Tom or Tolkein?

“Who are you, Master?” Frodo asks in the passage from “In the House of Tom Bombadil,” subsequently breaking open a space for our class discussion.

Sub-creation, Tom Bombadil’s place in The Lord of the Rings and his absence in the movie version was widely discussed in our Zoom classroom on Wednesday. From whether or not Tom should have been included in the movies, to whether he was supposed to be seen as a version of Christ, we covered him and his passage thoroughly. In this scene, Tom Bombadil relates to the hobbits, who just got out of a rough encounter with Old Man Willow, his life full of journey’s around their world. To our class, Tom was either seen as a Godly/Jesus-y figure or perhaps Tolkien himself. I believe that Tom Bombadil is more of a stand-in for Tolkien himself, rather than a religious figure, despite Tolkien’s background. I think Tolkien reveals his own presence in the telling excerpt we read from the book.

Tom comes into the mise-en-scene with a good attitude, erupting with poems and songs as well as a pleasant relationship with his wife Goldberry. These details help explain his presence in the story. Tolkien’s description of Goldberry demonstrates an effort to show beauty in her character. “Her long yellow hair rippled down her shoulders…set with the pale blue eyes of forget-me-nots” (134). There is a tenderness to the way he described her. While this might be the result of his talent, I think it digs to a place slightly deeper. When he was writing the story, Tolkien was married to Edith Bratt. Edith is sometimes referred to as his muse, inspiring many of his works (History Collection). Her effect on his writing is most notable in his works such as The Silmarillion (History Collection). They were married up until her death in 1971. However, Goldberry’s character may have also been a reflection of Edith, revealing his personal fairy tale. The relationship between the two characters echoes a happily married J. J. Ronald and Edith. If they had a sexual relationship, that too would further distance themselves from Christ figurines, despite his devout Christianity. “Leaf by Niggle,” helped demonstrate his Christianity. Niggle is a struggling artist who stumbles across heaven by finding the tree he was painting, in what is seen as a perfect world.

Tom Bombadil proves himself an adept storyteller, enchanting the Hobbits for two nights with tales from his travels and life. Tom’s story within the greater framework of the novel, suggests another connection to Tolkien. The passage demonstrates that fairy stories are not just meant for children, as they contained both good and bad endings and beginnings – too scary for the ordinary free folk children. It may be argued that it seems like he is talking to children in a way, because the hobbits size and their experience in the world is far less than Tom himself. But, as Tolkien says in “On Fairy-Stories,” “The value of fairy-stories is thus not, in my opinion, to be found by considering children in particular,” (5), so the hobbits must be considered as men, as Tolkien himself would. And they are men, enjoying a fairy-tale, which is certainly a nod to Tolkien’s opinion on “On Fairy Stories.” Tolkien himself is obviously a master storyteller, reflecting similarities between him and Tom. Tom lays out a blueprint of what the Hobbits may face later, speaking of fortresses and heights, acting a bit like foreshadowing, as Bilbo’s presence in the beginning did for Frodo. Regardless, Tolkien follows that blueprint and creates, through sub-creation, an entire world in 6 books. I also thought it was interesting that some believed Tom acted as a transition from The Hobbit to this greater world he is introducing.

What struck me was Tom’s personality that matched his green stockings. While Tom told a story, he would turn to song, and he would “dance about” (140), a highly unusual way of acting. His stories acted like a movie montage, “leaping up the young stream…over pebbles and worn rocks” (141) as Tolkien describes. I read him as being a happy and likable character, despite having several war stories underneath his belt. In terms of being likable, I think Tolkien would want his reflection to be likable. If his reflection is Tom as I say, he would want to be liked, most probably. Unless of course, they wouldn’t. I am not sure what J. R. R. Tolkien was like in real life, but if his personality was known to be bubbly, Tom and his connection would be even tighter.

After Frodo asks Tom who he is, Tom responds with “Don’t you know my name yet? That’s the only answer,” (142). Tom goes on to talk about how he was “here before the river and the trees, Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn.” I think this also suggests that Tolkien is Tom. He was the only one who came before everything else. He created the world we are in as readers, acting as a sub-creator, making a world of his own. He created the world and the first man to set foot in it was him.

Another aspect that we didn’t discuss as much in class was how Lord of the Rings was an escape from the industrialism, as mentioned in “On Fairy Stories.” Industrialism was happening all around Tolkien and England at the time. Industrialism has a lack of beauty, whereas the story does, helped by its fantasy elements.

In summary, Tom is Tolkien (They even share the same letter, “T!”) as they both are storytellers. This passage sticks out from the rest which is presumably why Peter Jackson removed the part in the movies, but it is actually a crucial part of the story because it’s the only time we get to see Tolkien’s hand in his craft.

https://historycollection.co/how-jrr-tolkiens-relationship-with-edith-bratt-inspired-and-echoed-a-tale-of-middle-earth/

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Hey Dol! Merry Dol! Tom and Children’s Stories

           I absolutely loved reading Tolkien’s letter 215, in response to his invitation to participate in a symposium issue of The New Statesman about children’s literature (I’m sure I don’t need to point out what a delight it is, reaching the end of the drafted letter and seeing the short missive actually sent in its place).  It was invigorating to read such a defense of looking at children’s literature as just literature (and it reminded me of The Monster and the Critics in its defense of looking beyond form and historical context for a piece of art). While The Hobbit is a children’s book, and its writing style is distinct from The Lord of the Rings and much of the Middle-Earth legendarium, we can see its style reappear in the Hobbits’ encounter with Tom Bombadil and Goldberry in Book One, chapters six and seven. I think, also, our discussion of Tom Bombadil’s many possible selves (as divine, as Christ, as Tolkien) in class is worth revisiting in the context of children’s literature. This is especially true, because in said letter, Tolkien openly regrets the “whimsy mood” of The Hobbit, and this tone seems to permeate chapters six and seven of The Lord of The Rings throughout, from the “Hey Dol! Merry Dol!” to the green stockings. It is true that The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings needed some connection, but it seems strange that the voice of this section is so close to the former, and differs so strongly from the rest of the text.

            This situation is partly explained when Tom is considered an aspect of Tolkien. Just as Tom “told [the Hobbits] many remarkable stories” and “as they listened, they began to understand the lives of the Forest, apart from themselves, indeed to feel themselves as the strangers where all other things were at home,” so does the reader become a stranger in a full and complete land, Middle-Earth. In order to create the mystical character of the story-teller, in a world that is already totally fantastic and apart from that of the reader, it is necessary for Tolkien’s stand-in to be magical to a degree further than the Rings of Power and the Hobbits that readers have, by that point, already encountered. Bombadil is set further apart by his agelessness. As he says, “I am old. Eldest, that’s what I am.” It is worth noting that the Hobbits experience the “strange regions of memory” and “strange language” of Bombadil the same way readers experience the invented historiography and conlangs of the text.

Moreover, paralleling Tom to Tolkien, and the Hobbits to us, the readers, being swept into a magical world of things far older and deeper than us, both on the side of light and of dark, fits the whole Tom Bombadil episode squarely in the category of allegory. The “whimsy mood” in this section also helps delineate the allegory from the main story of the text, and, additionally, to set aside the further allegory of Tom’s discussion of Old Man Willow and the Barrow-wights, the reality of Middle-Earth, with Sauron’s rise in the Third Age.

One aspect of the childlike nature of the description, at this point also, may be to set Tom Bombadil aside from Christ, to whom he is often compared. This parallel may seem natural, as he is immune to the effects of The Ring of Power, he is ageless and seems all-powerful, and he is a story-teller, as Christ was fundamentally. However, the whimsical nature of this chapter, as opposed to Tolkien’s writing in the rest of the text, which can sometimes approach scripture in tone, pushes against that, and against Tom Bombadil as divine. Rather, it helps solidify that while Tom Bombadil is powerful, he is not a higher-power of Middle Earth, or rather, he is not Eru Iluvatar, nor is he one of the Valar. The contrast between this section’s tone, and the tone of The Silmarillion or of characters discussion of The One Ring bears this out clearly.

There is, perhaps, one more, playful reason for this section’s tone: Tolkien, by exposing the world to The Hobbit first, was forced to somehow open up the much more child-oriented, episodic, world of The Hobbit (designed for children) into the totality of Middle-Earth, and a writing style for everyone (or, in the terms of 215, perhaps aspirationally available to young readers but not specifically written with them in mind). Having a character as (frankly) goofy as Tom introduced to help safeguard the hobbits through the Old Forest is a natural vehicle for this opening. Moreover, while Tom remains goofy, by indicating himself as endlessly old and being immune to The One Ring, he also hints at the deeper world, beyond even that which we’ve been exposed to so far (Sauron, Gandalf, Smaug, etc.), that Tolkien clearly has now conceptualized showing to the reader as well. Additionally, Tom Bombadil’s speech consists of things that more closely resemble folkloric fantasy than the rest of Middle-Earth: the spirits of trees, ghosts haunting their burial places, etc. This connection with common fantasy elements, especially of English pastoral life (Tolkien, before the publication of The Lord of the Rings, referred to Tom as the spirit of the Oxford countryside) helps ferry the reader from their reference of fantasy into the totally new world Tolkien created.

It’s also interesting to me, that, having read Leaf by Niggle, which is clearly an allegorical story as well, also dealing with the nature of sub-creation, it is meaningful to ask whether our knowledge of Tom can be enhanced by Leaf. Additionally, there are sharp parallels between the literary styles of Leaf and Tokien’s portrayal of The Old Forest: both of them using language that seems straight out of a children’s tale, although neither story’s audience is childlike. However, this seems to be explained in both of their evoking folklore. While The Lord of the Rings, at times, involves folk-lore, Tom Bombadil seems to be folk-lore in the flesh, sprung to life, while Leaf uses the conventions of the evocative, moralistic folk-tale for Tolkien to convey his own feelings on sub-creation. I think this stems mainly from the difference between the worlds of Leaf by Niggle and Middle-Earth proper: in Leaf,  the world exists to support the allegory, while for Tom, the world exists, vast and full and formed, and the allegory is merely a small element of it.

- MHK

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Talking Tolkien with Tyler

A preview of our course! Tyler Hummel talked with me in February 2019 about my course on Tolkien and its relationship to Peter Jackson’s films. Watch at GroupThink Productions.

For a complete listing of my video, podcast, and radio appearances, see Bear On Air.

Tales as old as Time

What makes an ending. A story can be fantastical, freeing, driven, wonderful, but in the end, it comes down to “the end”. A story has to end, like everything, and thus it stays with the reader for better or worse. This begs the question: what goes into an ending? What makes an ending good or bad?

The first key consideration is author's intention. In Whistling Women, Agatha defends her ending by saying, “that is where I always meant [my story] to end” (Byatt 12). A good end must be intended. It is the accumulation of all the actions and events of the novel, the last opportunity to tie up loose threads. An ending that is not planned runs into problems because it feels purposeless. A great example of this is The Walking Dead an ongoing series written by Robert Kirkman. When discussing the origin of his story he stated, “I’ve always loved zombie movies but I hated how they ended, and so I wanted to do the zombie movie that never ends”. His strategy for coping with “the end” was to simply not plan for one. The world he created could expand, fill itself with new characters and antagonists, but there was no direction. The ideas began to recycle. Without an overarching conflict or villain, the story began to repeat itself. The story was about survival and simply that “to survive”. The main problem with ending a story whose purpose is to depict the ongoing struggle to survive is that any form of ending will only be abrupt. Without an end goal in sight, the story will either fizzle out or cut off.

A return to Tolkien’s “Fairy Stories” provides insight on the ending problem. The three vital ingredients of fairy stories are recovery, escape, and consolation. While these are all features of fairy stories, much still applies to stories in general. Readers still look to stories either as a way of recovering what once was or to escape from the misfortunes present in life. It is the third feature, consolation, that comes at the end of the story. In the moment when the characters face their “ultimate final defeat”, they become aware of a “fleeting glimpse of Joy, Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief” (Tolkien 86). According to Tolkien, it is only with imminent defeat, the moment of eucatastrophe, that the characters within the story become aware of the true meaning of life, the appreciation of life and this world. To recognize the joy behind things one must acknowledge that there is an intended joy. Tolkien says that “we ask HOW, perceive patterns and ask WHY, and this implies reasons and motives and a MIND. Only a Mind can have purpose” (Letter 310). If one sees some “Joy” behind the world, they have to recognize there was an intended joy. The ending, the consolation of the story, puts the characters in a position where they simultaneously face their own mortality and recognize that there exists a mind much greater than their own. An intrinsic part of the end is the author’s intention to depict a greater purpose separate from the characters within the story.

It is for this very reason that a good ending must be intended. The Walking Dead cannot have a satisfactory ending because it is only about survival. It would require an answer to the question “Why survive? Why should we fight to live?”, questions that can only be answered in a moment of consolation, when the darkness is at the height of its power. As the story has no ultimate power, only a chaotic mass of the undead, there is no moment of ultimate defeat and no way of reaching the moment of eucatastrophe. An author must have a moment of consolation in mind if their characters are to become fully realized. A purposeful ending is a product of an intentional ending.

Agatha’s story has an intentional ending, yet the children deem that “there are good endings and this isn’t one” (Byatt 13). This indicates that a successful ending requires some additional criterion. The last paragraph of Agatha’s story may offer insight on what her ending lacks.

He repeated, “You are safe in this city.”

And for the first time since they set out, fear left the cave in the back of their minds, and they felt what he said was true. They were safe in his city.

(Byatt 11).

The main difference between this ending and The Lord of the Rings is the condition the main characters are left in. In Agatha’s story, Artegall and his companions make it to their destination, in a similar way to Frodo and Sam who successfully climb Mount Doom. Both characters complete their quest, yet Mount Doom was not the end of Frodo and Sam’s story. To use Joseph Campbell’s monomyth, the Hero’s Journey has three main steps: Departure, Initiation, and the Return. In both tales, Artegall and Frodo depart their homes and familiarity, in the unknown, they grow and change with each trial they face. Both stories have a completed departure and initiation of our heroes, yet Artegall lacks a return. Without a return, the end leaves the attentive children without satisfaction. The return is when the hero, now fully initiated, brings back the knowledge of the unknown to the starting point. This closes the cycle and allows a new hero to depart. Indeed, when Federica is pondering on what makes a real ending she thinks about “reunions of parents and children, separated by danger. The ending of Peter Pan, when the children flew back into the nursery and the real world” (Byatt 13). Without a reunion, if the children never returned to the nursery, there would be no story to tell.

The true significance of a monomyth is that stories have an inherent form, or in other words a mindful purpose. Therefore, a good ending is an ending that is true to the story form. If this is to be believed, then stories maintain a level of autonomy separate from the author. Even if the author has an intended ending in mind, the monomyth implies that the hero must return. The journey ends not when the hero gets there, but when the hero gets back again.

The great stories always return to form. For stories to be continuously told, they must retain a coherent structure allowing new stories to arise after each one completes itself. As Byatt puts it, “The reasons for the truth of the tales is that human truths reiterate plainly” (Byatt 129). While the setting, characters, and specific trials within the story may differ, the same narrative form is present. All heroes undergo the same process of departure, initiation, and the eventual return. In Calvino’s Six Memos for the Next Millennium “The lesson we can learn from a myth lies in the literal narrative, not in what we add to it from the outside” (Byatt 129). On the surface, a story may appear to change, but the narrative is the true heart of the tale. In “From Efland to Poughkeepsie” Le Guin mentions that good fantasy differs from mediocre fantasy based on style. Even if the style changes with the author, the core elements are always present. An individual may fall in love with the style and become engrossed in the story, but everyone can tell whether an ending is a real ending. A good ending is a real ending; it is when the story is true to form. The hero returns initiated, with a new perspective on the world.

In closing, the great stories inform us of our own endings. We may not all face the great evil in the world, the dragon, the Great War, fear incarnate, but we may live vicariously through the hero. The consolation of the story is the reader’s consolation as much as the hero. All tales reiterate for a reason. Stories offer truths about the world, and it is good endings that bring those truths to light.

In the words of Dream, Neil Gaiman’s masterful character:

Things need not have happened to be true. Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure when mere facts are dust and ashes and forgot. (Gaiman issue 19).

Byatt, A. S. On Histories and Stories: Selected Essays. London: Chatto & Windus, 2000. Print.

Byatt, A. S. A Whistling Woman. New York: Vintage, 2004. Print.

Gaiman, Neil, Kelley Jones, Charles Vess, Colleen Doran, and Malcolm Jones. The Sandman: Dream Country. New York: DC Comics, 2012. Print.

K., Le Guin Ursula, and Susan Wood. The Language of the Night: Essays on Fantasy and Science Fiction. New York, NY: Berkley, 1985. Print.

Tolkien, J. R. R. The Tolkien Reader. New York: Ballantine, 2001. Print.

Webster, Michael. "The Hero's Three-Part Journey." The Hero's Three-Part Journey. N.p., n.d. Web. 02 June 2017.

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--Eli Harter