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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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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Recovery, Escape, Consolation These three functions are presented by Tolkien in On Fairy Stories as being the noble and proper graces that Faerie and fairy-tale provides; the functions that both serve in their proper form. Fairy stories, Tolkien says, lend a metaphysical comfort and keen succour to the reader who willingly enters into their sub-created enchantment. This is, in a way, a theological function of Faerie – to provide the reader with some fleeting (though not untrue) measure of spiritual bliss. It is perhaps no surprise that the ideas of Recovery and Consolation have often been considered in light of…
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Ah! to think that once we toiled away at our simple lures, cast out into the cold and shunned by wisefolk. Bereft of trust or love were we then, labouring feebly that we may on occasion entrap some weakminded treat on which to sup. But you knew our tricks and were wise to them, fleeing fairy promise and guarding yourselves with ancient cautions. And we were bereft. Peat bogs and darkling woods were then our haunts; dank and miserable places. Sparkling lights and laughing voices our bait, promise of might and riches our desperate ploy. And we were cold, and…
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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…
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