously good island are there elvish things at all? Even if one refuses to identify the birds and the elves, and says, in the tradition of the voyage of St. Brendan, that the birds simply cry (or sing) with the voices of elves, still the question remains: why not the voices of angels or of men? And a third question: why does the m onks’ singing disturb the birds? Tentatively, one can say that the island seems like the Garden of Eden, with its barren tree suggesting the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil after the fall; the rest of the island seems beautiful, peace­ ful, and holy (Adam and Eve were driven out of the garden, and thus the area may retain its beauty and holiness). The birds have come to a deserted island, as birds will; perhaps they are like parrots or starlings in their ability to imitate language, and they have learned the elvish tongue elsewhere. Perhaps the m onks’ singing (presumably a Latin hymn) dis­ turbs them simply as birds are disturbed by strange sounds but also with a suggestion that the Christian religion has driven the elves out of its ter­ ritories (humorously, this is what the Wife o f Bath claims at the first of her Tale). But this does not explain Tolkien’s decision to combine these motifs. The ultimate effect is strange and uncanny, not yielding to simple analysis. (If this is aimed at Lewis, it may suggest that his Perelandra, with its cuplike valley on the second fixed island, would be better with more unexplained mysteries; or perhaps it just suggests that Tolkien prefers elven song to Lewis’s more didactic Great Dance.) The third “island”— the suggestion of land in a straight way beyond the curve of the earth— is carried by odor and by sound; St. Brendan reports, ‘In my m ind the Star I still can find, and the parting of the seas, and the breath as sweet and keen as death that was borne upon the breeze.

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TOLKIEN’S LEGENDARIUM But where they bloom those flowers fair, in what air or land they grow, what words beyond the world I heard .. (lines 121-27)

If you wish to know these things, he tells the younger monk, you must seek them for yourself. Again, Imram does not change the images. The most obvious interpretation of these images— particularly the odor of flowers “as . . . keen as death”— is that this is an experience, a “glimpse”— or not really a glimpse, but a smell, a hearing— of Heaven or the afterlife. W ithin Tolkien’s legendarium, this may be an experience wafted from Valinor, Eressea, and/or Aman (for a biographical reading of this poem, see Shippey, 212-14); but within this poem, about a Christian saint, even the Western Island of the Irish, the Island of the Dead, is suspect, unless it is Christianized. (If this is aimed at Lewis, it may be taken to be a depiction of his experience of Sehnsucht, the Romantic longing for something beyond this world, which he called Romanticism in The Pilgrim's Regress, Joy in Surprised by Joy, glory in “The Weight of Glory,” and hope in Christian Behaviour—sometimes as the process of longing, sometimes as the goal. Lewis’s basic images of Sehnsucht are distant hills, an exotic garden, a far island, and sweet music [Carnell, 87-91]; here, in Tolkien’s poem, the sug­ gestion of an island on which flowers grow— that is, a garden island— and voices instead of music.) W hat is the value of this poem, either as The Death o f St. Brendan or, m ore polished, as Imram 7. Tolkien’s basic plot is, in the subtitle of The Hobbit, “There and Back Again.” St. Brendan has been on a quest, a sea journey, and has come back to his monastery to die. The three things he remembers from his quest are images of destruction, mystery, and longing. Perhaps, if one wants to be theological and Dantean, they are images of fiery Hell, of the Garden on top of M ount Purgatory, and o f the difficultto-achieve bliss of Heaven. But that archetypal reading ignores the details that do not fit—such as the white birds who sing an elvish song. The poem is better seen as a Romantic or neo-Romantic work, in the tradition of, for example, Novalis. The Christian imagery— of Hell and Heaven with the first island; the holy, second island with a chalice-like valley; the possible pathway beyond this world— fit the Christian saint whose trip is being narrated, but this imagery does not keep the poem from being less theo­ logically precise than haunting. Tolkien’s pattern of there and back again suggests a linear movement with a retracing of the first direction. But several critics have suggested that Tolkien’s protagonists grow in their

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journeys. A good comparison for this romantic quest and return is what M. H. Abrams says is the “typical Romantic design” (183): The self-moving circle [of Romantic art] rotates along a third, a vertical dim en­ sion, to close w here it had begun, but on a higher plane o f value. It thus fuses the idea o f the circu lar return with the idea o f linear progress, to describe a distinctive figure o f Rom antic thought and im agination— the ascending circle, or spiral. (184)

Tolkien’s version is not quite as circular, but otherwise he is (quite uncon­ sciously, no doubt) creating the same type of work. St. Brendan has experienced mysteries in his voyage, and (it is implied) he has not returned the same man he was. Unlike the Ancient Mariner, who held the wedding guest with his glittering eye in order to preach to him, St. Brendan does not think he can convey the message: the younger monk will have to make his own voyage of exploration into the ocean’s mysterious realm (the unconscious? the spiritual? the mythological?— or whatever symbolic interpretation the reader wishes to place on the immense waters): ‘if you would seek to know, in a boat then, brother, far afloat you must labour in the sea, and find for yourself things out o f m ind.’ (lines 128-31)

Kor, Winter comes to Nargothrond, As Light as Leaf on Lindentree, and The Death o f St. Brendan (or Imram) are all, in their ways, Romantic works. As was said before, The Lord o f the Rings is Tolkien’s great work in this tradi­ tion; but his lesser works are not therefore negligible, as the present essay has tried to demonstrate. O f course, The Lord o f the Rings has been dismissed before. But a reader is not limited to the biases of critics. (Many, at the first of the century, believed in progress— and so felt they had to attack one thing in order to promote some next step.) There is nothing to keep the person who reads The Lord of the Rings from also reading Joyce’s Ulysses and William Carlos Williams’s Patterson. There is nothing to keep a reader from enjoying both Adrienne Rich’s “Diving into the W reck” and Tolkien’s Imram— two very different poems about symbolic seas. O r two irregular sonnets like Kor and e. e. cumm ings’s “the Cambridge ladies who live in furnished souls.” The twentieth century is, in literature, a large and disorderly area. The Romantic strain continues in it, or a neo-Romanticism, if that term is

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preferred— to call it a neo-medievalism is to call it Romantic again» for Keats’s “The Eve of St. Agnes” and Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe are typical of one aspect of that period. Romanticism, naturalism, Freudianism, Marxism, symbolism, regionalism, postmodernism, absurdism, existen­ tialism— none o f them sum up the century, all of them are part of it. And for those who can take this larger view, the twelve volumes of The History o f Middle-earth are of the same kind of importance as the publication of the far longer Janies Joyce Archive. For these twelve volumes, and for the valuable poems they include (am ong many other things!), these read­ ers thank the man whose labors have allowed them to study his father’s growth of ideas, his growth of artistry, and the growth of The Lord o f the Rings itself—to study far more of his father’s poems than had before been known, and often to study their development— this editor, Christopher Tolkien. WORKS CITED

Abrams, M. H. Natural Supernaturalism: Tradition and Revolution in Romantic Literature. New York: W. W. Norton, 1971. Carnell, C orbin Scott. Bright Shadows of Reality: C. S. Lewis and the Feeling Intellect. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 1974. Ricks, Christopher, ed. The Poems o f Tennyson. Longmans’s Annotated English Poets. London: Longmans, Green, 1969. Shippey, T. A. The Road to Middle-Earth. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1983. Tolkien, J. R. R. Poems and Songs o f Middle Earth. Poems in English and Elvish from The Lord of the Rings and The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, read by J. R. R. Tolkien; The Road Goes Ever On, sung by William Elvin with Donald Swann, the composer, at the piano. Directed by Howard Sackler. Caedmon Records TC 1231 (TC 91231), New York, 1967.

PAUL EDMUND THOMAS

SOME OF TOLKIEN’S NARRATORS

This essay examines the ways in which the narrator of The Lord o f the Rings developed from the narrator o f The Hobbit. This examination requires an analysis of the narrator of The Hobbit; a survey of Tolkien’s letters concern­ ing the early drafting of The Lord o f the Rings; an analysis of the narrators of the drafts of “A Long-expected Party” published in The Return o f the Shadow; and a look at the opening of The Lord o f the Rings. A VO CABULARY FOR ANALYZING TO LKIEN’S NARRATORS

These are derived from Wayne Booth’s The Rhetoric o f Fiction, a bench­ mark work that has influenced literary criticism for four decades, offers useful critical terms for analyzing narrators.1 In his preface to the first edition, Booth says, “My subject is the tech­ nique of non-didactic fiction, viewed as the art of communicating with readers” (xiii). In practicing the “art of comm unicating with readers,” all narrators perform the same action: they speak to the readers. The ways in which narrators speak vary greatly, but because they all perform this com ­ municative activity, they all exhibit, to a greater or lesser degree, at least three identifiable characteristics. First, narrators give information: this can be called the characteristic of revealing.2 Second, narrators interpret the stories they tell by offering opinions, evaluations, or judgments: this can be called the characteristic of interpreting.3 Third, narrators have a greater or lesser awareness of their roles as tale tellers: this can be called the charac­ teristic of self-consciousness.4 These three fundamental characteristics can be expressed as a series of paired opposites set forth with dashes between them to symbolize the ranging degrees to which narrators exhibit them: Unintrusive narrators (showing)

Intrusive narrators (telling)

Unrevealing

Revealing

Uninterpretive

Interpretive

Unself-conscious

Self-conscious

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Every kind of narrator displays, or does not display, the listed character­ istics to some degree. Narrators who display the characteristics to a high degree tend to be intrusive: they interrupt the action of the plot in order to make various kinds of comments. Narrators who do not display the char­ acteristics to a high degree tend to be unintrusive: they do not interrupt the action of the plot in order to make comments; rather, they generally act as self-effacing reporters of the action.5 O f course, authors choose to make their narrators more or less intrusive. Therefore, it must be em pha­ sized that the terms unintrusive and intrusive do not carry, in this context, connotations of courtesy and discourtesy or any notion of goodness and badness in literary art: they are merely labels for different kinds of narra­ tors that produce different effects, and both can be entirely successful. For this reason, Booth uses the terms showing and telling. Although this critical model is generalized, it introduces enough terms to allow a more specific discussion of some of Tolkien’s narrators. THE NARRATOR OF THE HOBBIT

Any textual analysis of The Hobbit must grapple with the fact that Tolkien revised the text twice, so it exists in three versions in three editions. The novel was first published in England in 1937. The second edition was published in 1951 and included a revised version of chapter 5, which Tolkien had rewritten in 1947 to bring its story elements in concord with The Lord of the Rings, on which Tolkien had been at work for a decade. Tolkien made more revisions to The Hobbit after the publication of The Lord o f the Rings, and these appeared in the third edition in 1966 (Anderson, 321). Happily, an analysis of the narrator can be made without juggling the three editions, because although Tolkien in his revisions made several changes in the details of what the narrator says, he made almost no changes in the qualities of the narrator’s voice (Anderson, 322-28). The narrator of The Hobbit reveals all his most salient qualities in the first chapter. The masculine personal pronouns may be used to refer to this narrator because it seems reasonable to assume that the narrator has a masculine voice resembling the author’s. Nevertheless, the narrator’s voice is not and cannot be precisely equivalent to Tolkien’s voice, because Tolkien stands both inside and outside the novel. Tolkien permeates the whole of the words of the text, so every voice within it is his, and yet Tolkien also looked upon his text objectively. Thus the narrator is, from one perspective, just as much a character as Bard, Balin, and Bilbo. And yet the narrator is a special character: as a third-person narrator, he is merely

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a voice, and he is in the story but not in the plot, and of course his voice has a m uch closer relationship to Tolkien’s voice than that of any other character. An Interpretive Guide The narrator of The Hobbit has an interpretive nature, which he displays immediately after the novel’s famous first sentence. Beginning the second sentence emphatically with the adverb Not, the narrator strives to correct immediately any misperception the readers may have held (due to their preconceived notions about holes in the ground) after reading the first sentence. Thus the narrator begins to guide us in our understanding of the story before the novel has progressed beyond ten words. The narrator’s interpretive comments often appear in brief utterances that give emphasis to points in the story. When Bilbo finds the ring, Tolkien’s narrator makes certain that the readers note the significance of the m om ent by telling us, “It was a turning point in his career, but he did not know it” (H, 79). W hen Gandalf departs and the company enters Mirkwood, the narrator says, “Now began the most dangerous part of all the journey” (150). W hen Bilbo stops to m uster his courage during his approach to the sleeping dragon, the narrator says, “Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did” (226-27). These sentences show the narrator as a guide who wants the readers to comprehend the story in a particular way. The interpretive nature of The Hobbit's narrator also expresses itself through judgmental comments. Some of these judgmental remarks are emphatic and highly noticeable. As examples, before allowing the readers to listen to the trolls’ conversation, the narrator states that their language “was not drawing-room fashion at all, at all” (44); and, after telling us why Gollum wanted his “birthday-present” before showing Bilbo the way out of the Goblin tunnels, the narrator judges Gollum ’s thoughts by saying, “That is what was in his wicked little m ind” (92). In addition, sometimes the narrator expresses pointed opinions about characters’ actions: for exam­ ple, when Bilbo hesitates in taking action during his moments with the trolls, the narrator says, “Bilbo ought to have done something at once” (44). Many other comments are less emphatic but nonetheless judgm en­ tal. These kinds of comm ents occur so often that plenty of illustrative examples occur in the opening paragraphs. It is the narrator, and not a character, who tells the readers that in Bilbo’s home, “the best rooms were all on the left-hand side” (9). And, it is the narrator, and not a character,

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who tells the readers that Bilbo “was a very well-to-do hobbit” (9), that Bilbo’s mother was “one of the three remarkable daughters of the Old Took” (10), and that Bilbo probably “got something a bit queer in his make-up from the Took side” (11). These kinds of comments are opinions uttered by the narrator: they are told to us and not shown to us through the opinions of characters. The Hobbit's narrator is thus an intrusive “tell­ ing” narrator who constantly accompanies us and guides us by interpreting information for us as we read. A Revealing but Unrevealing Teaser In the third paragraph of the novel, Tolkien’s narrator reveals to us the opinion that the community holds of the Baggins family: The Bagginses have lived in the neighbourhood of The Hill for time out of mind, and people considered them very respectable, not only because most of them were rich, but also because they never had any adventures or did anything unexpected: you could tell what a Baggins would say on any question without the bother of asking him.

Then, when he focuses on Bilbo’s adventure, he stops revealing: This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbours’ respect, but he gained—well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end. (10)

Here the narrator halts himself in midsentence. In so doing, he demon­ strates another of his salient traits: this narrator sometimes teases us by revealing some information while holding back other facts, and he makes sure we know that he knows more than he chooses to tell. Tolkien’s narrator consciously halts himself again in the fourth para­ graph, but with different effect: The mother of our particular hobbit—what is a hobbit? I suppose hobbits need some description nowadays, since they have become rare and shy of the Big People, as they call us. (10)

The break here suggests that the narrator has been interrupted by one of the readers, who has asked the question, “What is a hobbit?,” which the narrator, in mild surprise at having been interrupted, has repeated. The second sentence raises three significant implications about the nature of the narrator: it suggests that a considerable gap in knowledge and experi­ ence exists between him and the readers, that he has a certain antiquity

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because in earlier times (prior to “nowadays”) he would not have had to digress from his tale in order to describe hobbits, and that unlike most Big People he has had close contact with these rare and shy creatures (which shows, of course, how much Tolkien the author lives in the narrator he cre­ ated). The narrator gives us a brief description, but then he abruptly ends it by saying, rather brusquely, “Now you know enough to go on with,” and then continues his story with “As I was saying” (10). Once again he teases us: he could tell us m uch more about hobbits, but he has chosen not to. Tolkien’s narrator uses this technique a third time in the first chapter when he introduces Gandalf. After introducing the name, he emphasizes it by interjecting “Gandalfl,” and then he teases us once again: “If you had heard only a quarter o f what I have heard about him, and I have only heard very little of all there is to hear, you would be prepared for any sort o f remarkable tale” (11). As in the last two examples, the narrator chooses to tell us only a fraction of what he knows while making sure we know that he knows much more. However, by suggesting that he knows little of all there is to know about Gandalf, he comes quite close to being Tolkien himself and not a character, for Tolkien did not think of himself as an inventor in complete control of his imaginative material. Tolkien described his pro­ cess of imagining and writing to Milton W aldman in 1951: “[The stories] arose in my m ind as ‘given’ things . . . always I had the sense of recording what was already ‘there’, somewhere: not of “inventing”’ (L, 145). From this viewpoint, it is certainly possible that Tolkien believed he knew very little of all there was to know about Gandalf. Probably the same holds true for a remark the narrator makes about Gollum: “I d o n ’t know where he came from, nor who or what he was” (82). Here, too, the narrator may be expressing exactly Tolkien’s thoughts, at least his pre-1938 thoughts. It may well be that in these places Tolkien the author is putting his hand over his narrator’s m outh and speaking with his own voice. An Attentive Companion The narrator o f The Hobbit is completely self-conscious. Not only does he know he is telling a story, he knows he is telling it in writing: when the elves sing in the third chapter, the four stanzas of their first song appear in the text, and when they begin singing again, the narrator says, both self-consciously and judgmentally, “off they went into another song as ridiculous as the one I have written down in full” (59); and, when the dwarves are captured by the Wood-elves, he mentions Bilbo’s search for them but does not tell us about it because he is speaking in the last para-

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graph of chapter 8, and he says, “that belongs to the next chapter” (181). Of course, in the places where he calls attention to the book itself, his voice comes very close to the voice of Tolkien the author. In many places, this narrator speaks directly to the readers, dem onstrat­ ing his self-consciousness as a tale teller. For example, when Bilbo is lost in the Goblin tunnels, the narrator says, “Now certainly Bilbo was in what is called a tight place,” and then he says, “But you must rem ember it was not quite so tight for him as it would have been for me or for you” (80). Or, when Bilbo is talking to Smaug, the narrator says, “There was a lot here which Smaug did not understand at all,” but then he addresses the reader parenthetically: “(though I expect you do, since you know all about Bilbo’s adventures to which he was referring)” (235). The narrator’s tendency to speak directly to the readers is another characteristic that is not only salient but also dominant: of all the direct addresses to the readers, a count of only the most obvious ones, the ones in which the narrator refers to the readers as “you,” comes to forty-five (see the appendix to this essay), so the full am ount is actually much higher. This characteristic in the narrator, more than anything else in the novel, led Humphrey Carpenter to place The Hobbit in the genre of children’s literature and to declare “For it is a children’s story” (Bio, 179). Carpenter certainly dislikes this quality in the narrator, for he describes the direct addresses as “patronising ‘asides’ to juvenile readers” (181). But by stating this opinion, Carpenter is merely siding with Tolkien, and he offers evi­ dence that Tolkien disliked the direct addresses too: For it is a children’s story. Despite the fact that it had been drawn into his mythology, Tolkien did not allow it to become overwhelmingly serious or even adult in tone, but stuck to his original intention of amusing his own and perhaps other people’s children. Indeed he did this too consciously and deliberately at times in the first draft, which contains a large number o ffs id e s ’ to juvenile readers.. . . He later removed many of these, but some remain in the published text—to his regret, for he came to dislike them, and even to believe that any deliberate talking down to children is a great mistake in a story. ‘Never mind about the young!’ he once wrote. ‘I am not interested in the “child” as such, modern or otherwise.’ (179) One curious aspect of the quotation is Carpenter’s remark that Tolkien “later removed many of these, but some remain in the published text.” If C arpenter’s remark is correct, then the first draft of The Hobbit must have contained a huge num ber of direct addresses, because, as the catalog in the appendix indicates, at least forty-five obvious ones made it into the pub­ lished text; and so the clause “some remain in the published text” means

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that “some” is equivalent to a num ber rather higher than forty-five, as many of the direct addresses are not obvious in that they do not employ the pronoun you. An unfortunate aspect of Carpenter’s attitude toward the direct addresses is that by dismissing the entire group of them as patronizing and juvenile, Carpenter overlooks the contribution they make to the novel, such as the charm and hum or that Tolkien put into some of them. For example, these: “You ought not to be rude to an eagle” (119); and “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him ” (229). Even if Carpenter’s remark is correct and is validated with the stamp of Tolkien’s authorial approval, had the direct addresses been entirely removed, the novel would have been the poorer for it. A Viewpoint Shifter For much of The Hobbit, Tolkien restricts the narrator to presenting either Bilbo’s thoughts or the narrator’s own thoughts. But frequently the narrator breaks the restriction, and he does so first in the opening chapter, when Bilbo ends his conversation with Gandalf: “Sorry! I don’t want any adventures, thank you. .. . But please come to tea. . . . Good bye!” With that the hobbit turned and scuttled inside his round green door, and shut it as quickly as he dared, not to seem rude. Wizards after all are wizards. “What on earth did I ask him to tea for!” he said to himself, as he went to the pantry. He had only just had breakfast, but he thought a cake or two and a drink of something would do him good after his fright. Gandalf in the meantime was still standing outside the door, and laughing long but quietly. After a while he stepped up, and with the spike on his staff scratched a queer sign on the hobbit’s beautiful green front-door. Then he strode away, just about the time when Bilbo was finishing his second cake and beginning to think that he had escaped adventures very well. (14—15) The narrator scuttles inside the door with Bilbo and relates to us Bilbo’s secret thoughts; but then, unexpectedly, he leaves Bilbo, slips out the door, and tells us Gandalf’s actions. Then he rejoins Bilbo as the hobbit is finishing his second cake. As the novel progresses, the shifts in point of view occur more fre­ quently, and a pattern develops that is similar to this passage involving Bilbo and Gandalf: the point of view shifts to other characters (often to new characters as they enter the story), but the shift is temporary and is generally followed by a shift back to Bilbo’s perspective. Chapter 5 makes

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a good example: the chapter begins with narration relating Bilbo’s view­ point; then, when Gollum enters, the narrator tells Gollum ’s thoughts: “He was watching Bilbo now from the distance with his pale eyes like tele­ scopes. . . . He was wondering a lot about Bilbo” (83); the point of view shifts back and forth during the riddle game and then to Gollum when he looks for his birthday present; and, finally, the narrator returns to Bilbo’s view when he makes his escape from Gollum and the Goblin tunnels. The pattern displays itself in every chapter except chapter 14, in which Bilbo is left out entirely, and chapter 17, in which the narrator relates the course of the Battle of Five Armies from his own perspective. Thus this frequent pat­ tern joins the other salient and dom inant characteristics of the narrator. A Self-Effacing Reporter Some of the characteristics of The Hobbit’s narrator are salient but not dom inant and some are both salient and dom inant. One characteristic remains to be described, and it is dom inant but not salient. Here is an example from the company’s journey east of the Misty M ountains and before its encounter with the Wargs: They still went on and on. The rough path disappeared. The bushes, and the long grasses between the boulders, the patches of rabbit-cropped turf, the thyme and the sage and the marjoram, and the yellow rockroses all vanished, and they found themselves at the top of a wide steep slope of fallen stones. (107)

In this passage and countless others the narrator does nothing but reveal descriptive information about the characters and the scenes and thus does nothing to call attention to himself. He makes no interpretations, no pointed opinions, and no direct addresses to the reader. Instead, he puts himself in the background and appears as a self-effacing reporter of facts: the description, not the describer, receives the emphasis. THE NARRATOR OF THE RETURN OF TH E SHADOW

This essay will now look at Tolkien’s letters for his thoughts on the influence that The Hobbit had in the writing of The Lord of the Rings before it moves on to examine the narrators of the early drafts of “A Longexpected Party” as they demonstrate their characteristics in the beginning paragraphs of those drafts.

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The “Sequel” to The Hobbit The evidence from Tolkien’s letters concerning the drafting of The Lord of the Rings supports three assertions about the relationship between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. First: Tolkien began writing the novel that became The Lord of the Rings because his publisher urged him to write a sequel to The Hobbit. In a letter written less than three m onths after the publication of the Hobbit, Sir Stanley Unwin said, “W hat we badly need is another book with which to follow up our success with The Hobbit” (Bio, 184). To this exhortation, Tolkien replied on December 16,1937: “I think it is plain th a t... a sequel or successor to The Hobbit is called for,” and he said, “I promise to give this thought and attention” (I, 26). Three days later, Tolkien wrote to Charles Furth of Allen & Unwin and said he had finished a draft of the first chapter of “a new story about Hobbits” (L, 27). Second: during the first nine months, approximately, of work on the novel that became The Lord o f the Rings, Tolkien actually thought o f the new story as a sequel to The Hobbit. The letters from the first m onths of sporadic composition in 1938 demonstrate this belief through the descrip­ tive labels that Tolkien gave to the new story. On February 1,1938, he asked Charles Furth to ask Sir Stanley Unwin whether his son “would care to read the first chapter of the sequel to The Hobbit” (L, z8).6 In the begin­ ning of March, he told Stanley Unwin, “The sequel to The Hobbit has now progressed as far as the end of the third chapter” (L, 34). Third: by the end of August 1938, after about nine months of interm it­ tent composition, Tolkien began to realize that his new novel was not precisely a sequel to The Hobbit because it was developing into a story that was bigger and more serious. On August 31,1938, Tolkien expressed some of these thoughts to Charles Furth: I have begun again on the sequel to the ‘Hobbit’—The Lord of the Ring. It is now flowing along, and getting quite out of hand. It has reached about chapter VII and progresses towards quite unforeseen goals. I must say I think it is a good deal better in places and some ways than the predecessor; but that does not say that I think it either more suitable or more adapted for its audience. For one thing it is, like my own children .. . rather ‘older’. . . . it is no bed-time story. (L, 40-41) Six weeks later, Tolkien wrote a similar letter to Sir Stanley Unwin in which he explained these remarks:

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When I spoke, in an earlier letter to Mr Furth, of this sequel getting ‘out of hand’, I did not mean it to be complimentary to the process. I really meant it was running its course, and forgetting ‘children’, and was becoming more terrifying than the Hobbit. It may prove quite unsuitable. It is more ‘adult’—but my own children who criticize it as it appears are now older. . . . The darkness of the present days has had some effect on it. (L, 41) Both letters describe the new novel as a more grown-up story and not a bedtime story for children, and yet both letters also emphasize that the book’s immediate readers, Tolkien’s children, are also more grown-up, so the novel could still be considered a sequel to The Hobbit. Tolkien reiter­ ated this idea in another letter to Charles Furth about three and a half months later: I think The Lord of the Rings is in itself a good deal better than The Hobbit, but it may not prove a very fit sequel. It is more grown up—but the audience for which The Hobbit was written has done that also. The readers young and old who clamoured for ‘more about the Necromancer’ are to blame, for the N. is not child’s play. (L, 42) Tolkien’s saying that the Necromancer is not “child’s play,” by which he implies that a story about the Necromancer would not be fit for children, echoes a remark that Gandalf makes to Thorin in the first chapter o f The Hobbit, when Thorin muses that the dwarves should think about opposing the Necromancer: “Don’t be absurd! He is an enemy far beyond the powers of all the dwarves put together. . . . The dragon and the M ountain are more than big enough tasks for you!” (34-35). Together, the two remarks diminish the limited malice of Smaug in comparison to the vast evil o f the Necromancer, who of course became Sauron; and thus by distinguishing the smaller from the greater enemy, the remarks offer images that epito­ mize the differences in scope and seriousness between The Hobbit and its sequel. As Tolkien worked m ore and more on The Lord of the Rings, the word sequel became less and less appropriate for the novel he was com pos­ ing. W hat was happening, although Tolkien does not explicitly say it, was that Tolkien was writing his new story out of the genre of children’s litera­ ture and into another genre altogether. At the end of 1942, when Tolkien had written the chapter that eventually became “Flotsam and Jetsam,” nearly the m idpoint of the whole novel, he told Sir Stanley Unwin, “I ought to warn you that it is very long, in places more alarming than ‘The H obbit’, and in fact not really a ‘juvenile’ at all,” and he wondered whether it were possible for Unwin to consider “such an ‘epic’” for publication during the paper shortage of the war years (L, 58). Certainly by 1942, but

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perhaps even as early as August of 1938, Tolkien had ceased to write a socalled “children’s story” as a sequel to The Hobbit, and he had begun to • 7 write a prose romance epic. The Drafts o f “A Long-Expected Party” “My father,” says Christopher Tolkien in the foreword to The Return of the Shadow, “bestowed immense pains on the creation of The Lord o f the Rings,” and “the first part of the story, before the Ring left Rivendell, took by far the most labour to achieve” (5). The first chapter, which Christopher Tolkien considers a “rather extreme case” (4), shows signs of these immense pains because it evolved through six versions and was revised three times before the hobbits ever shouldered their packs and set off on their east­ ward journey. Christopher Tolkien states that his father drafted the first four versions of “A Long-expected Party” between December 16,1937, and February 1,1938, when Tolkien wrote the letter to Charles Furth quoted in the previous section. The Beginning of the First Version The title of the opening chapter, with its playful allusion to “An Unex­ pected Party,” obviously shows Tolkien’s attem pt to write a sequel to The Hobbit, to maintain continuity with it, and yet to write something new. Tolkien attempts the same things with the new narrator. One similarity that the new narrator appears to share with his predeces­ sor is his amiable tendency to address his readers directly: “I am going to tell you a story about one o f his [= Bilbo’s] descendants, and if you had only read his memoirs up to the date of Balin’s visit— ten years at least before this birthday party— you might have been puzzled” (15). As his pre­ decessor did, this new narrator directly tells the readers the subject of his story, and thus he appears to be as self-conscious and as solicitous for his readers’ understanding as his predecessor. Another characteristic shared by the new narrator and his predecessor is their tendency to be both revealing and interpretive. However, examining this similarity illuminates a notable difference. The narrator of The Hobbit is an informed historian who knows much about things like dragons, the history of the Elves, and the nature of hobbits. Yet although he is learned in the ways of hobbits, he is clearly not a hobbit: when Bilbo is lost in the Goblin tunnels, the narrator says that Bilbo is in a “tight place,” but then he rem inds the readers that this place “was not quite so tight for him as

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it would have been for me or for you” because “hobbits are not quite like ordinary people . . . they are more used to tunnelling than we are” (80). The new narrator, on the other hand, is not so easily discerned, for he reveals neither his nature nor his knowledge with clarity: When Bilbo, son of Bungo of the family of Baggins,. . . prepared to celebrate his seventieth birthday there was for a day or two some talk in the neighbourhood. He had once had a little fleeting fame among the people of Hobbiton and Bywater—he had disappeared after breakfast one April 30th and not reappeared until lunchtime on June 22nd in the following year. A very odd proceeding for which he had never given any good reason, and of which he wrote a nonsensical account. After that he returned to normal ways; and the shaken confidence of the district was gradually restored. (13) This narrator appears to know none of the details of Bilbo’s journey to the Lonely M ountain: he seems to know only that Bilbo disappeared, which to his mind was an “odd” thing to do and something that Bilbo never explained, and he marks Bilbo’s disappearance according to standard hobbit meal times. He appears to have no patience for Bilbo’s contribu­ tion to the Red Book, There and Back Again, which he calls “a nonsensical account.” Thus, in contrast to the narrator of The Hobbit, he appears to be unlearned and unliterary. This narrator seems to believe that Bilbo’s dis­ appearance was socially abnormal, and he says that it took some time for the comm unity to feel easy about Bilbo afterward. He does not leave this point quickly but instead adds more emphasis to his already sharp judg­ ments about Bilbo: a little further on, the narrator says that after twenty years, Bilbo’s “odd business . . . was becoming decently forgotten” (13); and, when he discusses the birthday party, he says that the guests generally feared that Bilbo might allude “to the absurd adventures he said he had had long ago during his ridiculous vanishm ent” (13—14). In brief, the new narrator appears to be a conventional Hobbiton hobbit. Thus if the text is read straightforwardly, a remarkable evolution seems to have occurred: the learned man who narrated The Hobbit seems to have been transformed into a narrow-minded and ignorant hobbit in order to narrate the sequel. But is this straightforward reading the correct one? In subsequent para­ graphs, the first version offers evidence that instead of having created an ignorant and narrow-m inded hobbit as the narrator, Tolkien has instead created a sophisticated ironical narrator who speaks opinions tongue-incheek. First, the narrator’s initial direct address to the readers serves to rem ind them of the feud between Bilbo and the Sackville-Bagginses, and it ends with “as some of you may rem ember” (13). If the readers remember

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the feud, they will remember it from having read about it in The Hobbit, which, of course, is derived from Bilbo’s There and Back Again (FR> 10). If the narrator were an ignorant hobbit, why would he allude with precision to a text that he has already dismissed as “a nonsensical account”? Second, after making himself the spokesman for public decency in Hobbiton, this new narrator suddenly turns on the hobbits and criticizes their intellec­ tual ability: when Bilbo announces “Today is my seventieth birthday” and the hobbit guests shout “Hurray,” the narrator says, “That was the sort of stuff they liked: short, obvious, uncontroversial” (14). W ith this scoffing remark, the narrator distances himself from the Hobbiton community and resembles more closely the educated narrator of The Hobbit who speaks objectively about hobbit ways. But the resemblance ceases after a point, for this new narrator has in his voice a chuckling irony that is usually not present in the voice that narrates The Hobbit. Because the making of ironical utterances is a salient characteristic of this new narrator, he is, teasingly, both revealing and unrevealing at once, and an attem pt to determine whether he is a man or a hobbit becomes both difficult and unhelpful. The Beginning of the Second Version Tolkien emphasized the ironical voice of his new narrator in the second version by juxtaposing feigned ignorance with knowledge: When Bilbo» son of Bungo, of the respectable family of Baggins prepared to celebrate his seventy-first birthday there was some little talk in the neighbour­ hood, and people polished up their memories. Bilbo had once had some brief notoriety among the hobbits of Hobbiton and Bywater—he had disappeared after breakfast one April 30th and had not reappeared until lunch-time on June 22nd in the following year. A very odd proceeding, and one for which he had never accounted satisfactorily. He wrote a book about it, of course: but even those who had read it never took that seriously. It is no good talking to hobbits about dragons: they either disbelieve you, or feel uncomfortable; and in either case tend to avoid you afterwards. (19) In the first three sentences, which are revisions of similar sentences in the first version, the narrator comments on Bilbo and his adventure, and his opinion seems to be based on almost complete ignorance of what really happened to Bilbo. In the fourth and fifth sentences, however, the new narrator wags his head at the provincial narrow-mindedness of Hobbiton hobbits, which prevents them from taking Bilbo’s narrative seriously and from even trying to comprehend dragons. These sentences about Bilbo’s book reveal the irony in the narrator’s voice: they imply that he has read

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and understood Bilbo’s book, but this cannot be true if he expresses his honestly held opinion about Bilbo’s account in the third sentence. However, if he had not read and understood Bilbo’s book, he would never utter the fifth sentence. Therefore, it seems most likely that the narrator begins to reveal his true opinions in the fourth and fifth sentences, that the third is ironical, and that he is only pretending to be ignorant in the first two by presenting, without commentary, the general Hobbiton view of Bilbo and his adventure. W ithin five sentences, Tolkien reveals a narra­ tor both complicated and subtle, a new kind of voice to which the reader must listen with care and some skepticism. The Beginnings of the Third and Fourth Versions Christopher Tolkien states that the opening sections of the third and fourth versions of “A Long-expected Party” are virtually the same except for the names that begin them (VI, 36). In these versions, Tolkien con­ tinues to intensify the irony in the narrator’s voice by juxtaposing more pointedly ignorant utterances with the knowledgeable ones he penned in the second version. In these versions, the narrator, though fully aware of the reasons for Bilbo’s reputation in Hobbiton, says that Bilbo’s nephew “Bingo belonged to a branch of the family that was a bit peculiar,” and though fully aware of Bilbo’s account of his adventure, says, “in some mys­ terious way he appeared to have become more than comfortably off, in fact positively wealthy” (29). As in the second version, this new and subtle narrator is not always revealing the full truth as he knows it. The Beginning of the Fifth Version Christopher Tolkien does not print the full text of the fifth version in The Return o f the Shadow because it repeats material from the third and fourth versions. However, Tolkien added to this version new sentences about Bilbo’s memoirs: He told many tales of his adventures, of course, to those who would listen. But most of the hobbits soon got tired of them, and only one or two of his younger friends ever took them seriously. It is no good telling ordinary hobbits about dragons: they either disbelieve you or want to disbelieve you, and in either case stop listening. As he grew older Bilbo wrote his adventures in a private book of memoirs, in which he recounted some things that he had never spoken about (such as the magic ring); but that book was never published in the Shire, and he never showed it to anyone except his favourite ‘nephew’ Bingo. (VI, 245 n. 3)

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The narrator reveals, in the parenthetic phrase about the magic ring, that he has read Bilbo’s book of memoirs. Also, it is clear that he knows both the stories that Bilbo told and the information in the book in which Bilbo “recounted some things that he had never spoken about.” Further, this narrator does not seem to find fault either with Bilbo’s stories or with Bilbo’s memoirs. Therefore, the statement that Bilbo’s disappearance was “a very odd proceeding, and one for which he had never accounted satis­ factorily” (VI, 29,234), which the fifth version retains from its predecessors, must be an ironical utterance. If it is not, another plausible interpretation exists: the narrator, in making that statement, may not be expressing his own opinion; rather, he may be acting merely as a reporter of the opinion generally held by the hobbits of Hobbiton. That interpretation leads to the next version. A Fresh Start After drafting his fifth version, Tolkien wrote an opening that was different from any of the versions he had penned: When Mr Bilbo Baggins of Bag-end, Under-hill, announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton. Before long rumour of the event travelled all over the Shire, and the history and character of Mr Baggins became once again the most popular topic of conversation. The older folk who remembered something of the strange happenings sixty years before found their reminiscences suddenly in demand, and rose to the gratifying occasion with entertaining invention when mere facts failed them. No one had a more attentive audience than old Ham Gamgee, commonly known as the Gaffer. He held forth at the Ivy Bush. (VI, 244) The remarks of this narrator are not pointedly ironical: he does not pretend to be ignorant while demonstrating his knowledge. And, he is not judg­ mental: the interpretive remarks about “strange happenings” and about Ham Gamgee’s having “the most attentive audience” do not seem to be his personal opinions; rather, they seem to be the opinions of the community, which he is reporting. This narrator seems impartial: he sides neither with Bilbo nor with those in the com m unity who think him strange. In a word, he is self-effacing. This quality, which was dom inant but not salient in the narrator of The Hobbit, was destined to eclipse all o f the intrusive qualities that mark that narrator and to become the foremost characteristic of the narrator of The Lord of the Rings. This happened because the fresh start, once written, became Tolkien’s preferred beginning and provided the basis

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of the final version, which was published as the beginning of The Lord o f the Rings. Once Tolkien had rejected his first five versions, he never went back to them. The Vanishing Narrator Why did the narrator, in Tolkien’s fresh start, suddenly become so self-effacing and uninlrusive? The answer is that he didn’t: the shift only appears to be sudden when the first five versions of “A Long-expected Party” and the fresh start are examined in order. The illusion of a sudden shift from an intrusive to an unintrusive narrator dissipates when one looks at the drafts of the chapters following the “Long-expected Party.” Before Tolkien wrote his fifth version of the first chapter, which Christopher Tolkien says began the “second phase” of composition, he had written drafts for what eventually became chapters 2-12 of The Lord of the Rings; in other words, he had taken the story as far as Rivendell before he started once more from the beginning (VI, 3). As these chapters were developing, the narrator was steadily becoming less of a presence, less intrusive, m ore self-effacing, and more inclined to show rather than tell the action. Some sections o f these drafts are so highly conversational that the narrator almost vanishes altogether: only the speaking cues such as “said Bingo” and “said O do” stand to remind us of the narrator’s presence, as he becomes a mere reporter of speakers’ expressions and tones of voice. (For examples of conversational passages in which the narrator is thoroughly and alm ost nonexistently unintrusive, see the following pages in The Return o f the Shadow: 49, 60, 63-65, 73-74, 77-84, 93,103-4,148-59.) A BRIEF LOOK AT THE NARRATOR OF THE LORD OF THE RINGS

At the end of 1938, probably between October and December (VI, 309), Tolkien wrote a sixth version of the opening chapter. Christopher Tolkien does not print the first paragraphs of it either in The Return o f the Shadow (314-18) or in The Treason o f Isengard (18-21), but he does describe it enough to allow the inference that it built on the fresh start and approached the final version published in The Lord o f the Rings. The narrator of the final published version of “A Long-expected Party” is not entirely unintrusive, because he makes interpretive remarks. But, notably, he makes no obvious direct addresses to the reader. He spends more time in reporting opinions held by others than in expressing his own, and sometimes it is difficult to determine which of these he is doing: when

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he opens the second paragraph by saying “Bilbo was very rich and very peculiar»” it is not clear whether he is presenting his opinion or one that prevailed in Hobbiton because Bilbo had been “the wonder of the Shire for sixty years, ever since his remarkable disappearance and unexpected return” (FR, 29). One of the new characteristics of this narrator is his ten­ dency to reveal factual information about hobbits in a straightforward and detached manner, as in these examples: “Hobbits give presents to other people on their own birthdays” (35); “hobbits were easy-going with their children in the matter of sitting up late” (36). In terms of the narrator’s role in the text, “A Long-expected Party” differs most significantly from “An Unexpected Party” in the num ber of points of view that are presented. The first chapter of The Hobbit presents the story from the viewpoint of the narrator himself (11), of Bilbo (13), of Gandalf (15), and of Thorin as a secondary narrator when he tells the history of the dwarves’ enmity for Smaug (28). By contrast, the first chap­ ter of The Lord of the Rings presents the story from the viewpoint of the narrator (29), of the H obbiton community (29), of the Gaffer (31), of the young hobbits of Hobbiton (32), of the party guests (36), of the SackvilleBagginses (38), of the Tooks (39), of Rory Brandybuck (39), of Frodo (39), and o f Bilbo (39); plus, the point of view shifts among these persons sev­ eral times. This simple comparison shows, as efficiently as any aspect of these texts could, that the story of the sequel to The Hobbit has far greater scope than the story of The Hobbit. And it becomes apparent that even in the first chapter, where the opinions of several individuals and groups are presented, the use of an intrusive narrator who constantly calls attention to his own opinions would have impaired the progress of the story and the anim ation of the characters. Hence, Tolkien’s choice to reject the resem­ blance to the narrator of The Hobbit. THERE, BUT NOT BACK AGAIN

In Tolkien’s fiction, all roads lead to “The Silmarillion.” When Tolkien finally finished The Lord o f the Rings in 1950, he told Sir Stanley Unwin that it was “not really a sequel to The Hobbit, but to The Silmarillion" (L, 136). Tolkien certainly made choices in the creation of his narrator for The Lord o f the Rings, but to a large extent the nature of the narrator was an inevitable consequence of the nature of Tolkien’s story, just as the nature of the story itself was an inevitable consequence of “The Silmarillion,” in which Tolkien’s imagination had been steeping for several years. “The Silmarillion” deeply affected The Hobbit as well. In December 1937,

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when Tolkien was first contemplating the sequel, he spoke of the power of the Silmarils in his imagination, and he described their influence on The Hobbit: I think it is plain th a t. . . a sequel or successor to The Hobbit is called for. I promise to give this thought and attention. But I am sure you will sympathize when I say that the construction of elaborate and consistent mythology (and two languages) rather occupies the mind, and the Silmarils are in my heart. So that goodness knows what will happen. Mr Baggins began as a comic tale among conventional and inconsistent Grimm’s fairy-tale dwarves, and got drawn into the edge of it—so that even Sauron the terrible peeped over the edge. (26) In another letter, one to Christopher Bretherton, which was written more twenty-five years later, Tolkien makes similar but perhaps less emotional and m ore analytical remarks about The Hobbit's relationship to “The Silmarillion”: By the time The Hobbit appeared (1937) this ‘matter of the Elder Days’ was in coherent form. The Hobbit was not intended to have anything to do with it. I had the habit while my children were still young of inventing and telling orally, sometimes of writing down, ‘children’s stories’ for their private amusement. . . . The Hobbit was intended to be one of them. It had no necessary connexion with the ‘mythology’, but naturally became attracted towards this dominant construction in my mind, causing the tale to become larger and more heroic as it proceeded. (346) The key sentence is the final one: there Tolkien says that the influence of “The Silmarillion” caused the story “to become larger and more heroic.” The story of The Hobbit does indeed expand in scope and become more serious once Bilbo and the Dwarves arrive in Lake Town in chapter 10, and perhaps Thorin is the harbinger of the change when he cries to the Master of Lake Town in a heroic voice we have never heard before: “I am Thorin son o f Thrain son of T hror King under the Mountain! I return!” (209). More than three years elapsed between the time that Tolkien wrote chap­ ter 14, in which Smaug is killed, and the last five chapters (Bio, 177-80), but if Tolkien’s description in this letter is accurate, the influence o f “The Silmarillion” changed the story far more than did the mere passage of time. “The Silmarillion,” then, also must have exerted a strong influence on the narrator of The Hobbit. If the tale became “larger and more heroic” as it progressed, because of the influence of “The Silmarillion,” it follows that the narrator had to follow suit by becoming more serious and by making

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utterances more appropriate to a heroic tale than to a children’s story. If the catalog of direct addresses in the appendix is examined, it will be seen that no obvious addresses to the reader occur in the last six chapters of the novel. Also, in chapter 14, which recounts the attack of Smaug and his death, Bilbo and the dwarves are om itted entirely, and the narrator presents the action from more points of view than in any other chapter: various people of Esgaroth (209), the Master (211), Smaug (211), Bard (211), and the Elvenking (215). These constitute major changes in the narrative voice. It is no coincidence that these changes occur as the language of the dialogue becomes m ore elevated and focused on subjects like the debate over the property claims to Smaug’s treasure and the debate over political rights in Esgaroth. It is no coincidence that these changes occur as the plot turns to violent action and swells from the onslaught of Smaug towards the Battle of Five Armies. And it is no coincidence that these changes occur as the scope of the narrator’s view abandons the domestic and provincial perspective of Bilbo and begins to sweep over great distances: Far over Mirkwood tidings spread: “Smaug is dead!” Leaves rustled and startled ears were lifted. Even before the Elvenking rode forth the news had passed west right to the pinewoods of the Misty Mountains; Beorn had heard it in his wooden house, and the goblins were at council in their caves. (266)

This is the narrator of a prose epic. This is a whisper from the narrator who speaks in full voice in The Lord o f the Rings. The Hobbit began its literary existence relatively free of the influence of “The Silmarillion,” but by the time Tolkien wrote the ending o f the story, “The Silmarillion” had deeply affected the final six chapters. The Lord o f the Rings did not begin its literary existence free of the influence of “The Silmarillion,” and his attempts to pull it away led to five rejected open­ ings. The first five versions of “A Long-expected Party” were attempts to return to the beginning of The Hobbit, but he could not go back because he had already written the ending of The Hobbit, and any sequel had to go on from there. He probably was not fully aware that he could not go back because probably he was not fully conscious of how extensively “The Silmarillion” had affected his imagination: the fact that he labored through five versions of the opening chapter and then rejected them is evidence of this. Tolkien had already prepared his narrator for The Lord o f the Rings before he ever sat down to write in December 1937. He did this preparatory work in the last six chapters of The Hobbit.

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APPENDIX: Catalog of Direct Addresses

The following is a catalog of the most obvious of Tolkien’s direct addresses to the readers (those that address the readers as “you”) in The Hobbit: Chapter i 10 “you will see whether he gained any­ thing” 10 “Now you know enough to go on with” n “If you had heard only a quarter” 14 “You will notice already” 26 "If you have ever seen a dragon in a pinch” 28 “Look at the map at the beginning of this book, and you will see” Chapter 2 43 “I don’t suppose you or I would have noticed anything” 49 “It made him howl, I can tell you” 51 “for trolls, as you probably know” Chapter 3 57 “than ever you would have guessed” 59 “and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it” 61 “as you will see” 61 “I wish I had time to tell you” Chapter 4 66 “You know how terrific a really big thunderstorm can be” 70 “before you could say rocks and blocks" 70 “before you could say tinder and flint" 76 “Glamdring the Foe-hammer, if you remember” Chapters 80 “But you must remember” 87 “I imagine you know the answer, of course” Chapter 6 110 “You would have laughed” 111 “with wolves all round below wait­ ing for you” 111 “I will tell you what Gandalf heard” 113 “Now you can understand why Gandalf”

118 “So you can imagine how his head swam now” 119 “You ought not to be rude to an eagle” 120 “So you see ‘prisoners’” 120 “Later on you might have seen a bright fire” Chapter 7 126 “I cannot tell you much more” 134 “You see, in the old days” 142 “from which you can guess that he could travel quickly” Chapter 8 160 “Actually, as I have told you” 167 “more or less right, as you will see” 167 “as I have already told you” 169 “that I haven’t had time to tell you about” 170 “they forgot the dwarves for a bit, I can tell you” 171 “but then you must remember” 178 “You remember Bilbo falling like a l o g ...? ” Chapter 9 187-88 “Just what Gandalf had said would happen, you see” 195 “Most likely you saw it some time ago” 199 “There is no need to tell you much” Chapter 10 203 “So you see Bilbo had come in the end” Chapter 12 224 “You are familiar with Thorin’s style” 229 “It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations” 235 “though I expect you do” Chapter 13 256 “If you want to know what cram is”

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NOTES

i. My model is based on concepts delineated in Booth’s first six chapters. 2. William Thackeray, for example, uses a revealing narrator in Vanity Fair, 3. As an example o f an interpretive narrator, see the closing paragraph to the opening chapter o f Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice in which the narrator makes interpretive com m ents about Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. 4. For example, Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, as the narrator of his Adventures, is fully conscious o f himself as the tale teller. 5. One such narrator is the voice that narrates Egil's Saga, one of the most famous of the twelfth-century Icelandic sagas. See, in particular, chapter 71, in which the narrator reports events both astonishing and repugnant without inter­ pretive com m entary or moral judgments. 6. It is C hristopher Tolkien who states that this letter was addressed to Charles Furth (VI, 40). In Letters it appears as item twenty-one, and its heading is simply “From a letter to Allen & Unwin” (L, 28). 7. In 1964 Tolkien told Christopher Bretherton that “they wanted a sequel,” but that he “wanted heroic legends and high rom ance” and that “the result was The Lord o f the Rings" (L, 346). Tolkien’s novel o f heroic legends and high rom ance belongs partly to the genre of the rom ance epic because of the interlace structure of its plot. In addition, The Lord o f the Rings fits the criteria of C. S. Lewis’s definition of Secondary Epic, a term he coined to describe the Virgilian develop­ ment of the epic poem (Lewis, 27-39). WORKS CITED

A nderson, D ouglas A. “A ppendix A: T extual and R evisional N otes.” In The Annotated Hobbit, by J. R. R. Tolkien, 321-28. Boston: H oughton Mifflin, 1988. Booth, W ayne C. The Rhetoric o f Fiction. Second edition. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1983. Lewis, C. S. A Preface to “Paradise Lost". 1942. New York: O xford U niversity Press, 1982.

VERLYN FLIEGER

THE FOOTSTEPS OF /ELFWINE

'/Elfwine elf-friend? That at any rate is what their more or less literal translation comes to. Though as most of you will know . . . these twopart names are pretty conventional, and not too much can be built on their literal meaning.’ ‘But they must originally have been made to have a meaning»’ said Ramer. "€> The Notion Club Papers Although now unrecoverable except as elements of myth and folklore, the presence of elves in the world, attested to by num erous mentions in Norse and Anglo-Saxon poetry and by the very existence of the word— Norse a lf Anglo-Saxon alf— was at one time a part of the pagan belief system of N orthern Europe. It follows, then, that however conventional it may since have become, the name /Elfwine, a com pound combining the AngloSaxon word for “elf” with the word for “friend,” must, as Ramer suggests, have originally had a literal meaning, describing or alluding to one who was in actuality an elf-friend. Although yElfwine continued to be a proper name long after belief in elves had dwindled to folk superstition, the word itself no longer conveys the old meaning or indeed any meaning at all except to a student of onomastics. It has no literal reference, nor even a metaphoric one. In its m odern appearance it is now a mere fossil, one of the myriad words in English or any language whose bones are pre­ served as shape and sound, but whose living em bodim ent has decayed and fallen away. This is not the case, however, in the Active world of Tolkien’s mythology, wherein Elves are a viable species inhabiting Middle-earth, and in which the original meaning of the name is restored. Tolkien has reim ag­ ined the concept of elf-friend, created a world in which such a figure could live and move, and bestowed the name or epithet on some of his most memorable characters. Readers of The Lord o f the Rings first meet the term in its English trans­ lation early in that story, in an exchange that at first reading seems of little significance. Responding to Frodo’s Elvish greeting, “Elen sila lumenn* omentielvo” the Elf Gildor replies, “Hail» Elf-friend!” At this point in the

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story it seems to be simply polite elf-hobbit talk (FR, 90). Even when, in a later, more serious m om ent, Gildor says to Frodo, “I name you Elf­ friend,” this still seems largely a formal rather than a substantive locution (94). W ith every repetition, however, the meaning deepens, and when, in the house of Tom Bombadil, Goldberry says to Frodo, “I see you are an elf-friend; the light in your eyes and the ring in your voice tells it” (135), we begin to realize that m ore than politeness is involved; elf-friend is some kind of special identity. This is confirmed when, still later, the Elf Legolas introduces Aragorn to Haldir of Ldrien as “an Elf-friend of the folk of W esternesse” (357). However, it is only at the Council of Elrond that we discover that the phrase has a history beyond the immediate present. Formally accepting his offer to carry the Ring to M ount Doom, Elrond Halfelven tells Frodo, “Though all the mighty elf-friends of old, Hador, and Hurin, and Turin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them ” (284). What seemed at first a polite form of address, later a com ­ plim entary epithet, can here be seen as the sign of election to a special company. Nonetheless, for the first twenty years of the story’s publication there was little evidence beside what I have cited to indicate to readers that the phrase carried any extra meaning beyond the context of the immediate narrative. Not until The Silmarillion was published in 1977 did the figures of Boren and Turin and Hurin truly come to life and take their proper places in the legendarium. And only since the appearance of Tolkien’s full mythology in The History o f Middle-earth has it been possible to see all the Elf-friends in a larger context, and to understand the name and some of the most memorable of those who bear it as emblems of a continuing and developing concept. W ith the entire range of Tolkien’s mythology now accessible, we can at last survey the full scope o f Tolkien’s treatm ent o f the Elf-friend figure, and begin to appreciate its place and importance in the unfolding narra­ tive. We know now that Frodo, Aragorn, even Hurin and Turin and Beren, are only a few out of many Elf-friends. We know, as well, that however formally or informally the epithet is bestowed, it is more than a polite term of address. It is at once the name, the description, and the function of one of the mythology’s earliest and most multiform figures, a figure who is both inside and outside the story, who is both a character in the dram a and a frame for the narrative. The list of Elf-friend figures who fill this role stretches over the whole of Tolkien’s mythology. In addition to those cited in The Lord o f the Rings either explicitly or implicitly (for we must surely include Bilbo

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am ong them ), there are ./Elfwine the M ariner and his alter ego, Eriol the M ariner, from Tolkien’s earliest work The Book o f Lost Tales. From his two unfinished time-travel stories The Lost Road and The Notion Club Papers there are the Num endrean Elendil (Quenya for “Elf-friend”) and his English avatars Alboin Errol and Alwin Lowdham, as well as Lowdham’s father, old Edwin Lowdham (also and not coincidentally a mariner). And in Tolkien’s last short story, Smith of Wootton Major, the Elf-friends include not just Smith himself, but also his mysterious grandfather, the first Master Cook. These figures have widely different characteristics and fulfill a vari­ ety of different plot functions in the stories in which they appear, but the im portant position they all share is that of the link, the connector or m ediator between the “real” or natural world and the world of Faerie— the supernatural world of m yth and the imagination. W hy is such a link necessary? Why not just tell the story and allow it to stand on its own? First, because to Tolkien the value of a story is in its transmission as well as in its existence. Indeed, its transmission is its existence. The tale only exists in the telling. And for the telling there has to be a narrator, a link between the event and the hearer or reader. “I . . . Aneirin . . . sang Y Gododdin'’ (32). So proclaims the poetic voice in an early medieval battle poem. Aneirin was a sixth-century bard, but the ear­ liest existing text of The Gododdin is in the thirteenth-century Book of Aneirin. The poem survives today not just because Aneirin sang it but because others heard it and finally some hearer wrote it down. So it was transm itted and so it survived. The story that is The Lord o f the Rings would not survive today (so runs the conceit) if Bilbo had not begun his Book nor Frodo continued it. Tolkien was too knowledgeable a storyteller not to recognize and affirm the importance of the Teller to the Tale. Nevertheless, while the link is the crucial element in the transmission, we can still ask in Tolkien’s case why the linking figure should be specifically an Elf-friend. Tolkien could easily have used some other kind of m ediator as a way into his mythology—a pseudoeditor, or a Active scholar-collector of old stories. In other circumstances, for example, the introduction to The Adventures o f Tom Bombadil or the editorial frame for The Notion Club Papers, he did just that. W hat can an Elf-friend do for the story beyond establishing the validity of the material, a function that these other devices also fulfill? A possible answer is that, as the name implies, the Elf-friend can participate in both worlds, whereas by definition an editor or scholar can be in only one. An editor, a collector, a scholar would be a complete outsider, and the result would be not stories but data, suffering from the same kind of fossilization that overtook the name yElfwine. Such a figure

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would be excavating for artifacts, not immediately experiencing myth. In contrast, the Elf-friend— not an Elf but a friend of Elves— is neither wholly outside nor completely inside but in between, and thus qualifies as a true mediator. The earliest of Tolkien’s Elf-friend figures functions as just such a medi­ ator in The Book o f Lost Tales. Originally he was neither called Elf-friend nor named /Elfwine, but Eriol, a name of Tolkien’s own invention. In keeping with his early intention to link his mythology to English myth and history Tolkien also gave him several Old English epithets. According to Christopher Tolkien he was “named by the Gnomes . . . Angol ‘after the regions of his hom e’.” Angol is also “given as the Gnomish equivalent of Eriollo” and probably refers to “the ancient homeland of the ‘English’ before their migration across the North Sea to Britain” (I, 24). So to begin with (although in the text the name is translated as “one who dreams alone”), Eriol in its earliest conception may have been simply the Elvish word for English. As if these names were not sufficient, Tolkien gave the figure still another name. Eriol, we are told, “called himself Wcefre” an Old English word meaning “restless, wandering” (23). In the preliminary stages of the myth, before Tolkien had settled on /Elfwine. the epithet Wcefre may have carried the greater significance, for it recalls Eriol-Waefre’s real-myth counterpart Gangleri (Old Norse “wanderer”) in a book that Tolkien knew well, Snorri Sturluson’s four­ teenth-century Prose Edda, one of the primary sources for Norse mythology. An Icelandic scholar-politician and a com m itted Christian, Snorri knew but clearly did not believe in the pagan myths that Christianity had super­ seded. Yet he felt that the old gods and heroes, and the kennings, the poetic figures of speech that characterized them, were the proper material for poetry. He wanted to educate the poets of his time, and in so doing he preserved for them and for posterity one of the world’s great mythologies. Snorri’s device for reintroducing these myths to his Christian audience was to create a Active interlocutor, a pagan king called Gylfi who, disguised as Gangleri “the W anderer,” traveled to the world of the gods in search of information. The Edda's first and most comprehensive section, Gylfaginning (“The Deluding of Gylfi”), consists of Gangleri’s interrogation of three mysterious figures— Har (“High O ne”), Jafnhar (“Just-as-High”), and prib (“Third”)— who answer his questions by giving their account of creation, the nature of the world, and the names, natures, and adventures of its gods and goddesses. Gangleri thus becomes the prim ary recipient of the tales, and through him Snorri gives his readers quite a lively account of Norse mythology while safely maintaining his own distance from it.

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Eriol-Waefre performs the same service for Tolkien. Described as “a man of great curiosity,” and like Gangleri a wanderer, Eriol the mariner voy­ ages to the isle o f Tol Eressea, where he questions the Gnomes about their history. He thus functions as the quasi-insider, the man on the scene who is yet a stranger and can be the primary recipient for the stories, allowing Tolkien the author to be discreetly invisible. Moreover, the fact that both Gangleri and Wcefre mean ‘wanderer’ or ‘wandering,’ the circumstance that both are epithets or assumed identities— these parallels suggest delib­ erate borrowing, as does the question-and-answer format, a conventional medieval literary technique used by Snorri and reused by Tolkien. As cues for the Norse stories, Gangleri asks such questions as “W ho is the foremost or oldest of all the gods?” “What was the origin of all things?” “How did they begin?” “W hat is the way from earth to heaven?” “W hat goddesses are there?” Snorri emphasizes the importance of the gods’ replies by having Gangleri exclaim, “Great tidings [literally translated from Icelandic mikil tidindi] I’m hearing now.” Eriol’s questions follow a strik­ ingly similar format: “Tell me of this island” (1,18); “W ho be these Valar; are they the Gods?” (145); “Who was Iluvatar?” (49). Tolkien underscores the significance o f the dialogue by putting in the m outh o f Eriol a phrase so like the one Snorri gives to Gangleri that the similarity can hardly be accident: “Great are these tidings” (1,64). One question in particular deserves notice, chiefly for the comment it elicits from Christopher Tolkien as editor. “‘Tell me,’ said Eriol, ‘for I long to learn, what was the Music of the Ainur?”’ The editor’s comment is “Thus it was that the Ainulindale was first to be heard by mortal ears, as Eriol sat in a sunlit garden in Tol Eressea” (I, 49). The phrase “by mortal ears” is the key, for Eriol is to be the witness, the repositor and transmitter of these stories, the link between their Elven tellers and the humans who will hear (and read) the tales. As Christopher Tolkien writes: The story of Eriol the mariner was central to my father’s original conception of the mythology. . . . But his role was at first to be more important than (what it afterwards became) simply that of a man of later days who came to ‘the land of the Fairies’ and there acquired lost or hidden knowledge which he afterwards reported in his own tongue: at first, Eriol was to be an important element in the fairy-history itself—the witness of the ruin of Elvish Tol Eressea. (I, 23) As significant as “by mortal ears” is the word witness, for the act o f witness­ ing leads the reader into the story. It is his role as witness that characterizes this Elf-friend figure. That the witness should be somehow alien to the mythology described

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is important, for as an engaged outsider he can link the “outside” reader or hearer to the “inside” culture that generates the myths. Indeed, the word mythology, which means “a collection of myths,” also means “the system­ atic collection and study of myths” (American Heritage Dictionary), and describes both the product and the process. In the second definition espe­ cially, the word is explicitly an outsider’s term used by myth scholars to describe the stories of other peoples’ cultures— their origin myths, hero legends, early history, and religious beliefs. Emphasizing “the study of m yth,” as opposed to its experience or belief, this meaning of the word implies a distance from the society described within the stories. As Snorri’s authorship of the Edda gives evidence, myths frequently find their way into print because somebody who may no longer believe them wants to retell them to somebody else who may not believe them either. The specific function of Gangleri is to have (like many in Snorri’s read­ ing audience) no previous knowledge of the stories he hears. Thus he is constantly rebuked by High One, Just-as-High, and Third for not being “a well-informed m an,” one who by definition ought to know the stories of his own world. But if Gangleri was not well informed, Snorri’s audi­ ence must have been even less so, for his desire to am end their ignorance led to his writing of the book. Compendious mythologies, then, are not tales recounted by a storyteller to a spellbound audience sitting at a fire on a winter’s night. They are instead collections of those tales; they have become texts transmitted by “authorities”— by anthropologists, philolo­ gists, historians, folklorists— all of them scholars of one kind or another who supply the texts with footnotes and learned commentary, all of them hearing and recording someone else’s stories. In other words, outsiders. By definition, then, Tolkien as author of a mythology must be such an outsider. An entire primary mythology cannot be written, it can only be written down or written about. Here was the problem for Tolkien as myth fabricator. His authorial voice, directly transmitting the narrative, would reveal his mythology as art, not living myth. He could be a Snorri but he needed a Gangleri, a credible, nonscholarly observer who could be inside the story but not of it, and who could both experience and explain it. And so to give his Elven mythology what he called the “inner consistency o f reality” (TL, 44) he created as his Gangleri not an Elf but an Elf-friend, someone who could, within the framework of the story, become the receiv­ ing consciousness for a myth foreign to his own experience. Tolkien’s original question-and-answer device was eventually discarded, as were Eriol’s multiple by-names. But the figure itself was retained. In the process of many revisions he became more clearly English (or proto-

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English) and his name settled down as /Elfwine, Elf-friend. But whatever his name, his function as a witness and connecting device remained an essential part o f the plan. Christopher Tolkien emphasizes the centrality o f this character to Tolkien’s original design. From the beginning of this history, the story of the Englishman yElfwine, called also Eriol, who links by his strange voyage the vanished world of the Elves with the lives of later men, has constantly appeared. So in the last words of the Quenta Noldorinwa (IV. 165) it is said: To Men of the race of Earendel have they [the tales o f the Quenta] at times been told, and most to Eriol, who alone of the mortals of later days, and yet now long ago, sailed to the Lonely Isle, and came back to the land of Leithien [Britain] where he lived, and remembered things that he heard in fair Cortirion, the city of the Elves in Tol Eressea. (IX, 279-80)

Over the course of time and in the labor of countless revisions, Tolkien refined his concept, and in the process this elaborate framework, like the rather cum bersom e question-and-answer format, gradually diminished in importance. “All this,” notes Christopher Tolkien, “was to fall away after­ wards from the developing mythology; but /Elfwine left many marks on its pages before he too finally disappeared” (II, 327). Those marks on the pages are worth our scrutiny, for as Frodo Baggins’s courtesy title makes clear, the figure of ^Elfwine took on a life beyond its original context, and the concept of the Elf-friend walked the pages of Tolkien’s fiction from then on. The many marks left by /Elfwine are the footprints of one who never completely vanished from Tolkien’s mythology, a witness and par­ ticipant who observes, often experiences, and in some fashion transmits to others the stories in which he appears. It is in this capacity that the Elf-friend figure acts as a semitransparent mask for the real Elf-friend, who is actually Tolkien himself. The paradox of Tolkien as author is that he was as it were his own Gangleri, his own link to Faerie. Recall that he stated on a num ber of occasions that he was not entirely inventing, but was indeed in some sense receiving the tales that made up his mythology. “They arose in my mind as ‘given’ things, and as they came, separately, so too the links grew .. .. always I had the sense o f recording what was already ‘there’, somewhere: not o f ‘inventing’” ( 1 ,145). To call someone “Elf-friend,” as Gildor does Frodo, as Tolkien does other, later characters, was to confer on that character something of Tolkien’s own position as hearer and recorder of a mythology that, he maintained, “arose” in his m ind as an unfolding narrative somehow external to his imagination.

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In whatever tale he appeared, then, and whatever his particular charac­ ter in the story, the Elf-friend figure provided a Active persona through whose agency the author Tolkien could convey the stories to the reader and at the same time gratify some of his own most deeply held desires— to participate in myth firsthand, to converse with other kinds of beings, to visit other dimensions of time and space, to experience, in hum an form and in hum an terms, something of the believer’s sense of awe and wonder at the supernatural. yElfwine provided Tolkien a way to participate in his own mythology. And over time, both the name and the concept had a shifting and variable relationship to his developing vision. Let us look now at some representative Elf-friends, and explore how each figure works in his particular story. The original Elf-friend and earli­ est yElfwine figure, whom I will call Eriol-zElfwine, was, as we have seen, primarily a framing device, providing an occasion for Tolkien’s elvenfairy narrator to launch the mythology. Eriol-yElfwine was to be the link between Elven myth and English myth and history. However, the shifts and developments undergone by this figure over the course of the m ythol­ ogy are a story in themselves, a complex and at times perplexing history. O f his father’s treatment of this figure Christopher Tolkien says, “The ‘Eriolstory’ is in fact among the knottiest and most obscure matters in the whole history of Middle-earth and Am an” (I, 23).1 Although Eriol-/Elfwine was part of Tolkien’s vision from the very first, Tolkien never quite settled on what to do with him, never quite let go of him, but continually worked and reworked his story. “jElfwine as recorder and pupil was still present in my father’s writings,” Christopher Tolkien comments, “after the com ple­ tion o f The Lord o f the Rings” (V, 21). To round out what we already know of this most complicated charac­ ter, who appears and reappears over several volumes of The History of Middle-earth, I can do no better than to quote in full Christopher Tolkien’s summing up, which condenses to a manageable m inimum the essential elements: [/Elfwine] is seen in Tavrobel of Tol Eressea translating The Annals ofValinor and The Annals of Beleriand from the work of Pengolod the Wise of Gondolin, and parts of his Anglo-Saxon text are preserved (IV.263, 281 ff.); the Ainulindale was spoken to him by Rumil of Tun (V. 156); the Lhammas of Pengolod was seen by /Elfwine ‘when he came into the West’ (V.167). To the Quenta Silmarillion his note is appended (V.203): ‘The work of Pengolod I learned much by heart, and turned into my tongue, some during my sojourn in the West, but most after my return to Britain’. . . . going back to one form of the old story Azlfwine of England

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(II.322 and note 42)» was the story that Elfwine never set foot on the Lonely Isle. So in my father’s sketches for those further reaches of The Lost Road that he never wrote, Elfwine on the one hand (V.78) awakes on the beach of the Lonely Isle ‘to find the ship being drawn by people walking on the water’, and there in Eressea he ‘is told the Lost Tales’; but in other notes of that time (V.80), after ‘the vision of Eressea’, the ‘west wind blows them back’, and they come to shore in Ireland. In the note to the final version of the poem The Song of Atfwine (a version which I suggested was ‘probably from the years after The Lord of the Rings, though it might be associated with The Notion Club Papers of 1945’, V.100) it is told (V. 103): Elfwine (Elf-friend) was a seaman of England of old who, being driven out to sea from the coast of Erin, passed into the deep waters of the West, and according to legend by some strange chance or grace found the ‘straight road’ of the Elvenfolk and came at last to the Isle of Eressea in Elvenhome. Or maybe, as some say, alone in the waters, hungry and athirst, he fell into a trance and was granted a vision of that isle as it once had been, ere a West-wind arose and drove him back to Middle-earth. (IX, 280)

With this as background, we may for the m om ent leave Eriol-Elfwine on the Straight Road, and turn to other Elf-friend figures. Alboin Errol of The Lost Road, the first o f Tolkien’s time-travel stories, written prob­ ably in 1936 or 1937 (V, 8), was to be, like Eriol-Elfwine, the link between present-day England and Tolkien’s own Niimenor, where, like the original Eriol, he was to be the witness to its downfall. Alboin is both functionally and nominally an Elf-friend, for his name, as Tolkien is careful to make clear, is simply updated from the Anglo-Saxon /Elfwine to the medieval Lombardic form. Moreover, his family surnam e Errol is, as Christopher Tolkien points out, too close to Eriol to be happenstance. When Alboin recites for his father, Oswin Errol, a scrap of Anglo-Saxon verse about Elfw ine Widlast— “.Elfwine the Far-travelled”— Oswin replies, “good for Elfw ine-Alboin” (44), leaving unclear (perhaps deliberately so) whether in linking the names he is referring to the Anglo-Saxon figure or to his own son or to both at once. When later on in a dream Alboin hears a voice announcing itself as “Elendil, that is in Eressean ‘Elf-friend’,” and identifying the speaker as “the father of many fathers before you” (48), we are clearly meant to understand that, in a sense, this is Elfwine speaking to Elfw ine, the Numen6rean Elf-friend addressing his modern-day avatar and counterpart. The next Elf-friend to be considered is Alwin Arundel (Arry) Lowdham of Tolkien’s second time-travel story, The Notion Club Papers, written over the winter of 1945-46 (IX, 144-47). According to Lowdham, his father wanted to name him Elfw ine but was persuaded to update the name to

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m odern English Alwin. The narrative goes into some detail over the m ean­ ing of the name, as the epigraph to the present study gives evidence. To make Lowdham’s role perfectly clear, Tolkien has one of the m embers of the Notion Club refer to him (although he is actually quite a large man) as “your little Elf-friend” (245). Lowdham was to perform much the same function in this later story as Alboin was to perform in his, that is, to link England and Num enor and be the witness to Niim enor’s downfall. A far m ore vivid character than the quiet and retiring Alboin, Lowdham is a dramatic, almost haunted link with Num enor, for his memory flashbacks into M iddle-earth mythology torture him as m uch as they tease the reader with portentous glimpses of half-remembered history. Describing his dream visions of the Eagles o f the Lords of the W est to his fellow Notion Club members, Lowdham tells them, not altogether happily, “They [the eagles) shake me badly when I see them. I could, I could— I feel I could tell some great tale of Num enor” (238). The “great tale” is Tolkien’s narrative goal and climax, the Drowning o f Anadim& or the Downfall of Numenor, and like Alboin Errol before him, Alwin Lowdham is to be both the means of arriving at the event and the witness to (and probable recorder of) the Downfall itself. Both time-travel stories make it clear that Alboin and Lowdham are explicitly meant to be descended from and retain the race memory o f Tolkien’s Numendrean /Elfwine-figure, Elendil. Lowdham’s account to the Notion Club of his dream of /Elfwine is continued in several unfinished outlines and sketches. One note, offering insight into the care with which Tolkien considered his theoretical sub­ structure, reads as follows: The theory is that the sight and memory goes on with descendants of Elendil and Voronwe (= Tr£owine) but not reincarnation; they are different people even if they still resemble one another in some ways even after a lapse of many generations. (IX, 278) Elendil and Voronwe are to be the Num endrean ancestors of Anglo-Saxon jElfwine and Trdowine, who are in turn ancestors of the m odern-day Lowdham and his friend Jeremy. All three pairs apparently share the same, serially inherited race memory. As Tolkien’s notes show, the tantalizing, fragmentary accounts of /Elfwine of England are clear efforts to link not just England and N um enor, but stories of the past with present events. Christopher Tolkien writes: With . . . a ‘time-travel’ story in which the very significant figure of the AngloSaxon /Elfwine would be both ‘extended’ into the future, into the twentieth

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century, and ’extended’ also into a many-layered past, my father was envisaging a massive and explicit linking o f his own legends with those o f many other places and times: all concerned w ith the stories and the dreams o f peoples who dwelt by the coasts o f the great Western Sea. (V, 98)

The briefest o f jotted notes continue Tolkien’s grand design, unfortunately never realized, part o f which has /Elfwine and Trdowine sailing westward: T rio w in e sees the straight road and the w orld plunging down. /E lfw ine’s vessel seems to be taking the straight road and falls [sic] in a swoon o f fear and exhaus­ tion. /Elfwine gets view o f the Book o f Stories; and writes down what he can remem­ ber. Later fleeting visions. Beleriand tale. Sojourn in Num enor before and during the fall ends with Elendil and Voronwe fleeing on a h ill o f water into the dark w ith Eagles and lightning pursuing them. Elendil has a book which he has written. His descendants get glimpses o f it. jElfw ine has one. (IX , 279)

Although his story was never fully realized in any of its versions, dSlfwine of England left his im print on the shape of the mythology in the form of the “book,” the Active frame device, which gradually became absorbed into the narrative itself. Elendil’s book, o f which his descendants get glimpses, and which is probably the item referred to in Tolkien’s note “./Elfwine has one,” is undoubtedly the text that preserves the stories. The similarity in function between Elendil’s book and the extended m em oir o f Bilbo Baggins, left for his nephew Frodo to finish and labeled Translations from the Elvish “by B. B.,” is unmistakable. Bilbo’s book becomes the Red Book o f Westmarch and is the presumed source o f both The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings. To anyone acquainted with medieval literature, Tolkien’s choice of title will recall the actual Red Book of Hergest, an early source of Welsh myth and history that together with the Black Book of Carmarthen, the Book o f Aneirin, and the Book of Taliesin make up the venerable Four Ancient Books o f Wales, a series o f manuscripts in various hands dating from the twelfth to the fifteenth century. The Red Book of Hergest, now housed in Jesus College, Oxford, is a compilation o f prose and verse covering aspects o f Welsh myth, legend, and history from the sixth century to the m id­ fifteenth. The fictive rationale for Tolkien’s Red Book of W estmarch is that it is just such a compilation, started by Bilbo, continued by Frodo, and com-

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pleted by various other hands. The actual frame device is confined to the prologue, which is, in fact, not the book but a commentary about the book. By this time the “book,” as such, and the Elf-friend character(s) are no longer a simple frame. Not only are they deeply woven into the fabric of the story, they have in fact become the story. Begun shortly after Tolkien abandoned The Lost Road in 1937, and briefly interrupted in 1944-45 when he turned to The Notion Club Papers, The Lord o f the Rings— to no great surprise— has several Elf-friend characters. The first we meet is Sam Gamgee, who on a less explicit, certainly less psy­ chic level than Tolkien’s serially incarnated time travelers, is an instinctive Elf-friend even before he meets one. Sam’s love of old tales, his romantic desire to see an Elf just once, make him a natural bridge between the skeptical Shire and the wonders beyond it— and thus a bridge for the reader between the real world and Tolkien’s invented one. Sam’s imag­ ination takes over for Tolkien’s, and though we know he is hopelessly romantic, we instinctively side with him against the sneering skepticism of Ted Sandyman, and even the advice of his father, the Gaffer. “Elves and dragons!” the Gaffer tells Sam, “Cabbages and potatoes are better for me and you. Don’t go getting mixed up in the business of your betters” (FR, 32). But Sam is unpersuaded, and when Gandalf sentences him to go with Frodo he exclaims, “Me, Sir!. . . Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!” (73) When later, in Ldrien, Frodo asks him, “What do you think of Elves now, Sam?” the question is addressed as much to the reader as to Sam. And Sam tells us how we should respond: I reckon there’s Elves and Elves. They’re all elvish enough, but they’re not all the same. Now these folk aren’t wanderers or homeless, and seem a bit nearer to the likes of us; they seem to belong here, even more even than Hobbits do in the Shire. (376) As Sam experiences the myth, as Sam understands the Elves, so too does the reader. Frodo himself, the starting point for this discussion and the first Elf­ friend to whom readers are formally introduced, is not so explicit a link with an older myth as are Alboin Errol, Arry Lowdham, or even Sam Gamgee. Nevertheless, like Sam, Frodo has grown up listening to Bilbo’s own recountings of his adventure with the Elves, and his stories and poems of older times. Through Bilbo Frodo has met Elves, and can speak their language. Through Gandalf he becomes the agent for Sam’s first ecstatic encounters with the Elves he has heard about but never seen. Moreover, Frodo is more at hom e with Elves than are the other hobbits, and far more

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sensitive than they to the special, otherworldly quality of L6rien, where he has the almost psychic experience of being in an earlier, long-past, mythic time. Of equal importance to the Elf-friend concept, Frodo’s journey, w ith­ out which the whole story would not take place, provides many occasions for retellings of the songs and legends of the history o f Middle-earth— from Bilbo’s verses about Earendel at Rivendell to the tale of Tinuviel that Strider tells on W eathertop to Gimli’s song of Durin to Legolas’s song of Nimrodel— stories that deepen and enhance The Lord of the Rings by revealing something of the mythology behind it. And though it is not explicit in the narrative itself, part of the larger fiction is that Frodo himself becomes a storyteller in that his is presumed to be the hand that continues what Bilbo began in the story’s own prehistory— the Red Book. Thus in The Lord o f the Rings the /Elfwine character moves inward from the frame to the body o f the narrative, and by implication out again to complete the circle— and the story. The ultimate refinement of the function ofjElfwine as a mediator comes in the last story published in Tolkien’s lifetime, Smith o f Wootton Major, written in 1965. Unlike Gangleri or Eriol-/Elfwine, unlike Sam or Frodo, Smith is not even fully aware that he is an Elf-friend, nor is the reader. In fact, if we define the term strictly, the real Elf-friend figure in Smith o f Wootton Major is not Smith, but his grandfather, the Master Cook, who disappears on holiday and returns bringing Alf the Apprentice. Although most people call him Prentice, we learn much later that Alf (Elf) is the King of Faery.2 He it is who manages the disposition of the star that is Smith’s passport into the magic world. The story tells little of this M aster Cook, only that when he comes back with Alf he seems “rather changed.” He is “m errier,” he does “most laughable things,” and he sings “gay songs” (PS, 306). And in three years he disappears again, saying farewell only to his Apprentice in a speech that strikingly recalls Bilbo’s farewell to Gandalf at the end of the first chapter o f The Lord o f the Rings. ‘‘Goodbye for now, Alf,” he said. “I leave you to manage things as best you can, which is always very well. I expect it will turn out all right. If we meet again, I hope to hear all about it. Tell them that I’ve gone on another holiday, but this time I shan’t be coming back again.” (307)

Like Frodo following Bilbo, or Lowdham, who longs to follow after his father, Smith, although he does not know it, follows in the footsteps o f his grandfather. However— and here we meet Tolkien’s Faery at its sternest— unlike the others, Smith brings nothing back from his journeys but the

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flower the Queen of Faery puts in his hair. He neither hears nor recounts any tales. He asks no questions and gets no answers. If he is a link between the “real” world and Faery, his purpose is to show how mysterious, how fragile, how contingent on the good will of Faery is the connection. Nevertheless, we see the faery world through his eyes and experience its mystery through his perceiving consciousness. This brief, ephemeral story is perhaps Tolkien’s most challenging pre­ sentation o f a mythology, for the narrative makes little or no concession to the reader’s curiosity. In contrast to the question-and-answer technique o f the earliest tales, in which everything is explained in painstaking detail but there is very little immediacy of action, in Smith everything is shown and nothing is explained. Readers familiar with The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, and The History of Middle-earth can hazard some educated guesses as to what might be going on in some of the Faery episodes, but the nar­ rative itself gives no explanation. We are obliged to take Smith’s (that is, Tolkien’s) Faery— his mythology— on its own terms or not at all. Here is no interrogative device; there are no old tales; we are given no explanation o f the meaning behind events. Structurally this story is Tolkien’s most integrated work, for the frame and the action are seam ­ lessly interwoven. W andering in a myth he does not understand, Smith of W ootton M ajor witnesses a whole world to which he does not have the key; nor, in consequence, does the reader. He sees the Sea of Windless Storm, blue waves rolling silently out of Unlight, white ships returning from battles on the Dark Marches, but gathers no information about the history of these places, nor about their importance. He sees elven m ari­ ners land from a great ship and march inland, but does not know their purpose, or anything about the battle to which they go. A sudden, inex­ plicable attack o f violent wind drives him to the shelter of a birch tree, whereupon the birch tells him, “Go away! The W ind is hunting you! You do not belong here!” (321) But it does not tell him why. The questions are not just unanswered, they are unasked, making Smith the least o b tru ­ sive of Tolkien’s Elf-friends. The story itself is o f all Tolkien’s efforts the most uncom prom ising in its treatm ent of myth, the m ost demanding in its attitude toward the reader, and therefore perhaps the most effective in its dramatic presentation. The negative counterpart o f all Tolkien’s Elf-friends is the one mortal who witnesses nothing but absence in Faerie and brings back no knowl­ edge, no insights or history, only frustration at the inaccessibility of Faerie to mortal consciousness. This is the lonely speaker in “The Sea-bell,” who sails to Faerie b u t can make no contact with the elven world, the traveler

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whom the Elves avoid, leaving for all his beseeching only the sound o f their singing echoing on the empty air. It is worth noting that when the poem was originally published as “Looney” in 1934, it had a kind of open-ended frame. It began with a nameless questioner inquiring, “Where have you been, what have you seen / walking in rags down the street?” The rest of the poem provided the answer, detailing the adventures of a voyager who sailed to “another land” but could make no contact with the faerie inhab­ itants. W hen Tolkien rewrote the poem as “The Sea-bell” he removed the frame questioner, leaving the story, like that of Smith, to stand on its own. W hen the voyager (in either version of the poem) returns at last to mortal lands, his inability to communicate his experience isolates him from the hum an comm unity as well: “ragged I walk. To myself I talk; / for still they speak not, men that I meet” (PS, 66). Sometimes not even the mystery is available to the perceiving consciousness. W here there is no access at all there is no myth, and the imagination and the spirit are impoverished. Even more than the isolated speaker in “The Sea-bell,” Smith of W ootton M ajor’s reluctant farewell to Faery and his renunciation of the magic star that is his passport have been interpreted as Tolkien’s own farewell to and renunciation of the mythic world he loved so much. If this is indeed what they are, we must be grateful that he walked there at all, grateful that we as readers have had such an Elf-friend. For o f course the ultimate, the overarching Elf-friend is Tolkien, no other. He is the bridge between the worlds. The footsteps of TElfwine, sometimes faint, sometimes clear, are Tolkien’s footsteps. We could not remove them if we tried, and we cer­ tainly would not want to try. His footsteps lead us as readers from character to character, from story to story, to a fuller understanding of the world of his imagination and to a deeper understanding of the man himself. And finally, as The History o f Middle-earth has shown us, they lead Tolkien’s audience to a more complete apprehension of his mythology and a more profound appreciation of the breadth and depth of his vision. N O TES

1. At times Eriol and^Elfwine were treated as separate characters. See Christopher Tolkien’s account of “The History of Eriol or iElfwine” in The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two. 2. Tolkien’s spelling of this word varied. His habitual spelling is Faerie, but in Smith of Wootton Major he consistently spells it Faery, and I have followed his practice in all my references to this work.

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WORKS CITED

The American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, edited by William Morris. Boston: The American Heritage Publishing Company, 1969. Aneirin. Y Gododdin, translated and edited by A. O. H. Jarman. Dyfed: The Gomer Press, 1990. Sturluson, Snorri. Edda: Prologue and Gylfaginning. Edited by Anthony Faulkes. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982. --------- . The Prose Edda, translated by Jean Young. Berkeley: U niversity of California Press, n.d. Tolkien, J. R. R. “Looney.” Oxford Magazine 52, no. 9 (18 January 1934): 340.

JO H N D. R A T E LIFF

TH E L O S T R O A D , TH E D A R K TO W ER , AND TH E N O T IO N CLUB PAPERS T olkien and Lewis’s T im e Travel Triad

L[ewis] said to me one day: ‘Tollers, there is too little of what we really like in stories. I am afraid we shall have to try and write some ourselves.’ We agreed that he should try ‘space-travel’, and I should try ‘time-travel’. His result is well known. My effort, after a few promising chapters, ran dry: it was too long a way round to what I really wanted to make, a new version of the Atlantis legend. •o The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien

This essay examines the relationship among the three attempts by J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis to write a time-travel story, and the way in which all three grew out of their bargain for each to write a thriller in the form of a space- or time-travel story. I believe that in their genesis these stories are inextricably linked; therefore we will take a close look into their origin in the bargain, a review of the events leading up to it, evidence for their dates of composition, and the strikingly different ways these works deal with com m on themes. Finally, I will offer reasons why these stories remained unfinished and almost unknown until the efforts of Christopher Tolkien and Walter Hooper made them available at last, decades after their authors had moved on to other works. To understand the genesis of these stories, and hence their relationship, it is necessary to review the sequence of events that led to the writing not only of these fragments but of the three other works that owe their exis­ tence to Tolkien and Lewis’s bargain: Out o f the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength. All three of the fragments are undated, and in addition there was a significant lag between the time of the completed novels’ composition and their publication dates. A careful search through The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, Letters o f C. S. Lewis, They Stand Together, and Brothers and Friends provides a wealth of information to help date the works in question. The next step is, therefore, to review this data and see what pattern emerges.

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The exact date o f Tolkien and Lewis’s conversation is unknown: Christopher Tolkien’s suggestion of 1936 as most probable (V, 9) fits with all available evidence. So far as I can discover, Lewis left no account of the bargain that resulted in three of his most famous books, nor of Tolkien’s part in their inception1 ; thus we are dependent upon Tolkien for knowledge of what they set out to do, as opposed to what they actu­ ally accomplished. Fortunately, Tolkien provides us with no fewer than five references to their compact (L, 29, 209,342,347,378). Although made over a period of twenty-nine years, Tolkien’s reminiscences are remarkably consistent, differing only in that each provides additional minor details not present in the others. A collation of these gives us a clear picture of the compact; combined with the evidence of They Stand Together regarding the books Lewis had been reading in the period immediately beforehand, this enables us to see the relationship between The Lost Road and Out of the Silent Planet, and between The Notion Club Papers and The Dark Tower,2 and the major influences on them, in a new light. Tolkien and Lewis were, at the beginning o f 1936, largely frustrated authors. Tolkien had been at work on his mythology for two decades, expending enormous amounts of time and energy in typically painstaking fashion without succeeding in publishing more than a few bits of poetry associated with it; furthermore, he had written a number of independent works (The Hobbit, Mr. Bliss, Roverandom, and Farmer Giles o f Ham) that similarly languished in an unpublished state. He was in his early forties, and it had been almost twenty years since he’d made even a tentative effort to get a book of his imaginative writings published.3 Lewis, in his late thir­ ties, had also been writing all his life yet published very little: only three books (two of them pseudonymously)— two of poetry and one satire, with a volume of literary history (The Allegory o f Love) forthcoming. His philo­ sophical papers, his chief production o f the 1920s, had been read by no one except Owen Barfield, and his dreams of fame as a poet had, after the promising start o f Spirits in Bondage, vanished after his second book, Dymer, met with a deservedly poor reception. His fictional juvenilia, the Boxen stories, had been lovingly catalogued and then permanently shelved in 1930; there is no sign that he ever seriously attempted to publish such stories as he still occasionally wrote, like “The Man Born Blind,” content­ ing himself with showing them to friends like Tolkien and Barfield. The same holds true for his later narrative poems like “The Queen of Drum,’’ “ Lancelot,” and “The Nameless Isle” (all o f which Hooper dates to the late 1920s or early 1930s).4 In a poignant passage of self-evaluation, Lewis states: “ From the age of sixteen onwards I had one single ambition [i.e., to be

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a great poet] from which I never wavered, in the prosecution of which I spent every ounce I could, on wh. I really & deliberately staked my whole contentment: and I recognize myself as having unmistakably failed in it” (TST. 378-79). W hen a few months earlier Lewis described Tolkien as “the author o f . . . voluminous unpublished metrical romances,” he might well have been describing himself (341).5 And yet both men continued to write. The great value of their friend­ ship was that each provided the other with an audience both sympathetic and attentive; their weekly meetings to read works in progress to each other were clearly of immense importance to both. As Tolkien put it, “The unpayable debt that I owe to him [C. S. Lewis] was not ‘influence’ as it is ordinarily understood, but sheer encouragement. He was for long my only audience. Only from him did I ever get the idea that my ‘stuff could be more than a private hobby” (L, 362), and there is no reason to think Tolkien was any less important to Lewis. Given both m en’s apparent resignation, the question becomes what occurred in 1936, causing them to change their tactics, and revitalizing their creative energies? For change there was: neither Out o f the Silent Planet nor The Lost Road resembles anything its author had attempted before. The stimulus, I would argue, came not from within but from without. In February 1936, Lewis was persuaded by fellow Inkling Nevill Coghill to read The Place o f the Lion by Charles Williams; Lewis was so impressed that he wrote Williams a fan letter. At about this same time, he finally located a copy of David Lindsay’s A Voyage to Arcturus, which his friend Arthur Greeves had been urging him to read for more than a year (TST, 470, 475). These two books had a trem endous impact on Lewis: they proved to him that contem porary authors could adopt a modern pulp genre, such as science fiction or mystery-thriller, and use it as the vehicle for sophisti­ cated philosophical ideas. This emerges strongly from Lewis’s comm ent to Greeves regarding the Williams book that “it is not only a most exciting fantasy, but a deeply religious and (unobtrusively) a profoundly learned book” (TST, 479) and his famous com m ent that Lindsay’s book “first sug­ gested to me that the form o f ‘science fiction’ could be filled by spiritual experiences” (quoted in Carpenter, Inklings, 66). In other words, whereas Tolkien and Lewis had failed to find an audience for their pure myths written in traditional forms 5 la William Morris and George MacDonald, they now saw others gaining such an audience by co-opting pulp fiction to serve their goals. For Lewis, a notoriously impressionable man— the adjective is Tolkien’s, not mine (L, 362)— with a tendency to model his books directly on the

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books of other people (e.g., Pilgrim's Regress on Bunyan’s Pilgrim's Progress; Perelandra on M ilton’s Paradise Lost), Lindsay's and Williams's books came as a revelation. The admittedly circumstantial evidence of his reading these two books immediately before his writing took a whole new direc­ tion is buttressed by the nature of his bargain with Tolkien, as described by Tolkien to Stanley Unwin: We originally meant each to write an excursionary ‘Thriller’: a Space-journey and a Time-journey (mine) each discovering Myth. But the Space-journey has been finished, and the Time-journey remains owing to my slowness and uncertainty only a fragment, as you know. (£,29) “An excursionary ‘Thriller’ . . . discovering Myth” is a somewhat oblique phrase, but juxtaposition of Lewis’s “Space-journey” story, Out o f the Silent Planet, and Tolkien’s “Time-journey” tale, The Lost Road, makes its m ean­ ing plain: the hero of each book would undertake a journey through space or time, experiencing a series of adventures along the way, leading to his eventual discovery that some old myth or legend was actual fact— in Lewis’s case, the apocryphal legend of Lucifer’s rebellion; in Tolkien’s, the legend of the fall of Atlantis. Both books would have a contem porary set­ ting, a condition pretty well demanded by the “thriller” rubric. The choice of which would write the space-story and which the time-travel story seems to have been more or less arbitrary: “C. S. Lewis and I tossed up, and he was to write on space-travel and I on time-travel” (347).6 The two books have many elements in common— not surprising, when we consider that they share a comm on origin. These stem from both works’ acceptance of the situation presented in what Tolkien intended to be the last of the “Lost Tales”: The Fall of Numenor, which conceives of our world as having once been ruled by angelic beings, G od’s viceroys, at a time when mankind shared the planet with other sentient races. But at some point came a Fall instigated by a fallen “Power,” resulting in a cataclysm, the withdrawal of Eldar and Valar (or, as Lewis called them, eldila and Oyeresu), and the cutting off of our world from their realm; now only legends and vague memories recall the lost unity. Christopher Tolkien dates The Fall o f Numenor to immediately before The Lost Road (V, 9), and it clearly furnished the mythic background upon which the latter work was based. It just as clearly furnished Lewis with the starting point for his own story. One question not addressed earlier in the discussion of Tolkien and Lewis’s bargain was the basic one of “Why a journey?” W hy must the pro­ tagonists journey through space or time before they can “discover M yth”?

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The answer lies in the ebbing of Elvenhome Tolkien depicts in The Fall ofNumenor: after this point, elves fade,7 the Powers withdraw, Num enorAtlantis is destroyed, and the whole realm of the Immortals is removed from the world. The Straight Road becomes the Lost Road, one mortals cannot travel except by special dispensation. The end of The Fall ofNtim enor is explicit on this point: after N um enor’s destruction, the only way to reach Valinor would be through memory: “For the old line of the world remained in the mind of the Gods and in the memory of the world” (V, 17). The old world can therefore only be reached through time travel— a return to and reexperiencing of the past— or through space travel. We are told that “the Numendreans of old who had the straight vision”— i.e., those who could see the Straight Path extending out into space while the world fell away beneath it— “tried to devise ships that would rise above the waters of the world. . . . But they achieved only ships that would sail in the air” (17)— that is, flying ships incapable of leaving the atmosphere and travers­ ing Ilmen (435)— i.e., empty space, “in which no flesh can endure” (17). It is not Tolkien’s fallen Num endreans, the Men of the West, but Lewis’s Weston, a “bent hum an” very m uch in their image, who finally realizes their old dream by making a ship that can travel the Straight Road. Like the men of Westernesse, Weston is seeking immortality— not for himself but for his whole species (or, more accurately, his species as a whole, which is a very different thing). Both he and they are under the delusion that it’s somehow possible to escape mortality through travel to a new and different world. Elwin Ransom and the Elf-friends know better: there is no escape from what used to be called “the way of all flesh.” In this connection there is another element the two books share: the heroes of The Lost Road and O ut o f the Silent Planet, Alboin Errol and Elwin Ransom, have the same name, Elwin being simply a modernization of /Elfwine, the Old English cognate of Alboin, meaning “Elf-friend.” Both /Elfwine (Alboin) and Eriol (Errol) are elsewhere in Tolkien’s mythology two names for the same person, the recipient of the “Lost Tales” who res­ cues them from being utterly forgotten.8 Since the name /Elfwine/Elwin is of great significance to Tolkien’s story and none at all to Lewis’s, it seems safe to assume that Lewis borrowed the name from Tolkien, as he b o r­ rowed the names of Perelandra's Adam and Eve, Tor and Tinidril, from Tolkien’s T uor and Idril (L, 361), or Num enor itself (misspelled Numinor) in That Hideous Strength (L, 224,303,361). Despite these common elements, Out o f the Silent Planet and The Lost Road differ in one crucial way: the one was finished and published; the other remained an unpublished and largely unknown fragment until long

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after its a u th o rs death. Critics have tended to give Lewis all due credit for industriously finishing his space-travel story in short order, and have also tended to agree with Tolkien’s own humble ascription that the tim e­ travel story remained unfinished “owing to my slowness and uncertainty” (L, 29). Yet it is not hard to see why the story stopped where it did. The reasons are twofold: one internal, the other external. Tolkien and Lewis’s bargain probably dates from early 1936. Exactly when they began the actual writing is not known, but evidence suggests it followed hard on the heels of Lewis’s discovery of Lindsay and Williams in February to April, 1936. Lewis finished his story in time to submit it to J. M. Dent by the end of October or the beginning of November 1937— i.e., roughly a year and a half later— having read it aloud to the Inklings in the meantime and greatly revised it as a result of their criticisms.9 Tolkien, however, did not have the leisure of a year and more to complete his book. In fact, he had only written four chapters before work was interrupted by an invitation from Allen & Unwin to submit The Hobbit for publication. Despite Tolkien’s reputation as a methodical reviser and slow typist, he nev­ ertheless had a completed typescript of that book sent off by the beginning of October 1936.10 It was accepted and a contract signed by December 2, and a steady stream of letters from Allen & Unwin’s production and public­ ity departm ents discussing specimen pages, maps, dust jacket, illustrations, blurbs, foreign editions, publicity, and follow-up books followed.11 The correspondence in the Allen & Unwin archives makes it clear that over the following year Tolkien went to great pains to draw and redraw maps, to provide first black-and-white and then color illustrations, to create a dust jacket, to carefully proofread and revise the text, to suggest sympathetic reviewers, to provide a suitable blurb, and to perform a multitude of sim i­ lar tasks. Any time he might have spent on The Lost Road during that year was eaten up by the endless work of perfecting The Hobbit to his and his publisher’s satisfaction. In retrospect, then, acceptance of The Hobbit was probably what p re­ vented The Lost Road from being completed. After Tolkien set it aside to put the story of Mr. Baggins’s adventures in order, there is no sign that he ever carried the story of his “excursionary thriller” any further, although he certainly thought about it a great deal and made extensive notes regard­ ing the unwritten chapters. In the narrow window of opportunity of a few months in the middle of 1936, he had made a promising start, but while Lewis pressed on with his tale, Tolkien’s languished. The Lost Road's abandonm ent cannot all be laid at the door of external forces, however, for Tolkien also radically altered the scheme of the book

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in m idstride. At some point before submitting it to Allen & Unwin on November 15,1937, he decided that between the modern day and the arrival in N um enor should come a series of historical episodes set in Anglo-Saxon England, Dark Ages Lombardy, and the prehistoric north in the days of ship burials, before moving even further back to mythical Ireland in the time of the Tuatha de Danaan, to the Ice Ages, to his own Beleriand, and the like. Only a few scraps of this material ever got written in narrative form, and it would have taken an enormous am ount of work to make all these pieces fit into one book. Perhaps Susan Dagnail said it best in her reader’s report when she judged the book “a hopeless proposition” from the point of view of “receiving any sort of recognition except in academic circles” and concluded that “one could not hold out to the author a prom ­ ise o f popular success or large sales as an inducem ent to finish it.” 12 In short, the “thriller” element achieved so well in the intriguing situ­ ation of the opening, with its careful layering o f clues and intrusion of om inous hints of m om entous significance into a quiet, ordinary scene, had hopelessly bogged down. The abrupt shift to a sparse Numendrean scene with virtually no points of reference for the reader, the exchange from lik­ able characters like old Oswin Errol to the remote, formal, and frankly unlikable Herendil; the shift in diction from good contemporary conversa­ tional English to stiff and archaic speech— all break the spell. When Elendil begins his long speech in the final chapter, we are no longer “discovering m yth” so much as sitting in on a lecture, and a difficult one at that; n ar­ rative has been almost wholly replaced by exposition (a problem to recur later in Lewis’s The Dark Tower). It was probably the realization of this that led Tolkien to include more interpolated episodes, slowly building the pattern and bit by bit revealing the significance of key elements. Such passages as he did rough out— the legend o f King Sheave, the episode o f ytlfwine in the mead hall, and the story of Galdor— are evocative, and would have followed well from the promising opening of Oswin, Alboin, and Audoin Errol. Nevertheless, such an ambitious scheme to put The Lost Road back on track proved to be too m uch for the limited time at Tolkien’s disposal, especially after Stanley Unwin’s gende but firm letter stating, “I should love to see it complete and should doubtless want to publish it, but I cannot hold out any hope of commercial success as an inducement to you to give the finishing of it prior claim upon your time. On the other hand, another book m ore on the lines o f THE HOBBIT is now assured of success” (December 20,1937; A&U archive). Unwin’s letter reached Tolkien only a day or two after he had begun writing “The New H obbit,” the sequel that eventually turned into

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The Lord o f the Rings; if The Lost Road could not fulfill the breakthrough function Lewis and Tolkien had in mind when they embarked upon their compact, small wonder if it were set aside in order to concentrate on a work that bid fair in every way to, in Tolkien’s words, let “duty and desire . . . go more closely together” (I, 24). Meanwhile, although his half of the bargain remained unfinished and unpublished, Tolkien was exerting himself to get Lewis’s tale published; w ithout his intervention it might well have never seen print. Lewis had finished his space-travel story and rather reluctantly sent it off to J. M. Dent (publishers of The Pilgrim's Regress) around the very end of October or beginning of November 1937. By this time, Tolkien was already trying to interest Unwin in the work, with some success: while pronouncing Dent “most excellent people,” Unwin confessed his interest and asked Tolkien to send him “a spare typed copy.” 13 When Dent rejected the book, Lewis submitted it to Allen & Unwin, only to have it dismissed by their reader as “bunk.” At this point Tolkien stepped in again, strongly defending the book to Stanley Unwin: I read the story in the original MS. and was so enthralled that I could do nothing else until I had finished it (L, 32). The story had for the more intelligent reader a great number of philosophical and mythical implications that enormously enhanced without detracting from the surface ‘adventure’ (33). I at any rate should have bought this story at almost any price if I had found it in print, and loudly recommended it as a ‘thriller’ by (however and surprisingly) an intelligent man (34). Apparently Tolkien’s praise had the desired effect, for Unwin arranged for the book’s publication through another of his firms, The Bodley Head, which brought it out several months later— i.e., autum n 1938. It was fol­ lowed by a sequel, Perelandra (written 1941-42), and then another, That Hideous Strength (written 1942-43). Meanwhile, to help repay the debt, Lewis had used the closing lines of Out o f the Silent Planet to set up what he no doubt saw as its companion volume, Tolkien’s time-travel story, The Lost Road: “Now that ‘W eston’ has shut the door, the way to the planets lies through the past; if there is to be any more space-travelling, it will have to be time-travelling as w ell. . . ! ” (OSP, 174) W alter Hooper, in his introduction to The Dark Tower, takes this as an indication that Lewis was already thinking of writing a time-travel story as an immediate sequel to Out o f the Silent Planet, and thus dates The Dark Tower to circa 1938. It is more likely, however, given Lewis’s characteristic generosity, that he seized this chance to open the door for Tolkien’s book.

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Similarly, Lewis’s words in the preface to the final volume of the Ransom trilogy, That Hideous Strength, have long been taken as a reference to The Lord o f the Rings, but are more likely a plug for The Lost Road, which by that point had been in abeyance for seven years but by no means definitively abandoned. Whereas the m atter of Num enor only enters The Lord of the Rings peripherally, as background to the emerging Strider story (the appendices did not yet exist), it is the very heart of The Lost Road as the underlying myth whose revelation would form the climax of the whole story, and Lewis’s description is much more appropriate to the latter: “Those who would like to learn further about Num inor [sic] and the True West must (alas!) await the publication o f much that still exists only in the MSS. of my friend, Professor J. R. R. Tolkien” (THS, 7). Eventually, Tolkien thought he saw a way to recast his time-travel story and get around the difficulties that had proved such crippling obstacles to its first incarnation. Ironically, Lewis’s thoughts were also turning to the missing companion book to his own Ransom trilogy, and both men came up with ideas for what became The Notion Club Papers and The Dark Tower at about the same time, as recounted in the following rare account of their Monday m orning meetings: This morning [i.e., December 18,1944] . . . . I saw C. S. L. for a while. His fourth (or fifth?) novel is brewing, and seems likely to clash with mine (my dimly projected third). I have been getting a lot of new ideas about Prehistory lately (via Beowulf and other sources of which I may have written) and want to work them into the long shelved time-travel story I began. C. S. L. is planning a story about the descendants of Seth and Cain. (L, 105) The Dark Tower would have been Lewis’s fourth novel, after Out o f the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength, or the fifth, if one counts The Great Divorce— begun immediately after That Hideous Strength was finished (that is, during the 1943 Christmas vacation) and finished “by the end of the sum m er of 1944” (Green and Hooper, 179, 222); while The Notion Club Papers would count as Tolkien’s third after The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings. Enough of The Notion Club Papers exists for us to see how it would have fitted into the pattern of “excursionary thriller,” as members of an Inklings-like group of Oxford dons are drawn first into dream journeys and then into past lives, eventually learning firsthand about the power of myth to escape explosively into the present (just as had the Platonic archetypes in Williams’s The Place o f the Lion). Similarly, The Dark Tower begins with observation of events in “Othertim e,” then moves into having a monster from Othertime escape into our world, while one of

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the characters from o ur world takes its place in the alien Othertim e. Both, in fact, fit the terms of the original compact. The Notion Club Papers and The Dark Tower have a num ber of other points in common, indicating that they m ight indeed, in Tolkien’s words, “clash.” Both look to O ut o f the Silent Planet rather than to Perelandra or That Hideous Strength for their model— Lewis set the action of his story between the events o f O ut o f the Silent Planet and Perelandra, while Tolkien originally subtitled his story “Out of the Talkative Planet” to underscore its connection to Lewis’s book. Both The Dark Tower and The Notion Club Papers begin with a colloquium on time travel and space travel, respec­ tively. Both contain characters based on the Inklings— Lewis is the pioneer here, having introduced a parody o f himself as a character into the post­ script o f Out o f the Silent Planet and then returned with “Lewis,” “Dr. H um phrey” (i.e., Dr. R. E. “Hum phrey” Havard), and even Owen Barfield (the Anthroposophist “B.”) in Perelandra's early chapters.14 Both books contain a scene in which a protagonist gazing at a building in an alien world suddenly realizes that he is in fact looking at a familiar site seen from an unfamiliar perspective, and in both cases the building in ques­ tion is a university library.15 And both use the same “machinery”— psychic travel— although their application is quite different. Thus Tolkien’s Ramer learns to practice lucid dreaming, whereby he can experience far-distant times and places, and his recounting his experiences to his fellow Notion Club members triggers ancestral memories in two o f them (Arry Lowdham and young Jeremy), who depart on a journey like that projected for the father-son pair in The Lost Road. The frame of the story is new, but the core remains very m uch what it was, except that the return, the coming full circle, has this time been provided for. Lewis’s Dr. O rfieu, 16 by contrast, reasons that physical time travel is an impossibility because of the law of conservation o f m atter (the attem pt would simply result in the disintegration of the would-be traveler, whose atom s would all have been put to different uses in the target era). He therefore builds not a machine for traveling thorough time, it la Wells, but a time telescope (or “chronoscope”) for viewing different eras. The logic of Tolkien’s story moves smoothly from one stage to another, as the characters are progres­ sively overtaken by events they themselves set in motion, so that what began as an intellectual exercise becomes deadly earnest. Lewis, by con­ trast, suddenly abandons the ground rules he has himself set down when one o f the characters “jumps through the telescope” and arrives on the O ther Side. Tolkien, knowing his own strengths, is writing pure fantasy with a plausible grounding in reality in The Notion Club Papers; Lewis is

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attempting science fiction— a dangerous undertaking for a man with con­ tem pt for m odern science (“who ever heard of a new scientific discovery which didn’t show that the real universe was even fouler and meaner and more dangerous than you had supposed?” [DT, 48]). Stung, perhaps, by Tolkien’s detailed criticism in the first part of The Notion Club Papers of the implausibly bad science used in the frame of Out o f the Silent Planet (and, to a lesser extent, in Perelandra), Lewis laboriously builds up a pseudo­ scientific premise, then abruptly throws it away and substitutes a pure fantasy explanation, albeit couched in tedious scientific terminology: Let the square which represents the plane of two-dimensional time be ABCD, and let XY and OP be two time-lines traversing it in the eckward-andward direction. It is clear that if AB and DC represent any reality—that is, if the square is not infinite . . . — they also will be time-lines. But it is no less clear that the same is true of AD and BC. There will be times proceeding either from eckwards to andwards or from andwards to eckwards. (DT, 87)17 And so forth. Eventually, having gotten his chosen hero to the Othertime world, Lewis bogs down in a lecture and history lesson so tedious that it makes the rehearsal o f Num endrean history in the final chapter of The Lost Road seem positively chatty by contrast. In Out o f the Silent Planet, the machinery of the tale— the spaceship that takes Ransom and his kidnap­ pers to Mars— is a mere frame, swiftly dispensed with to get to the heart of the story; in The Dark Tower, Lewis tries to construct a scientifically plau­ sible explanation as part of his story, until the explanations strangle the story and bring it to an untimely halt. In short, Lewis had failed to learn the lesson Tolkien had painfully taught himself in The Lost Road about the dangers of long blocks of uninterrupted exposition, although he did try to follow the path Tolkien adopted in The Notion Club Papers by making the discussion and testing of various theories of psychic travel part o f the story. So far as I know, no one has noted that Tolkien’s com m ent on Lewis’s projected “story about the descendants of Seth and Cain” is the only con­ temporary reference to the story known to us as The Dark Tower.'6 Like the rest of the Ransom stories, the “m yth” being explored is kept hidden until midway through the story and its full significance only revealed in the climax. That Lewis’s fragment breaks off after seven chapters, and that no outlines or notes describing the story as a whole survive, makes understanding the whole difficult but by no means impossible. Thanks to Tolkien’s clue about “the descendants of Seth and Cain,” the under­ lying myth, and the situation in the portions we do have, become clear.

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Each of the previous Ransom books had drawn on either a Biblical story or an apocryphal Christian legend— in Out of the Silent Planet, the War of the Angels and Fall of Satan; in Perelandra, the Garden of Eden and Temptation of Eve; in That Hideous Strength, the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, with bits of the Tower of Babel thrown in for good m ea­ sure. In this case, Lewis is drawing on a once-widespread medieval legend, fragments of which are recorded in works as widely divergent as Beowulf and The Cornish Ordinalia. The latter, one of the medieval mystery play cycles, tells how Adam and Eve’s third son, Seth, returned to the Garden of Eden after the death of Abel and the exile of Cain. There he slew the serpent, bringing back seeds from the fruit of the Tree that, when planted, eventually grew into the tree from which the cross Christ was crucified upon was made. A similarly widespread tradition held that the exiled Cain was the father of monsters, like Grendel and the giants, cursed to wage perpetual war on their human cousins, the descendants of Seth. This is exactly the situation we find in The Dark Tower, we can see the Stingermen as the descendants of Cain, each bearing the “mark of Cain” on his forehead. The W hite Knights would fit the pattern nicely as heirs of Seth the monster slayer; they seem, from the little we are told of them, to be paladins devoted to destroying the Stingermen-monsters and their undead m inions (the Jerkies) while chivalrously sparing the common people unfortunate enough to be slaves and servants of their enemies. Furthermore, just as Grendel and all his kith and kin, the giants and m on­ sters of old, were eventually scoured from the world, the Stingermen are obviously losing their war against the White Knights; the Dark Tower of the title is one of their few remaining strongholds, already threatened at the time the story opens and probably fated to fall before Scudamour’s adventures in Othertim e are concluded in a eucatastrophe disguised as a catastrophe. I strongly suspect that, as in The Screwtape Letters, we are told of events through a skewed perspective, and that the White Knights Scudamour so fears would, like the sorns of Out o f the Silent Planet for whom Ransom feels similar dread, have turned out to be not only benign but wholesome upon closer acquaintance. An obvious objection to this identification of The Dark Tower as the work Tolkien referred to in his letter of December 1944 is the date of 1938 assigned by Walter Hooper as that work’s most likely date of composition. It seems im portant, therefore, to consider the evidence for and against the two dates, circa 1938 and 1944-46. The chief evidence for the earlier date is essentially threefold. First, there is the obvious internal date pointed out by Hooper (DT, 8), where MacPhee says dryly, “Well, Dr. Orfieu . . . I’ll

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away back to Manchester tom orrow and tell them that the University of Cambridge has made a remarkable discovery; namely, that a man in 1938 can’t get to 1939 in less than a year” (19). Tied in with this is the fact that whereas Ransom returns from Perelandra a cripple and ascends bodily into heaven at the conclusion of That Hideous Strength, he appears here hale and very much alive. In the internal chronology of the series, there­ fore, the events of The Dark Tower clearly occur between Out o f the Silent Planet and Perelandra. Finally, there is the testimony of Gervase Mathew, who told Hooper that he remembered Lewis’s reading the first four chap­ ters of the work to the Inklings in either 1939 or 1940 (92). On the face of it, this evidence looks irrefutable. But on closer exam ina­ tion it is not so inevitable as it may appear, and even more evidence can be marshaled in defense of the latter date. First, the seven Narnia books offer proof that Lewis felt no compunction to write the stories of a series in sequence (The Magician's Nephew, sixth to be written, is first in the internal chronology). Second, although Mathew’s account of the Inklings’ reaction to and critique of the work rings true, there is no record of his having attended an Inklings meeting before 1946, making it far more likely that the events he describes actually took place circa 1946, not circa 1940. Third, a num ber of stylistic points makes The Dark Tower seem much more in keeping with That Hideous Strength than with Out o f the Silent Planet, especially the portrait of Ransom as a dispenser of wisdom &la the sage of St Anne in That Hideous Strength. The Ransom of Out o f the Silent Planet is a lively, flawed, hum an figure with whom the reader can easily identify; the Ransom of The Dark Tower is a living saint (e.g., “I . . . think [Ransom] was right. He usually is”— DT. 49)— a portrayal much m ore in keeping with the remote beatific figure of That Hideous Strength. Fourth, there is a reference in the opening paragraphs of The Dark Tower to Lewis’s involvement in a previous adventure of Ransom’s. While on the surface this would seem to allude to Out o f the Silent Planet, in fact “Lewis” was not “m ixed-up” in that adventure but only made contact with Ransom after it was well over— he was, however, personally involved in the events of Perelandra. undergoing a stressful encounter with fallen eldila and actu­ ally meeting the Oyarsa of Malacandra in Ransom’s study. I conclude that CSL m eant this as a reference to the first book but accidentally let events from the second book color his phrasing. Fifth, other phrases used in passing seem to show the influence of works that Lewis could not possibly have read by 1938 but were important to him by 1944-46: the description of the carvings on the walls of the Stingerm an’s chamber vividly recalls that of Jonathan Drayton’s painting of Simon

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Leclerc in the opening chapter of Williams’s final novel, All Hallows' Eve (written 1943-44)» right down to details such as the beetles (Williams, 37, 55)>19 while Lewis’s passing comment about “a diabolic civil service” sounds very much like an in-joke reference to his own Screwtape Letters (written in 1940). Sixth, there is the matter of MacPhee. The earlier date leaves us with the inexplicable reduction of a fully developed character in the fragment to a mere caricature in That Hideous Strength, but if we reverse the sequence the problem disappears: if The Dark Tower is the latter work, then MacPhee’s characterization as the shrewdest and most observant of the characters would be a natural outgrowth of his earlier appearances, harking all the way back to Perelandra.2Q Seventh is Tolkien’s silence in The Notion Club Papers. Given the hard knocks he hands out in his critiques of the science-fictional elements of Out o f the Silent Planet and Perelandra, it seems highly unlikely that he’d let the equally implausible “explanations” of The Dark Tower pass without a challenge, especially considering the sitting targets of Lewis’s preposter­ ous theory of language (it’s possible for Scudamour, after his transfer into the Stingerman’s body, to speak a language he doesn’t know because Lewis posits that we know words through mere habit rather than actual knowl­ edge) and the aforementioned logical fallacy of the “time-travel” transfer (the “jum ping through a telescope” that Lewis had scoffed at earlier in the same story). Eighth, there is Tolkien’s m ention (in 1944) of Lewis’s new idea for a book on the descendants of Seth and Cain, an allusion that fits no other work by Lewis except The Dark Tower. Last, there is the evidence of the m anuscript itself. On the back o f the second page o f the Dark Tower m an­ uscript, now in the Bodleian Library, is what appears to be a passage of autobiographical writing by Lewis that begins, “I was born on Nov 29th 1898 in a semi-detached house in the suburbs of Belfast, being the second son and second child of a solicitor and a clergyman’s daughter.” However, by a slip o f the pen Lewis first wrote the date as “Nov 29th 1946” and then changed it to 1898. It seems obvious that Lewis accidentally wrote the cur­ rent year, then changed it to the date he intended— strong circumstantial evidence that he was working on The Dark Tower in 1946? 1 By contrast, the composition o f The Notion Club Papers is reasonably well docum ented, although not without its own peculiarities and points of interest. First we have Tolkien’s al ready-quoted letter of December 18, 1944, telling o f his idea to revive and recast his time-travel story. Then we have Tolkien’s letter of July 21,1946, telling Unwin how “in a fortnight of comparative leisure round about last Christmas” he had

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written three parts of another book, taking up in an entirely different frame and setting what little had any value in the inchoate Lost Road (which I had once the impudence to show you: I hope it is forgotten). .. . But I am putting The Lord of the Rings . . . before all else. (L, 118) However, as Christopher Tolkien points out in his commentary on The Notion Club Papers, his father could not possibly have created the multiple drafts of the story in as short a period as two weeks: The quantity of writing constituting The Notion Club Papers, and the quantity of writing associated with them, cannot by any manner of means have been the work of a fortnight. (IX, 145) This “quantity” included three manuscript drafts and a typescript of part one, a manuscript and a typescript of part two, the m anuscript and three typescripts of The Drowning ofAnadune as well as three short essays associated with it, and a detailed piece on the Adunaic language, itself a clean, final typescript with manuscript draft continuations. Clearly, as Christopher Tolkien says, his father spent longer on this work than he was willing to admit to Unwin; instead of two weeks he had probably devoted something like a year and a half to the work— a theory made all the m ore plausible in that he had stopped work on The Lord o f the Rings in October 1944, roughly two months before the idea for The Notion Club Papers emerged out of his meeting with Lewis, and resumed work on the Hobbit sequel around August 1946.22 Ironically, having promised Unwin to “ [put] The Lord o f the Rings . . . before all else,” Tolkien seems instead to have spent the next two months bringing The Notion Club Papers to a good stopping place. Major Lewis’s diary indicates that he had done so by the Inklings’ meeting o f Thursday, August 22, 1946. “J [ack] read a fine new poem on Paracelsus’s view of gnomes, and Tollers a magnificent myth which is to knit up and concludes his Papers of the N otions Club” (W. Lewis, 194). The “magnificent m yth” was of course The Drowning o f Anadun^. the third or fourth draft o f which Christopher Tolkien recalls his father’s reading to him sometime in 1946 in the study of the house on N orthm oor Road (IX, 389-90).23 The evidence suggests that Tolkien abandoned The Notion Club Papers at this point— for good, as it turned out; Major Lewis’s diary entry for Thursday, October 10 reports Tolkien reading them a new chapter from The Lord o f the Rings and another two chapters two weeks later, on Thursday, October 24,1946 (W. Lewis, 195,196). In the end, neither Tolkien nor Lewis succeeded in finishing either The Notion Club Papers or The Dark Tower. In Tolkien’s case, the reason is easy

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to see: he started the work during a hiatus from The Lord o f the Rings and, prodded by his publisher, returned to that work in August 1946: finishing, revising, and arranging the publication of his magnum opus absorbed most o f his time and energies for years to come. Once The Lord o f the Rings was completed, Tolkien devoted the rest of his life to attem pting to put “The Silmarillion” in some sort of order: it had been the book he had most wanted to follow The Hobbit into print, and the one he was determined would either accompany or follow The Lord o f the Rings. Although he was able to finish various small projects— Farmer Giles of Ham, Tree and Leaf, Smith o f Wootton Major—during this period, he never again had the nec­ essary free time and energy to return to The Notion Club Papers and see it through; eventually its core element, the Num enor myth, was absorbed into “The Silmarillion” as the Akallabeth. As for Lewis, we can only speculate on why The Dark Tower remained unfinished. Tolkien may have objected that Lewis was poaching on his ter­ ritory (“H is . . . n o v el. . . seems likely to clash with mine”)— after all, they had agreed that the time-travel story was to be Tolkien’s province, not Lewis’s. Furthermore, Lewis had clearly written himself into a hole at the end o f the fragment from which it would have been difficult to extricate the plot. The unfavorable reception Gervase Mathew remembered the first four chapters meeting with at the hands o f the Inklings24 was probably mild compared with what awaited the next three, if the strictures of The Notion Club Papers are anything to judge by. External events may have played a part as well: the third Ransom novel, That Hideous Strength, met with such a poor critical reception that it might well have caused Lewis to curtail the Ransom series and abandon the fourth and final book. Finally, as the draft of the opening of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe on the back of the Dark Tower manuscript indicates, Lewis’s interest was shift­ ing away from science fiction to yet another “popular” genre, children’s literature, in which he could repeat his chosen task of retelling Gospel truths in a fictional guise, with E. Nesbit and George MacDonald as his new models rather than Lindsay or Williams. The “O thertim e” concept pro­ posed in That Hideous Strength and developed in full in The Dark Tower was put to a new use, without the pseudoscientific baggage: the Narnia stories avoid the major flaw o f The Dark Tower by wisely never seeking to explain the logic of the relationship between the Narnian “othertim e” and our own world. Anti-science science fiction gives way to pure fantasy. Yet although the works remained unfinished, they are good in them ­ selves, and we would be poorer without them: The Notion Club Papers and the first two chapters of The Lost Road offer a rare glimpse of what fiction

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by Tolkien set in contemporary times would look like, and very different from his mythological works it is. As for The Dark Tower, it is worth read­ ing not just for the delightful portrait of MacPhee, the skeptic continually confronted with the impossible, but for the theory of attraction presented in the final chapter, whereby parallel worlds may be deliberately drawn closer together and eventually bridged by constructing artifacts in one world that parallel buildings or places in the other. Lewis could never have written The Notion Club Papers, with its loving creation of Adunaic grammar, just as Tolkien would never have included overt discussion of Christian issues such as are found in The Dark Tower. The thriller elements of the original bargain became more attenuated in the later works, until they are largely absent in The Notion Club Papers and The Dark Tower. Still, thriller elements did make their way into The Lord o f the Rings, perhaps in part due to the unfulfilled bargain, as in the unexplained disappear­ ance of Gandalf, the pursuit of the heroes by the mysterious Black Riders, and especially the whole scene in Bree, where suspicious characters and undefined threats surround the hobbits on every side. In the final analysis, then, the compact had an enorm ous impact on both men. For Lewis, it opened a door that led to his best-known and, for most of his admirers, his best-loved works. W ithout the bargain with Tolkien we would never have had the Space Trilogy, or the Narnia books, and it’s doubtful that gems like The Screwtape Letters or The Great Divorce would ever have been written. In Tolkien’s case the impact was less, but still significant: if neither version of his time-travel tale was published in his lifetime, it still introduced the m atter of Num enor into his corpus, which like almost everything else he wrote became absorbed into the M atter o f Middle-earth. W ithout it, Strider would probably have remained a “wild hobbit” with wooden shoes, and the whole history o f the Two Kingdoms of Gondor and A m or would never have enriched the story', much less lesser-known gems like The Mariner’s Wife. If Tolkien d id n ’t follow up on the opportunity writing a “thriller” offered to connect with a whole new audience, as did Lewis, it was because his main vein came through when The Hobbit, already written before the “bargain” was ever thought of,25 was published. One success led to another, and once Unwin persuaded Tolkien to undertake the sequel that eventually became The Lord o f the Rings, he had an ideal platform in which to incorporate all the themes and ideas that most interested him, from the Elvish languages to his “Atlantis complex." The rest, as they say, is history.

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NOTES

i. Green 8c Hooper» 162-64, makes no mention of Tolkien’s part in the w ork’s inception. 2. Some have questioned the authenticity, in whole or in part, of The Dark Tower. This is not the place to examine the claims and counterclaims; suffice it to say that I have thoroughly examined the evidence (including consulting the origi­ nal m anuscript) and concluded that there can be no reasonable doubt that the story as we have it is entirely the work o f C. S. Lewis. Those interested in investigat­ ing the m atter further are invited to read my essay review of The C. S. Lewis Hoax (Mythlore 15» no. 4, whole no. 58 [Summer 1989]: 53-56), the three articles by Erlend Clouston in The Guardian (September 7,1991, May 4,1992, and May 26,1992), and the forensic docum ent examination by Nancy H. Cole, “An Investigation into the Authorship of The Dark Tower: a W ork Published Posthum ously and Attributed to C. S. Lewis.” 3. This was The Trumpets o f Fairie, a volume of poems subm itted to Sidgwick 8c Jackson in early 1916; the rejection letter, dated March 31,1916, is in the Bodleian (Ms. Sidgwick 8c Jackson 36, fol. 465). 4. Introduction to Narrative Poems, xii—xiii. 5. Tolkien’s “metrical romances,” The Lay o f the Children ofH urin and The Lay o f Leithian, have since been published, the latter with Lewis’s comments, in The Lays of Beleriand. 6. If this is indeed the case, it m ight easily have been Tolkien who wound up attem pting the space-travel story and Lewis the time-travel one. For a hint of how Tolkien might have handled a “space journey,” cf. Ram er’s tale in the first part of The Notion Club Papers; Lewis’s treatm ent of time travel is, o f course, displayed in The Dark Tower. 7. Originally “fading” was meant literally; the elves became so thin and tenuous that hum ans could not see them; later Tolkien rejected this and used the term to mean the gradual decline and withdrawing of the elves from Middle-earth. Note that the “invisible” eldila of Malacandra are visible to the natives of that world but not to the visiting Earthmen. 8. For m ore on EriolAElfwine, see The Book o f Lost Tales, especially “The History of Eriol” / “/Elfwine o f England” (II, 278-334). The Elvish equivalent of Alboin’s name, Elendil (“friend of the Eldar”), also seems to have influenced Lewis, since in his tale Ransom befriends the eldil. 9. J. R. R. Tolkien to Stanley Unwin, letters of October 29, 1937; SU to JRRT, letters of O ctober 30 and November 1,1937. These letters are in the Allen 8c Unwin archive; I am grateful to Mary Butler of HarperCollins for making this material available. 10. To be precise, on October 3,1936. (SU to JRRT, letter of Oct. 5,1936, acknowl­ edging receipt o f the text. Unpublished letter, A8cU archive). 11. A8cU archive: SU to JRRT, December 2,1936; Susan Dagnail to JRRT, D ecem ­ ber 4,1936; Dagnail to JRRT, December 10,1936; C. A. Furth to JRRT, January 7, 1937, et al.

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12. The reader’s report, by “SD” (Susan Dagnail), dated 17.xii.37, refers to “the preliminary two chapters” and “one of the last chapters,” making it clear that the projected insertion of many new chapters between chapters 2 and 3 of the original had already been determined upon (A&U archive). 13. JRRT to SU, October 29,1937 (two letters); SU to JRRT, October 30,1937; SU to JRRT, November 1,1937 (A&U archive). 14. Barfield also probably contributed a good deal to the portrait of MacPhee, especially in The Dark Tower. It has been suggested that Ransom, a philologist, represents Tolkien in the first novel and Williams in the third; it is more likely that over the course of the series he becomes an amalgam of features of all three men: Tolkien the philologist, Lewis the walking-tour enthusiast, and Williams the pseudopontiff. 15. In Tolkien’s story, the Radcliffe Camera (part of the Bodleian Library) (IX, 211); in Lewis’s, the “new university library” at Cambridge (DT, 45—46). I am indebted to Verlyn Flieger for drawing this parallel to my attention. 16. In naming his scientist, Lewis is probably thinking less of the classical Orpheus, or the hero in Barfield’s play of the same name, than the medieval Orfeo, who rescued his beloved when she was kidnapped by the fairies and taken to their world. 17. Lewis is drawing from the time-travel theories of J. W. Dunne, whose An Experiment with Time (1927) is filled with similar language and diagrams. Both Lewis and Tolkien owned copies of this book. 18. The title is Hooper’s, as Lewis left the fragment untitled. 19. Williams’s novel was written between September 1943 and May 1944, and read to Tolkien and Lewis as it was being written (Carpenter, 193-94,195, 275). 20. The spelling of MacPhee’s name corroborates this: in Perelandra he is called “McPhee” (34-35)» whereas in both That Hideous Strength and The Dark Tower (published and manuscript versions) his name is spelled “MacPhee.” It would be most unlike Lewis to spell the name MacPhee, then change this to McPhee, then revert to MacPhee again. A simpler explanation is that he first spelled the name Me in Perelandra. changed it without even noticing the fact in That Hideous Strength, then naturally retained the new spelling in The Dark Tower. 21. The reassignment in date of The Dark Tower manuscript alters the standard Lewis chronology in two other ways: it suggests that he started his autobiography some two years earlier than previously thought— he was working on Surprised by Joy by March 1948 (Green & Hooper, 257); Sayer remarks that Lewis “had been writing it off and on since 1948” (Sayer, 197)—and it simplifies the chronology of the Narnia series. The back of the first sheet of the Dark Tower manuscript has a few lines of the opening of what later became The Lion. The Witch, and The Wardrobe; due to the earlier dating of The Dark Tower to “c. 1938,” it has been asserted that Lewis began the first Narnia book in 1939, then put it aside for nine years, then made a fresh start in the summer of 1948. Occam’s razor suggests that he drafted this bit of text about the same time as that on the verso of the next page— i.e., in 1946—and that the gap between first inspiration and actual compo­ sition was no more than two years, if that.

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22. See Christopher Tolkien’s commentary on the dating of Book IV and the beginning of Book V of The Lord o f the Rings in The War of the Ring, especially p. 234. 23. Christopher Tolkien also notes here his “strong impression” that “the Adunaic names were strange to me, and that my father read The Drowning ofAnadune as a new thing that he had written.” 24. Summarized in Hooper’s “A Note on The Dark Tower” 92-94, 96. 25. The Hobbit was begun in the summer of 1930 and finished over the 1932 Christmas vacation; for a detailed examination of the evidence regarding its chro­ nology see my forthcoming Mr. Baggins: The History of The Hobbit. WORKS CITED

Carpenter, Humphrey. The Inklings. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1979. Green, Roger Lancelyn, and W alter Hooper. C. S. Lewis: A Biography. 1974. Revised edition. San Diego: Harcourt Brace & Company, 1994. Lewis, C. S. The Dark Tower and Other Stories. Edited by Walter Hooper. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1977. ---------. Letters o f C. S. Lewis. Edited with a memoir by W. H. Lewis [actually edited by Christopher Derrick]. 1966. Revised and enlarged edition, edited by Walter Hooper. London: Collins, 1988. --------- . Narrative Poems. Edited by Walter Hooper. 1969. San Diego: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1972. ---------. Out of the Silent Planet. 1938. New York: Macmillan, 1963. ---------. That Hideous Strength. 1946. New York: Collier Books, 1962. ---------. They Stand Together: The Letters of C. S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves (1914-1963). Edited by Walter Hooper. New York: Collier Books, 1979. Lewis, W. H. Brothers and Friends: The Diaries of Major Warren Hamilton Lewis. Edited by Clyde S. Kilby and Marjorie Lamp Mead. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982. Sayer, George. Jack: C. S. Lewis and His Times. San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1988. Williams, Charles. All Hallow's Eve. 1945. Grand Rapids, Mich.: W illiam B. Eerdmans, 1981.

MARJORIE BURNS

GANDALF AND ODIN

Behind every setting and every character in J. R. R. Tolkien’s writings on M iddle-earth, lies a history of literary, mythological, and linguistic com ­ plexity. This is the “soup” (of both “dainty” and “undainty” bits) that Tolkien refers to in his essay On Fairy-Stories, but literary soup is complex stuff and hard to analyze. Only “by rare luck,” Tolkien tells us, are we able to discover its derivation, the “bones” from which the soup is made. W hat Christopher Tolkien’s History o f Middle-earth does for readers, scholars, and critics is, first, to take them back to the days when J. R. R. Tolkien was experimenting with early versions of his mythology and, then, to show them multiple variations of these myths, as well as multiple variations of all the other tales that he continued to develop and revise throughout the whole o f his life. We may not be able— quite— to peer over the author’s shoulder and sort out precisely which ingredients have gone into the author’s soup, but with The History o f Middle-earth (and The Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales) in hand we come considerably closer to doing so. We know that Tolkien drew heavily from other mythologies, from the Celtic and Norse in particular, but the ways in which he did this are not always clear. In The Lord o f the Rings, mythological borrowings are often more implied than manifest. The reader catches hints of their influence in setting, characterization, and repeated images; but overall patterns (as well as Tolkien’s purposes) are likely to remain obscure. This is not the case in the books brought out by and edited by Christopher Tolkien after his father’s death. In these History books (to speak of them collectively), mythological echoes are altogether more evident, more imitative, and more easily understood. When we see how closely Tolkien’s early accounts of the Valar gods and goddesses parallel those in other mythologies, when we see, for example, how much Manwe— with his high-placed hall, his news-bearing eagles, and his gift of poesy— is based on the primary Norse god, Odin, certain connections that are discernible but less obvious in The Hobbit or The Lord o f the Rings gain a firm interpretive boost.

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It is Odin, in fact, who will serve as our principal focus in this study of how the recently published History books greatly contribute to our under­ standing of Tolkien and his literature. We need to remember, however, that Odin is only a single example among many possible ones. There are a great num ber of literary themes or figures from a great num ber o f liter­ ary traditions that could equally well demonstrate how Tolkien borrowed from other works and other ages in everything that he wrote. We need to remember, as well, that the ways in which Tolkien uses any individual theme or character are themselves highly complex. Even the simplest m at­ ters have more intricacy behind them than m any readers suspect, and the m atter of Odin is by no means a simple one. By the time we have finished, we will see that Tolkien borrows from Odin in multiple ways and shares out O din’s attributes am ong multiple characters; and these Odin-based characters are all, in one way or another, connected to each other, though often enough they remain greatly at odds. Let me begin by looking at the evolution of literary criticism covering the influence of Odin in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. Shortly after the publication of The Hobbit, there were readers who recognized that most of Tolkien’s Dwarf names— and Gandalf’s name— come from Norse mythology, from a list that occurs in Voluspd from the Poetic Edda. There were a few who detected the presence of Odin as well, and this awareness of O din’s influence increased with the publication of The Lord o f the Rings. For the m ost part, however, speculation about why Tolkien chose to borrow from images of Odin was slow to appear, and the earliest published acknowledgments of Odin in either The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings were generally limited to Odin sightings, to a noting o f settings where Odin had apparently left his mark or to a noting o f similarities between Odin and certain Tolkien characters— most often Gandalf. For some it was Tolkien’s eagles that first suggested a connection, as they did for J. S. Ryan when he (in a 1969 publication) recognized the way in which the Great Shelf of the Lord of the Eagles resembled Odin’s high seat (149). For others, it was specific attributes that Gandalf and Odin share that sug­ gested a link between the wizard and the god. They saw that the most distinctive features of Gandalf—his hat, beard, staff, and penchant for wandering— were, as well, the key characteristics that Odin displays when he leaves Asgard and travels in disguise through the plane of hum an exis­ tence, the middle-earth of Norse mythology. During these earthly journeys, Odin does not appear as a stern and forbidding deity or a bloodthirsty god of battle— but rather as a grey-bearded old man who carries a staff and wears a hood or a cloak (usually blue) and a wide-brimmed, floppy hat.

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Graduate students were often the first to notice these similarities, and the earliest and m ost thorough of these students was William H. Green. In his 1969 dissertation, "The Hobbit and Other Fiction by J. R. R. Tolkien,” Green, like Ryan, noted the influence of O din’s high seat, though for Green the parallel was to be found in ‘“The Seat of Seeing,’ from which Frodo views most o f M iddle-earth” (16). This image, Green goes on to point out, seems clearly connected to the “high-seat of O din” that Tolkien mentions in his essay On Fairy-Stories (TL, 31). Green notes as well that both Odin and Sauron have power “based on knowledge gained at the expense of eye and lim b” (62); that O din’s magical horse, Sleipnir, is echoed in Shadowfax; that elements of Ragnarok appear in the battle between Gandalf and the Balrog; that Gandalf dresses much the way Odin does in his m iddle­ earth wanderings; that Gandalf, like Odin, has the ability to bind others with invisible fetters; and, finally, that Tolkien’s eagles reveal elements of the skin-changer tradition, a tradition strongly connected to shamanistic beliefs practiced in the north. In addition, Green recognized that Tolkien’s reference to Odin as “the Goth, the Necromancer, glutter of the crows, Lord of the Slain” (TL, 31) associates Odin with Sauron, who not only is referred to as the Necromancer in The Hobbit but whose single eye in The Lord o f the Rings suggests O din’s single eye. W hat is m ore impressive is that Green was already aware that O d in ’s two-sided character (both his generous and his destructive side) appears in Tolkien’s Lord o f the Rings. “There are,” he writes, “two moral sides in Middle-earth, and no place for a figure representing the extremes of both; hence it is not surprising that the Promethean and Plutonic faces of Odin become separated in Tolkien’s fiction, the former falling primarily on Gandalf, the latter on his enemy, Sauron” (60). Though Green presented the first extensive investigation of Norse ele­ m ents in Tolkien, he was not alone in a num ber of his discoveries. Another early dissertation writer, Gloria Ann Strange Slaughter St. Clair, pointed to the influence of skin changers. In her “Studies in the Sources o f J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord o f the Rings" (1970), St. Clair saw a connection between O din’s trick of turning himself into a hawk o r eagle to escape his enemies and Gandalf’s repeated deliverance by eagle. “Apparently,” she writes, “Tolkien did not think that shape-changing into the form o f a bird would be credible in his conception of M iddle-earth.. . . Tolkien does, however, observe the strictures of his possible myth source— the eagles do not come unless Gandalf/Odin is there” (95). It is obvious that each of these dissertation writers, as well as Ryan in his published lectures of 1969, came to his or her conclusions individually,

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each seeing something of Odin in The Hobbit or The Lord o f the Rings but in slightly different ways. Odin, however, was not the prim ary focus for any of these writers, and Ryan’s, Green’s, and St. Clair’s references to Odin serve more as perceptions made in passing than as indications of an abid­ ing meaningful theme. By 1977 Ruth S. Noel had published her Mythology o f Middle-earth; and although she feels Gandalf in character is “most like M erlin” and makes a good case for this position, she is quick to acknowledge that “his appear­ ance is comparable to that of the Scandinavian god, O din.” Both, she points out, are “accomplished in magic, runes, and incantations”; both have magical (or virtually magical) horses; both have a “long grey beard” and a broad-brim m ed hat, and both wear blue cloaks— Gandalf on his return from G ondor (110-11). Like Green, Noel also cites Sauron’s single eye and his ability to paralyze warriors on the battlefield. And, again like Green, she points to Tolkien’s use of “Necromancer” for Sauron and Odin both. In 1978 yet another dissertation appeared, this time by Verlyn Flieger, who would go on to publish extensively on Tolkien’s literature. Like Noel, she noted that both Merlin and Odin play a part in G andalf’s character, though the connection Flieger recognized between Odin and Gandalf was not so much their appearance as their shared ability to lead. “A kind of Odin-figure,” she calls Gandalf, “mustering troops and bringing them to battle” (16). Finally, in 1983 (in a short article entitled “Norse Mythological Elements in The Hobbit”), Mitzi M. Brunsdale noted once again how Gandalf resem­ bles Odin in his old man guise, how he too is more than the wanderer he appears, and how he, like Odin, associates with eagles and ravens. Less convincing, however, is Brunsdale’s claim that Gandalf had to yield to “M an’s mortal fate,” just as Odin, in his role as God of the Dead, “had to bow to the earthly death of his warriors” (49). This matching of Gandalf with a god of the dead is difficult to justify, to say the least; nonetheless Brunsdale is correct in her belief that all of Odin’s various roles do appear in The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, What she failed to see (and Green and Noel did see) is that both Sauron and Gandalf reflect qualities that belong to the primary Scandinavian god. The complexities, however, are even more extensive than this. It is not only Sauron who takes on O din’s negative qualities and attributes in The Lord of the Rings but Saruman as well. Saruman is, after all, a would-be Sauron, a Sauron-in-training, a wizard who desires the Ring and who is attempting, by his Orthanc and his W hite Hand orcs, to imitate Sauron’s

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fortress of Barad-dflr and his band of Red Eye orcs. Like Odin (in O din’s less favorable manifestations), both Sauron and Saruman (with their sim i­ lar names) are figures of destruction and display a single-minded lust for power. But Sauron and Saruman are not identical. Certain of O din’s traits that exist in Sauron are not to be found in Saruman, and others that are manifested in Saruman are missing in descriptions of the Dark Lord. Where the disembodied Sauron— seen only as a shadow or as a single burning eye— suggests O din’s single eye, Saruman, like Odin the wanderer and Gandalf the Grey, is seen dressed in a cloak and wide-brimmed hat. All of this works, in fact, in a strangely interwoven and almost circular way: the more positive image of Odin, the wandering Odin, is strongly suggested in Gandalf, who associates with eagles (as Odin does), who opposes Sauron (as Odin opposes Asgard’s enemies), and who is later linked to and con­ fused with Saruman when Saruman too dresses in wandering-Odin guise. And on the negative side we have Odin as a ruthless battle god manifested in Sauron (of the single, searching fiery eye), who is imitated by Saruman (with his farseeing palantir), who then presents still another negative m an­ ifestation o f the battle god through his use of roaming, ravaging wolves and spying carrion birds. In every case Tolkien divides O din’s attributes along moral lines, shar­ ing them out am ong Gandalf, Sauron, and Saruman. This is particularly evident if we look more closely at O din’s animals, at the birds that serve him (eagles and ravens), at the wolves associated with him, and at Sleipnir, O din’s eight-legged, otherworldly horse. The far-flying ravens Huginn and M uninn (Thought and Memory) that inform Odin o f what passes in the world are suggested in a positive way by Roac (son of Care), a bird that assists— if not directly Gandalf—at least Gandalf’s cause. At the same time, we have the negative, carrion-bird reputation of the raven manifested both in Sauron’s Nazgul beasts and in the crebain (those regiments of black, oversized crows that spy for Saruman). Odin’s wolves are also evident and in ways that are appropriate to both Gandalf and his enemies. The image of the ever-hungry wolf of battle, an image comm on in northern belief, makes its appearance in the wolves and wargs that repeatedly seek to destroy Gandalf (and those who accompany him). They belong— quite properly— to the Enemy’s side, to those charac­ ters who are based on Odin as a battle god prom oting slaughter and death. But there is also Fenrir, the giant wolf that ultimately destroys Odin in the battle of Ragnarok; and in accounts of Fenrir, we again see Odin in a more sympathetic light, as an idealized warrior who loses his life defend­ ing creation against chaos and the dark. Echoes of O din’s final battle are

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manifested in Gandalf when he too strides forth to challenge various m en­ acing and enclosing wolves. Finally, there is Sieipnir, O din’s supernatural horse, a horse strongly suggested by Shadowfax, by Shadowfax’s willingness to enter danger, and by his quick understanding o f Gandalf and G andalf’s needs. But even m ore telling is Shadowfax’s almost supernatural swiftness, his ability to move virtually through the air “swift as the flowing w ind” (FR, 276) in ways that bring to m ind Sleipnir’s ability to move literally through the air. Altogether, there is, then, a good collection of Odin-inspired incidents and Odin-inspired traits to be found in The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings, but those that appear in The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, and the twelve volumes of The History o f Middle-earth are far more obvious and far more prevalent. Right at the beginning, in the earliest o f Tolkien’s vari­ ous accounts of his creation myth, Odin plays an indisputable role. He is most clearly present in Manwe, who is sometimes referred to as a god but who is m ore often described as “the greatest and chief” of the four great Valar. We see him sitting in his “glorious abode upon a throne of wonder on the topm ost pinnacle o f Taniquetil that towers up upon the w orld’s edge.” Hawks (though in most later versions, eagles) “flew ever to and fro about that abode, whose eyes could see to the deeps o f the sea or penetrate the most hidden caverns and profoundest darkness o f the world. These brought him news from everywhere o f everything, and little escaped him .” Manw£ has, as well, “a splendour of poesy and song beyond compare” (I, 58-59), and his robe is blue. The parallels with Odin are indisputable; like Manwe, Odin (am ong a large array of other roles) serves as a sky god.1 It is appropriate, then, that the world (in a passage from The Book o f Lost Tales) should appear to exist “beneath the blue folds of Manwe’s robe” (II, 287). Like Manwe, with his “splendour of poesy,” Odin is also the Norse God o f Poetry. Like Manwe, whose throne is upon “the topmost pinnacle o f Taniquetil,” Odin sits upon the high seat o f Hlibskjdlf in his hail Valaskjdlf, and from here he sees outw ard over the nine Norse worlds. By themselves these similari­ ties are striking enough, but there is this as well: once, and once only, in a collection of notes (again from The Book of Lost Tales), Tolkien openly links Manweg (Manwe) with W oden (Odin). W hen “Eriol told the fairies of W6den," Tolkien writes, they identified him with Manweg (II, 290). Though the passages quoted above are from early accounts of Tolkien’s Valar, later depictions of Manwe, appearing throughout Tolkien’s life, are very much the same. In The Silmarillion, which offers the best conception we have o f Tolkien’s ultimate intentions, the farseeing Manwe, with his

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halls upon “the uttermost tower of Taniquetil, tallest o f all the m ountains,” is said to be the Vala who delights in poetry and song and “in the winds and the clouds, and in all the regions of the a ir.. . . Sulimo he is surnam ed, Lord o f the Breath of Arda. All swift birds, strong of wing, he loves, and they come and go at his bidding” (26). Repeatedly and in various ways, then, this image of a sky god is reinforced, so m uch so that Tolkien’s Old English name for Manwe is Wolcenfrea “Skyruler” (IV, 208). And, just as the eagles suggest the influence of Odin in The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings, eagles in the History books are a primary indication of O din’s presence in Tolkien’s world. In their role as bearers of news, O d in ’s birds are representative of shamanistic transference; they are a means of Odin reaching outward in spirit form to other distant realms. Similarly, Manwe’s birds are referred to as “spirits in the shape of hawks and eagles,” spirits that see “to the depths of the seas, and pierce the hidden caverns beneath the world” (S, 40). But M anwe’s eagles are not merely bearers of random news. They have also been sent forth to watch specifically over M orgoth, the enemy of Valinor. Like O din’s eagles, these eagles also enter battle, transport heroes, and serve as rescuers. In The Silntarillion, H urin and his brother H uor are brought to the hidden city of Gondolin by eagles, and at the fall o f Gondolin, in The Book o f Lost Tales, eagles (much like those in The Hobbit or The Lord o f the Rings) assist in the battle, attacking the enemy. In the tale “O f Beren and Liithien” in The Silmarillion, it is Thorondor, the King of the Eagles, and his “vassals” who carry Luthien and the injured Beren from the gates of Angband, M orgoth’s hall; and again in various tales o f the Noldor (under a subtle variation of names), T horondor helps Fingon to free M aedhros from the precipice face where he hangs, caught by one wrist in a band of M orgoth’s steel; and it is as well T horondor (or T horndor or Sorontar) that mars forever the face o f M orgoth and rescues the corpse of Fingolfin, sweeping down on wings with a noise like “the winds of Manwe” (S, 154). Finally, in accounts of the fall o f Numenor, a repeated image is that of Manwe’s eagles, a vision sent as a warning to the erring Niimen6reans. As the above examples reveal, Manwe, the Vala who delights in poetry (as Odin does), is not exempt from certain duties as a god of battle (a role that Odin more obviously and eagerly fulfills). Insofar as Manwe is a war god, however, he is a just and honorable one, a god (or godlike being) who favors the faithful, a “power” who consistently opposes Morgoth, and who reluctantly allows the Num endreans to bring upon themselves the fall that they deserve. Presented in such a light, Manwe’s role as a war god becomes

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an acceptable one; it is, after all, a role forced upon Manwe by M orgoth’s destruction and M orgoth’s villainy. But O din’s genuinely troubling qualities, his undeniably sinister traits, are by no means ignored in the History books, anymore than they were in The Hobbit and The Lord o f the Rings. In The Silmarillion, Unfinished Tales, and The History of Middle-earth, Tolkien once again splits Odin’s character­ istics into two camps so that O din’s more agreeable traits— his perception, his guardianship, his defense of Valinor—are granted to Manwe, while his negative traits— his ruthlessness, his destructiveness, his malevolence, his all-pervading deceit—are allotted to Morgoth (and allotted, interestingly enough, in much the way certain attributes of Odin are allotted to Loki, the Norse trickster/troublemaker god). Though one of Odin’s ekenames is Truthful, he is also noted for his powers of deception (indicated by the ekenames Shifty-eyed and Swift in Deceit). He is, as well, known for his role as a god of the underworld (under the title Father of the Slain). All of this is echoed in M orgoth, who is called “M aster of Lies” (XI, 221) and “Demon o f Dark” (IV, n ) and who displays all the negative traits of a battle god. In Tolkien’s mythology, M orgoth is the primary and most powerful representative of evil, the role fulfilled by Sauron in The Lord o f the Rings. But Sauron also appears throughout the History books, and here he is pat­ terned to a large extent after Morgoth, the fallen god (who, of course, also suggests Lucifer in Christian belief). Sauron is, in fact, M orgoth’s chief servant, and the two are in some ways so closely associated that there are places where Sauron (also called ThO) and his master Morgoth appear to be virtually the same. As Christopher Tolkien points out, a certain confu­ sion exists about whether it is Morgoth who “comes back in secret from time to tim e” after the Last Battle at the end of the Elder Days or whether it is Thu (IV, 205). Other images reinforce this overlap of character and intent. In The Lays of Beleriand, for example, M orgoth is spoken of as having fiery “lidless eyes,” an image nearly identical to the “lidless” and “flaming” eye of Sauron in The Lord o f the Rings. As the tales progress, Sauron seems to become a m ore visible, more active (though lower-ranked) version of Morgoth in much the way that Saruman becomes a m ore vis­ ible, active (though lower-ranked) Sauron in The Lord o f the Rings. W here eagles are associated with Manwe and represent the good, wolves, bats, and “carrion birds”2 are associated with M orgoth or M orgoth’s “chief lieutenant.” In The Lay o f Leithian, Morgoth sends forth “demon spirits” in “wolvish form and flesh” to hunt down Huan the dog; and he feeds one of these wolves “with his own hand” on the “flesh of Elves and M en”

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(III, 288). This wolf, Carcharoth, the Red Maw, lies beside or beneath M orgoth’s throne in ways that are strikingly reminiscent of Geri and Freki, wolves that lie at O din’s feet, that are fed by O din’s hand, and whose names both translate into “greedy one.” In variant versions of Tolkien’s Lay of Leithian, Carcharoth is also called Borosaith (“Everhungry”) or Anfauglin (“Jaws of Thirst”), names that bring us even closer to O din’s two wolves. N or is Morgoth the only one to imitate Odin in this way. Again in The Lay o f Leithian (and in quite an exact parallel of Morgoth and Odin), Sauron/ThQ, the necromancer and accomplished shape changer of m on­ strous forms, is called “Lord of Wolves.” He too keeps a wolf (Draugluin) beneath his chair, and he too feeds this wolf (or werewolf) “on flesh of M an and Elf” (III, 252). Images of Ragnarok also make their way into Tolkien’s mythology, and these too create parallels between Odin and Morgoth, and between Odin and Manwe as well. In the earliest version of “The Silmarillion” (written circa 1926-30), we are told that “when the world is much older, and the Gods weary, M orgoth will come back through the Door [of Night], and the last battle of all will be fought.” Fionwe, M anwe’s son (or herald, in later versions), will then “fight Morgoth on the plain of Valinor” (IV, 40). This final battle is followed by a description of restoration (a restoration where the Silmarils are regained, the Two Trees are rekindled, and Valinor is renewed). Both the battle and the ensuing vision of restoration are directly based on Norse mythology, on Ragnarok and on a brief passage describing the renewed world that comes after the gods have fallen. In a remarkably similar way, O din’s son, Vi6ar, will battle with Fenrir, on the Plain of Vigrib; in remarkably similar way, the world will be restored. But Tolkien does not limit himself to only one version of an honorable Odin in his mythology. Manwe also has an emissary among the Istari, an emissary who acts for him and perhaps even emulates him. And this emis­ sary is Olorin, better known as Gandalf in The Lord of the Rings. New layers of power are revealed in all of this. In The Lord o f the Rings we have Gandalf, a positive figure of Odin, fighting for the good and sent to Middle-earth. We also have Sauron (who works for M orgoth) and Sauron’s imitator Saruman, both of whom are based on negative images of Odin. The History books, however, not only give us new versions of Odin on a higher hierarchical plane, but they also advance and reinforce much of what was suggested or revealed in The Lord o f the Rings. We see how Manwe and Morgoth fit into Tolkien’s practice of borrowing from Odin, intensifying and capping the pattern we saw before. We also see more of the ways in which Gandalf and Saruman are separately linked to Odin and

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to each other as well. We read more of how Gandalf and Saruman resemble one another, of how Saruman works in secret imitation o f Gandalf (UT, 349-5o)> and we see how Tolkien was initially uncertain which wizard was to be called “ the Grey” (VII, 70). There is more to be learned about Sauron as well. In The Lord o f the Rings, we are told there was a time when Sauron “was not yet evil to behold” (FR, 255); it is not, however, a concept easy to visualize. But in the History books, we gain a sense of how this was so. We see how Morgoth himself “looked fair in ancient days” (X, 354) and how Sauron in Numenor worked his persuasion, feigning (again as Morgoth did) sym­ pathy for others and great humility. We see him charm and deceive the Numendreans, calling himself “Lord of Gifts” (S, 287); and we can under­ stand his appeal. Shadowfax too plays a larger role. In various rejected drafts in The History o f Middle-earth, Shadowfax (briefly called Greyfax) is even more obviously depicted as a version of Sleipnir than he is in The Lord of the Rings. His role as a battle horse, “silver against black” (VII, 435), is intensified, and his otherworldly powers appear more blatant as well. We are clearly told (in two versions of a rejected epilogue) that “Shadowfax went in the White Ship with Gandalf” into the West, a clear indication of Shadowfax’s otherworldly prerogative (IX, 120,123)? All o f this strengthens Gandalf’s connection to Odin, but the most intriguing revelation about Gandalf is a passage in Unfinished Tales in which Tolkien, in a note to himself, speculates about Gandalf and how much o f Gandalf’s true role should be revealed in The Lord o f the Rings. Who was ‘Gandalf’? It is said that in later days (when again a shadow of evil arose in the Kingdom) it was believed by many of the ‘Faithful* of that time that ‘Gandalf’ was the last appearance of Manwe himself, before his final withdrawal to the watchtower of Taniquetil. (That Gandalf said that his name ‘in the West’ had been Oldrin was, according to this belief, the adoption of an incognito, a mere by-name.) I do not (of course) know the truth of the matter, and if I did it would be a mistake to be more explicit than Gandalf was. But I think it was not so. Manwe will not descend from the Mountain until the Dagor Dagorath [Battle of Battles], and the coming of the End, when Melkor returns. To the overthrow of Morgoth he sent his herald Eonwe. To the defeat of Sauron would he not then send some lesser (but mighty) spirit of the angelic people, one coeval and equal, doubtless, with Sauron in their beginnings, but not more? Oldrin was his name. But of Oldrin we shall never know more than he revealed in Gandalf. (395) No clear answer is given. For that matter, a clear answer is intentionally avoided. Nonetheless, the very fact that Tolkien toyed with the idea

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of making Gandalf and Manwë one is highly indicative. Even if we disre­ gard the possibility of Gandalf serving as Manwë’s earthly manifestation, G andalf’s ties to O din are made firmer by his association with Manwë, who is more directly and more openly based on Odin than Gandalf is in either The Lord o f the Rings or the History books. And, of course, Gandalf’s Odinlike appearance as Manwë’s emissary in Middle-earth equally intensifies Manwë’s connection to Odin. Whatever else he is, Gandalf is a representa­ tive of Manwë; and when he travels through the world at Manwë’s behest, dressed as Odin does, this reflects on Manwë as well. Nor is this all. Just as Sauron and Saruman in The Lord of the Rings are linked to Gandalf through a num ber of images and incidents and thereby clearly serve as negative versions of Gandalf (as well as negative versions of Odin), M orgoth is strongly linked to Manwë in ways that emphasize a similar opposing unity. Though Tolkien depicts Manwë’s and M orgoth’s initial positions in Valinor somewhat differently in various accounts of the creation and first revolt, there is a basic pattern that repeatedly balances Manwë against M orgoth in power and significance. Meiko (or Melkor), who becomes M orgoth, is sometimes, for example, said to be “the chief” (X, 12) of the Ainur and the one am ong the Amur who has been “given the greatest gifts” (X, 9) or “some of the greatest gifts of power and wisdom and knowledge” (I, 53). He is the “mightiest of those Ainur who came into the W orld” (X, 145). Manwë, on the other hand, is the “noblest” of the Ainur (X, 13), the one “dearest to the heart of Ilûvatar” (X, 145), the “Blessed One, One (closest) in accord with Eru” (XI, 399). Whatever their initial status, however, the two are ultimately portrayed as adversaries of equal, or virtually equal, influence and power. Moreover, there are times when the connection between the two is represented as even closer and more intimate than mere opposition and comparable status alone can jus­ tify. Repeatedly, though not consistently, Tolkien calls the two of them brothers. “Manwë was the brother of Melkor,” (X, 40) we are told, or “Manwë and Melkor were brethren in the thought of Ilûvatar” (X, 144). And Christopher Tolkien adds to this sense of a balanced matching of powers by quoting from a 1958 letter his father wrote to Rhona Beare: “In the cosmogonic myth Manwë is said to be ‘brother’ of Melkor, that is they were coëval and equipotent in the mind of the Creator” (X, 357). Though the title of brother should not be taken literally, it greatly strength­ ens the importance of their relationship, so that they— like Gandalf and Saruman— can be seen as two halves of a possible whole, as a single figure on differing m oral paths. It is not enough, however, merely to list the ways in which Odin has

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left his mark on Tolkien’s literature. We need to ask ourselves what these echoes of Odin mean and why Tolkien drew again and again from a figure of such mixed personality traits. The pattern is far too regular to be passed off as a chance borrowing that suited Tolkien’s stories of hobbits or his story of M orgoth’s defeat. The very repetition of such imagery, the repeti­ tion— on all levels— of matched figures representing two moral directions, should let us know that Tolkien saw a universality in such matters, that he believed the basic pattern is always the same. Though those of a higher position can inflict greater injury and can inflict it on a considerably larger field, nonetheless the characteristics of misused power, exorbitant pride, and self-devouring jealousy are little different in a Sackville-Baggins, a Steward, a Wizard, or a Vala. So it is that the ravaging of the Shire can be seen in The Lord o f the Rings as simply another manifestation of M ordor, as “just one of its works” (RK, 297). Tolkien shows us, as well, how malevolence works “from within” (as it did through Loki in Norse mythology). He shows us how the maladies of pride, jealousy, and covetousness spread outward from M orgoth, infect­ ing— level by level— nations, families, friendships, and even the Fellowship. “The operations of Sauron naturally and inevitably resembled or repeated those of his m aster,” Tolkien tells us (X, 344); and Saruman, who learns much from studying Sauron’s methods, passes on lessons in treachery and malevolent persuasion to his followers— from Grima, called the W orm ­ tongue, to Lotho back at home. We see this happen in The Lord o f the Rings, but in the History books the pattern is written larger and expressed more candidly, so that it seems at times as though we are present at the moment when Tolkien is work­ ing out for himself the effects of layered evil and writing out for himself just what it is he believes. One of these moments occurs in Morgoth’s Ring, as Tolkien speculates about Sauron and concludes that he “was a problem that Men had to deal with finally: the first of the many concentrations of Evil into definite power-points that they would have to combat, as it was also the last of those in ‘mythological’ personalized (but non-hum an) form ” (X, 404). It is precisely this sort of clarity and closeness that Christopher Tolkien has given us in the fourteen volumes that make up The Silmarillion, Unfin­ ished Tales, and The History o f Middle-earth. These previously unpublished stories and variations, these previously unpublished translations, explana­ tions, sketches, maps, and notes (left behind like Niggle’s bag on the train), have been gathered up and shared with us. And we gain from them not only a far clearer idea of Tolkien’s sources and a stronger sense of his mes-

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sage but also a sense of fellowship shared, a sense of being in Tolkien’s company while Middle-earth’s creation occurs. NOTES

1. See Brian Branston’s Gods of the North for a detailed explanation of Odin’s role as a sky god. 2. In early manuscripts, Tolkien specifies that the Nazgfil’s flying beasts are “vultures,” a temporary revelation that strengthens the contrast between them and the rescuing, guardian eagles. In a 1939 sketch of the events at Mount Doom, vultures circle down, apparently carrying the Nazgfll, who then attack Frodo and Sam while the mountain erupts. But Eagles arrive to drive back the NazgOl. These Eagles, Tolkien speculates, are then to rescue Frodo and Sam; or, alternatively, Gandalf on a “white eagle” could be the one to do so (IX 5). Neither vultures nor bats are representative of Norse mythology, and they did not survive in the final draft of The Lord of the Rings. 3. The rejected epilogues, however, are not the only indication we have of Shadowfax’s conclusion. In a letter to Miss A. P. Northey, dated 19 January 1965, Tolkien openly addressed Shadowfax’s hereditary right to enter the West. In the same letter, Tolkien also explained why he ultimately decided to make Shadowfax’s fate unclear to his reading audience. “I think,” he wrote, “Shadowfax certainly went with Gandalf [across the Sea], though this is not stated. I feel it is better not to state everything (and indeed it is more realistic, since in chronicles and accounts o f ‘real’ history, many facts that some enquirer would like to know are omitted, and the truth has to be discovered or guessed from such evidence as there is)” (L, 354). WORKS CITED

Branston, Brian. Gods of the North. New York: Vanguard Press, n.d. Brunsdale, Mitzi M. “Norse Mythological Elements in The Hobbit.1' Mythlore 9, no. 4, whole no. 34 (Winter 1983): 49-50, 55. Flieger, Verlyn Brown. “Medieval Epic and Romance Motifs in J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings." Ph.D. diss., Catholic University of America, 1977. Green, William H. “The Hobbit and Other Fiction by J. R. R. Tolkien: Their Roots in Medieval Heroic Literature and Language.” Ph.D. diss., Louisiana State University, 1969. Noel, Ruth S. The Mythology of Middle-earth. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. Ryan, John Sprott. Tolkien: Cult or Culture? Arm idale, New South W ales, Australia: University of New England, 1969. St. Clair, Gloria Ann Strange Slaughter. “Studies in the Sources of J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings." Ph.D. diss., University of Oklahoma, 1970.

RICHARD C. WEST

TURIN’S OFERMOD An Old English Theme in the Development of the Story of Turin My name is TOLKIEN (nor -kein). It is a German name (from Saxony), an anglicization o f Tollkiehn, i.e„ tollkiihn. But, except as a guide to spelling, this fact is as fallacious as all facts in the raw. For I am neither 'foolhardy' nor German, whatever some remote ancestors may have been. -e> The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien

Later in this same letter to his American publisher Tolkien makes one of his m ost oft-quoted comments: “W h a t. . . I think a primary ‘fact’ about my work, [is] that it is all of a piece, and fundamentally linguistic in inspi­ ration. . . . The invention of languages is the foundation. The ‘stories’ were made rather to provide a world for the languages than the reverse. To me a nam e comes first and the story follows” (L, 219). He was referring here to his “Elvish” names, or names in his many other invented languages. But also he shows that he was keenly aware o f the ety­ mology of his own surname, and it may not be too fanciful to see this going into what he called “the Pot of Soup, the Cauldron of Story” (TL, 28), and contributing to his storytelling. As he pondered the meaning of his own name, and the ancient and medieval stories that he loved, he may well have reflected on the difference between the heroic and the foolhardy. In particular, he might have seen a relation between his surnam e and the O ld English noun ofermod, which might also have a sense o f “foolhar­ diness” if Tolkien is correct in his interpretation of how this term is used in The Battle of Maldon. There is considerable debate about almost every aspect of that fragment of an Old English poem, including its date, but it is as likely as not to have been composed fairly soon after the historical events to which it refers. In August 991, near Maldon in Essex, a large force of (mostly Norwegian) Vikings defeated a smaller force of Anglo-Saxons defending their land. The English leader, Beorhtnoth the eorl of Essex, was killed and his army put to flight, but his personal retainers (his comitatus or heordwerod) fought on and gallantly died beside their lord. The poem puts into the m outh of

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one of these retainers, Beorhtwold, what have become some of the most famous verses in Old English: Hige sceal pe heardra, heorte pe cenre, mod sceal mare }>e are mcegen lytlati. (lines 312-13)

Tolkien translates this as “Will shall be the sterner, heart the bolder, spirit the greater as our strength lessens” (PS, 79). We should be sure to stress the verb in that sentence, as the note of determination here is more powerfully expressed in the original Anglo-Saxon poem than a contemporary English idiom can render. (Old English sceal does come into modern English as shall, but it had much greater force, and is often better translated as must.) Tolkien says, “The words of Beorhtwold have been held to be the finest expression of the northern heroic spirit, Norse or English; the clearest state­ m ent o f the doctrine of utterm ost endurance in the service of indomitable will” (PS, 102). It is an aspect of “Northernness” that Tolkien admires. But he also argues that the full force of the poem (fragment though it is) can only be appreciated when one considers this passage together with an earlier one describing the decision of the English leader that led to the defeat and to the death of many of his friends and kinsmen. The tactical situation was that the Vikings had sailed up the estuary of a river that was then called the Pante and is now called the Blackwater, and established a fortified camp on Northey Island. (The place name itself indicates a pervasive Scandinavian presence in the area, since Northey is Norse, meaning “North Island.”) This was standard operating procedure for Vikings, who were thus able to beach and protect their precious ships while having a base from which they could raid the environs. Northey must have seemed ideal, being connected to the mainland by a narrow causeway that a small force could hold, should the English attack while the main army was off raiding. However, the eorl Beorhtnoth turned this against them, since he was able to bring up his few troops while the invad­ ers were still encamped, so that it was the Vikings who had to attack across the causeway and found themselves unable to break a determined defense. Had the English maintained this siege, the Norse might have had to give up and sail away empty-handed. They also tried another of their favorite gambits, offering to leave if they were given a large tribute. This often worked, but Beorhtnoth nobly refused to pay the bribe. Unfortunately, Beorhtnoth also nobly allowed the Vikings to cross the ford unopposed when they asked for this, so that both armies could be drawn up and engage in a fair fight. Naturally, the larger Scandinavian

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force then overwhelmed the English. In modern terms this seems stupidly quixotic, but to people who believed passionately in martial glory it might have seemed the honorable thing to do. Tolkien differs from many critics o f The Battle of Maldon in thinking that the poet condem ns this gesture by Beorhtnoth, even as he lauds the loyalty and courage o f the retainers who would not abandon their lord: D a se eorl ongan for his ofertnode alyfan landes to fela latere Seode. (lines 89-90)

which Tolkien translates, “Then the earl in his overmastering pride actu­ ally yielded ground to the enemy, as he should not have done” (PS, 102). More literally, the lines might be rendered, “Then the earl, because of his ofermod, allowed too much land to the hateful people.” W hether one agrees that Tolkien catches the full sense o f the passage depends largely on how one interprets the term ofermod, and especially its nuances. M od comes into m odern English as “m ood,” but would better be trans­ lated as “spirit.” Ofer, o f course, means “over.” But as a qualifier does it here signify that Beorhtnoth had “overm uch” mod, an excess of mod, too much mod? Or is it just an admiring statement that he had a great deal of mod, that he was heroic? Was he courageous, or foolhardy? Ofermod can be rendered as “overboldness,” which could be taken either way. Joseph Bosworth and T. Northcote Toller in the magisterial Anglo-Saxon Diction­ ary define the noun as “pride, arrogance, over-confidence” and cite many examples. Here is Tolkien’s summation: “But mod, though it may contain or imply courage, does not mean ‘boldness’ any m ore than Middle English corage [i.e., heart, both literally and symbolically]. It means ‘spirit’, or when unqualified ‘high spirit’, of which the most usual manifestation is pride. But in ofer-mod it is qualified, with disapproval: ofermod is in fact always a word o f condemnation. In verse the noun occurs only twice, once applied to Beorhtnoth, and once to Lucifer” (PS, 105 n. 1). This makes rather a strong case, and Tolkien reinforces it by suggesting that such a tone expressing some disapprobation can also be discerned in other Anglo-Saxon poetry, even amidst general admiration for the deeds o f heroes. He argues that even the great Beowulf let his yearning for fame lead him to take unnecessary risks to increase his honor if he was victori­ ous in a battle that was difficult enough in any case. Although it might be tolerable to face a m onster like Grendel unarmed when he was a young warrior responsible only for himself (for the Danes he was trying to help

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would have been no worse off if he failed), it is otherwise to go up against a fire-breathing dragon with a handful of warriors (most of whom deserted him ) when he was an old king responsible for the well-being o f all his people (see PS, 103-5). Tolkien’s views in this regard have had a decidedly mixed reception from other critics of Maldon and of Beowulf. There are many who argue that this sort of heroic excess was considered highly admirable by the Anglo-Saxons and by other medieval peoples both before and long after the time o f the poem. This may be typified by the assertion of Ralph W. V. Elliott that heroes such as Beorhtnoth “court disaster magnificently, with their eyes wide open, and, according to their lights, rightly” (59). M any others feel that Tolkien’s close reasoning and his sensitivity both to nuances of lan­ guage and to aesthetics have provided a very persuasive reading. Some say it is too persuasive. T. A. Shippey, himself an eminent scholar both of the Middle Ages and of Middle-earth, rejects Tolkien’s reading as “tendentious and personal to a marked degree” and notes that its wide acceptance is due to “Professor Tolkien’s fatal skill in rhetoric!” (“Boar and Badger,” 233). But for the purposes o f this essay it does not matter whether or not his interpretation is correct or plausible in medieval terms. This was, at any rate, his own ambivalent view of the heroic ethos, and he was free to use it in fiction of his own devising. I believe that this tension between brav­ ery and foolhardiness became a major leitm otif in his saga of Turin as it developed, though it was not what initially drew him to the story, the first o f all of his tales of Middle-earth. There are some records of this genesis among what has thus far been published o f his letters. During his final year as an undergraduate at Oxford, in October 1914, he wrote to his future wife, Edith Bratt, o f his delight in the Finnish ballads collected into the Kalevala by Elias Lonnrot almost a century earlier (first published in 1835 and expanded in 1849). He says: Amongst other work I am trying to turn one of the stories—which is really a very great story and most tragic—into a short story somewhat on the lines of [William] Morris’s romances with chunks of poetry in between. (L, 7) Although the individual text that so caught his fancy is not named here, H um phrey Carpenter and Christopher Tolkien remark in the editorial note on this passage, “Tolkien’s reworking o f one of the Kalevala stories, ‘The Story of Kullervo’, was never finished, but proved to be the germ of the story of Turin Turam bar in The Silmarillion” (L, 434 [1] n. 6). Much later, on 7 June 1955, Tolkien wrote to W. H. Auden about this (and incidentally this is one of the rare occasions when he refers to The

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Lord o f the Rings as a “trilogy” rather than as one book that happened to be published in three parts): I mentioned Finnish, because that set the rocket off in story. I was immensely attracted by something in the air o f the Kalevala, even in |W . F.] Kirby’s poor translation. I never learned Finnish well enough to do more than plod through a bit o f the original, like a schoolboy w ith Ovid; being mostly taken up w ith its effect on 'm y language’. But the beginning o f the legendarium, o f which the Trilogy is part (the conclusion), was in an attempt to reorganize some o f the Kalevala, especially the tale of Kullervo the hapless, into a form o f my o w n ... . Say 1912 to 1913. As the thing went on I actually wrote in verse. (L, 214-15)

(The letter to Edith from 1914 shows that the event was actually just a little later than he remembered forty years afterward.) And on 16 July 1964 he wrote this to Christopher Bretherton: The germ o f my attempt to write legends o f my own to fit my private languages was the tragic tale o f the hapless Kullervo in the Finnish Kalevala. It remains a major matter in the legends o f the First Age (which I hope to publish as The Silmarillion), though as ‘The Children o f H urin’ it is entirely changed except in the tragic ending. (L, 345)

This story of Kullervo that proved so seminal for Tolkien occupies runos or poems 31 through 36 in the Kalevala. The poems meander through disparate traditions about the main character so they are not completely consistent one with another, and are at least as interested in charms relat­ ing to herding cattle or warding oft bears and suchlike as in developing a narrative. They resemble the ballad more than any other English poetic form. But they comprise a relatively short and reasonably self-contained section of the Kalevala, and recounting them in a narrative of no great length, on the model of the prose romances of William Morris, would seem to be a feasible plan. The story involves a family feud. Untamo, with his retainers, attacks and kills his brother, Kalervo, and all his household save one woman who is pregnant and apparently is spared for that reason. Her son is nam ed Kullervo, and he is also Kalervo’s son. Untamo fears that the boy will grow up to take vengeance, but even as a baby Kullervo is capable of Herculean feats that frustrate his uncle’s attem pts to kill him. He is eventually sold as a slave to one o f the m ajor characters in the Kalevala, Ilmarinen the Smith, but all his work turns out awry as it had when he was laboring for Untamo. When he feels ready to return as an avenger (and perhaps get out o f the way of Ilmarinen, whose wife he has slain), he is dissuaded by the news

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that his parents and siblings are somehow still alive and well and living in Lapland. He then joins his father and m other and a sister, but finds that a brother is dead and another sister has disappeared. Again everything he works at turns out badly, since his heroic strength results in such things as pulling apart fishing nets instead of hauling in fish. While traveling by sledge he on three occasions passes women and each time tries to entice them to accept a ride. They all prudently decline, but the third time he forces the young woman into the sledge and then bribes and wheedles her into lying with him. Only afterward do they discover that she is his missing sister, and she immediately drowns herself in remorse for their unwitting incest. Now the distraught Kullervo does take his long-delayed revenge and slaughters U ntam o and his household. But when he returns he finds both his parents and his other sister (and a brother who somehow had not died previously after all) are now really dead. Only his hunting dog survives, to lead him to the spot where he met and seduced his sister. He asks his sword if it will slay him, and it magically speaks, agreeing to do so. Thus dies Kullervo the hapless, running onto his own sword. T. A. Shippey notes that this story parallels that of Turin in basic outline: In both a hero survives the ruin of his family to grow up with a cruel, wayward streak in fosterage; in both he marries (or seduces) a lost maiden, only for her to discover she is his sister and drown herself; in both the hero returns from his exploits to find his mother gone and home laid waste, and to be condemned by his associates. Kullervo’s dog leads him only to the place where he met his sister, and like Turin, when he asks his sword if it will drink his blood, it agrees scornfully. (Road. 232) Marie Barnfield argues ingeniously that “each incident in Kullervo can be related to a stage in Turin’s history,” though “the two tales are very different” and Tolkien has added a great deal of other material, perhaps influenced by sources recounting the deeds of Sigurd, Peredur or Sir Percival, Finn Mac Cumail, CuChulainn, Merlin, and Gamelyn (30). Perhaps. The game of source hunting is one in which certainty is difficult to attain; even the author may not know for sure all the workings of his unconscious mind. What is certain is that the story of Turin did not remain a retelling of the story of Kullervo. If we had the earliest version we would undoubtedly see that Tolkien started out that way, as he said, but at some point he diverged to tell a new story in the old tradition. Instead, the Finnish poem became a source or analogue for parts of the tale. The unknowing incest between a brother and sister who had long been sepa-

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rated is probably one (there are many other possible sources that could also have gotten into the mix), for it is integral to the tragedy that so moved the young Tolkien. The one feature specific to the Kalevala account that is retained is the grim speech of the sword that will drink the blood of guilty and innocent alike, which makes such an effective finale to both tales. We might take Tolkien at his word that what began as a retelling of the story of Kullervo and ended as the story of the Children of Hiirin was “entirely changed except in the tragic ending.” That sword must have been one aspect that spoke powerfully to Tolkien’s imagination. He devoted m uch care to develop the weapon far beyond what he found in his Finnish source, making it a magical blade of meteoric iron fallen from the sky and able to cleave any earthly metal, and revising matters so that it is this same sword that is used throughout different adven­ tures and so becomes an em bodim ent of the ill fate that besets the hero. In the earliest text we have it is forged specially for Turin around the m idpoint of the tale (II, 83), when he lived among the Elves led by Orodreth in what later was rewritten as the kingdom of Nargothrond. But as the story evolved it became a sword made by a master smith from another part of Tolkien’s legendarium, Edi the Dark Elf, and imbued with his malice (S, 201-2). It was presented by King Thingol to Beleg Strongbow when he needed a sword (Beleg being a character who grew from a m inor part to become T urin’s closest friend and companion in arms), and passed to Turin after Beleg’s death due to a ghastly mistake. The same Black Sword is used by Turin in heroic defense of Elves and Men and in great deeds, including the slay­ ing of the mightiest of dragons, but also to kill some of his friends and companions in anger and error, and finally to take his own life. Other elements that drew Tolkien to the story of Kullervo appear to have been the painful separation of family members with tragic results, the horror of unwitting incest, and the bad luck that dogs the hero and yields evil results from good intentions. All of these themes he would also have found (though not necessarily all together) in many other tales besides the Finnish poems: Marie Barnfield cites several examples. I shall lay stress on one: the thirteenth-century Volsungasaga seems to me to be at least as strong an influence on Turin as the Kalevala and a good deal more perva­ sive. From it, supplemented perhaps by the Nibelungenlied and Beowulf, Tolkien took much of his dragon lore (something he certainly could not have gotten from the Kalevala). In particular, the tactic by which Turin slays his worm (concealing himself to strike from below as the m onster passes over him) is very reminiscent of how Sigurd kills Fafnir, different as the battles are in other respects (e.g., the element of the hero’s being

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deserted by his companions may be an echo of the situation in Beowulf), And in the saga Tolkien would have found m ore feuds and scattered families, incest between brother and sister (unwitting on Sigmund’s part though deliberate on Signy’s), a wife who goes into a burning hall to share the funeral pyre of a husband she did not love, a special sword for a hero that needs to be forged and reforged, a spell of forgetfulness, a treasure that is cursed: many ingredients to stir in his Pot o f Soup, though he would also have known analogues from many another tale. O ur problem with appreciating the “Turins Saga” as an individual work is that it was never finished, and exists in several incomplete versions, as summaries and sketches, and with authorial notes on possible altera­ tions to make and how to develop it further. Almost every volume in The History o f Middle-earth has something to contribute about Turin. And, as was his wont, Tolkien changed his mind about the names o f most of the cast of characters at one time or another (U rin/H urin, Flinding/ Gwindor, Gldrund/Glaurung, etc.), as he refined his invented languages. Nevertheless, the story is remarkably consistent in all versions. Apparently the basic narrative was set very early on (by the middle of 1919), and there­ after grew largely by expansion, not only with some additional material but with fuller descriptions of incidents and motives, polishing of style, and changes in nomenclature and geography to fit it into Tolkien’s alwayscontinuing revision of the overall mythology. Christopher Tolkien calls the development of the legend of Turin “in some respects the most tangled and complex of all the narrative elements in the story of the First Age” (UT, 6). He has put us all in his debt by set­ ting out for us the basic texts, with careful editorial notes on their many complexities: 1. “Turam bar and the Foaldke” (1919) in The Book o f Lost Tales, Part Two, is the earliest surviving recension of the story, completed within five years after Kullervo provided the impetus. There is even still some trace of the avowed model, for in style and substance it is as reminiscent of the prose romances of William Morris as anything Tolkien ever wrote. Although relatively short compared with the later versions, it is also a complete story, however compressed. It already has almost all of the ele­ ments that this narrative would come to comprise, the only m ajor one to be added later being T urin’s sojourn among the outlaws. Christopher Tolkien’s “Com m entary” provides a masterly sum m ary of the variants in the different tellings.

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2. The Lay o f the Children o f Hiirin (1920-25) in The Lays o f Beleriand is a poem in alliterative meter that exists in two versions, both incomplete (breaking off well before the dragon comes to Nargothrond), but provid­ ing much fuller treatm ent of events given more briefly in “T uram bar” (and sometimes even than later tellings: for instance, here we find the most detailed presentation of T u rin ’s grief over slaying Beleg).1 T urin’s leader­ ship of the outlaw band has been added. These poems may be what Tolkien was thinking o f when he told Auden that “As the thing went on I actually wrote in verse.” It should be noted that these lays are some o f Tolkien’s finest poetry. 3. Narn i Hin Hiirin “The Tale of the Children of H urin” (1920S-1930S?) in Unfinished Tales is paradoxically the m ost finished version o f the tale, except that there are many gaps in it. That is, Tolkien recounts the begin­ ning and end of T u rin ’s story and much in between, in more polished prose and with very full treatment, and the crucial character o f Mim the dw arf has made his appearance to shelter and eventually betray Turin. (Earlier, in “T uram bar,” he had been a m inor figure who did not even meet Turin, and whose chief function was to put a curse on the dragon’s hoard.) But a great deal is omitted, from T urin’s establishing his outlaw base in the halls of M im to the fall of Nargothrond. 4. The other volumes in The History o f Middle-earth that deal with the First Age (The Shaping o f Middle-earth, The Lost Road, Morgoth’s Ring, and The War o f the Jewels) all include references to T urin’s saga, whether sum ­ maries of part o f it or notes by Tolkien o f alterations to make in it. 5. “O f Turin T uram bar,” chapter 21 of The Silmarillion (1977), a compi­ lation made from the earlier versions, is the most complete retelling of the story from beginning to end. Though in summ ary form, it has fascinated readers since it appeared. If Tolkien had developed this mass o f material as fully as he did the sections in the Narn, his “Tiirins Saga” would have been as long, rich, and complex as The Lord o f the Rings. That is not what he envisioned when he set out to compose a short story in 1914, but such growth is entirely typical of his writing. T u rin ’s lengthy story in all versions is framed by that of his father, imprisoned after the Battle of Unnum bered Tears and forced to witness the unhappiness of his wife and children without being able to intervene, seeing only in the twisted view provided by the Great Enemy. The curse on H iirin’s family is a consistent element throughout the development of the tale and was plainly very important to Tolkien. One of the many titles he considered for the story was N am e 'Rach Morgoth, “Tale of the Curse of

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M orgoth” (X, 373). The ill luck that dogged Kullervo was one of the aspects of that tragedy that drew Tolkien to it. Yet this caused him philosophical problems. Could the curse even of a fallen Vala abrogate individual free will? At times it seems it could. When Saeros and Turin almost come to draw swords in the hall of King Thingol, M ablung abjures Saeros thus: ‘What ails you tonight? For this evil I hold you to blame; and it may be that the King’s law will judge a broken mouth a just return for your taunting.. . . if either be slain it will be an evil deed, more fit for Angband than Doriath, and more evil will come of it. Indeed I think that some shadow o f the North has reached out to touch us tonight [emphasis mine]. Take heed, Saeros son of Ithilbor, lest you do the will of Morgoth in your pride.’ (UT, 80-81)

Can M orgoth’s baleful influence penetrate even the Girdle of Melian? M uch of Tolkien’s oeuvre deals with the operation of fate and free will, chance and luck and coincidence and Providence, and the many shades of meaning in the word doom (which encapsulates all of those themes). He prefers to recount events suggestive of all these possibilities without com m itting himself to any explanation, and particularly not a simple one. M orgoth’s influence is indeed pervasive and subtle, but individuals have motivations for their actions. Saeros, dispossessed of his hom eland by the war between Morgoth and the Elves, envious of Turin’s martial prowess and success, acts in character. This is typical of Tolkien. Epic and romance and saga, genres he loved and with which he is most associated, are known m ore for archetypes than for detailed characterization, but this is some­ thing Tolkien adds to the tradition. His published Letters show how much he pondered the personalities and motivations of all his fictional charac­ ters, even minor ones. Turin is like his contemporaries in tending to blame M orgoth’s curse for his troubles, even frequently changing or concealing his name to deflect it; and the malice of that Vala does create hard circumstances that blight his life. He is in a long line of mythic figures who bring about their fate by trying to avoid it. But he is also very carefully characterized. Melian calls him “over-bold” and counsels him to “fear both the heat and the cold of your heart” (UT, 79). He is never able to attain this m od­ eration. Bereft of his father while a child, raised to think of himself as heir to the lordship of Dor-16min while the realm is overrun by invaders, sent for his safety to be fostered by Elves who routinely battle the servants of M orgoth, he naturally grows into a fierce and redoubtable warrior, and a

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lonely, isolated man, sensitive in matters of honor. He is proud, arrogant, and self-willed. The Anglo-Saxons might have called him ofermodig. A typical incident that shows T urin’s mettle, and what Tolkien thinks o f it, occurs when he returns to Dor-ldm in after the fall o f Nargothrond, deceived by the Dragon Glaurung into seeking his m other and sister there when they had long left it for Doriath. A faithful old retainer, Sador, sug­ gests that he m ight get news from the Lady Aerin, a kinswoman on his maternal side who was forcibly m arried to the leader o f the invaders, Brodda. Sador warns him that it would be im prudent to approach her publicly. “Then in anger Turin cried: ‘May I not walk up Brodda’s hall, and will they beat me? Come, and see!’” (UT, 106). In the ensuing battle Turin kills Brodda, and, with the help of some of his people, any other Easterlings who did not flee from the hall. But Sador dies defending Turin, first abjuring him: ‘But now go, go, lord! Go, and do not come back, unless with greater strength. They will raise the land against you. Many have run from the hall. Go, or you will end here. Farewell!’ Then he slipped down and died. ‘He speaks with the truth of death,’ said Aerin. ‘You have learned what you would. Now go swiftly! . . . ill though my life was, you have brought death to me with your violence. The Incomers will avenge this night on all that were here. Rash are your deeds, son of Hurin, as if you were still but the child that I knew.’ ‘And faint heart is yours, Aerin Indor’s daughter, as it was when I called you aunt, and a rough dog frightened you,’ said Turin. ‘You were made for a kinder world.’ (UT, 108) But T urin’s haughtiness is not left as the last word. As he flees into the wintry land with some of the people he has made outcasts, he looks back to see that Brodda’s hall is on fire, and wonders why the Easterlings would do that. He is told that it is Aerin who has lit her own funeral pyre: “‘Many a man o f arms misreads patience and quiet. She did m uch good among us at much cost. Her heart was not faint, and patience will break at the last’” (UT, 109). There is a purpose in quoting this from the last sustained recension we have from Tolkien’s hand. The early version in “Turam bar” does not have this wholesale slaughter (only Brodda himself and one defender are killed) (II, 90-91), nor Aerin’s self-immolation (rather she gets her nephew safely away), nor faithful old Sador (instead it is a stranger who directs Turin to the hall), nor the detailed development of the homeland o f the family of Hurin. Tolkien has gradually added all o f that, the better to exemplify T urin’s pride and wrath, and honor, and their consequences.

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The story of Turin is replete with this musing of Tolkien on the pros and cons of the heroic ethos. A hero’s valiant deeds are never without hum an cost even when they also benefit people, and may not do even that if undertaken rashly and without thought. Turin becomes a leader of Elves or Men wherever his wanderings take him, for his worth is always recognized and he always labors hard for what he sees as the good of his people. But the same sort o f “overmaster­ ing pride” that Tolkien discerned in Beorhtnoth consistently overmasters Turin. It is pride that drives him into self-imposed exile rather than stand trial for his part in the death of Saeros; pride that keeps him an outlaw even when he is brought word of the royal pardon; pride that impels his aggressive visit to Brodda’s hall; pride that restrains him from returning to Doriath even when he learns that his m other and sister are being sheltered there; pride that makes him insist that the Elves of Nargothrond abandon their policy of stealth in favor of open and heroic warfare, and so expose their land as a target; pride that causes him to take against the Dragon only the few who volunteer immediately to accompany him, rather than aug­ m ent their num bers with any who had paused to consider. It is heroic to build a bridge over the Narog so that Elvish armies can march out against an evil enemy, but it also allows that enemy a means of access to the king­ dom of Nargothrond. In maintaining the bridge, against the counsel of Ulmo the Vala, he is rash in the way that Beorhtnoth was, perm itting two armies to join battle for the sake of honor when one is far stronger. (That bridge is another element that was not present in the narrative from the beginning, but was added as T urin’s character developed.) It is not just M orgoth’s curse that Turin has the bad luck to kill his best friend by acci­ dent while Beleg is trying to rescue him from Orcs, for Turin always tends to strike out recklessly. T urin’s story is Tolkien’s speculation on the limits of heroism, and how the mightiest hero, who achieves feats at which everyone marvels, nev­ ertheless needs hum ane values. It is a tragic story of almost unrelieved gloom. Yet it is well to note that M orgoth, the lord of this world that he may be, ultimately will not have his own way. In the earliest version of the story we have (and Tolkien seems never to have changed his mind about this), at Doomsday a redeemed Turin is fated to cast down Melko-MelkorM orgoth with his great sword: the Gods had mercy on their unhappy fate, so that those twain Turin and Niendri entered into Fos’Almir, the bath of flame, . .. and so were all their sorrows and stains washed away, and they dwelt as shining Valar among the blessed ones, and

TURIN’S OFERMOD

*45

now the love of that brother and sister is very fair; but Turambar indeed shall stand beside Fionwe in the Great Wrack, and Meiko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil. (II, 115-16) NOTES

Earlier versions of this essay were read to groups such as the Tolkien Society at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and those attending the Eighteenth Conference of the Mythopoeic Society at Marquette University in Milwaukee in July 1987. Whatever virtues it may have owe much to the comments of these audiences. 1. See The Lay of the Children of Hurin, first version, approximately lines 1268-1700; and commentary on this section by Christopher Tolkien in III, 89-90. WORKS CITED

Barnfield, Marie. “Turin Turambar and the Tale of the Fosterling.” Mallorn no. 31 (December 1994): 29-36. The Battle of Maldon. Edited by E. V. Gordon. London: Methuen, 1937. Bosworth, Joseph, and T. Northcote Toller, eds. An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary. 1898. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Elliott, Ralph W. V. “Byrhtnoth and Hildebrand: A Study in Heroic Technique.” In Studies in Old English Literature in Honor of Arthur G. Brodeur, edited by Stanley B. Greenfield, 53-70. Eugene: University of Oregon Books, 1963. Kalevala: The Land of Heroes. Compiled by Elias Lonnrot. 1849. Translated by W. F. Kirby. London: J. M. Dent & Sons, 1907. The Kalevala, or Poems o f the Kalevala District. Com piled by Elias Lonnrot. A Prose Translation with Foreword and Appendices by Francis Peabody Magoun, Jr. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1963. Shippey, T. A. “Boar and Badger: An Old English Heroic Antithesis?” In Sources and Relations: Studies in Honour o f J. E. Cross, edited by Marie Collins, Jocelyn Price, and Andrew Hamer, 220-39. Leeds Studies in English, new series, vol. 16.1985. --------- . The Road to Middle-Earth. Second edition. London: Grafton, 1992. Volsunga Saga: The Story of the Volsungs and Niblungs, translated by William Morris. 1870. With an introduction and glossary by Robert W. Gutman. New York: Collier Books, 1962.

DOUGLAS A. ANDERSON

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY

In making any criticism of The History o f Middle-earth, one must first of all acknowledge its tremendous debt to Christopher Tolkien. The decipher­ ing of his father’s hasty and near illegible drafts alone required an unusual patience and determination, as well as an insight and intuition that could only have come with an intimate familiarity with his father’s handwriting. Many of these manuscripts were written first in pencil and then in ink atop the pencilled draft. The true difficulty of reading such double drafts can be observed in the frontispiece to The War o f the Ring, which reproduces in color Tolkien’s illustration of “Shelob’s Lair” from a page of his m anu­ script. Looking very closely at the hasty ink draft alongside the illustration, one can see underneath it the earlier, hastier, pencilled draft. One can only marvel at the ability and skill required to decipher these texts. Christopher Tolkien’s devotion to his father’s works has been lifelong. Born in 1924, he was, along with his sister and two brothers, one of the original audience for whom The Hobbit (1937) was written. And during the long years of the composition of The Lord o f the Rings Christopher aided his father by making fair copies of certain chapters, by serving as the first critic for newly written chapters (some were sent serially to Christopher in South Africa when he was training for wartime service in the Royal Air Force), and by redrawing his father’s maps for the published volumes. Academically, Christopher is equally well qualified to edit his father’s works, for he studied Old English, Old Norse, Middle English, and the related languages and literatures that his father taught. The fact that Christopher himself is a medieval scholar, together with his intimacy with his father’s writings, makes him the ideal person to oversee the publication of his father’s papers. This bibliography does not pretend to completeness, and for the most part it lists only the first British and American editions of the books con­ tained therein. Other im portant articles and commentaries are included, as well as certain ephemera (maps, recordings, calendars, videos, and an interview). Quotations from letters have mostly been excluded.

248

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY

The aim of this list is to emphasize items that pertain to J. R. R. Tolkien and his works. Also, I hope to bring attention to the small body of works by Christopher Tolkien that are unrelated to his father’s writings. These are too little known, undeservedly neglected, and worth the effort of searching out. An earlier version o f this bibliography, together with a biographical sketch of Christopher Tolkien, appeared in the program booklet for the Eighteenth Conference of the Mythopoeic Society, held at M arquette Uni­ versity in July 1987. A revised version of the biographical sketch has been published in The Canadian C. S. Lewis Journal, no. 92 (Autumn 1997). 1954-55 The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien. Published in three volumes: The Fellowship of the Rings, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1954, 1954» 1955; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1954,1955,1956. Contains three maps drawn by Christopher Tolkien. A map of “A Part of the Shire” appears in volume one; an untitled foldout map of Middle­ earth is tipped in at the rear of volumes one and two; and an untitled foldout map of the Gondor area is tipped in at the rear of volume three. The map ‘A Part of the Shire* is initialed “C. T.” the foldout maps are initialed “C. J. R. T .” (the J stands for John, a confirmation name not normally used by Christopher Reuel Tolkien). A revised version of the untitled map of Middle-earth (titled “The West of Middle-earth at the End of the Third Age”) appeared as a foldout map tipped in at the end of Unfinished Tales (1980), and this revised map has also been used in some subsequent editions of The Lord of the Rings. 1955-56 “The Battle of the Goths and the Huns” by Christopher Tolkien. SagaBook (University College, London, for the Viking Society for Northern Research), 14, pt. 3 (1955-56), pp. [ 141]-63. An article that discusses the possible historical elements in the Old Norse poem called in English ’The Battle of the Goths and the Huns,’ upon which the conclusion of the Hervarar Saga is based. 1956

Hervarar Saga ok HeiSreks, edited by [E. O.] G. Turville-Petre. London: University College, for the Viking Society for Northern Research, 1956. This edition of the Hervarar Saga (in Old Norse) contains an intro­ duction by Christopher Tolkien.

1958

The Pardoner's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. Edited by Nevill Coghill and Christopher Tolkien. London: George G. Harrap, 1958.

1959

The Nun's Priest's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. Edited by Nevill Coghill and Christopher Tolkien. London: George G. Harrap, 1959.

i960

The Saga of King Heidrek the Wise. Edited and translated by Christopher Tolkien. London: Thomas Nelson & Sons, i960.

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY

249

1969

The Man of Law's Tale by Geoffrey Chaucer. Edited by Nevill Coghill and Christopher Tolkien. London: George G. Harrap, 1969.

1975

A Tolkien Compass. Edited by Jared Lobdell. La Salle» Ill.: Open Court, 1975. Contains “Guide to Names in The Lord o f the Rings” by J. R. R. Tolkien, edited and revised for publication by Christopher Tolkien. Sir Gawain and the Green Knight» Pearl» and Sir Orfeo» translated by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1975; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1975.

1976

The Lord of the Rings 1977 Calendar. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1976. Contains ‘Notes on the Pictures* by Christopher Tolkien.

1977

The Silmarillion Calendar 1978. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1977. Contains ‘Notes on the Pictures’ by Christopher Tolkien. The Silmarillion by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1977; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. The Silmarillion by J. R. R. Tolkien: A Brief Account o f the Book and Its Making by Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1977. A pamphlet on The Silmarillion» written to order for the book’s Amer­ ican publisher for distribution to the book trade. It has been reprinted in Mallorn (journal of The Tolkien Society), no. 14 (1980), pp. 3-8. “The Filial Duty of Christopher Tolkien” by William Cater. The Sunday Times Magazine (London), 25 September 1977. An interview with Christopher Tolkien that reveals some of the diffi­ culties faced while preparing The Silmarillion for publication. O f Beren and Luthien. Read by Christopher Tolkien. New York: Caed­ mon Records TC1564,1977. A recording of C hristopher Tolkien reading a chapter from The Silmarillion. Also contains liner notes by Christopher Tolkien.

1978

O f the Darkening o f Valinor and O f the Flight o f the Noldor. Read by Christopher Tolkien. New York: Caedmon Records TC1579,1978. A recording o f Christopher Tolkien reading two chapters from The Silmarillion. Also contains liner notes by Christopher Tolkien. /. R. R. Tolkien Calendar 1979. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1978. Contains “Notes on the Pictures” by Christopher Tolkien.

1979

Pictures by J. R. R. Tolkien. Foreword and notes by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1979; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1979. Revised edition: London: H arperC ollins, 1992; Boston: H oughton Mifflin, 1992.

1980

Unfinished Tales o f Numenor and Middle-earth by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1980; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1980.

250

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY

1981

Letters o f J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Hum phrey C arpenter with the assistance of Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1981; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1981.

1982

“The Tengwar Numerals.” Quettar (bulletin of the Linguistic Fellowship of The Tolkien Society), no. 13 (February 1982), pp. 8-9. Calligraphically drawn by “CRT after JRRT,” dated 16 May 1981. Christopher Tolkien’s explanation of the Tengwar numerals devised by J. R. R. Tolkien. [Untitled further information on the Tengwar numeral systems]. Quettar, no. 14 (May 1982), pp. 6-7. Calligraphically drawn by ‘CRT after JRRT’, dated 10 March 1982.

1983

The Monsters and the Critics and Other Essays by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984. “. . . Future Publishing” by Christopher Tolkien. Amon Hen (bulletin of The Tolkien Society), no. 63 (August 1983), p. 4. This statement of Christopher Tolkien’s plans for publishing his father’s works is substantially taken from a typed statement by Christopher Tolkien distributed to the attendants of the Tolkien Conference held at Marquette University in September 1983. The Book of Lost Tales, Part One by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christo­ pher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1983; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984. Volume I of The History of Middle-earth.

1984

The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1984; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1984. Volume II of The History of Middle-earth. ‘“Moria Gate’ . . . Another Look” by Christopher Tolkien. Amon Hen, no. 70 (November 1984), p. 3. A correction of a mistaken statement made in the notes that accom­ pany the reproductions of J. R. R. Tolkien’s drawing of Moria Gate in Pictures by J. R. R. Tolkien (nos. 22, 24).

1985

The Lays of Beleriand by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1985; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1985. Volume III of The History of Middle-earth.

1986

“Notes on the Differences in Editions of The Hobbit Cited by Mr. David Cofield” by Christopher Tolkien. Beyond Bree (newsletter of the American Mensa Tolkien Special Interest Group), July 1986, pp. 1-3. A comment by Christopher Tolkien on an article, “Changes in Hobbits: Textual Differences in Editions of The Hobbit,” by David Cofield, Beyond Bree, April 1986, pp. 3-4.

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY

251

The Shaping o f Middle-earth: The Quenta, the Ambarkanta and the Annals by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by C hristopher Tolkien. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1986; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1986. Volume IV of The History of Middle-earth. 1987

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman, 1987; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987. This special fiftieth anniversary edition o f The Hobbit contains a foreword by Christopher Tolkien. The Lost Road and Other Writings by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christo­ pher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman, 1987; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987. Volume V of The History o f Middle-earth.

1988

Tree and Leaf Including the Poem Mythopoeia by J. R. R. T olkien. London: Unwin Hyman, 1988; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989. Contains an introduction by Christopher Tolkien. The Return o f the Shadow by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman, 1988; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1988. Volume VI of The History of Middle-earth (part one of “The History of The Lord of the Rings'1).

1989

The Treason o f Isengard by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by C hristopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hym an, 1989; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1989. Volume VII of The History of Middle-earth (part two of “The History of The Lord of the Rings").

1990

The War of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: Unwin Hyman, 1990; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1990. Volum e VIII of The H istory o f Middle-earth (part three o f “The History of The Lord of the Rings").

1992

The Homecoming ofBeorhtnoth by J. R. R. Tolkien. Read by J. R. R. Tolkien and Christopher Tolkien. London: Grafton, 1992. A cassette tape of J. R. R. Tolkien perform ing his verse play “The Homecoming ofBeorhtnoth Beorhthelm’s Son,” and with Christopher Tolkien reading the introductory and concluding essays. Distributed only to the attendants of the Tolkien Centenary Conference, held at Keble College, Oxford, in August 1992. /. R. R. T.: A Portrait of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien 1892-1973 (Landseer Productions, 1992). This one-hour film docum entary contains many sections extracted from a filmed interview with Christopher Tolkien. In 1996, a longer version (approxim ately n o m inutes), containing much additional

252

CHRISTOPHER TOLKIEN: A BIBLIOGRAPHY footage of Christopher Tolkien, was released as a videocassette under the title /. R. R. T.: A Film Portrait of J. R. R. Tolkien. Sauron Defeated: The End of the Third Age, The Notion Club Papers and The Drowning of Anadftne by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 1992; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1992. Volume IX of The History of Middle-earth (including part four of “The History of The Lord o f the Rings”).

1993

Morgoth's Ring: The Later Silmarillion, Part One by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 1993; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1993. Volume X of The History of Middle-earth.

>994

The War o f the Jewels: The Later Silmarillion, Part Two by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 1994; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1994. Volume XI of The History of Middle-earth.

1996

The Peoples of Middle-earth by J. R. R. Tolkien. Edited by Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 1996; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1996. Volume XII of The History of Middle-earth.

SUGGESTED FURTHER READING

For those interested in further exploring the background, both literary and biographical, of The History of Middle-earth, we offer, in addition to the works listed under “Conventions and Abbreviations’" at the front of this book, the following select list of works that deal with Tolkien’s life and scholarship, and with his “Silmarillion” mythology. Anderson, Douglas. “J. R. R. Tolkien, The History o f The Lord of the Rings” [book review]. In Arda 1988-1991, edited by Anders Stenstrom, 128-33. Uppsala, Sweden: The Arda-Society, 1994. Carpenter, Humphrey. The Inklings. London: George Allen 8c Unwin, 1978. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1979. Flieger, Verlyn. Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien's World. Grand Rapids, Mich.: William B. Eerdmans, 1983. --------- . A Question of Time: J. R. R. Tolkien's Road to Faerie. Kent, Ohio: Kent State University Press, 1997. Fonstad, Karen Wynn. The Atlas of Middle-earth. Revised edition. Boston: Hough­ ton Mifflin, 1991. Hammond, Wayne G., with the assistance of Douglas A. Anderson. J. R. R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography. Winchester: St. Paul’s Bibliographies; New Castle, Del.: Oak Knoll Books, 1993. Hammond, Wayne G., and Christina Scull. “The History of Middle-earth" Review Article. VII: An Anglo-American Literary Review vol. 12 (1995): 105-10. --------- . J. R. R. Tolkien: Artist and Illustrator. London: HarperCollins; Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1995. Priestman, Judith. J. R. R. Tolkien: Life and Legend. Catalogue of an Exhibition to Com memorate the Centenary of the Birth of J. R. R. Tolkien. Oxford: Bodleian Library, [1992]. Proceedings of the J. R. R. Tolkien Centenary Conference. Edited by Patricia Reynolds and Glen H. GoodKnight. Milton Keynes: The Tolkien Society; Altadena, Calif.: The Mythopoeic Press, 1995. Scholarship & Fantasy. Proceedings of The Tolkien Phenomenon. Edited by K. J. Battarbee. Anglicana Turkuensia No. 12. Turku: University of Turku, 1993. Shippey, T. A. The Road to Middle-Earth. Second edition. London: Grafton, 1992.

254

SUGGESTED FURTHER READING

Tolkien, J. R. R. Qenyqetsa: The Qenya Phonology and Lexicon. Edited by Christo­ pher Gilson, Carl F. Hostetter, Arden R. Smith, and Patrick Wynne. Parma Eldalamberon, no. 12. Walnut Creek, Calif.: 1998. ----------. “From Quendi and Eldar, Appendix D .” Edited by Carl F. Hostetter. Vinyar Tengwar 39 (July 1998): 4-20. ----------. “ôsanwe-kenta: Enquiry into the Communication of Thought.” Edited by Carl F. Hostetter. Vinyar Tengwar & (July 1998): 21-34. Tolkien, John, and Priscilla Tolkien. The Tolkien Family Album. Boston: Hough­ ton Mifflin, 1992.

INDEX

Note on Spelling and Usage The spelling of names, and even their significance, often changed as the legendarium developed. The name Luthany became Luthien and then Leithien— all referring to the island of Britain—before the middle term, Luthien. finally became the name of Thingol’s daughter and the last term, with a slight change in spelling, became Leithian. the title of her story. Less drastic shifts altered Qenya to Quenya. Qenta to Quenta. Earendel to Earendel to Edrendil. and varied the placement of diacriti­ cal marks. With the exception of Melko/Melkor/Morgoth, all of whose names are indexed separately below, no effort has been made to cite each individual form of a word by page number. Entries list the latest (usually the most familiar) form of a word or name, followed on the same line by any earlier forms. Special problems arise with some titles. Our practice throughout the essays in this text has been to italicize as The Silmarillion the title of the individual volume published in 1977, and to enclose in quotation marks as “The Silmarillion” the general rubric applied collectively to all the mythological texts. In general, the index reflects this practice. However, Tolkien himself often underlined or itali­ cized the general title in his letters and papers, and used it to refer to both the Quenta Silmarillion and the mythology as a whole. In direct quotations from Tolkien’s papers, Christopher Tolkien has followed his father’s practice. In the present text, where the title is given in italics but the reference is plainly to the whole mythology rather than the 1977 volume, we have for clarity’s sake chosen to index the title as “The Silmarillion.” Titles for the story of the children of Hurin present an even more complicated situation. The story exists in a poetic version, the alliterative Lay of the Children of Hurin. and also in a prose version usually referred to as the Narn. The Sindarin word narn. however, refers to a tale properly in verse form, and so the Narn is the title of a (presumed) poem in Elvish of which (apparently) no copy exists. The prose Children of Hurin is actually meant as the English “translation” of the non­ existent Narn i Chin Hurin (“The Tale of the Children of Hurin”). Tolkien’s own references to the story are often so general that it is difficult to ascertain which version is meant. The alliterative Lay is cited under “Tolkien, I. R. R., POEMS.” References to both The Children of Hurin and the Narn (in translation) are cited separately under “Tolkien, I. R. R., TALES IN THE MYTHOLOGY.” Finally, it should be noted that, for reason of conciseness, the many instances of names and other forms from Tolkien’s invented languages cited solely for the purpose of etymological or grammatical discussion (chiefly, in the essays forming Part II: The Languages) have not been included in this index.

256

INDEX

Abrams» M. H.» 159 /tlfwine, 39, 40, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 51,52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 60, 63, 64, 65,67,68, 120, 136 n.14, 197 n.l, 216 n.8; as/Elfwine Widläst, 191; as Alboin 185, 191, 192, 194; as “frame narrator” or mediator, 185, 186, 189, 190, 192-93, 195; as Lowdham, 191-92; meaning of name, 183, 185, 203, 205; minstrelsy of, 126-29; Tolkien as, 197. See also Book of Stories; Eriol; Errol, Alboin; Lowdham, Arundel; Tolkien, J. R. R., OTHER TEXTS ON THE MYTHOLOGY, “Aelfwine and Dirhaval” Aerin, 243 Ainur, 16, 229 Alf, 195 Allen & Unwin, 21, 50, 106, 108, 169, 181 n.6, 204-206, 216 n.9 Alliteration: in Elvish verse, 120-24, 130, 132; in Old English, 120-32, 144; in Tolkien's English poetry, 41, 144-45, 146—47, 155, 156. See also FornyrÖislag', Minlamad thent I estent Alphabet of Dairon, 107-108. See also Angerthas Aman, 27, 57, 158, 190. See also Valinor Amroth, 114 Anderson, Douglas A., 139 n.33; The Annotated Hobbit, 49, 162 Andreth, 77 Aneirin, The Gododdin, 185 Angband, 225, 242 Angerthas, 106-109, 110 n.5. See also Certhas/cirth; Runes Anglo-Saxon:/Elfwine as, 120, 190-92; An Anglo-Saxon Dictionary, 235; The Battle of Maldon, 233, 234; England, 77, 106, 205; heroic code, 236, 243; poetic style, 73, 126-27, 129-30, 138nn.25, 27, 29,31; 191,235; runes, 106-107; Sweet's Anglo-Saxon

Reader, 137-38 n.24. See also Old English; Runes Ann-thennath, 113, 114-21, 122, 131-32, 134-35 n.9; meaning of, 115 Aragorn, 20, 88, 131, 184. See also Elessar; Strider Arda, 14, 15, 20, 54, 58, 59, 62, 76, 225; fate of, 12, 13, 15 Ärie, 59 Amor, 215 Asgard, 220, 223 Assonance, 144, 147, 153, 155 Atani, 63, 66. See also Edain Atlantis, 45, 46, 51,67, 80, 155, 199, 202, 203,215,237 Auden, W. H., 143, 146, 237, 241 Aule, 45 Baggins, Bilbo, 21, 22, 49, 55, 62, 65, 68, 76, 88, 106, 114, 162, 163-64, 165-66, 167-68, 171-75, 177, 178, 180; as Elf-friend, 184, 194, 195; in LotR, 162-66, 167-68, 171-77, 179; memoirs, 172, 173, 174, 185, 193. See also Red Book of Westmarch; “Translations from the Elvish” Baggins, Bingo, 84, 174, 176 Baggins, Frodo, 21,60, 64, 65, 68, 85» 101, 177, 231 n.2; as Elf-friend, 183-84, 185, 189, 193, 194, 195; name changed to, 85 Balin, 85, 162, 171 Balrog, 221 B ard ,162,179 Barfield, Owen, 200, 208, 217 nn.14, 16 Barnfield, Marie, 238, 239 Battle of Five Armies, 168, 179 Battle of Maldon, The, 127, 130, 233, 235, 236 Beare, Rhona, 25, 107,229 Belaurin, 12 Beleg, 239, 241,244 Beleriand, 33, 42, 43, 46, 48, 49, 54, 55, 56, 57,63, 64, 67, 95, 97, 106, 108, 193, 205. See also Annals of

INDEX Belenand and Grey Annals under Tolkien, J. R. R„ ANNALS Beör, 17 Beorhtnoth, 233-36, 244, See also The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth under Tolkien, J. R. R., SCHOLARLY WORKS Beorhtwold, 234 Beorn, 179 Beornings, 23 Beowulf 32, 34, 37, 78, 89, 123, 126-27, 207, 225, 235-36, 239-40; and The Finnsburg Fragment, 136 n. 15 Beren, 10-11, 12, 14, 16, 18 n.4, 24, 40, 41,48» 49, 54, 55, 66, 73-74, 77, 88, 151, 184,225 Black Gate, 85 Black Riders, 215. See also Nazgül Bliss, Alan J., 130, 138 n.25. See also Tolkien, J. R. R.» SCHOLARLY WORKS Blue Mountains, 107 Bombadil, Tom, 28, 184 Book of Aneirin, The, 185, 193 Book of Stories, 51, 193 Booth, Wayne, 61, 162, 181 n.l Bran, 80 Brandybuck, Meriadoc (Merry), 85 Branston, Brian, 231 n.l Bratman, David, 87 Bree, 20, 86,215 Brendan, St., 80, 152. See also The Death of St. Brendan and Imram under Tolkien, J. R. R., POEMS Bretherton, Christopher, 178, 181 n.7, 237 Britain/England, in Tolkien's mythol­ ogy, 38- 40, 41-42, 49, 55, 63, 64, 68, 76, 77, 189, 191, 192. See also Leithien/Lüthien/Luthany Brodda, 243, 244 Brooks, Terry, 88 Brunsdale, Mitzi M., 222 Burgon, John William, 145 Carcharoth (Karkaras), 11,227 Carpenter, Humphrey: Biography, 8-9,

257

18 n.l, 19, 37, 166-67; The Inklings, 82, 201; Letters, 236 Castell, Daphne, 29 n.l Cater, William, 29 n.l Certhas/cirth, 100, 105-110, 110 n.5. See also Angerthas, Runes Chaucer, Geoffrey: The Clerk's Tale, 150; Sir Thopas, 117; The Wife of Bath's Tale, 148, 157. Clouston, Erlend, 216 n.2 Coghill, Nevill, 201 Cole, Nancy H., 216 n.2 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, “Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” 153, 159 Cosmology, revisions to, 15, 16, 42, 51, 52, 53, 54, 57, 59. 62, 63, 64, 66, 67. See also Ambarkanta under Tolkien, J. R. R., TALES IN T H E M Y TH O L O G Y ; Dome of Varda; Flat World; Round World; Stars Council of Elrond, 77, 85, 184 Cracks of Doom, 85 Crankshaw, Edward, 3, 4 Crist, 35 CüChulainn, 238 Dagnall» Susan, 3, 205, 216 n.l 1» 217 n.12 Dagor Dagorath, 228. See also Last/ Great Battle Daeron/Dairon, 106, 149 Dark Tower, 210 Dasent, George, 71 Dent, J. M.» 204, 206 Dirhaval, 120; meaning of name, 135 n. 12. See also “/tlfwine and Dirhaval” under Tolkien, J. R. R., O T H E R TEXTS ON T H E M Y TH O L O G Y

Dome of Varda, 57, 59. See also Cosmology; Stars; Varda Doriath, 17, 48, 110, 242, 243. 244; runes of, 108, 109 Dor-lömin, 242, 243 Draugluin, 227 Dünedain, 131. See also Edain

258

INDEX

Dünedanic or mixed Elvish & Nümenörean tradition (of myth)» 50, 57, 60,61 Dunne, J. W., An Experiment With Time, 217 n.17 Dürin, 195 Dwarves, 9, 23, 49, 177; in The Hobbit, 165, 170, 178, 179, 220; runic alpha­ bet of, 106, 107, 110n.4 Eä/Ea, 53, 54, 59 Eadwine, 45 Eagles, 60, 192, 193, 219, 220-26 pas­ sim, 231 Eärendil/Eärendel, 9, 11, 12, 16, 17, 18, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 41,42, 43,48, 55, 66, 88, 189, 195 Edain, 110, 131. See also Atani; Dünedain; Men Eddison, E. R., The Worm Ouroboros, 4 Eglamar, 36, 41 Elbereth, 15, 114. See also Varda Eldar/Eldalie, 13, 42, 47, 48, 58, 60, 62, 95, 202 Eldarin, of race, 63 Eldarion, 56, 77 Elder Days, 3, 4, 31, 40, 56, 57, 61,62, 65, 69, 70, 71,74, 75, 77, 78, 80, 81, 89, 178, 226 Elendil, 45,61, 185, 191, 192, 193, 205, 216 n.8. See also /Elfwine; Errol, Alboin; Lowdham, Arundel Elessar, 20, 56. See also Aragorn; Strider Elfin, 95. See also Quenya/Qenya under Tolkien, J. R. R., LANGUAGES Elf-latin. See Eressean under Tolkien, J. R. R., LANGUAGES Eliot, C. N. E., 33, 47 Elizabeth II, 56 Elliott, Ralph V., 236 Elrond, 61, 184 Elvenhome, 191. See also Valinor Elves, 9, 12-13, 14, 16, 17,36, 39,40, 41,42, 43,45,46, 47, 48, 49, 52, 53, 54, 56, 57, 58, 59, 63, 64, 67, 68,

73, 75-76, 77, 81, 88, 97, 131, 157, 183, 186, 189, 197, 203, 216 n.7, 226, 239, 242, 244; in The Hobbit, 165; in LotR, 171, 194; runes of, 109. See also Fading Elvish languages. See Tolkien, J. R. R., LANGUAGES

Elvish tradition (of myth), 50, 51, 52, 54, 57,60, 62, 64, 75 Elwing, 11, 12, 13, 16 England. See Britain Ent and Entwife, song of, 114 Ents, 60, 114 Eöl, 239 Eregion, 106 Eressea. See Tol Eressea Eriol, 38, 39, 42, 43, 47, 63, 185; as Angol, 186; as Wsefre, 186; 187, 188, 189; Eriol-/£lfwine, 190, 191, 195, 197 n.l; 216 n.8, 224 Errol, Alboin, 44, 81, 82, 185, 191, 192, 194, 216 n.8; meaning of name, 203. See also >£lfwine Errol, Audoin, 44, 205 Errol, Oswin, 44, 191, 205 Eru, 9, 15, 58, 229; as God, 202. See also Iluvatar Fading, of elves, 67, 203, 216 n.7 Faerie/Faery, 21, 35, 36, 185, 189, 195, 196, 197, 197 n.2 Fäfnir, 34, 239 Fall of Gondolin (event), 47, 48, 225 Fall of Nümenor (event), 15, 46, 50, 55 Faring Forth, 39, 42, 63 Farrer, Katherine, 26, 106 Feanor, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15,31,43, 56, 63, 76 Fenrir, 223, 227 Fingolfin, 56, 225 Fingon, 225 Finn Mac Cumail, 238 Finnish, 33, 34, 236, 237. 238, 239 Finrod, 77 Finwe, 57, 58, 75-76

INDEX

259

Gollum, 21, 85; in The Hobbit, 163, Fionwè, 41, 227, 245; as Eônwè, 228 165, 168 First Age, 8, 9, 29 n.5, 31, 54, 58, 59, 63, Gondolin, 17, 18, 47, 48, 55, 61, 190, 64,69, 70, 101,237, 240, 241 225 Fiat World/Earth, 26, 27, 42, 46, 50, 51, Gondor, 23, 24, 55, 60, 61,68 n.3, 100, 52, 57, 59, 62, 63, 65, 67, 76 215, 222, 248 Flieger, Verlyn, 68 n.2, 90 n.5, 217 Gordon, E. V., 123, 137 n.23, 137-38 n.l 5, 222 n.24. See also Songs for the Fonstad, Karen Wynn, 44 Philologists Fornyrõtslag, 137 n.21, 138 n.27 Great War (WWI), 4, 31, 34 Fourth Age, 64 Green, Roger Lancelyn, 207, 216 n.l, Frankley, Philip, 50, 82, 83, 153, 154 217 n.21 Freki (Odin’s wolf)» 227 Green, William H., 221, 222 Furth, Charles, 169, 170, 171, 181 n.6; Greeves, Arthur, 201 2 1 6 n .ll Grendel, 210, 235 Fufark, 105-110. See also Runes Grey-elves, 95 Grima. See Worm tongue Galadriel, 17, 24, 62 Guildford, Nicholas, 82-83 Gamelyn, 238 Gwendeling, 73 Gamgee, Gaffer (Ham), 175, 177, 194 Gamgee, Samwise, 85» 88, 101, 231 n.2; Hador, 184 as Elf-friend, 194, 195 Haldir, 184 Gandalf, 22, 23, 85, 86, 194, 195, 215, Hammond, Wayne G., 23,35, 36, 137 220-31, 231 nn.2, 3; in The Hobbit, n.23, 138 n.30 163, 165, 167, 170, 177, 180; as Manwè, 228-29; as Olórin, 227, 228 Harad, 23 Havard, R. E., 208 Gangleri, 186, 187, 188, 189, 195 Heinlein, Robert E., 90 n.2 Geri (Odin’s wolf), 227 Helm’s Deep, 9 Gildor, 183, 184, 189 Herendil, 45, 205 Gilraen, 131. See also Linnod HliÖskjälf, 224 Gilson, Christopher, 135 n.10 Hobbits, 21, 55, 67-68, 71, 75, 76, 84, Gilson, Robert Q., 36, 37 85,86; 114, 164, 165, 169, 171-75 Gimli, 9, 195 passim, 177, 194,215, 230 Girdle of Melian, 17, 242 Hooper, Walter, 199, 200,206, 207, Glaurung, 240, 243 210, 211, 216 n.l, 217 nn.18, 21; 218 Glorfindel, 25, 62 n.24 Gnomes, 3, 11, 41,42,47, 95, 97, 186, Huan, 73, 226 187, 213. See also Noldor “Gnomes Material,“ 3 Huginn (Odin’s raven), 223 Goblins, 49, 85, 163, 166, 168, 171, 179 Huor, 17,225 Hürin, 17, 26, 42, 54, 55, 60, 184, 225, Gods, 11, 12, 16, 40,45,46, 59, 239, 241—43,244 186, 187, 203, 226, 227, 244; Norse, 219-26, 231 n. 1. See also Valar Idril, 17, 203 Goldberry, 184 Ilmarinen, 237 Golden Book, 48

160

INDEX

Ilüvatar, 9, 14, 43, 51, 59, 187, 229. See also Eru Ing/Ingwe, 39-40 Ingwaiwar, 39, 40 Inklings, 82, 88, 201,204, 207, 208, 211,213,214 Isengard, 82, 85 Islari, 58, 230. See also Wizards Jeremy, Wilfrid Trewin, 50, 192, 208. See also Reincarnation; Treowine; Voronwe Juniper Tree, The, 34 Kafka, Franz, 90 n.2 Kalervo, 237 Kalevala, 33, 34, 37, 236, 237-39, 240 Kay, Guy Gavriel, 89-90 n.2 Kilby, Clyde, 60 Kirby, W. H.» trans, of Kalevala, 33, 34, 237 Kör, 16, 36, 145 Kullervo, 34-38, 236-39, 240, 242 Langland» William, Piers Plowman, 150 Language/linguistics, 9, 20, 25, 26, 33» 34» 35» 37, 39, 40, 57, 59, 60, 62, 81, 86, 89, 89 n.l, 90 n.3, 95-139, 157, 163, 179, 183, 194,212,219, 233, 236,237 Languages, invented. See under Tolkien, J. R. R., LANGUAGES Last/Great Battle, 12, 42, 43» 45» 48, 54, 55, 128, 226 Laurelin, 10, 18 n.3. See also Two Trees Legolas, 9, 184; Elvish forms of name, 98-99; song of Nimrodel, 114, 195 Leithien/Lüthien/Luthany (as Britain), 39, 40, 42, 43, 49, 54, 55, 63, 64, 189. See also Britain/England Lewis, C. S., 18 n.l, 78-79, 81, 88, 156, 157, 158, 181 n.7, 199-218; bargain with Tolkien, 44, 199, 200, 202, 204, 215; borrows from Tolkien, 203» 216 n.8; commentary on Tolkien’s Lay of

Leithian, 216 n.5; as Frankley in The Notion Club Papers, 82-83» 153-54; influenced by Lindsay, Williams, 210, 202; plans story on descendants of Seth and Cain, 207, 209-10; and Sehnsucht, 158 -€> BOOKS:

The Allegory of Love, 200; Christian Behaviour, 158; Dymer, 200; The Great Divorce, 215; Letters of C. S. Lewis, 199; The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, 214, 217 n.21; The Magician's Nephew, 211; Narrative Poems, 216 n.4; Out of the Silent Planet, 44, 81, 82-83,199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 206, 208, 209, 210, 211; Perelandra, 157, 199, 202, 203, 206, 207,208, 209,210,211,212,217 n.20; The Pilgrim's Regress, 158, 202, 206; The Screwtape Letters, 156» 210» 212,215; “The Space Trilogy,” 81, 215; Spirits in Bondage, 200; Surprised by Joy, 158» 217 n.21; That Hideous Strength, 199, 203, 206, 207, 208, 210, 211,212, 214, 217 n.20; They Stand Together: The Letters of C. S. Lewis to Arthur Greeves, 199, 200; The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, 154 *€> POEMS:

“Lancelot,” 200; “The Nameless Isle,” 200; “The Queen of Drum ,” 200; “The Trumpets of Fairie” (unpublished collection), 216 n.3 STORIES:

“Boxen,” 200; The Dark Tower, 199-218; “The Man Born Blind,” 200; “The Weight of Glory,” 158 Lewis, Major Warren, Brothers and Friends, 199, 213 Limpe, 39,63 Lindsay, David, influence on C. S. Lewis, 201,202, 204,214 Linnod, 113, 114, 117, 118, 131-32,

INDEX 133, 134 n.7, 138-39 n.32; meaning of, 131 Lobdell, Jared, 249 Loki, 226, 230 Lonely Isle, 40, 42, 76, 189, 191. See also Tol Eressea Loremasters, Eldarin/Elvish, 27,60,67, 75. See also PengoloÖ Lowdham, Alwin Arundel, 35, 82, 129, 185, 191, 192, 194, 195, 208. See also /Elfwine; Reincarnation Lowdham, Edwin, 185, 191, 195 Lucifer, 202, 226, 235 Lüthien (ThingoLs daughter), 10, 12, 16, 17, 18 n.4, 40, 41, 48, 54, 55, 66, 88, 151, 225. See also Tinüviel Mahlung, 242 MacDonald, George, 201, 214 MacPhee, 210, 212, 215, 217 n.14; spelling of name, 217 n.20 Maglor, 12 Maedhros/Maidros, 12, 225 Malacandra, 211, 216 n.7 Maldon, 233 Mallorn, 23 Mandos, 15, 43; Prophecy of, 59 Mannish tradition (of myth), 50, 57, 59, 60,61,62, 63,65, 75,81 Manwe, 13, 16, 25. 54, 219, 224-26, 227, 228, 229 Marshall, Jeremy, 29 n.8 Master Cook, The, 185, 195 Mathew, Gervase, 211, 214 “Matter of Middle-earth,” 3, 7, 21, 215. See also Middle-earth; “The Silmarillion” Melian, 17, 242 Meiko, 9, 10, 11, 95, 229, 244-45. See also Morgoth Melkor, 9, 51, 54, 59, 228, 229, 244. See also Morgoth Men, 9, 12, 14, 16, 17, 18, 43, 45, 47, 50, 52, 53, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60,63,64,

261

68, 77, 81, 107, 189, 203, 226, 230, 239, 244 Merlin, 222, 238 Michelangelo, 9 Middle English, 123, 144, 150, 235, 247 Middle-earth, 3, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 13, 16, 17, 19, 20,21,24, 25, 32, 95, 114, 143, 183, 190, 191, 192, 195, 216 n.7, 219, 221,227, 229, 231,236; maps of, 248; in Norse myth 220, 221; runic scripts in, 107 Mim,61,241 Minlamad thent / estent, 113, 115, 118, 120-25, 130, 131, 132,135-36, 138; meaning of, 122 Miriel, 57, 58, 75-76 Mitchell, Bruce, 127, 138 nn.28, 29 Mordor, 46, 85, 230 Morgoth, 9» 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 41, 42, 44, 45, 46, 57, 64, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 230, 242, 244 Moria, 85, 101, 114, 134 n.l Morris, William, 34, 38, 73, 201, 236» 237, 240; The Earthly Paradise as influence on Tolkien, 38 Muninn (Odin’s raven), 223 Music of the Ainur, 9, 17, 43, 187. See also Ainulindalë under Tolkien, J. R. R.» TALES IN THE MYTHOLOGY Mythopoeic Conference: in 1987, 18» 29 n.6, 245, 248; in 1989, 89, 89-90 n.2 Mythprint, 89 Nargothrond, 77,146, 239, 241, 243, 244 Nam (literary form), 124, 125, 135-36 n.14 Narog, 244 Nazgûl, 223, 231 n.2 Necromancer, 23» 170, 221, 222, 227. See also Sauron Nesbit, E., influence on Lewis, 214 Nienéri, 244

262

INDEX

Niggle, 20, 230 Niniel, 54; meaning of, 96 Noad, Charles E., 89 n.2 Noel, Ruth S., 222 Noldor/Noldoli, 9, 10, 42, 57, 62, 95, 106, 225 Northey, A. P., 231 n.3 Notion Club, 51, 82, 192, 208. See also The Notion Club Papers under Tolkien, J. R. R., TALES IN THE MYTHOLOGY

N um enor, 15, 40, 45, 46, 50, 51, 54, 55, 57, 60, 61, 62,63, 64, 67, 69, 70, 80, 81, 82, 191, 192, 193, 203, 205» 207, 214,215» 225, 228 O din, 219» 220-31 Odo, 18, 176 Old English, 38, 40, 43, 48, 89 n .l, 105, 107, 108, 110 nn.2, 4; 120, 186, 203» 225, 233, 234, 247; poetry 35, 40, 120-30» 132» 137 nn.21, 23; 138 nn.25, 27» 29; 144, 146» 233, 234. See also Alliteration; Anglo-Saxon Orcs, 61, 77, 85, 222,223,244 Orfieu, Dr., 208, 210 O rodreth, 239 Osse, 45 Oyarsa/Oryeresu, 202, 211 Pearl, 32, 34, 37, 79, 249 Pengolob/Pengolodh/Pengolod» 43» 44» 46, 47, 48, 51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 60 ,6 1 ,6 4 , 65, 67, 70, 190 Percival, Sir, 238 Peredur, 238 Perelandra, 211 Poe, Edgar Allan, 145 Poetic Edda, The, 35, 37, 137 n.21, 138 n.27; names from, 220 Pope, John C., 125, 126, 128» 138 n.27 “Pot o f Soup,” 219, 233, 240. See also On Fairy-Stories under Tolkien, J. R. R., SCHOLARLY WORKS Priestman, Judith, 33

Proceedings o f the British Academy, 137 n.23. See also Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics under Tolkien, J. R. R., SCHOLARLY WORKS Queen of Faery, 196 Quendi, 16, 61. See also Elves Q uennar Onötimo, 44, 53, 56 Ragnarök, 221,223,227 Ramer, Michael George, 67, 183, 208, 216 n.5 Ransom, Elwin, 203, 207, 209» 210, 211» 214» 216 n.8, 217 n.14; meaning o f name» 203 Rateliff, John D.» 29 n.2 Realities, 90 n.4 Red Book of Hergest, The, 193 Red Book of Westmarch» 22, 32, 55, 6 0 ,6 1 ,6 5 ,6 8 , 172, 193, 195. See also Bilbo, memoirs; “Translations from the Elvish” Reincarnation, 45» 63, 192. See also /fclfwine; Elendil; Jeremy, Wilfrid Trewin; Lowdham, Arundel; Tr£owine; Voronwe Reynolds, R.W., 41 Ring, The (One), 19, 20, 21, 22, 24» 25» 171» 174, 175, 184, 222; in The Hobbit, 163 Rings o f Power, 24, 55 Rivendell/Imladris, 55, 61,62, 65, 84, 114» 131, 171, 176, 195 Roäc son of Care, 223 Rohan, 24 Round W orld/Earth, 15» 26» 45» 46, 50, 51, 52, 57. 59, 62, 63, 64, 67, 76, 81 Rurnil, 39, 43, 44» 46, 48» 51,52, 53, 54» 68 n.l» 95» 190 Runes, 22, 102, 105-111 passim, 222; in The Hobbit, 106, 107; in LotR, 106, 107, 108. See also Angerthas', Certhas/ cirth; Fu^ark', Skirditaila Russom, Geoffrey, 134 Ryan, J. S., 220, 221,222

INDEX

263

Sackville-Baggins, Lotho, 230 202, 203, 204, 206, 208, 209, 216 Sackville-Bagginses, 172, 177,230 n.6. See also Lewis, C. S.» bargain Sador, 243 with Tolkien; Time travel; Tolkien, Saeros, 242, 244 J. R. R„ bargain with Lewis Saruman, 82, 222, 223, 226, 228, 229, Spenser, Edmund, The Fairie Queene, 230 148 Sauron, 24, 25, 28, 45, 46, 50, 64, 73, St. Clair, Gloria Ann Strange Slaughter, 170, 178, 221, 222, 223, 226-30. See 221-22 also Necromancer; Tevildo; Thu Stars (in cosmology), 14, 44, 51, 53, 57, Sayer, George, 217 n.21 60, 62,64. See also Dome of Varda; Scudamour, 210, 212 Varda Scull, Christina, 35, 36 Stingermen, 210, 211, 212. See also Seth Sea-elves, 97 and Cain; White Knights Seafarer, The, 146 Straight Road/Path, 45, 46, 51, 52, 65, Second Age, 29 n.5, 54, 56, 58, 64, 69, 68, 191, 193,203 70 Strider, 84, 86, 207, 215; song of Seth and Cain, descendants of, 207, Tinüviel, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 209,210,212 119, 134 n.9, 195, see also : “Light as Shadowfax, 221, 224, 228, 231 n.3 Leaf on Lindentree” under Tolkien, Shippey, T. A., 19, 20, 29 n.3, 89 n.2, POEMS; as Trotter, 20, 84, 86, 87, 105, 134, 158, 236, 238 215. See also Aragorn; Elessar Shire, 62, 82, 85, 86, 87, 174, 175, 177, Sturluson, Snorri, The Prose Edda, 35, 194, 230, 248 37, 186, 187, 188 Sibley, Jane, 107 Sülimo. See Manwe Sievers, Eduard, 124, 125, 127, 136 Sun and Moon, in creation story, 12, n.19, 137 nn.21,22, 24; 138 n.27 15, 16, 26, 27, 42, 48, 51, 52, 54, 57, Sigmund, 240 59, 60,61,62,64, 69 Signy, 240 Sweet, Henry, 125, 127, 137 n.24, 138 Sigurd, 34, 74, 238, 239 n.29 Silmarils/silmarilli, 9-17, 20, 21, 27, 41, 42, 43,55,59, 63,73, 178, 227 “T. C. B. S.,” 36, 37 Silpion, 9, 18 n.3. See also Two Trees Taniquetil, 36, 224, 225, 228 Sindar, 63, 106, 110. See also Grey-elves Tavrobel, 38, 190 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, 32, Telperion. See Laurelin; Two Trees 34, 123, 137 n.24, 249 Tennyson, Lord Alfred, The Voyage of Sirion, 11, 13, 56 Maeldune, 152 Skirditaila, 107; etymology of, 108. See Tevildo, Prince of Cats, 73. See also also Runes; Taliska/Taliskan Sauron Sleipnir, 221,223,224, 228 Thingol, 10, 17,41,49, 239, 242 Smaug, 166, 170, 177, 178, 179 Third Age, 31, 52, 55, 56, 58, 60,61,64, Smith, Geoffrey Bache, 35, 36, 37 69, 70, 77 Smith of Wootton Major, 185, 195, Thorin, 170, 177, 178, 180 196,197 Thorondor/Thorndor/Sorontar, 225 Songs for the Philologists, 137 n.23 Thu, 226, 227. See also Sauron Space travel, 44, 81, 82, 83, 199, Time, 59, 74

264

INDEX

Time travel, 44, 81, 177, 185, 191, 192, 194, 195, 199, 202, 203, 204, 206, 207, 208, 212, 214, 215; as Lewis’s “Othertime,” 208, 209, 212, 214, 216 n.6, 217 n. 17. See also Lewis, C. S., bargain with Tolkien; Space travel; Tolkien, J. R. R., bargain with Lewis Tinüviel, 10, 11, 17, 73-74, 195. See also Strider, song of Tinüviel Tinwelint, 10, 11, 73-74. See also Thingol Tir-nan-Og, 80 Tol Eressea, 38, 39, 42, 43,44, 45, 46, 48, 50, 51, 52, 56, 60, 63, 123, 158, 187, 189, 190, 191. See also Lonely Isle Tolkien, etymology and meaning of name, 233 Tolkien, Christopher, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 11, 12, 16, 18, 19, 20,21,25, 26, 27, 28, 29 nn.3, 6; 31, 38, 40, 41, 45, 48, 51, 54, 56, 62, 65, 69, 72, 73, 74, 76, 77, 79,81,83,84,85, 86, 87, 89 nn.l, 2; 90 n.2, 95, 97, 104, 107, 110 n.3, 120, 129, 132, 134 n.23, 135 n .13, 138 n.30, 143, 150, 153, 160, 171, 174, 176, 181 n.6, 187, 189, 190, 191, 192, 197 n.l, 199, 200, 202,213, 218 nn.22, 23; 219, 226, 229, 230, 236, 240, 245 n. 1; “The Battle of the Goths and the Huns,” 248; editions of Chaucer, with Nevill Coghill, 248, 249; film documentary, 251-52; “. . . Future Publishing,” 250; edited and revised “Guide to Names in The Lord of the Rings” in A Tolkien Compass. 249; introduction to Hervarar Saga ok Heiöreks. 248; edi­ tor of The History of Middle-earth. 12 vols., 250-52; foreword to The Hobbit. 50th anniversary ed., 251; editor of The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, with Humphrey Carpenter, 250; maps in LR. 248; editor of The Monsters and the Critics and

Other Essays. 250; “‘Moria Gate’ . . . Another Look,” 250; newspaper interview, 249; “Notes on the Differences in Editions of The Hobbit cited by Mr. David Cofield,” 250; ‘Notes on the Pictures,’ 1977 LR Calendar. The Silmarillion Calendar 1978. J. R. R. Tolkien Calendar 1979. 249; Pictures by J. R. R. Tolkien. foreword and notes, 249; recordings by, 249, 251; The Saga of King Heidrek the Wise. ed. and trans., 248; editor of The Silmarillion. 249; The Silmarillion by J. R. R. Tolkien: A Brief Account of the Book and its Making. 249; editor of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Pearl, and Sir Orfeo. trans. J. R. R. Tolkien, 249; “The Tengwar Numerals,” 250; edi­ tor of Unfinished Tales of Niimenor and Middle-earth. 249 Tolkien, Edith (Bratt), 236 Tolkien, J. R. R.: Atlantis complex, 216; bargain with C. S. Lewis 44, 199, 200, 202,204, 214, 215, see also Space travel; Time travel; and Catholicism, 76, 154; Council of London, 36, 37, 38; at King Edward’s School, 34; languages (real), influence of: Gothic, 34; Finnish, 33, 34, 237; languages (real), on, Middle English, 123; Old English, 120-21, 124-30, 234, 235 -e> M AJO R W O R KS : The Book of Lost Tales. 7. 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 16, 18, 36, 38, 39,40,41, 42, 70, 72, 73, 76, 78, 79, 80, 88, 89, 95, 98-99, 185, 186, 197 n.l, 224, 225, 240 n.l, 250; Part One. 70, 250; Part Two. 70, 197 n. 1,216 n.8, 224, 240, 250 The Fellowship of the Ring. 86; 1st ed. quote ref., 22; verse modes in, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 135 n .ll, 148, 151

INDEX

The Hobbit, 3, 4, 19, 73,84, 87, 88, 143, 158, 172, 173, 175, 180, 226, 250; accepted by Allen & Unwin, 204; 205, 207, 214, 215, 218 n.25; leads to LotR, 169-71; LotR influ­ ences, 21-23, 24, 29 n.2; narrator in, 161—68; influence of Odin in, 220-22, 224-25; point of view in, 177; recording of, 135 n. 11; Red Book source of, 193; 200; runic alphabet in, 106-107, 110 n.3; and “Silmarillion,” 32» 47, 49, 55, 177-79; Tolkien children audience for, 247 The Lays of Beleriand 70, 72» 78» 79, 88, 216 n.4, 226, 241,250 “The Legendarium," 8-11, 15, 16» 21,26» 27, 28, 34-35,57» 60, 69» 71,73, 76, 77,81,87, 143, 158, 184, 237, 239. See also “The Silmarillion” below The Lord of the Rings, 4, 5, 8, 13, 26, 28, 32, 41, 46, 47, 50, 55, 58, 60, 61-62, 64, 65, 66, 70, 71, 72, 74, 78, 82, 83, 86-87 88, 89 n.l, 95, 134 n.2, 146, 159-60, 181 n.7, 183, 184» 190, 194, 195,207,213,214,215,216» 219-31, 241; Appendices to, 24, 26» 55, 70, 72, 74, 75, 83, 88, 102, 106, 108, 109, 110n.5, 115, 131» 134 n.8; as “new Hobbit,” 47» 50, 169-77, 206; evolves from The Hobbit, 19, 21-23; manuscripts, 84, 90 n.2, 231 n.2; maps in, 248; narrator in, 161, 169-77; Odo in, 18; poems in, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 129, 134 n.2, 143, 161, 162, 179; Prologue to, 85; readers want more informa­ tion on, 25; recordings from, 135 n.l 1; “Silmarillion” integrated with, 24; runes in, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110 The Lost Road and Other Writings, 18 n.4, 39, 70, 80. 88, 89, 90 n.4, 241 n.4,251

265

Morgoth's Ring, 26, 59, 70, 88, 230, 241 n.4, 252; See also “Myths Transformed” under OTHER TEXTS ON THE MYTHOLOGY below The Peoples of Middle-earth, 24, 70, 75, 78, 83,88» 89» 132» 252 The Return of the King, 68 n.3, 297; verse modes in, 131-32, 133» 139 n.33 The Return of the Shadow, 21,70, 87, 88, 89 n.2, 161, 169-77,251 Sauron Defeated, 70, 80» 83, 88» 252 The Shaping of Middle-earth, 70, 71,88, 241 n.4, 251 The Silmarillion (1977 book), 4, 8, 18 n.4, 19, 26, 27, 28,31,52, 53» 56, 60, 69, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 77» 88, 89-90 n.2, 95, 184, 196, 219, 224, 225, 226, 230, 237, 241,249 “The Silmarillion” (the mythol­ ogy in general), 3, 4, 9, 10,13, 19, 20, 21,24,26,31,32, 33,41,44,45, 47, 49, 50, 54, 55, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 70, 71, 72, 73» 76» 79, 81,83, 87-88, 90 n.2, 103, 177, 178, 179, 214, 227, 236, 237, 252. See also “The Legendarium" above The Treason of Isengard, 70; “Appendix on Runes,” 108, 109, 110 n.3, 251 The Two Towers, 9, 85; verse modes in, 114. 133 Unfinished Tales of Numenor and Middle-earth, 5, 18, 19, 24, 25, 32, 56, 61, 69, 70, 74-75, 78, 88, 90 n.3, 135 n.13, 196,219, 224,226, 228, 230» 241,248 The War of the Jewels, 56, 70, 79, 88, 89, 120, 241,252 The War of the Ring, 70, 218 n.22, 247,251 MINOR WORKS:

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, 61,62, 143, 185

266

INDEX

Farmer Giles of Ham, 200» 214 The Father Christmas Letters, 88 Leaf by Niggle, 20 Mr. Bliss, 88, 200 Roverandom, 88, 200 Smith of Wootton Major, 185» 195, 196, 197 n.2, 214 The Road Goes Ever On, 62, 100, 113, 116, 117, 131 Tree and Leaf, 214 TALES IN T H E M YTHOLOGY!

/Elfwine o f England, 40, 190-91» 192, 193, 216 n.8 Ainulindale, 26, 31, 32, 43, 49, 51, 52,54,55, 57,59, 65, 66, 74, 187, 190, 194; as Music of theAinur, 54, 95 Akallabeth, 25, 31, 50, 52, 53, 55, 61,65,66, 67 68 n.3, 80,214 Aldarion and Erendis: The Mariner's Wife, 61, 78, 215 Ambarkanta, 33, 44,46, 49, 52, 53, 57, 63, 64, 66, 67 Athrabeth, 33, 58-59, 62, 67, 77 Beren and Lüthien, prose (“fuller form 0 ), 4, 48. 49, 54, 55, 60, 66, 225 The Children of Hurin, 54, 55» 56, 60,63,210, 237, 239 The Coming of the Elves, 9 The Cottage of Lost Play, 95 The Drowning of Anadüne, 50, 70, 80-81, 192, 213, 218 n.23, 252 Earendil the Wanderer, 54, 55,66 The Fall of Gondolin, 33, 38, 41,42, 53, 54, 55, 60, 66 The Fall of Nümenor, 45, 46, 49» 50» 52-53» 55, 70, 80, 202, 203, 225; as The Downfall of Nümenor 54, 192 The Flight of the Noldoli, 10, 11,41 The Horns ofYlmir, 43 King Sheave, 126, 128, 205 The Lost Road, 3, 44, 45, 46, 70, 80, 81, 82, 88, 90 n.5, 126, 127, 128, 185, 191, 194, 199-218

Nam i Chin/Hin Hurin, 33, 56, 57, 60, 66, 120, 123, 135 n.l4, 241 The New Shadow, 78 The Notion Club Papers, 35, 45, 50, 61,67, 70, 80,81,82, 88, 90 n.5, 128, 129, 151» 183, 185, 191, 194, 199-218 Of Maeglin, 53 Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age, 31, 52, 53, 54, 55,65, 66, 67 OfTuor and His Coming to Gondolin, 18 Qenta Noldorinwa, 40, 41, 42, 43, 47, 49, 189 Quenta/Qenta Silmarillion, 13, 14, 15, 17, 18 n.4, 31, 32, 47, 48, 49, 50, 53, 55, 56, 57 58, 59, 60, 65, 66, 72, 79, 190 Tai-Elmar, 78 The Tale of Aragorn and Arwen, 131, 139 n.32 The Tale ofTinuviel, 10 “Turambar and the Foaldke,” 240, 241,243 Turlin and the Exiles of Gondolin, 41 Valaquenta, 31,32,57, 65,66 The Wanderings of Hurin, 54,60 ANNALS :

Annals, as general term, 8, 28, 31, 43, 44, 58, 65, 66, 72, 77, 79 Annals of Aman, 14, 53, 54, 56, 74 Annals ofBeleriand, 43» 44, 47, 48, 49, 53, 54, 56 Annals ofValinor, 33, 43,44, 47, 48,49, 53, 56, 190 Grey Annals, 17, 54, 56, 57 Later Annals ofBeleriand, 13 -€> LANGUAGES ( INVENTED ):

21,24,81,82, 89, 95-139,216, 233, 237, 240; Danaian, Doriathrin, Falathrin, Old Noldorin, Ossiriandeb, Telerin, 97 Adunaic, 213, 215, 218 n.23

INDEX Beleriandic, 44, 47, 108 Eldarin, 95, 100; Elvish, 25, 40, 42, 47, 66, 97, 108, 109, 110n., 113, 114, 115, 120, 124, 130, 134 n.8, 183, 186, 215, 216 n.8, 233; grammar, 23, 31, 34, 39,40 Eressean, 44, 191. See also Quenya below Gnomish, 39, 95-104. See also Noldorin; Sindarin below Goldogrin, 95 Noldorin, 47, 97, 99, 103, 104, 113-15, 121, 131, 136 n.17; meaning of name, 97, 104. See also Gnomish above; Sindarin below Quenya/Qenya, 39, 95, 97, 113, 114, 117, 118, 121, 135 n.12, 185. See also Eressean above Sindarin/Grey-elven, 62, 95-104, 113—39; and Welsh, 103, 119. See also Gnomish; Noldorin above Taliska/Taliskan, 107, 108, 109; etymology of, 108 Verse forms. See Ann-thennath; Linnod; Minlamad thent / estent Westron/Common Speech, 114-15» 116 Woodland dialect, 99, 114 Writing systems. See Alphabet of Dairon; Angerthas; Certhas/cirth; Skirditaila *£» LINGUISTIC TEXTS:

Dangweth Pengolofi, 57, 67, 73 The Etymologies, 47, 70, 89, 90 n.3, 97, 103, 115, 122, 131, 136 n.17 “Gnomish Grammar/’ 39, 99, 101, 102, 103 “Gnomish Lexicon,” 95, 97, 98, 100 Lammasethen, 47,49, 115, 122 Lhammas/Lammas, 46, 47, 48, 49, 66, 115, 190 Quendi and Eldar; 59, 60-61, 67 The Shibboleth ofFeanor, 62, 66

267 P A IN T IN G S :

Tanaqui, 36 *€> POEM S :

A Elbereth Gilthoniel (or “Hymn to Elbereth,”) 96, 113, 114, 116, 117, 118, 119, 131, 133 The Bidding of the Minstrel, 36 The Death of St. Brendan, 151, 152, 154, 158» 159; as Imram, 151» 153» 157, 158, 159 The Fall of Gil-galad, 114 Gandalf s opening spell, 114, 117, 119, 133, 134 nn.4,7 Gilraen’s linnod. See Linnod “The Hoard,” 61 The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, Tolkien’s performance of, 129-30, 138 n.30, 251. See also entry under SCHOLARLY W ORKS

“Kullervo” 35, 237 Kor: In a City Lost and Dead, 36, 143—46, 155, 159 The Lay of the Children of Hurin, 11, 32-33, 40, 41,48, 49, 70, 78, 103, 120, 216 n.5, 240, 241 n.2, 245 n.l The Lay of Leithian, 12, 14, 17, 33, 40, 41, 48, 49, 53, 57, 66, 70, 78, 79, 114, 216 n.5, 226-27; as “The Geste of Beren and Luthien,” 3, 48 “Light as Leaf on Lindentree»” 134 n.2» 147-51, 159. See also Ann-thennath; Strider, and song of Tinuviel Luthien’s hymn, 114» 116, 117, 119,133 The Nameless Land, 79-80, 90 n.4 Namdrie, 113, 117 Narquelion, 113 Sam’s invocation to Elbereth, 114, 117, 118, 119, 133 “The Sea-Bell,” 143, 196-97; as “Looney,” 197 The Shores of Faery, 35, 36 The Song of ^Elfwine, 191

INDEX

268 “Tinfang Warble,” 74 Winter comes to Nargothrond, 146-47, 159

*€> OTHER TEXTS ON THE MYTHOLOGY:

“Ælfwineand Dfrhaval,” 120, 124, 128, 129, 138 n.29 Anaxartaron Onyalië (“Of the Ents and the Eagles”), 60 The Converse of Manwë and Eru, 58 A Description of the Island of Numenor, 61 Genealogies, 49 Laws and Customs Among the Eldar, 57, 67, 75-76, 77, 83 The Line of Elros, 61 “Myths Transformed” 75, 77, 90 n.2 O f Lembas, 57 Sketch of the Mythology, 12, 17, 41, 42, 72, 103; rewritten as Quenta, 13. See also Reynolds, R. W. The Tale of Battles, 47,49 The Tale of Years, 44, 47, 49, 55, 56, 58, 66, 67 ~e> LETTERS: In Allen & Unwin archives, 216 n.9, 217 n .13 Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 19, 33, 34, 35, 37, 38, 39, 54, 57, 62, 63, 74, 75, 89 n.2, 99, 100, 106, 107, 165, 168-70, 177, 181 nn.6, 7; 189, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 206, 207, 213, 229, 231, 233, 236, 237, 242 SCHOLARLY WORKS:

Beowulf: The Monsters and the Critics, 89, 125, 128, 137 n.23 Finn and Hengest: The Fragment and the Episode, ed. Alan Bliss, 138 n.26 The Homecoming of Beorhtnoth, 234-36, 244. See also under POEMS On Fairy-Stories, 27, 219, 221

On Translating Beowulf, 120, 124, 125 “Philology: General Works” in YWES, 137 n.22 A Secret Vice, 81, 99, 103, 113 Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, with E. V. Gordon, 123, 137 n.24 Tolkien, Priscilla, 23; with brothers, original audience for The Hobbit, 247 Took, Peregrin (Pippin), 114 Tooks, 23, 177 Torhthelm, 130 “Translations from the Elvish,” 62, 76, 193. See also Red Book of Westmarch Treebeard, 96, 114 Tr£owine, 128, 192, 193. See also Jeremy, Wilfrid Trewin; Reincarnation; Voronwe Trotter, 20, 84, 86, 87, 215. See also Aragorn; Strider Tulkas/Tulcas, 41, 54 Tuor, 17, 18,42, 203 Turgon/Turlin, 17,40, 41 Turin, 18, 24, 33, 35, 40, 42, 48, 54, 56, 61, 184, 233-45; as “Glaurung’s Bane,” 101 Two Trees, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 18 n.3, 27, 39,41,42,51,52, 57, 59, 64, 65, 67, 227. See also Laurelin; Telperion Ulmo, 13, 16, 18, 244 Ungoliant/Ungoliont/Ungoliante, 10, 12, 15, 57,99 Unnumbered Tears, Battle of, 17, 241 Untamo, 237-38 Unwin, Rayner, 3, 169 Unwin, Sir Stanley, 3, 4, 169, 170, 177, 202,205,206,212,213,215,216 nn.9, 10, 11; 217 n.13 Utumno, 59

INDEX Valar, 9, 10» 12» 13, 16, 17, 25, 41, 43, 52, 57, 59, 60, 62, 64, 74, 76, 77, 81, 187, 202, 219, 224, 225, 230, 242, 244. See also Gods Valaskjalf, 224 Valinor, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, 16, 18n.3, 33, 36, 41,42, 43, 45, 48, 52, 70, 97, 158, 203, 225, 226, 227, 229. See also Aman; West, The Varda, 13, 14, 15, 25, 51, 53, 57, 59, 64. See also Dome of Varda; Elbereth; Stars Vi6ar, 227 VigriÖ, 227 Vikings, 233, 234 Völsungasaga, 37, 239 Voronwe, 45, 192, 193. See also Jeremy, Wilfrid Trewin; Reincarnation; Tr£owine Waldman, Milton, 34, 54, 66, 165 Wanderer, The, 146 War of the Ring (event), 78 Weathertop, 114, 195 West, The, 16, 40, 45, 46, 47, 52, 63,65, 68, 190, 191, 203, 228, 231 n.3. See also Aman; Valinor West, Richard C., 84 Weston, Professor, 203, 206 White Knights, 210. See also Seth and Cain; Stingermen Williams, Charles, 81, 88; influence on C. S. Lewis, 201, 202, 204, 214; All Hallows Eve, 212, 217 nn. 14, 19; The Place of the Lion, 201, 202, 207 Wiseman, Christopher, 36 Wizards, 23, 25, 167, 220» 222» 227» 228. See also Istari Woden, 224. See also Odin Wormtongue, 230 Yavanna, 14, 45

269

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

DOUGLAS A. ANDERSON published his first book, The Annotated Hobbit, in 1988. He helped correct the text of The Lord o f the Rings in both the American and English editions, and these versions contain his introduc­ tory “Note on the Text” (U.S. edition, 1987; U.K. edition, 1994). He is also the lesser coauthor (with Wayne G. Ham mond) of /. R. R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography (1993). Other books he has edited include The Dragon Path: Collected Tales of Kenneth Morris (1995) and a reissue of E. A. W yke-Smith’s The Marvellous Land of Snergs (1996), a children’s book originally published in 1927 that provided the impetus for Tolkien’s children’s book, The Hobbit. DAVID BRATMAN served as editor of Mythprint, the monthly bulletin of The Mythopoeic Society, from 1980 to 1995, and as chairman of the 1988 Mythopoeic Conference. He has published articles on Tolkien, Mervyn Peake, H. V. D. Dyson, and other authors in The Tolkien Collector, The New York Review o f Science Fiction, Mythlore, and other journals, and is currently preparing a documentary chronology of the Inklings. He holds an M.L.S. from the University of W ashington and has worked as a librar­ ian at Stanford University and elsewhere. MARJORIE BURNS has taught nineteenth- and twentieth-century British literature at Portland State University for twenty-five years. Her doctoral dissertation on nineteenth-century British fantasists led naturally to a study o f J. R. R. Tolkien’s writing. She has taught Celtic and Norse mythology and worked as a Fulbright professor in Norway. She has published and lectured extensively on Tolkien, both in the United States and overseas. JOE R. CHRISTOPHER is Professor of English at Tarleton State University in Stephenville, Texas. He has published six essays on Tolkien’s life and works, among more than 125 published essays. He also has published a booklet o f Tolkien-inspired light verse, Musings beneath a Tree ofAmalion (2nd ed., 1993). VERLYN FL1EGER is Professor of English at the University of Maryland, where she teaches courses in Tolkien, comparative mythology, and fantasy

272

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

and science fiction. She is the author of two books on Tolkien» Splintered Light: Logos and Language in Tolkien's World (1983) and A Question of Time: J. R. R. Tolkiens Road to Faerie (1997). She has also published a number of essays on Tolkien and other Inklings. CHRISTOPHER GILSON attended the University of California at Berkeley and now works as a software engineer. In his spare time he has been study­ ing Tolkien’s Elvish languages for the last thirty years, and he is the present editor of the journal Parma Eldalamberon. He is currently heading a proj­ ect to order, transcribe, and edit Tolkien’s unpublished linguistic papers. WAYNE G. HAMMOND is a librarian at the Chapin Library of Rare Books, Williams College. He is the author of J. R. R. Tolkien: A Descriptive Bibliography (1993) and a forthcoming bibliography of Arthur Ransome; coauthor with his wife, Christina Scull, of /. R. R. Tolkien: Artist and Illustrator (1995); and coeditor with Christina of Tolkien’s Roverandom (1998) and the fiftieth anniversary edition of Farmer Giles o f Ham (1999). He and Christina have also prepared a new index for Tolkien’s Letters (1999). He frequently writes notes on Tolkien for the journals Mythlore and The Tolkien Collector. CARL F. HOSTETTER is a com puter scientist with NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center. His chief scholarly interest of the past fifteen years has been the invented languages of J. R. R. Tolkien, and he has edited a journal devoted to the subject, Vinyar Tengwar, since 1989. He is also a m ember of a project to order, transcribe, and edit Tolkien’s unpublished linguistic papers. CHARLES E. NOAD first read The Lord of the Rings in 1961 and has kept up the interest since. He joined the Tolkien Society in 1971 and responds to members’ questions on bibliographical matters. He has read various recent Tolkien publications, including volumes of The History o f Middle-earth, at proof stage. Other interests include William Blake and astronautics. He has worked mainly as a computer programmer. JOHN D. RATELIFF spent sixteen years working with the manuscripts of J. R. R. Tolkien at Marquette University, including assisting in the colla­ tion of M arquette’s holdings with those that Christopher Tolkien edited for volumes VI through IX of The History o f Middle-earth. He received his Ph.D. from M arquette with a dissertation on Lord Dunsany, the influential

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

273

Anglo-Irish fantasist. Active in Tolkien scholarship for many years, he has helped to organize two major Tolkien conferences and delivered papers on Tolkien, Dunsany, Barfield, the Inklings, and other fantasy writers. A professional editor, he has edited or written over thirty role-playing game products. He is currently writing Mr. Baggins: The History o f The Hobbit, a critical edition of the original manuscript of Tolkien’s book. CHRISTINA SCULL is the former librarian of Sir John Soane’s M useum, London. She chaired the Tolkien Centenary Conference in 1992, edits the journal The Tolkien Collector, and is coauthor with her husband, Wayne G. H am m ond, of J. R. R. Tolkien: Artist and Illustrator (1995), the definitive work on Tolkien’s art, and coeditor with Wayne of Tolkien’s children’s story Roverandom (1998) and the fiftieth anniversary edition of Farmer Giles o f Ham (1999). She and Wayne have also prepared a new index for Tolkien’s Letters (1999). ARDEN R. SMITH lives in Albany, California, and has recently received a Ph.D. in Germanic Linguistics from the University of California, Berkeley. He has published numerous articles in the field of Tolkien studies, espe­ cially concerning Tolkien’s invented writing systems and the translation of Tolkien’s works. He is a m em ber of a project to order, transcribe, and edit Tolkien’s unpublished linguistic papers, in which his particular focus has been those dealing with the Elvish alphabets. PAUL EDMUND THOMAS was educated at the University of Chicago, where he earned a B.A. and an M.A. in English literature, and at Hamline University Law School, where he earned a J.D. His main efforts as a literary scholar have been devoted to editing and annotating the four major works of E. R. Eddison, which recently appeared in two volumes— The Worm Ouroboros and Zimiamvia: A Trilogy. RAYNER UNWIN started as a publisher in 1951 in his family company, George Allen & Unwin Ltd. He succeeded his father, Sir Stanley Unwin, as Chairm an in 1968, merged the company to become Unwin Hyman in 1986, and retired in 1990 when the firm was taken over by HarperCollins. His connection with Tolkien has been even longer. At the age of ten he read and recommended the publication of The Hobbit. During the war he met Tolkien in Oxford and read fragments of the unpublished legendarium. Later, after he had joined Allen & Unwin, he found ways of making possible the publication of The Lord o f the Rings. During these years, and subse-

274

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

quently, a long and trusting friendship became established with Tolkien and his family; it continues still. RICHARD C. WEST has a diverse background in medieval English, French, and Scandinavian literature, as well as in modern science fiction and fantasy, and in library science. His bibliography, Tolkien Criticism: An Annotated Checklist, has gone through two editions, and he has published articles on such authors as J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Peter S. Beagle, and Mervyn Peake. He is on the Board of Advisors of the Mythopoeic Society and on the editorial board of Extrapolation. He is currently a Senior Academic Librarian and the Assistant Director for Technical Services at the Kurt F. W endt Library at the University of Wisconsin in Madison. PATRICK WYNNE has authored numerous articles on Tolkien’s invented languages for the journals Parma Eldalamberon, Vinyar Tengwar, and Mythlore and is a member of a project to order, transcribe, and edit Tolkien’s unpublished linguistic papers. His artwork has been published in num erous Tolkien journals and other publications, and he has illustrated several books, including Fish Soup by Ursula K. Le Guin.