Reflections on J. R. R. Tolkien: Author of the Century
(avg. read time: 4–8 mins.)
As Tolkien Day falls on a Tuesday this year, I am once again breaking my typical practice of making Tolkien Tuesday posts every second and fourth Tuesday. For this Tolkien Day, I have decided to write some reflections in interaction with Tom Shippey’s J. R. R. Tolkien: Author of the Century. This is one of those works that helped establish Shippey as one of the most prominent Tolkien scholars. He does much in this book to explain the qualities of Tolkien’s work, and the qualities of Tolkien himself, that made him what Shippey (and many others, myself included) considered to be the author of the twentieth century.
The first point in his presentation of Tolkien in this fashion is putting him in his historical context as an author, wherein, “The dominant literary mode of the twentieth century has been the fantastic” (vii). Of course, this does not only mean the fantasy genre—in which Tolkien was preceded by several authors, such as George MacDonald and Robert E. Howard—but also “allegory and parable, fairy-tale, horror and science fiction, modern ghost-story and medieval romance” (viii). What set Tolkien apart from these other authors is how fundamental linguistic invention was to his work, which suited his dispositions that led to him becoming a philologist. As we have covered previously, and as fits with how literary and linguistic study are inseparable in philology (xii), Tolkien needed a world that suited his language, and so linguistic invention—both in his actual sub-creative process and in the context of the world of his story—was the root of his world. This is especially clear in what led to the story of The Hobbit, as Tolkien sought a world in which the word “hobbit” would make sense, which he would later link even more closely with his already developing Secondary World via The Lord of the Rings.
Of course, that is not to say Tolkien thought of his world as completely made up (again, as we have noted elsewhere). It was more that this was an imagined time in the history of Earth (similar to how Robert E. Howard thought of his own work). This fits with what Shippey describes as an “asterisk-reality”:
it had not been recorded, like the *-forms of early words, but again like the *-forms it could be inferred, or reconstructed, with high plausibility if not complete certainty. The guarantee of Middle-earth, as of the verbal reconstructions of philologists, was inner consistency. The Woses are not demanded by the plot of The Lord of the Rings, but they feel as if they should be there. They help to create the fullness which is the major charm of Tolkien’s Middle-earth. (84)
This is why Tolkien insisted on working against contemporary morphological conventions in matters such as the plural of “dwarf.” If you know about Snow White, you know that it is written as involving seven “dwarfs.” But Tolkien said it needed to be “dwarves” for his story, “If that is the only correct form, why use an incorrect one? Because the –ves ending is a sign of the word’s antiquity, and so its authenticity” (15). Similarly, as noted above and as will be seen later, there are various characters and features in Tolkien’s stories that are not strictly necessary, but they are there because it fits the inner consistency of the reality of this imagined era that they should be there.
Tolkien did indeed sub-create a most compelling and deep sub-creative Secondary World that marvels the reader with its depth of history, language, cultures, names (so many names), songs, and the stated or implied sources concerning all of these things. But the decades he spent on his various works show us that it was not a matter of him having a grand vision figured out beforehand and simply recording what he envisioned. This is especially illustrated by the drafts of works published in the History of Middle-earth series, about which Shippey writes, “The drafts are almost dismaying to enthusiasts, for one of the things they reveal is that the neat thematic patterns recognized by so many critics (myself included) seem always to have been afterthoughts. When he started writing Tolkien had literally no idea at all of where he was going” (xxix). This is also exemplified in Book I of LOTR, where Tolkien has not quite settled on a consistent tone or on how everything fits together just yet, though the slower pace in that first book ends up helping establish a stronger connection between the reader and the Shire—as we will be leaving it behind for a long time—and it includes Tom Bombadil, who is largely disregarded for the rest of the story (though for reasons explained in the Council of Elrond). While it is important for writers to check their writing, to draft and redraft, Tolkien’s writing illustrates the importance of just writing something, as it could be that what unifies the work will come to fruition later.
Indeed, the chapter that forges that connective tissue the best in LOTR is “The Council of Elrond.” And this is where Shippey helped me to see more of Tolkien’s artistry than I had realized before reading this book (68–82). He notes in particular how Tolkien varies the manners of speech:
The continuous variations of language within this complex chapter tell us almost subliminally how reliable characters are, how old they are, how self-assured they are, how mistaken they are, what kind of person they are. All this is as vital as the direct information conveyed, not least, as has been said, to prevent the whole chapter from degenerating into the minutes of a committee meeting, which in a sense is what it is. Tolkien’s linguistic control (a professional skill for him) is one of his least-appreciated abilities… (76)
This is a subtle way of providing distinct character voices and it is one that Tolkien maintains throughout LOTR. I would encourage paying attention to such features the next time you read through the text, especially in “The Council of Elrond,” where it is so prominent precisely because so many different characters spend plenty of time talking. It is a crucial thing for writers to figure out, not only in terms of what characters say, or of what views they represent, but also of how they say what they say.
Not surprisingly for a philologist, Shippey notes that Tolkien, “once applied the term felix peccatum, ‘fortunate sin’, not to the Fall of Man (which was made ‘fortunate’ by the Incarnation) but to the Tower of Babel, the presumption which by tradition created the multiplicity of human languages from a single root (see Essays, p. 194)” (241). As Shippey implies, when this label—or the more typical felix culpa—has been used, it has usually been applied to the Fall (as in, e.g., Paradise Lost) as a reflection on the incomprehensible good that God brought to bear—and will yet bring to bear—out of that sin that otherwise brought ruin to everything. Whatever one may think about that perspective on the Fall, it is perhaps less potentially problematic to apply such a label as Tolkien did to the Tower of Babel. After all, the story of the sundering of humans through the sundering of languages shows that this radical language variation was a punishment from God, but the larger story of which that is a part shows how it has been redeemed and will yet be consummately redeemed. While there are biblical promises about reversing the curses of the Fall and the coming of a new creation superior to the fallen one, there is no promise that all languages will be made one. Rather, the vision presented most vividly in Revelation is that of people from every nation, every people group, every tribe, and every language/tongue worshiping God. What initially caused division becomes, in the long arc of God’s providence, the constitution of a harmonized chorus where the diversity of humanity unites in one voice worshiping the one God. So yes, I think Tolkien was on to something here.
Shippey discusses many other things in the course of his book, and I do recommend it as a way of illuminating Tolkien’s work for those who are not yet experienced in reading books or articles about it. Shippey has a fairly broad scope in terms of the various works he discusses and he draws the reader’s attention to many features of those works. I have discussed some of these points elsewhere on this Substack, particularly related to Tolkien’s theologically informed take on Beowulf both in his commentary (which was not yet published when Shippey wrote) and in his article, as well as his statements in his letters and in “On Fairy-Stories” concerning his theology as it relates to his work. But since I have already explored those points previously, I direct the reader to entries such as those (as well as my series on his letters) and close once more with a recommendation of reading Shippey’s book on these subjects and many others to gain a deeper appreciation of the author of the twentieth century.