Niggle was a painter. Not a very successful one…
Of all Tolkien’s works, arguably none of them lend themselves so readily to analysis as Leaf by Niggle. The allegory by the man who claimed to hate allegory. A touchingly close examination of a character who may be as close as Tolkien ever came to writing a self-insert. Even, arguably, Tolkien’s most religious and theological work (of his fictional tales, that is…On Fairy Stories is, of course, Tolkien’s theological triumph).
As such, Leaf by Niggle is probably the Lesser Tale in least need of yet another analysis, especially one by a part-time blogger who’s usually probably wrong. So naturally, Leaf is to be the first of our Lesser Tales that I want to examine in this September’s series.
However, I don’t see any need to work through Leaf fully, either – I’m gonna go ahead and assume that you’re familiar with the work, and have figured out that Niggle and Parish die and go to Purgatory, and that (speaking of OFS) Niggle’s sub-creation is a splintered light of creation, and that Niggle’s Tree is analogous to Tolkien’s Legendarium, and so on and so forth.
For today, I actually want to home in a little closer on that sub-creativity, and on Niggle himself. Because there’s something really admirable, I think, in how little Niggle achieves during his life.
Niggle’s story is, of course, presented as being somewhat tragic. All he really wants is to be left alone, to be allowed to paint and finish his Tree, and yet that seems to be the one thing he cannot do. The story opens by explaining, in no uncertain terms, that Niggle would like to work more on his painting, but is hindered by his kind heart and his duties and (if not very often) by preparing for his Journey. As such, Niggle was ‘not very successful’, but Niggle’s lack of success goes beyond recognition and accomplishment, too. For Leaf makes it very clear that Niggle’s actually not a great painter, regardless of his success. He’s not bad, as such, “his leaves had a particular charm”, yet he is by no means remarkable.
He had a number of paintings on hand; most of them were too large and ambitious for his skill.
Indeed, the story’s first coda (the final word, of course, being left to the Voices) almost cruelly emphasises Niggle’s lack of accomplishment. His paintings are used to patch up houses, their art sacrificed to industry. The townsfolk generally think poorly of him, his name being all but forgotten within what seems to be months. And even Niggle’s Leaf, saved by Atkins and given to the Museum, is only displayed in a recess, at best ‘noticed by a few eyes’; and when the Museum burns down, the Leaf perishes and even the name of Niggle is utterly lost.
It’s a strangely bleak ending – indeed, it would be outright tragic, if not for the fact the rest of the story is about Niggle’s spiritual growth and progress. Niggle’s earthly legacy counts for naught, but his otherworldly journey is really the ‘point’ of the story.
But, then, that raises a question – why include the scene between Tompkins and Atkins at all? What purpose or point does this scene serve?
It does not, after all, inform us of anything new concerning the character of Niggle or Parish, it does not alter their own purgatorial journey in the slightest. It does, of course, contrast rather nicely with the final paragraph of the story, as the Voices discuss Niggle’s Parish and its metaphysical benefits. Niggle may not have changed this world, but him and his Tree have miraculously made Perfection a little more perfect. Yet even then, that point can be made without our final earthly diversion.
And, indeed, though Tompkins’ dismissal of Niggle is somewhat strawmanish and exaggerated (as is appropriate in an allegory), Tompkins is not wrong about one thing, indeed, the very first thing that Tompkins says.
‘I think he was a silly little man,’ said Councillor Tompkins.
And if that turn of phrase seems familiar, it’s because it has been used once before in the story, by none lesser authority than the narrator:
I dare say it was not really a very good picture, though it may have had some good passages. The Tree, at any rate, was curious. Quite unique in its way. So was Niggle; though he was also a very ordinary and rather silly little man.
Tompkins, of course, goes on to describe Niggle as being “worthless…no use to Society,” and that, I believe, is where Tompkins goes astray. Because Tompkins is not initially wrong, Niggle was both silly and little. And, crucially, Niggle’s smallness extends beyond his strength of character and moral greatness – Niggle was, ultimately, not an extraordinarily good artist.
The Narrator says as much in the quote above, and at several other points. Further, the characters on Niggle’s Journey don’t seem overly enthused about Niggle’s actual painterly talent. When the Second Voice describes Niggle as having been a painter, the immediate qualification is that he was a painter “(in) a minor way, of course…”. When Parish finally learns that the land him and Niggle have been living in together is Niggle’s Country, from Niggle’s Painting, he exclaims that “…it did not look like this then, not real.” To which Jesus the shepherd answers, frankly, that it did not.
And if Jesus says that your art was mediocre, then I guess you’d better listen, right?
Indeed, Niggle himself does not seem to have thought that his work as an artist elevated him in any way – the Second Voice says as much.
‘Well,’ said the Second Voice, ‘there are these. He was a painter by nature. In a minor way of course; still, a Leaf by Niggle has a charm of its own. He took a great deal of pains with leaves, just for their own sake. But he never thought that made him important. There is no note in the Records of his pretending, even to himself, that it excused his neglect of things ordered by the law.’
All in all, Niggle just wasn’t great. Good, perhaps, and with flashes of brilliance (especially when painting his beloved leaves), but even as a painter, when practicing his primary calling, he did not amount to all that much. And I think that that’s actually terribly important to the story of Leaf. It would have been easy, after all, for Tolkien to avoid mentioning Niggle’s artistic skill altogether, or to portray him as being a great artist who was never appreciated by the other people of his country. But Niggle is explicitly middling, excelling merely at painting bits of trees, and otherwise lacking in genius and greatness.
And yet, the Second Voice still calls him a painter by nature.
Here, then, is the crux. Nobody on Niggle’s Journey ever judges his actual merits as an artist. They acknowledge his shortcomings, to be sure, acknowledge that he was just a silly little man. They judge him for his other failings, for his foibles and his weaknesses. But they never, ever judge him for having not achieved much as an artist. Apparently, that detail is not important to the Voices or the Doctor or even the shepherd, Niggle’s merely having been an artist is sufficient for them.
This, then, is where we come back to that conversation between Tompkins and Atkins, and to its place in the story. Because Tompkins, curiously, also doesn’t judge the worth of Niggle’s art, but Niggle’s worth as an artist, and that is where Tompkins strays into error. Tompkins is not interested in how ‘good’ Niggle was or wasn’t, but in how much use he might have been put to. In the cog-driven world of Tompkins’ mind, there is no need for artists, great or (as with Niggle) silly and little, only for more cogs, so that even more cogs can be turned, and even more cogs added to turn, and so on and so forth.
And this is why it is crucial that Niggle be a mediocre artist, because if he were not, then the nature of Tompkins’ mistake becomes rather different. If Niggle’s art was ‘excellent’, then Tompkins is merely unknowledgeable concerning art, he is incapable of recognising genius and talent. But Tompkins is, of course, far worse than that. To Tompkins, it is immaterial whether Niggle was a good artist or not, it is bad enough that Niggle was an artist at all.
Yet, ironically, that’s also how the Voices feel, and the shepherd too. It was enough for them that Niggle was an artist.
Hence, the discussion between Tompkins and Atkins is important, because it stresses the point that there was and is value to Niggle’s Daubings, despite their lack of objective virtuosity. Or, to put it another way, that art and artistic practice are not just valuable for what they produce, but for the very practice. Niggle never was a superb artist, after all, yet the story never judges him for his lack of merit (and often stresses the merits his work did possess).
It may seem like a rather depressive interpretation, but I would resist that inclination, it seems (to me) incredibly hopeful. For, in a sense, are we not all a little Nigglish?
Does the existence of Michelangelo’s art diminish the watercoloured musings of an amateur? Or the virtuosity of Yo-Yo Ma render the efforts of a casual cellist naught? Frankly, this very blog is a pale shadow of many great authors and critics – I’m a keen writer, but by no means extraordinary and very often flawed. So, then, is my work diminished by the existence of greater writers?
If art is valued simply as being a product, then I think the answer has to be yes. If great art possesses greater worth, then it makes lesser art less necessary. But that isn’t what Leaf posits. Niggle’s sketchy artistic talent is consistently celebrated and valued in Tolkien’s story, not for its quality, but for having been done, and having been inclined toward the achievement of art – not necessarily the art itself.
This, of course, is a very On Fairy Stories reading of Leaf, which does not seem unfitting to me. A central argument of OFS is that the practice of sub-creation is noble, Godly, because it stems from an inclination of the Creator Himself. But Leaf quietly carries this argument to a further logical conclusion – that it is the practice itself that is noble, rather than the output. The output should, to be clear, be oriented toward achieving excellence, Leaf is not arguing that perfection should not be strived for in art! Rather, it is the striving that is excellent, as the shepherd outlines to Parish. For, even as the shepherd concurs with Parish’s final criticism of Niggle’s art, he turns that agreement right back into a stinging rebuke of Parish.
‘But it did not look like this then, not real,’ said Parish.
‘No, it was only a glimpse then,” said the man; “but you might have caught the glimpse, if you had ever thought it worth while to try.’
To be clear, too, this is not to say that ‘all art is equal’ or anything like that, either. Quite the opposite – art can be excellent or poor, and can be near-objectively judged in a variety of ways. Artistic practice, however, is something that is objectively noble and worthwhile, and it’s important that Niggle be a ‘lesser’ artist in order to make this argument. Because Niggle may not have been an excellent artist, but he was a ‘true’ artist – practicing art for the love of it, as the Second Voice observes.
And even Niggle’s talent, lacking though it is, is still sufficient to catch a “glimpse” as it were, in the shepherd’s own words. Even Niggle, a silly little artist, is able to reveal a glimpse of that refracted and distant Light that Tolkien describes in Mythopoeia. And really, what more can anyone ask of a piece of art than that?
Atkins, of course, is then a necessary foil to Tompkins in the story’s earthly denouement. Atkins is unable to defend Niggle’s merit as an artist or his use to society, yet he recognises it all the same, even though he cannot articulate it beyond “not being so sure” of Tompkins’ loathsome judgements. Yet the spray of leaves and the mountain plays on Atkins’ mind and, really, what more could Niggle or any artist ever dream of accomplishing than that?
So there you have it – Niggle, underachiever, paragon of mediocrity, footler and foolish. Unaccomplished beyond his particular talent for drawing leaves (and leaves only, mind). In terms of his actual artistic accomplishments, he is a failure by any measure; unrecognised, bereft of a legacy, and unable to even claim that he was owed a legacy.
A failure by any measure, of course, except the measure that actually counts. Niggle is ultimately not measured for his art, but for his being an artist. And that, to me, is hopeful, even inspirational, because Niggle is thus a symbol that accomplishment and legacy are not measures of art’s worth. Niggle is, really, an encouragement, a reminder that artistic practice is worthwhile and noble. Because even if the art isn’t especially refined, even if it doesn’t achieve fame or success or financial gain, it still stands to reveal that glimpse…for both artist and audience. And a glimpse of Paradise, however remote and fragmented, is a pretty worthwhile achievement.
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