Hearing I ask | from the holy races, I remember yet | the giants of yore, Of old was the age | when Ymir lived; Then Bur's sons lifted | the level land, The sun, the sister | of the moon, from the south From Völuspá, First stanza of the Poetic Edda |
The following is an update of a diary I originally published more than five years ago. To me it still seems timely, except for some self-criticism, which interestingly enough was the only real criticism Tolkien felt on his work: It was too short. There were just too many relevant and wonderful things to say about the masterwork that is Lord of the Rings, hereafter abbreviated LoTR to save me typing strokes. I still feel the hesitation I felt when I wrote this: I continue to feel strongly on the topic - there isn't much that is literary that I don't feel strongly about - but it seems to me that the points I would make about Tolkien, his writing, his erudition, and the work itself seem to be so obvious, so 'well, of course', so widely shared amongst us Kossacks, paragons of taste and perception all, that I didn't really think it was necessary. It would be like telling an art class why Rembrandt or Vermeer is so good.
But time passes. And given that the movies have come and gone, and given that The Hobbit has also come and gone and drawn much of the negative criticism that I felt was deserved for the LoTR movies themselves, it still might be possible that I could enlighten some on exactly why the written work was and is so much a classic, so well written, so well grounded in elder legends and sagas and yet sui generis, so that I thought I might have another go at it.
So if you have some time, follow me to Middle-Earth. And a reason besides all the above why Tolkien is as important to us all as he is, besides a more than passing resemblance to our current Orc-in Chief and Tolkien’s goblins and fallen men.