Dyscatastrophe and Eucatastrophe in Tolkien's Greatest Love Story, 'Beren and Luthien'

Calealdarone

     In On Fairy Stories J.R.R. Tolkien states that eucatastrophe “does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure; the possibility of these are necessary” (OFS 153). Eucatastrophe, the “sudden joyous turn”(OFS 153) in a good fairy story is not only made possible by dyscatastrophe, but relies upon it. By turning away from sorrow and despair, the turn towards joy is made all the more great; the moment becomes more than just a happy ending and becomes eucatastrophe. In The Silmarillion Beren and Lúthien face seeming failure and doom many times but there is always an extraordinary turn towards eucatastrophe.

 Many of the dyscatastrophes that Beren face come as a result of being separated from Lúthien. Thus the sudden turn to eucatastrophe always occurs when Beren and Lúthien are reunited. For example, although Beren is physically tormented and worn from his first journey to Doriath, it is only after Lúthien inexplicably “vanishe[s] from his eyes” (165) where he first experiences dyscatastrophe: 

The Creation Stories of Narnia and Middle Earth

   It probably won't come as a surprise to you that Tolkien's creation story for Middle Earth, "Ainulindale," and C.S. Lewis' novel about the beginning of Narnia, The Magician's Nephew closely resemble each other. Like many creation myths, both Narnia and Middle-earth start out in a sort of 'nothingness' and both tales explain how the material and spiritual world come into being. 

Pauline Baynes

But both Tolkien and Lewis are particularly interested in the presence of evil during creation and especially the presence of music during creation. For both Narnia and Middle earth are sung into creation and music and harmony play an essential role in their worlds. 
   There are, however, important differences in each creation story. As the narrator in The Magician's Nephew is quick to point out, “For what you see and hear depends a good deal on where your standing” (125). Although there are clear similarities in the way each author describes his world's creation, there is an important and fundamental difference in “where one is standing” in each text. Tolkien's “Ainulindale” places the reader among Illuvatar and the Ainur, and internal growth within the world's creators plays a significant role. In Lewis' The Magician's Nephew however, the reader is placed alongside Digory and Polly who visit Narnia as outsides and are thus external to its creation.  

breathing2004

From the start of Tolkien's “Ainulindale” we are invited to learn more about Middle Earth's creators than Middle Earth itself.  The Ainur's music is ultimately revealed to be the world “foreshadowed and foresung”(20), but “Ainulindale” is largely about the Ainur's experience of creating the music. Unlike The Magician's Nephew, which describes the harmonious singing and Narnia's creation as “two wonders happen[ing] at the same moment” (99), Middle Earth (both the vision and the tangible world) is not revealed to the Ainur until they have a deeper understanding of themselves and of Illuvatar. It is clear that they must first grow together through music and learn more than “that part of the mind of Illuvatar from which he came” (15). As they do so, they are described as coming “to a deeper understanding, and increas[ing] in unison and harmony” (15). This harmonizing is integral to the creation of the world, for it is only after this initial music that Illuvatar begins to “declare to them a mighty theme, unfolding to them things greater and more wonderful than he had yet revealed” (15). Middle Earth's creation is thus founded in a growing knowledge of Illuvatar. 
Narnia, however, is fundamentally different than Middle Earth in that it is but one world among many. As such, Digory and Polly themselves are external to it. Unlike the Ainur who come to know much of illuvatar and are told much of “what is, what was, and is to come” (18) in the world, the children and their party enter Narnia quite literally in the dark. They do not take an active part in creating Narnia, but rather hear a voice singing that “seemed to come from all directions at once” (98) and watch as “a thousand, thousand points of light leaped out” (99). Illuvatar may have direct contact with the Ainur before Middle Earth is created, but Aslan lets the children witness Narnia's creation from the outside, revealing himself only after the world of Narnia takes shape. This has two effects that are very different from what we see in “Ainulindale:"The first is that unlike the Ainur, the children can see that Narnia is being brought to life with music. For, just as the singing voice creates “the mightiest and most glorious sound it had yet produced, the sun arose” (101).  

dreamsofalostspirit

The second effect is the feeling evoked when the children first see Aslan. The narrator describes, “The earth was of many colours: they were fresh, hot, vivid. They made you feel excited; until you saw the Singer himself, and then you forgot everything else” (101). We are not asked to come to know Aslan first and feel closer to him because of his creation (as the Ainur feel closer to the mind of Illuvatar after seeing the vision for his Children). But instead to see Narnia first in order to more easily recognize Aslan's magnificence and power.


  Digory and Polly not only learn of Aslan and Narnia differently than the Ainur learn of Illuvatar and Middle Earth, but they have an equally different experience with the creation of evil. The children expose Narnia to evil by bringing in Jadis. But in “Ainulindale” the evil of Melkor is weaved within the creation of the world itself. As the music progresses, Melkor seeks “to increase the power and glory of the part assigned to himself” (16), creating immediate discord among the Ainur. Illuvatar allows for within its very conception. 

dreamsofalostspirit

Melkor to sing and does not directly stop the discord from “spread[ing] ever wider” (16). Jadis embodies a similar evil from the outset of the novel, but once she enters Narnia, it is clear Aslan feels that he must protect Narnia from her, and that it is “Adam's race that has done the harm”(137), suggesting that Jadis does not belong in Narnia at all. Illuvatar, however, does not try to eliminate Melkor altogether. Rather he combats Melkor with his own second and third theme, knowing that in doing so he not only creates a music that “ gathered power and had new beauty” (16), but actively blends evil into the creation of the world. The two musics of the third theme is illustrative of this: as the loud, vain, and unharmonious music gains volume against the beautifully somber one, its “most triumphant notes were taken by the other and woven into its own solemn pattern” (17). Evil is thus not brought into Middle Earth as Jadis is brought to Narnia, but is brewed within its very conception.

Emma Guild

   

Ella of Frell: Linguist Extraordinaire and True "Roast Mutton" Adventurer

Hil-a-ree

As an aspiring Tolkien scholar there is admittedly little that doesn't remind me of The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. I always try to keep my Tolkien-centered mind in check while I read other fantasy novels because I know that while there are many novelists that purposefully try to imitate Tolkien, there are many more authors whose works echo Tolkien's rather accidentally. Sometimes there is a lot significance in the connections between such novels. Sometimes there isn't. And sometimes they're just fun to talk about.

Even though I don't think there's too much significance to be found in their connection, I still want to write about Ella Enchanted and The Hobbit.

Ella Enchanted is wonderfully original (a hard thing to accomplish as a fairy tale retelling), and since it never really tries to be The Hobbit, I find the couple of things that remind me of Tolkien in the book all the more interesting. Just in case anyone's unfamiliar with the plot of Ella Enchanted, here's a short synopsis from the book:

At her birth, Ella of Frell was given a foolish fairy's gift—the "gift" of obedience. Ella must obey any order given to her, whether it's hopping on one foot for a day or chopping off her own head!But strong-willed Ella does not tamely accept her fate. She goes on a quest, encountering ogres, giants, wicked stepsisters, fairy godmothers, and handsome princes, determined to break the curse—and live happily ever after.

The really great thing about Ella is that she's strong-willed and fiercely intelligent. Like Tolkien himself, Ella is a skilled and inspired linguist and language plays an important role in the novel. In the beginning of the book Ella tells us she first picked up languages from parrots: "The birds spoke all the languages of the earth: human foreign tongues and the exotic tongues of Gnomic, Elfian, Ogrese, and Abdegi (the language of the giants). I loved to imitate them, even though I didn't know what they were saying" (42). Moments later we find out how important the ability to know or imitate language is when Ella comforts and saves a gnome toddler from an ogre by speaking the gnomish greeting. As the novel continues it turns out that Ella not only has a "knack for languages" (64), but a passion for them. While at finishing school, she finds almost all of the classes she takes useless and tedious. But the one thing she finds comfort in is learning the Ayorthaian language from her friend Areida. Language strengthens Ella and Areida's friendship, inspires Ella to willingly learn something on her own, and even proves an important tool later on when Ella leaves finishing school and enters the wider world:

Ithelda

• Knowing Elfian helps reassure the elfin community that she can be trusted.
• Knowing Abdegi helps her find her father at the giant's wedding.
• Knowing Ayorthian saves her from having to answer Lucinda in her own language (and consequently saves her from possibly being turned into a squirrel). 

And in the scene that reminds me most of The Hobbit, language is more important than ever. Everyone remembers the second chapter of The Hobbit called "Roast Mutton," where Bilbo and the dwarves find themselves surrounded by hungry trolls and are almost cooked and eaten:

"A nice pickle they were all in now: all neatly tied up in sacks, with three angry trolls (and two with burns and bashes to remember) sitting by them, arguing whether they should roast them slowly, or mince them fine and boil them, or just sit on them one by one and squash them into jelly"(39). 

On her way to find Lucinda and fix her "gift" of obedience, Ella is put in a very similar situation. She wakes up to find she's been captured. Eight ogres surround her and immediately begin contemplating the best way to cook her: "How do you liked to be cooked? Bloody? Medium? Or done to a crisp?"(96).
Unlike the trolls in The Hobbit, who speak a lower class, but understandable dialect, the ogres speak their own language. Luckily Ella "had studied sufficient Ogrese to understand almost everything"  (96) they say. And she understands that they, just like the trolls of The Hobbit, are quick to argue over how and when Ella will be cooked and who she'll be eaten by. In The Hobbit this is solved when Gandalf steps in silently and mimics the trolls own voice and dialect. He confuses the trolls and makes them argue amongst themselves until the sun rises up and turns them to stone:

"Who’s a-arguing?” said William, who thought it was Bert that had spoken.
“You are,” said Bert.
“You’re a liar,” said William; and so the argument began all over again (40).

In Ella Enchanted it is Ella herself who mimics the ogres speech. She not only talks to them in their own language, but mimics their special ability to be "irresistibly persuasive" in their speech (43). We're told when an ogre speaks, "by the end of the second sentence, you were so won over that he could do whatever he wanted with you, drop you in a pot to cook, or, if he was in a hurry, eat you raw" (44). Like Gandalf, Ella uses the ogre's speech to confuse them long enough for her to save herself:

Jeff Brimley

"You're not really hungry. You're full...How can you eat me? You're too full to eat-all of you are. Your bellies are as heavy as sacks of melons." ...SEEf let me go. I stepped away."You can sleep and have delicious dreams.."Sleep claimed them. They returned to their heap of the night, and grunting and snoring and groaning" (102).

Ella and Gandalf both mimic the speech and language of the captors to lull them into a false argument. They both confuse and beguile their enemies with their own voices until they come to safety and the trolls and ogres alike become still and silent.

While I was reading Ella Enchanted I didn't know if Levine read or liked Tolkien, but I liked to imagine that these moments were written as a sort of tribute to him. That's simply how they struck me. As it turns out, in another edition of Ella Enchanted Levine writes an appendix titled 'Gnomic Spoken Here: The Languages of Ella Enchanted' and states, "I made up the different languages because I liked the ones that J.R.R. Tolkien invented in his Lord of the Rings trilogy" (10). She even follows this statement with a small glossary of certain words and phrases of her made up languages. I'm glad to know I wasn't imagining the Tolkien allusions. But, while the influence is undeniable, Ella Enchanted is truly a novel that stands on its own, far away from even the Cinderella tale it is based on and farther still from The Hobbit.

Tolkien Reading Day 2013: What is Eucatastrophe?

Art: Atriedes

 If you're an avid reader of Tolkien, you have probably heard of "Eucatastrophe," the word Tolkien uses to describe a sudden turn towards joy in a story. It comes from his essay, On Fairy Stories (which, if it wasn't obvious enough in this blog, I heartily recommend). There, Tolkien describes fantasy as offering three gifts for the reader: Escape, Recovery and Consolation. Eucatastrophe is included in Consolation and is perhaps the most rewarding. Tolkien not only states that every complete fairy story must have “the Consolation of the Happy Ending” (153), but that the fairy tale’s “highest function” (153), in fact, is to provide the opposite of tragedy, to provide “eucatastrophe” (153), the good catastrophe.

            The most simple and clear examples of Eucatastrophe in Tolkien's work are his eagles. I wouldn't be surprised to find out that for those who have watched Peter Jackson's films without reading the books, the eagles are more of a 'Deus ex Machina' or seem to be, at the very least, an easy solution for a sticky situation. But they are much more than that because Eucatastrophe is much more than just a happy ending. The eagles only come unlooked for when all hope is lost. And Eucatastrophe is a joy that relies on sorrow, for it is the “sudden turn” (153) away from sorrow and towards joy at the fairy tale’s conclusion. It is a saving grace that comes only when we feel all is lost for the protagonist and one that Tolkien describes as a joy that takes the reader’s breath away (154). It is an element inherent to the story but never “to be counted on to occur” (135) (it is in this way distinguished from Deus Ex Machina). And it is thus a joy “poignant as grief” (153).

            Tolkien believes that eucatastrophe does not only make the reader happy or save the protagonist from a supposed certain death, but it also helps the reader glimpse a truth of the world that is ordinarily hidden. It is, he states, the “satisfaction and answer to that question ‘is it true?’” (155) and it allows us to see, if only for a brief moment, a greater truth. For Tolkien, this glimpse of truth is in harmony with “the Christian joy, the Gloria” (156). He suggests that even eucatastrophe’s “fleeting glimpse of Joy” (153) is still an echo, a “far off gleam of evangelium in the real world” (155).  The only joy, Tolkien supposes, that is comparable to eucatastrophe could only be felt if one were to find out that a beautiful fairy story is true. The most beautiful story for Tolkien, is the resurrection of Christ. He suggests that this story is the “Great Eucatastrophe” (155) because it is the one story above all other stories we wish to find true and it is the one story that is true (156).

            However, Tolkien also suggests that, “all tales may yet come true” (157).  And thus eucatastrophe can resonate with any readers, religious or unreligious. When written into a fairy story, eucatastrophe plays an important role in guiding the reader closer to a higher truth, bringing hope where there was despair, and joy where there was sorrow. 

 Read 'On Fairy Stories' in celebration of Tolkien Reading Day here! You can also pick up your favorite book and read your favorite chapter or even scroll through some Tolkien quotes 

here.  

On Tolkien, Beowulf, and Tragedy

Artist Anke Eissmann

It is well known that the early medieval poem Beowulf was an influential work for Tolkien. It might be somewhat lesser known that Tolkien had an equally, if not more, important role in shaping modern Beowulf scholarship.  In his essay, The Monsters and the Critics, J.R.R. Tolkien defends Beowulf as a poem and as a tragedy, arguing, “He is a man, and that for him and many is sufficient tragedy” (18). This poignant response is aimed to critics such as W.P. Kerr and Raymond Chambers, who believe that there is “nothing much in the story” (10) and that “the poem puts the irrelevances in the centre and the serious things on the outer edges” (11). 
The “irrelevances” Beowulf critics point to are the three episodes in which Beowulf fights monsters. W.P. Kerr compares these episodes with the exploits of traditional heroes of tragedy saying, “there are other things in the lives of Hercules or Theseus besides the killing of the Hydra or of Procrustes” (10). The monster battles in Beowulf are certainly the bulk of the poem and some are even told twice (once by the poet narrator and then again in dialogue). And while it is true that little else happens to Beowulf besides these adventures, Tolkien argues against their belonging in “the outer edges.” He states, “the monsters…are essential, fundamentally allied to the underlying ideas of the poem” (19). And for Tolkien, Beowulf’s most significant underlying theme is the idea that “lif is læne” (life is loan) (19). Nothing illustrates this more than the three separate encounters with monsters, for each fight focuses on the tragedy of the life cycle and of human mortality. 
In his first battle with Grendel, for instance, Beowulf is a man in his prime. He is not merely fit and able, but a man with extraordinary strength and seemingly endless endurance. Grendel knows immediately “he had never encountered, in any region/of this middle-earth, in any other man/a stronger hand grip” (Beowulf lines 751-3). Beowulf’s fight with Grendel’s mother further proves he is an exceptionally strong youth. These scenes illustrate Beowulf’s strength as a man and highlights what Tolkien calls his “first achievement” (28). But they also hint at the tragedy of man because Beowulf fights not for his love of life, but for fame and to be remembered: the poet tells us “So must a man/ if he thinks at battle to gain any name/a long living fame, care nothing for his life” (Beowulf lines 1534-6). Beowulf fights because his life is loaned and he wants to be remembered after death.

In Beowulf’s third encounter with a monster (this time with the dragon) the tragedy of “being man” comes to the forefront. Tolkien states that in this episode, “Disaster is foreboded. Defeat is the theme” (30). The fight with the dragon does not only mark Beowulf’s death, but the end of his life. By now, Beowulf is an old man and his kingship and life is coming to an end with or without the dragon. Where the first two fights represented Beowulf’s crowning achievements and seemingly endless youth, this last fight represents his final battle and, as Tolkien states, the “inevitable victory of death” (30). Thus Beowulf does not need to be more like the hero of a traditional tragic epic to be a tragic figure. His tragedy, like the ordinary man, is in life; it is ultimately living and fighting and dying that is “sufficient tragedy” for everyone.

Artist Unknown

  Thanks to the Mythgard Institute and Verlyn Flieger's Tolkien's World of Middle-earth course for initiating these thoughts- in the form of an exam no less!

"Busy He Was a Cobblin', A Shoe Without a Sole"

Part Two: Differences

Part One, "Down, Down to Goblin Town" explored some of the similarities in the Goblin race between J.R.R. Tolkien and George MacDonald. You can find it here. 

  While there are some similarities between the goblin races represented by Tolkien and MacDonald, there are many more differences. For instance, in keeping with somewhat typical Tolkien fashion, there is never any mention of a female goblin in The Hobbit. They certainly exist, for how else would Gollum be able to capture a "small goblin-imp" (128)? But, as John Rateliff states in The History of The Hobbit, "there is nothing in Tolkien's story to parallel MacDonald's indomitable goblin queen, who stomps on her enemies' feet with her great stone shoes"(140). Which brings us to one of the more obvious differences between goblin races: in Princess and the Goblin, the goblins have sensitive feet. Extremely sensitive feet. The goblin queen's stone shoes protect her natural weakness, but also serve as a pretty effective weapon against those who would disagree with her.
  Tolkien admits that he "never believed in"(141) MacDonald's idea of soft goblin feet. And, though the image of a secret, vulnerable soft spot slightly recalls Tolkien's Smaug, it's something that is absent in his Goblins. Tolkien might have disliked how MacDonald's goblins, who are a malicious and intelligent society able to plan a nearly successful attack on the royal castle, are made almost comically vulnerable by their soft feet. One shout from Curdie during battle and the goblins are bumbling fools, painfully exposed and defeated:
 "'Stamp on their feet!' he cried as each man rose, and in a few minutes the hall was nearly empty, the goblins running from it as fast as they could, howling and shrieking and limping, and cowering every now and then as they ran to cuddle their wounded feet in their hands..." (208).

The last major difference is probably the most complex and interesting one. This, of course, concerns goblin song and singing. In chapter 4 and 6 of The Hobbit the goblins sing not one, but two different songs. The first one begins:

Clap! Snap! the black crack!
Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
And down down to Goblin-town
You go, my lad!

Tolkien scholar Corey Olsen does a lot of analysis of Tolkien's songs in his new book,  Exploring J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit. He does a wonderful job pointing out that the songs in The Hobbit reveal a lot about the person or race who is singing it. The goblin song, he states, is "simplistic and blunt" but instead of telling us the goblins are unintelligent and unsophisticated, "the monosyllables that they choose are mostly onomatopoetic...the result is a verse that would sound harsh, ugly, and cruel even if we didn't know what the words meant" (75).
The goblin songs in The Hobbit are not especially eloquent or sophisticated, but they are songs nonetheless. They are a sort of art form, expressing their love for what they do, even if its a nasty and repulsive thing (Olsen, 77). Their first song shows just how much they will enjoy the "swish, smack!" of their "Whip crack!" 
The goblin songs -whether intentional or not- are also a tool, a weapon for intimidation and fear. They sing their second song as a sort of taunt to a frightened Bilbo and company, who have all climbed up trees in effort to escape the goblins:

"Smoke was in Bilbo's eyes, he could feel the heat of the flames; and through the reek he could see the goblins dancing round and round in a circle...he could hear the goblins beginning a horrible song:

Fifteen birds in five fir-trees,

their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!
But, funny little birds, they had no wings! O what shall we do with the funny little things? Roast 'em alive, or stew them in a pot; fry them, boil them and eat them hot?

Then they stopped and shouted out: 'Fly away little birds!...Sing, sing, little birds! Why don't you sing?" (151)

http://mikostudio.tumblr.com

   Bilbo is in a horrible situation, but the goblin's song and dance make it a terrifyingly eerie one. The goblin's song continues to show the morbid joy they'll find in killing the dwarves. But their song is weapon of fear just as much as it is of their own personal enjoyment. They do not mean to cook or "roast" the dwarves, but they sing of cooking the dwarves as a "cruel mockery"(Olsen, 118). They are striking fear into the company and relishing it. Their taunt of "Why don't you sing?" is of course, an  invitation for Bilbo and the dwarves to scream in pain.
This is the type of singing Tolkien's goblins revel in- a painful, tortuous singing that only they could enjoy.

     MacDonald's goblins couldn't be more different in this regard. It's not just that the goblins in The Princess and the Goblin don't sing. Singing is actually - perhaps even more so than their sensitive feet- their ultimate and clearest weakness. The narrator tells us, "They can't bear singing, and they can't stand that song. They can't sing themselves, for they have no more voice than a crow; and they don't like other people to sing" (36). But there's more to it. Curdie explains, "If [anyone] gets frightened, misses a word, or says a wrong one, they-oh! they don't give it to them" (37). It's not just the song that wards off goblins, it's the ineffable mixture of artistry and joy. Curdie does not fear the goblins and his songs show it: 

"Hush! scush! Scurry!

There you go in a hurry!

Gobble gobble!goblin!

There you go a wobblin';

Hobble, hobble, hobblin;!

Cobble cobble! cobblin'!

Hob-bob-goblin!-Huuuuh!" (43)

Interestingly, Curdie's songs sound a lot like the goblin's songs in The Hobbit. While some are more complex than others, most are simplistic in rhyme and meter. The crucial difference is their content. Tolkien's goblins sing of fear and destruction, twisting it into a cruel joy. Curdie sings of joy in the face of fear: "We're the merry miner-boys, Make the goblins hold their noise!" 

But Curdie has more complex songs as well. The most interesting one is easily:

'Once there was a goblin
Living in a hole;
Busy he was cobblin'
A shoe without a sole.

'By came a birdie:
"Goblin, what do you do?"
"Cobble at a sturdie
Upper leather shoe."

'"What's the good o' that, Sir?"
Said the little bird.
"Why it's very Pat, Sir -
Plain without a word.

'"Where 'tis all a hill, Sir,
Never can be holes:
Why should their shoes have soles, Sir,
When they've got no souls?" (142)

Again, like the goblins in The Hobbit, Curdie sings of a "little bird", but the bird is not a representation of torture and pain. It's the voice of both reason and spirit, pointing out the futility of a goblin making a shoe without a sole (soul).

In On Fairy Stories, Tolkien asserts that though finding writers' "sources" could be an interesting point of study, at some point, we all must enjoy the soup before us. There's a lot to see when we compare Tolkien and MacDonald, but in the end, both are a wonderful soup.



A little more...

 *As a college student Tolkien wrote a poem called "Goblin Feet". He later grew to really dislike it. You can read it here. Make what you will of the goblin's 'happy little', 'magic', 'padding' feet.  :)

*The 1977 Rankin Bass Hobbit film has a good amount of Tolkien's original songs in it. You can hear the editions of the goblin songs here and here. You can also watch an animated Curdie warding off the goblins here.

*In a rather sad twist, in Tolkien's later life he especially disliked MacDonald, saying "re-reading G. M. critically filled me with distaste". (Quote pulled from an excellent article here.)

*If this subject interests you I heartily recommend John Rateliff's History of the Hobbit, Corey Olsen's Exploring J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit, and Douglas Anderson's Annotated Hobbit. 

"Down, Down to Goblin Town": George MacDonald and J.R.R. Tolkien

Part One: Similarities


"Speaking of the history of stories and especially of fairy-stories we may say that the Pot of Soup, the Cauldron of Story, has always been boiling, and to it have continually been added new bits, dainty and undainty. " 
   -J.R.R Tolkien in On Fairy Stories

  Tolkien's mythology of Middle Earth is undeniably and fascinatingly unique. But Tolkien himself might be the first to tell you that his stories could not have been brewed without first sipping from what he called the Cauldron of Story. This now relatively famous analogy describes timeless story elements as having "been put into the Cauldron, where so many potent things lie simmering agelong on the fire" (OFS,10). The elements that make a good fairy story simmer together and when each Cook dips his ladle into the pot, more and more ingredients are added. 
     One 'Cook' Tolkien openly admired around the time The Hobbit was written and published was George MacDonald, author of, among many other great works, The Princess and the Goblin. In On Fairy Stories Tolkien observes that MacDonald achieves "stories of power and beauty when he succeeded...and even when he partly failed" (OFS, 9). A high accolade from such masterful storyteller, and not the only one either. There are several more moments throughout Tolkien's early career where he applauds MacDonald not only as a great fairy tale writer but as a source of inspiration. In a 1954 letter Tolkien writes that his goblins "owe, I suppose, a good deal to the goblin tradition...especially how it appears in George MacDonald" and that they" do to some extent resemble" MacDonald's (Annotated Hobbit, 108). And earlier in a 1938 letter he states that while his sources do not include victorian fairy tales, "George MacDonald is the chief exception" (History of The Hobbit, 140). 

   The Princess and the Goblin is a great book and its easy to see what Tolkien admired in it. On the surface it is a story about (you guessed it) what happens when a young princess leaves the castle and unexpectedly explores the underground world of the Goblins. But of course, it's much more than that. It's a novel that explores and challenges what we think of magic, faith, belief, and love. And, like so many great works of literature, it is an exploration of what makes us human. The goblin race in The Princess and the Goblin has a big role in that exploration.  In the opening chapter they are described as "a strange race of beings, called by some gnomes, by some kobolds, by some goblins. There was a legend current in the country that at one time they lived above ground, and were very like other people" (PatG, 2). Outraged at the treatment they were getting from the King (high taxes and strict laws, some say) they turned their backs to the sun and drove themselves underground, where they became physically and mentally transformed. Throughout the novel the goblins are cunning, mischievous, and strong. They seek "every opportunity of tormenting" (PatG, 5) the above humans and even come close to overtaking the entire castle.

Artist: Alan Lee

   Tolkien's goblins definitely resemble MacDonald's, particularly those we see The Hobbit. Both goblin races have their own society, leader, and underground home (cf. the scenes of the goblin royal family in Princess with the Great Goblin in Hobbit). In both novels the goblin race is also set up as an irrevocable evil and a formidable threat to the protagonists. There is even a similarity in their history. When we get deeper into Tolkien's legendarium, we find out the orcs and goblins (terms Tolkien used interchangeably for one race) were bred from Melkor's corrupted, tortured, and damaged elves. MacDonald's goblins similarly once belonged a good and kind people and "are not so far removed from the human race" (PatG, 4). Tolkien may or may have not had this idea in mind while writing The Hobbit. Either way, we cannot assume The Hobbit's goblins have this history since there is no explicit mention of it in the text, but it is interesting that his goblin race eventually did have this history. Even more interesting perhaps is the idea that in The Hobbit Gollum, the evil creature who lurks underneath the mountains in close proximity to the goblins, is one of the creatures that "have sneaked in from outside." (History of the Hobbit, 154) Even in the earliest manuscripts of The Hobbit, Gollum is a creature that has lived long in the roots of the mountains with vague recollections of his life above ground: "riddles had been a game he played with other funny creatures sitting in their holes in the long long ago before goblins came and he was cut off from his friends far under the mountains" (History of The Hobbit, 156). Of course, in Fellowship of the Ring, we learn that Gollum was once a hobbit- like creature who was corrupted by the ring and driven into the mountains.
   For both George MacDonald and J.R.R. Tolkien it seems the ultimate evil and the most pitiable sort of creature is the corrupted; the creature that is turned away from his fellow peers, not by their influence, but by his own twisted, corrupted desires.

Artist: John Howe

Part 2 will explore some of the major differences between the goblin race in The Princess and the Goblin and The Hobbit. In the meantime further ideas and questions are always welcome!

Sources Cited and Consulted:
MacDonald, George. The Princess and the Goblin. London: Puffin Books, 2011. Print.
Olsen, Corey. Exploring J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt. 2012. Print.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Annotated Hobbit: The hobbit, or, There and back again. An. Douglas Anderson.Boston:  Houghton Mifflin Company. 2002. Print.
Tolkein, J.R.R. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. The Monsters and the Critics. London: Harper Collins Publishers, 1983. Print. 

Rateliff, John. The History of The Hobbit. Part One: Mr. Baggins. Boston. Houghton Mifflin Company. 2007. Print. 

Happy Birthday, Professor!

 A very short but heartfelt Happy Birthday to J.R.R Tolkien! Celebrate by hearing him read from The Hobbit above.

Cheers!

Belief and Marvel in C.S. Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien Criticism

“It is at any rate essential to a genuine fairy story...that it should be presented as true”                 - J.R.R Tolkien, On Fairy Stories

 Largely an essay on the origin, qualifications, and readership of fairy stories, J.R.R. Tolkien's On Fairy Stories argues for the legitimacy of fairy stories being read and enjoyed by people of all ages. Yet understanding what Tolkien means by “true” in On Fairy Stories and how the element of truth ultimately makes for a good fairy story, is crucial. Not only is this a key issue in his own essay, but it connects with C.S. Lewis' argument in On Stories, an essay exploring the joy of reading a story. If, as Lewis states, “belief at best is irrelevant” (Lewis, 13), then in order to understand what makes a good and believable story, it is best to understand what similar distinctions are being made by each author between belief and truth.
     For both Lewis and Tolkien a story's truth does not depend on whether or not the events are credible, or as Tolkien states, if “a thing exists or can happen in the real (primary) world” (131). Such belief is unnecessary, not because marvelous or fantastic events should not be believed or are simply not plausible, but rather because a good story does not call for its readers to believe that its events can happen in what Tolkien calls our “primary” world. Mistaking this as the story's purpose can lead to a common misconception: that marvelous or fantastic stories are only enjoyed by children, because after all, it is children that believe that such things are possible. When Lewis frankly states, “Good stories often introduce the marvelous or supernatural, and nothing about Story has been so often misunderstood as this” (13) he refers to the mistake of thinking that it is children's inexperience or ignorance of our world that leads them to more easily believe, and thus enjoy the events of a fantastic story. Children are far from being the majority of those who like being told of impossible things or like reading of the magic of other-worlds. They are also, as Tolkien points out, not even the only type of person with the capability or desire believe in such things (132). For Tolkien and Lewis there is another, greater quality that a good fairy story demands if it is to be enjoyed: that of truth.
 

     It is belief of a marvelous, but true world that makes reading stories, especially one of fantasy or fairy enjoyable. In order to write a believable fantastical story, it must be drawn upon our own real world to produce the effect of plausibility. The creation of a “Secondary World” (132) as Tolkien calls it, is by its nature based upon the primary world, and can never be wholly distinct from it. But as a creation, a secondary world allows, if not invites, the extraordinary. In order to enjoy entering this new and marvelous world, the reader must be able to believe that it “accords with the laws of that world” (131). Thus it is not the childish belief in the the possibility of the secondary world that the reader takes joy in, but the plausibility that makes entering the story- and staying there- possible. A successfully “true” fairy story will make the act of belief effortless.     It is this effortless belief in a story that Lewis likewise attributes not to childish ignorance, but to the writer's craftsmanship and willingness to “draw from the only real 'other world' we know, that of the spirt” (12). Although more ambiguous than Tolkien's definition of the primary world as simply our real world, Lewis' 'other world' is not wholly distinct from Tolkien's primary world. It recalls the human spirit, certainty a very real sentiment and primary element from our own world that writers must draw upon in order to create “plausible and moving” (12) stories. It is in this spirit and vitality of humanity that writers both draw from and emulate, and in such spirit the reader in turn enjoys the story.

In looking at Lewis' and Tolkien's similar views on the believability of marvelous stories we come out with perhaps the most important and interesting understanding of why, after all, it is important for these secondary worlds to be read. Both Lewis and Tolkien believe strongly and vehemently in the transformative effect that stories have over readers. Most particularly the effect of taking from and placing in reality, the fantastical. For, in creating the most plausible and fantastic world, the writer has based it upon real world objects, events, and routines, but has placed these in a marvelous setting, what Tolkien describes as “simplicities [that] are made all the more luminous by their setting” (147). When the reader is truly immersed in such a world, he absorbs these simplicities in splendor, and thus once out of the world his opinion on ordinary events and objects transforms from the mundane into the marvelous, something Lewis describes as helping “strengthen our relish for life” (15). This is ultimately the imaginative and creative power of reading a story that is both marvelous and true. Through similar arguments Lewis and Tolkien not only to defend fairy stories, but legitimize fantasy stories as illuminating and imaginative fiction.