A safe fairy-land is untrue to all worlds. J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 17 to Stanley Unwin The concept of ‘Faerie’ in Tolkien’s writings and philosophy is as important as it is nebulous. It is a state of enchantment, of belief in some secondary reality as guided by a sub-creator – yet it is also that Secondary World itself, and the things that dwell therein. Yet if On Fairy Stories is to be believed, these Faerie tales of Faerie are themselves concerned chiefly with the adventures of men in Faerie – ie, these mortals are themselves less of Faerie than Faerie itself…
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Over the past few years, I’ve been working slowly (well, in fits and bursts) through a project that I’ve found really enriching and exciting – and, well, as of today it is complete. I’ve been recording my own readthrough of The Lord of the Rings. Complete, unabridged, unaided by…well, pretty much anything. And as of today, I have recorded and edited my very own LOTR. It’s been a project that’s hung over the last few years, and that has frankly been far more work than I ever would have guessed. To say that I’m proud and delighted is, frankly, a…
Leave a CommentThis is a relatively short postscript to my recent post on Aragorn and the self-distance he consistently displays in his identifying with his “Strider” identity. In researching and preparing that post, I noticed a really small detail that’s previously escaped me. Right near the beginning of their conversation in the Prancing Pony, Strider offers to the hobbits that he may be able to tell them something to their advantage, and the following exchange takes place: ‘Several things,’ answered Strider. ‘But, of course, I have my price.’ ‘What do you mean?’ asked Frodo sharply. ‘Don’t be alarmed! I mean just this:…
Leave a CommentOnce mighty were the weary bones that now groaned under gem-crusted hide. Aching creaking muscles rippled ‘neath wrinkled skin, and barely did the gaunt sinews still hold aloft ragged folded wing and venerable head. Drowsy eye drooped and haggard breath wheezed from snarling, half-open mouth, wherein lay deadly yellowing row of sickle-sharp jagged teeth. In sleep’s tender embrace slumbered that wicked and glorious tyrant, steam rising from his nostrils as the sun gazed in through the cavern’s mouth and danced heedless upon ruby-reddened body. In ruined hole he dwelt, once-grand echo of bygone glory. Cunning wrought were its mighty chambers…
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