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 ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous “turn” (for there is no true end to any fairy-tale): this joy, which is one of the things which fairy-stories can produce supremely well, is not essentially “escapist,” nor “fugitive.” In its fairy-tale—or otherworld—setting, it is a sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure: the possibility of these is necessary to the joy of deliverance; it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat and in so far is evangelium, giving a fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.
So said J.R.R. Tolkien in On Fairy Stories of the eucatastrophe, his self-described term that encompasses the miraculous grace of the happy ending found in many a fairy story. “Almost I would venture to assert that all complete fairy-stories must have it,” he says.
Almost. And yet here we are today, considering what is considered by many to be Tolkien’s Faeriest of all his faerie tales: Smith of Wootton Major. It is likely my favourite of all Tolkien’s stories. It is perhaps his most difficult and beautiful of all his stories. And it is imbued with the air and the spirit of Faery; soaked in the heady enchanting brew that has its origin in the Perilous Realm.
And yet, despite all this, there is something specifically lacking in Smith; though whether it is to the story’s lack is debatable. Namely, a eucatastrophe. There is, to put it simply, none. No sudden joyous turn, no sudden grace.
Neither is there catastrophe, mind, for Smith’s surrendering of the star is no wicked thing — though there is a tragedy to it. Ultimately, though, the story simply…ends, in a manner that could be said to be acatastrophic if anything. Alf leaves Wootton Major, and Smith never returns to Faery. One hopes that Tim takes up journeying in Faery in time, but if he does, nothing is said of it. If any single character can be said to experience a eucatastrophic ending, it is Nokes, strangely enough, and his unlooked-for inspiration to take up healthier living.
The lack of a central eucatastrophe may seem inconsequential, but I think it is key to understanding something of the logic and intent behind Smith. For there is a significance to Tolkien’s electing to omit this element that he once described as being almost essential to “all complete fairy-stories.” But to address it, we should perhaps first consider what Smith is about. Or, perhaps of greater interest, what is it not about?
It is not concerned with a singular eucatastrophe, that much is plain. If anything, it is about wonder, about the failure of age, and about succession. Certainly, Tolkien’s notes on the work point toward this latter element as being crucial; and this is borne out as at the end of the piece, Tim and Ned find themselves poised to continue in the footsteps of Smith himself.
Yet I do not think it is true to say that Smith is not eucatastrophic, and this, perhaps, begins to point us toward something useful. Indeed, the eucatastrophe hangs heavy and thick over the star, over the sea, over the dancing and the speech. But let us continue considering for a moment what the story is not about.
For I would propose that it is not only in the lack of a eucatastrophe that Smith diverts from the expected pattern of a fairytale. Consider, for example, what Smith’s own wandering is in aid of, what his “quest” is. For many a fairytale’s narrative is concerned with an errand on which its protagonist is engaged. A princess’ hand to be won, a home to return to, a dragon to slay. Such is the stuff of what fairytales are made of.
Smith’s goal, insofar as he seems to have one, is to wander. To take joy in the delights and pleasures of Faery, and to learn from its visions and gain understanding upon its paths. And I do not want to imply that this is an ignoble or an unworthy goal, far from it! But it is a highly atypical one, too, and does not lend itself to any sort of narrative achievement (as it were).
And here we come to a further point on which Smith is highly divergent from other fairytales. For, for all of Smith’s wanderings and adventures in Faery, he achieves relatively little of note in Faery itself. This, too, is strange. For consider, when the peasant’s daughter enters Faery, often she will wed a prince of that realm (unless she escapes his tyranny, or is set upon by a wolf). Many are the dreaded Faery-beasts slain on the swords of errant knights straying across its borders. And on occasion, if a hobbit should chance upon it, he may well save all of Faery itself from a despotic ring-lord.
Again, it is important to be clear on what I have not claimed here. Smith undeniably achieves much through the story. The text makes it clear that he, his family, and his community all share in his Faery-blessing; I am not trying to claim that he achieves nothing of merit!
But Faery itself is barely altered by Smith’s wanderings there…with one intriguing exception: the episode with the birch tree and the raging Wind by the lake of glass.
When at last the Wind passed on he rose and saw that the birch was naked. It was stripped of every leaf, and it wept, and tears fell from its branches like rain.
The violent wind and the self-sacrificial intercession of the birch has always struck me as being an especially strange and sad episode in a tale that is exceedingly strange and sad. I would not dare to claim that I fully understand it, though I feel I understand other parts of the story to a point now. But it is a notable incident beyond its tragedy, in that it is (as far as I can ascertain) the only moment in which Faery itself is altered in some small sad way by Smith’s actions. The ravaging of the birch is the only “mark” (that we know of, at least) that Smith leaves upon the whole wide realm of Faery.
And again, I hold that this is unusual. The eucatastrophe and the catastrophe alike near-fully necessitate some sort of further alteration in the “stuff” of Faery. Men may be of little power there, but they are not powerless, and many of the greatest deeds in Faery have been done by men — this is why we know of them.
Stories that are actually concerned primarily with “fairies,” that is with creatures that might also in modern English be called “elves,” are relatively rare, and as a rule not very interesting. Most good “fairy-stories” are about the adventures of men in the Perilous Realm or upon its shadowy marches. Naturally so; for if elves are true, and really exist independently of our tales about them, then this also is certainly true: elves are not primarily concerned with us, nor we with them. Our fates are sundered, and our paths seldom meet. Even upon the borders of Faërie we encounter them only at some chance crossing of the ways.
Yet even in the consolation of the birch, Smith finds himself to be impotent.
He set his hand upon its white bark, saying: ‘Blessed be the birch! What can I do to make amends or give thanks?’ He felt the answer of the tree pass up through his hand: ‘Nothing,’ it said.
Even in his sole moment of causing some change in Faery, Smith is wholly powerless and without agency or intent (whether good or ill). Even his ignorance (a common cause for disaster in fairytales) seems uncommonly justifiable, for there was no warning barring him from coming to the lake, nor from even stepping upon it. The Wind’s wrath and the birch’s intercession are unearned and unasked for, and Smith is utterly without any sort of means to direct or influence the event or its outcome: his doom as sure and as fixed as that of a stone cast into water, sinking to the bottom.
(As an aside, the above observation by Tolkien concerning stories about elves is borne out in Smith through the character of Alf. Numerous mentions and observations are made throughout the book of Alf’s consistent bettering of Wootton Major beyond his ennoblement of Smith. Yet the book is definitely not “about” this, with Alf’s various deeds existing on the margins of the tale…amusingly, one imagines that the elvish-told perspective on the tale’s events would relegate Smith to the occasional mention, and primarily be concerned with the adventure of their King as he brings Faery-joy to Wootton Major!)
We have spent some time now trying to determine what Smith is not about, and it seems apparent, I think, that it is not an especially typical fairytale. Rather, I think that it is a tale about Faery.
My answer to this question is arguably redundant, obvious, and pedantic, but I think it deserves dwelling upon nonetheless. For Smith is not so terribly concerned with telling a fairytale, but it is overwhelmingly and consistently attentive to the stuff and matter of Faery, on many levels. It is, naturally, chiefly about Faery and its effect upon a mortal. But it is also (to an extent) concerned with the business of the elves themselves, through the deeds of the King and the business of the Queen. It is interested in the world of Faery as it is, in its wonders and marvels and even on occasion its terrors and whims. Not least, it is about the sorrow of leaving Faery…or worse, of never again returning.
Even at the story’s beginning and ending, it is dealing with a more generally mortal view of Faery, a narrow and blinkered view that is nonetheless informative. Smith is, in short, concerned with the joy and the gravity and the profundity and the tragedy of Faery itself in a way that I think few fairytales are. For most fairytales (even the very good ones!), Faery is a mechanism and a setting, a region in which it is possible for men to wander and adventure. Indeed, Tolkien says as much in the passage quoted just above from On Fairy Stories.
But not in Smith. Smith is deeply concerned with the nature and the matter and the being of Faery itself. Granted, it is most assuredly presented through a mortal’s eyes, and it is most assuredly concerned with a mortal’s journeying in the Perilous Realm. But there is a self-consideration present in Smith that I do not think is commonly found in a fairytale. Not in a deconstructionist, “scientific” way…this is no post-modernist subversion. Rather, it is an introverted and reflective tale: a story that is truly and definitely about Faery.
In On Fairy Stories, among Tolkien’s various attempts to elucidate and describe Faery and fairytale, he offers this observation:
For the moment I will say only this: a “fairy-story” is one which touches on or uses Faerie, whatever its own main purpose may be: satire, adventure, morality, fantasy.
It is my contention, then, that Smith of Wootton Major is indeed a fairy-story, for it undeniably touches upon and uses Faerie. But whatever satirical, adventurous, moral, or fantastical elements may be gleaned in the tale, its chief purpose is Faerie itself. And that, perhaps, is the secret ingredient in this potent and unusual mix. It is what lends Smith its extraordinary power and ensures that it is not easily understood, nor easily forgotten.
It is thus, I think, arguably not Tolkien’s most representative fairytale among his catalogue of fairytales; given that striking lack of eucatastrophe in it. But it is most assuredly his most Faerie tale.
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