Tolkien’s Place
A few years back I read Humphrey Carpenter’s excellent, sad, and thrilling biography of John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. I don’t intend to here review that book, but I do recommend it for fans of the creator of such epic masterworks as The Lord of the Rings and one of my favorite little stories, Farmer Giles of Ham.
Tolkien is a storm on the horizon in the life of many writers (especially of speculative fiction). He threatens to overwhelm us in our imaginations. Aware of this, my tendency is to want to overcorrect.
While I was writing my first novel (for now, unpublished –what’s up, Pete) I was very careful not to read anything by Tolkien, or any of my favorite authors. I did not want to fall into mimetic tripe. I think I also suffer, like many would-be authors, from the popular prejudice that lives on in the snobbish comments of so many literary sages who say things like, “Oh, no. Not another sword and sorcerer book.”
But I sympathize with them as well. I agree that it appears that every fantasy-lover thinks he must write a story and inevitably falls into the patterns and clichés that are so familiar. I won’t call them orcs, I’ll call them “G’orcs.” Wow, good job. Big difference there. Doubtless there a thousand crude knock-offs of Tolkien, and no doubt English teachers, agents, and publishers tire of the tedious heaps of it. I hope I am not guilty of that charge, and have tried to be careful to avoid it.
I now believe that I have been, perhaps, too sensitive to this charge –too concerned that people not think of my story as just another knock-off. I believe that it very definitely is not. I think it has its innumerable sources in the deep recesses of my soul, the self-revealing mystery of the outworking of my inner life, and from all the reading I have ever done. None of this reading is more prominent than the Robin Hood stories which have delighted me all my life. But Tolkien is there, in my mind, like a giant. And I am not afraid to say it.
I don’t care how common, or how unsophisticated, it is. I love J.R.R. Tolkien. I have since the moment I first cracked open The Hobbit, and I believe I shall till I live inside that blessed Light of which Tolkien presented such a delightful, and serious, reflection.
Here is the man himself on writing as sub-creation.
“What really happens is that the story-maker proves a successful ’sub-creator’. He makes a Secondary World which your mind can enter. Inside it, what he relates is ‘true’: it accords with the laws of that world. You therefore believe it, while you are, as it were, inside. The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed. You are then out in the Primary World again, looking at the little abortive Secondary World from outside.”
“Every writer making a secondary world wishes in some measure to be a real maker, or hopes that he is drawing on reality: hopes that the peculiar quality of this secondary world (if not all the details) are derived from Reality, or are flowing into it.”
-John Ronald Reuel Tolkien
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
Sam,
You said:
“I believe that [my story] very definitely is not [just another knock-of]. I think it has its innumerable sources in the deep recesses of my soul, the self-revealing mystery of the outworking of my inner life, and from all the reading I have ever done.”
I’m greatly looking forward to reading your book!
I like the JRRT quote … the first half made sense to me as a fiction writer. The second half, caught me by surprise. The writers creation flowing from reality? Or flowing in? Maybe both? Very interesting way to look at it … both coming from the world, yet changing the world.
Certainly Tolkien’s works have done just that—thus he is, as you say, the giant in our minds.
Thanks for sharing,
-Robert
Sam,
Strong words buddy, I look forward to the book. Have you read the Tom Shippey and Joseph Pearce books on Tolkien (“Author Of The Century” and “Man and Myth”)? They are both good reads. Shippey shows up in the “Lord Of The Rings” DVD extras for all three films.
Well said. So much better to admit Tolkien’s influence and embrace it than try to avoid it. Resistance is futile.
Excellent Lewis scholar Colin Manlove wrote an essay on Harry Potter for a book I’m editing, which will be out in a few months. In it, he addresses the charge that the books are derivative, and his answer is a wise one. “Of course they are.” Just like Tolkien’s derived influence and materials from his great predecessors, and those from the ones before them.
No one writing imaginative fiction from now on can avoid Tolkien. Let him be part of the story soup, and throw in your own ingredients as well.
Isn’t every story part of “The Story”, at least to some degree? I too look forward to you book Sam.
Tolkien is a redwood at the center of a forest of oaks. It’s hard NOT to be influenced by him. And if you’re a Christian mythopoeic soul it would be wrong not to dwell a little under his influence. But your point is well taken. Tolkien wanted us to be our own sub-creators writing as reflections of God, not reflections of he (Tolkien).
I take the “oaks” analogy back somewhat. Some of the fantasy hack in his wake are more like shrubs.
The mystery is solved!
Now I know what they were talking about in Monty Python and the Holy Grail … “I want a SHRUBBERY!”
Alas, may we all be oaks.
Speaking of influences, one phrase we use in the arranging world I’m in is, “The mark of true genius is the ability to conceal your sources.”
“The mark of true genius is the ability to conceal your sources.”
This is particularly true of the kappa (or cryptic) element of literature. It’s the secret imaginative key. The kappa element of Narnia, for example, is the medieval cosmology of the seven heavens. For the Ransom Trilogy, it’s literary alchemy.
Tony- I have read neither of those books, but I did meet Miss Universe once in South Africa. Be God’s. C’mon. You gotta bring that out of retirement.
Roberto- I also can’t wait to read your book. And, I can’t wait to see your e-mail to me after you’ve read mine: “Well, I liked one thing about it…the ending, because…well, it ended.”
Mike- I think so. I hope you like my book too. I hope it is available at some near-future date. But I must warn you -there are a few parts which appear to have been written by an astronaut who has returned to the wrong planet. Not really, but it would be cool if there really were parts like that.
Chris- Great analogy. Some of us are shrubbery, but some people like shrubbery. I’d just like to be in the same forest. ::Native American, boldly looks across valley with solitary tear sliding down his noble face::
Stephen- I think I effectively concealed my sources by eliminating the man whose manuscript I stole and now claim as my own. Genius. Yes.
Travis -It’s irritating how smart you are. Stop it. Or, teach me some stuff. I love the Borg reference. So true. Might as well deal with facts, he is a giant.
Sam,
That will definitely NOT be my comment. If you put your soul into the manuscript, as I know you did, then I will hold it with care and not dare breath on it without brushing my teeth. First.
I’m going slow on my editing, but maybe I’ll pick up the pace after this weekend.
-Roberto (how’d you know my mother called me that?)
Mr. Smith, thank you for joining us here at the Rabbit Room. Thank you as well for the deep and thoughtful analysis of Prof. Tolkien’s work and how it relates to our own.
Sam,
Did I sign off with that in the Room? I usually use it in emails but don’t recall it here. However, just for you and your posts I’ll always sign off with it.
Be God’s,
Tony
I have read it. It is the greatest work of fiction I have ever read…
…that was written by my brother.
Most of the best parts are due to my recommended changes!!
By the way. I love you Samuel.
I am VERY proud of you.
I heard Andrew Peterson on the Midday Connection show today, on Moody Radio @ WCRF. I was very intrigued as he discussed the Rabbit Room, and its origins. Just had to check it out. As a Christian trying to find his own voice I feel priviledged to gleen from the exchange and fellowship you share here.
the ‘Shrubbery’
Sorry, I meant ‘glean’. OK, so I’m not even a shrub; maybe a twig?
Keith, looks like you’ll fit right in with the Rabbitheads.
Thanks for popping over, Keith. A warm wlecome to you, sir. And thanks for letting us know about the AP interview. I enjoyed it.
Cheers.
“The moment disbelief arises, the spell is broken; the magic, or rather art, has failed.” This is why good editing is so important. The minute there is a detail that is inconsistent or that contradicts previous information given, the reader stumbles right out of the story. For some of us, misplaced punctuation marks have the same effect.
I’m also looking forward to reading your book, Sam!
[...] But I’m trying to just let it go man. I once wrote something touching this in a post at the Rabbit Room about Tolkien’s Place in my own life. It was a really original piece. Ha. [...]