Part of what fascinates me most
about Tolkien’s work is the concept of missing history. Actually that’s what
fascinates me about history in general and what drew me to a specialty in
Antiquity; the vast reaches of our past which are simply lost to us. However,
Tolkien’s philological take on the problem and the ripple effect it creates
throughout his work, and our reading of it, is something even more crucial to
the function and realization of Middle-Earth.
In Shippey’s chapter “Lit and Lang”
(Road to Middle Earth) he notes that
much of philological work is about logical reconstruction of the transitional steps
between known languages/words. Sometimes this can extend to the reconstruction
of an entire language of which there remains no extant proof (ie Gothic). In
more specific philological contexts reconstructed words are noted by an
asterisk. Shippey, though, takes the notion one step further; “they are
‘asterisk-poems’,” he says, “reconstructed like the attributes of Nodens”
(p29). What he means is that Tolkien took the whole logical reconstruction
principle and applied it on a much larger scale and into a less defined medium.
Frodo’s “Man in the Moon” poem (LotR, p158-60) is a perfect example of to what
Shippey refers. Tolkien takes a familiar nursery rhyme and, as was pointed out
in class, reconstructs what may have been its source in the context of his
hypothetical Middle-Earth history. The reflection of “The Ruin” in Legolas’
lament (LotR 284)—where the original poem was itself on the topic of
reconstructing historical events by extrapolating backward from extant
archaeological remains—is yet another example. Legolas’ reference creates a
sort of hypothetical lineage for a poem that we know exists, but in a time
which is strictly theoretical, one reconstructed to explain from whence more
mysterious remnants come.
The reality is that Tolkien’s
entire work is preceded by an asterisk. He’s certainly not shy about saying as
much. In Letters, 151 (p186) he makes
repeated reference to his conscious effort to reconstruct an “history of a
‘forgotten epoch’” in the same way as the language ‘Gothic’ was reconstructed.
For the narrative thread of his legendarium “leads on eventually and inevitably
to ordinary History.” It is clear that statements like these are not a far leap
from the philological practice identified by Shippey. Rather, the only
difference is that they reflect a much grander scale than Shippey’s ‘asterisk
poems’. And, of course, we should not be surprised that Tolkien’s love of
philology so deeply permeates the very foundations of his project. His constant
invocation of his task as the creation of an history for England—one uniquely
English, and one which leads only to England (two intertwined, but still
distinct elements)—can only be seen in these terms.
This is where his specific
attention to names enters the field. I apologize for this, but it is
unfortunately necessary. One is led to ask, what’s in a name? Or more
specifically, what did Tolkien put in his names? and where did they come from?
Well, first, we know from his ‘Rang rant’ they certainly have no origin in the
various Germanic, Greek, etc linguistic sources of the primary reality.
Except when they do. Eärendil, though clearly noted
as an exception, is such a prolific character and one whose name is so oft
discussed, it is not surprising to find in it a perfect demonstration of
Tolkien’s ‘asterisk history’. Eärendil, like many names in Middle-Earth, is a
family tree of sorts. Thus Tolkien took, to extend the (very Tolkien-esque) metaphor,
a fallen leaf and reconstructed everything from the furthest branch to the
deepest root around it. Tolkien had to accommodate it “to the Elvish linguistic
situation, at the same time as a place for this person was made in legend” (Letters, 297). So he created the Qenya
stem ‘ayar’ meaning ‘sea’ and ‘ndil’ meaning ‘to love’, constructing an
artifice beneath the name to properly situate it in an Elvish historical
context. Then from these arose numerous other names. To return to the metaphor,
he took the leaf, built its branch back to the trunk and then from there into
every other branch and leaf of the tree. Just as he took extant Medieval poetic
material, reconstructed their sources from those fragments and then many more
besides. Thus while Eärendil is singled out as an exception to the way Tolkien
created names and language in general, it is actually a very interesting and
ironically representative example of his methodology. This is perhaps why it
figured so often into his works.
Yet Tolkien’s depth goes further
than even his own intention. Not unlike Tolkien’s adoption of “The Ruin”, there
is a matryoshka doll aspect to his own work. Eärendil is not the only place of
exception. There are other places where things don’t fit, and these provide to
the reader the same opportunity “The Ruin”, Earendel, and “The Man in the Moon”
provided Tolkien. The secret of Dwarvish names, for example, is something
Tolkien leaves unexplained/unexplored. He tells us their C.S. names are from
the Voluspa and that they certainly
aren’t derived in meaning from the primary reality, but the depth to which
Tolkien developed every other name and naming system leads the reader to
naturally extrapolate into those few areas where he leaves a system hidden.
Many of our final project ideas are
investigations of these half-formed or otherwise hidden ideas. One might
characterize these as the trees hidden deeper in Tolkien’s reconstructed
forest. This is what brings many readers into his world, the mystery of what he
has left lost and thus left for us to develop our own asterisks. This is what
fascinates me at least.
-H.Goldberg
1 comment:
Dear H Goldberg,
Well done. You’ve nicely paired some key themes of the languages discussion with those of previous weeks.
I think you’re right to wonder about the role of those names and words that clearly do relate back to European sources – though in places Tolkien appeared to deny such borrowings. As, I think, you phrased the puzzle: “Eärendil is not the only place of exception. There are other places where things don’t fit, and these provide to the reader the same opportunity “The Ruin”, Earendel, and “The Man in the Moon” provided Tolkien. The secret of Dwarvish names is something Tolkien leaves unexplained/unexplored.” What do we make these cross-overs? Do you think Tolkien could have hoped readers would fill the gap?
Or is the use of historical words and names (without their original referents) part of his own subcreative project? It looks like you indicate you might fall on the latter side, but I am curious how that would work.
~Robert
Post a Comment