But the “consolation” of fairy-tales has another aspect than the imaginative satisfaction of ancient desires. Far more important is the Consolation of the Happy Ending. Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it. At least I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story. Since we do not appear to possess a word that expresses this opposite—I will call it Eucatastrophe. The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function. The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy…
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Crisp and clean flecked the fresh-falling flakes in the pale wavering light of the feeble rising sun, its own mist-hazed rays rendered vain by the cold and bright-gleaming snow that heaped all about. The whiteclad streets were quiet, as if they too slumbered in content reverence following the now-passed feastday, and they were untroubled by the presence of man or woman at this early hour. Nay. Not wholly untroubled, perhaps. For, passing swift over the fresh-fallen snow that lay undisturbed by her light tread was a simply clad woman, walking silent and unobserved down the quiet street. Her name was…
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To the elvish craft, Enchantment, Fantasy aspires…Uncorrupted, it does not seek delusion nor bewitchment and domination; it seeks shared enrichment, partners in making and delight, not slaves. On Fairy Stories, by J.R.R. Tolkien I’m really stuck on On Fairy Stories at the moment. I mean, if I’m honest, I’ve been thinking about OFS on some level ever since the very first time it truly made an impact on me some years back. But at the moment, it’s obviously really playing on my mind, because wherever I look, I see some fresh relevance to it in my day to day life…
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‘Twas on the borders of Elfland that they met, and this was but the first and the least of the many wonders in their tale. For she was dreaming under a rowan tree when he came swift and soft upon her; and she was wrapped in slumber and crowned with flowers upon her dusky hair. Then startled he cried at this fleeting vision of loveliness and she woke! and saw him elfin-bright, clad in green and of noble bearing, and there was a song in his smile and his feet were light. And she would have fled, but his eyes…
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It is, at long last, time to fulfil one of the promises of the Blog of Mazarbul. Ever since I started writing this blog, I have held true to my idea that it will mostly be about Tolkien. I have veered from the course from time to time to touch on broader concepts in fiction or on specific fictional works, or even to touch on games and the arts and theology. Heck, I’ve even expanded the blog’s scope a little and given myself licence to publish a few short original works of my own on it. But there is one…
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