The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (49 page)

They were allowed to do so, and the great among them became the equivalent of the ‘gods' of traditional mythologies; but a condition was that they would remain ‘in it' until the Story was finished. They were thus in the world, but not of a kind whose essential nature is to be physically incarnate. They were self-incarnated, if they wished; but their incarnate forms were more analogous to our clothes than to our bodies, except that they were more than are clothes the expression of their desires, moods, wills and functions. Knowledge of the Story as it was when composed, before realization, gave them their measure of fore-knowledge; the amount varied very much, from the fairly complete knowledge of the mind of the Creator in this matter possessed by Manwë, the ‘Elder King', to that of lesser spirits who might have been interested only in some subsidiary matter (such as trees or birds). Some had attached themselves to such major artists and knew things chiefly indirectly through their knowledge of the minds of these masters. Sauron had been attached to the greatest, Melkor, who ultimately became the inevitable Rebel and self-worshipper of mythologies that begin with a transcendent unique Creator. Olórin (Vol II p. 279) had been attached to Manwë.
¹

The Creator did not hold himself aloof. He introduced new themes into the original design, which might therefore be unforeseen by many of the spirits in realization; there were also unforeseeable events (that is happenings which not even a complete knowledge of the past could predict).

Of the first kind and the chief was the theme of the incarnate intelligence, Elves and Men, which was not thought of nor treated by any of the Spirits. They were therefore called the Children of God. Being other than the Spirits, of less ‘stature', and yet of the same order, they were the object of hope and desire to the greater spirits, who knew something of their form and nature and the mode and approximate time of their appearance in the realization. But they also realized that the Children of God must not be ‘dominated', though they would be specially susceptible to it.

It was because of this pre-occupation with the Children of God that the spirits so often took the form and likeness of the Children, especially after their appearance. It was thus that Sauron appeared in this shape. It is mythologically supposed that when this shape was ‘real', that is a physical actuality in the physical world and not a vision transferred from mind to mind, it took some time to build up. It was then destructible like other physical organisms. But that of course did not destroy the spirit, nor dismiss it from the world to which it was bound until the end. After the battle with Gilgalad and Elendil, Sauron took a long while to re-build, longer than he had done after the Downfall of Númenor (I suppose because each building-up used up some of the inherent energy of the spirit, which might be called the ‘will' or the effective link between the indestructible mind and being and the realization of its imagination). The impossibility of re-building after the destruction of the Ring, is sufficiently clear ‘mythologically' in the present book.

I am sorry if this all seems dreary and ‘pompose'. But so do all attempts to ‘explain' the images and events of a mythology. Naturally the stories come first. But it is, I suppose, some test of the consistency of a mythology as such, if it is capable of some sort of rational or rationalized explanation.

7 September 1957

You will receive on Monday the copy of the ‘Story Line' or synopsis of the proposed film version of
The Lord of the Rings.
I could not get it off yesterday. . . . .

An
abridgement
by selection with some good picture-work would be pleasant, & perhaps worth a good deal in publicity; but the present script is rather a
compression
with resultant over-crowding and confusion, blurring of climaxes, and general degradation: a pull-back towards more conventional ‘fairy-stories'. People gallop about on Eagles at the least provocation; Lórien becomes a fairy-castle with ‘delicate minarets', and all that sort of thing.

But I am quite prepared to play ball, if they are open to advice – and if you decide that the thing is genuine, and worthwhile.

11 September 1957

My heart and mind is in the
Silmarillion
, but I have not had much time for it. . . . .

It may amuse you to hear that (unsolicited) I suddenly found myself the winner of the International Fantasy Award, presented (as it says) ‘as a fitting climax to the Fifteenth World Science Fiction Convention'. What it boiled down to was a lunch at the Criterion yesterday with speeches, and the handing over of an absurd ‘trophy'. A massive metal ‘model' of an upended Space-rocket (combined with a Ronson lighter). But the speeches were far more intelligent, especially that of the introducer: Clemence Dane, a massive woman of almost Sitwellian presence. Sir Stanley himself was present. Not having any immediate use for the trophy (save publicity=sales=cash) I deposited it in the window of 40 Museum Street. A back-wash from the Convention was a visit from an American film-agent (one of the adjudicating panel) who drove out all the way in a taxi from London to see me last week, filling 76 S[andfield] with strange men and stranger women – I thought the taxi would never stop disgorging. But this Mr Ackerman brought some really astonishingly good pictures (Rackham rather than Disney) and some remarkable colour photographs. They have apparently toured America shooting mountain and desert scenes that seem to fit the story. The Story Line or Scenario was, however, on a lower level. In fact bad. But it looks as if business might be done. Stanley U. & I have agreed on our policy:
Art or Cash
. Either very profitable terms indeed; or absolute author's veto on objectionable features or alterations.

17 November 1957

There is
no
‘symbolism' or conscious allegory in my story. Allegory of the sort ‘five wizards=five senses' is wholly foreign to my way of thinking. There were five wizards and that is just a unique part of history. To ask if the Orcs ‘are' Communists is to me as sensible as asking if Communists are Orcs.

That there is no allegory does not, of course, say there is no applicability. There always is. And since I have not made the struggle wholly unequivocal: sloth and stupidity among hobbits, pride and [illegible] among Elves, grudge and greed in Dwarf-hearts, and folly and wickedness among the ‘Kings of Men', and treachery and power-lust even among the ‘Wizards', there is I suppose applicability in my story to present times. But I should say, if asked, the tale is not really about Power and Dominion: that only sets the wheels going; it is about Death and the desire for deathlessness. Which is hardly more than to say it is a tale written by a Man!

7 December 1957

As soon as you had gone, I found Halsbury's letter in full view. . . . . Though his commentary and criticism (I have now received another 14 pages) is very interesting to me, and in some points useful, the covering letter is chiefly of interest as an indication that, surprising as it may seem, this Silmarillion stuff would have at least some audience. He saw what I handed to you. He wrote: ‘Thank you for the privilege of seeing this wonderful mythology. I have never read anything like it and can hardly wait for its publication. You
must
get it published while your sales of
The Lord of the Rings
are still actively developing. . . . I can quite see that there is a struggle ahead to re-mould it into the requisite form for publication and wish you luck.'. . . .

I now see quite clearly that I must, as a necessary preliminary to ‘remoulding', get copies made of all copyable material. And I shall put that in hand as soon as possible. But I think the best way of dealing with this (at this stage, in which much of the stuff is in irreplaceable sole copies) is to install a typist in my room in college, and not let any material out of my keeping, until it is multiplied. I hope that, perhaps, then your interest will be sufficient for you to want at least a sketch of the remaining part.

Sweden.
The enclosure that you brought from Almqvist &c.
¹
was both puzzling and irritating. A letter in Swedish from fil. dr. Åke Ohlmarks,
²
and a huge list (9 pages foolscap) of names in the
L.R.
which he had altered. I hope that my inadequate knowledge of Swedish – no better than my kn. of Dutch, but I possess a v. much better Dutch dictionary! – tends to exaggerate the impression I received. The impression remains, nonetheless, that Dr Ohlmarks is a conceited person, less competent than charming Max Schuchart,
³
though he thinks much better of himself. In the course of his letter he lectures me on the character of the Swedish language and its antipathy to borrowing foreign words (a matter which seems beside the point), a procedure made all the more ridiculous by the language of his letter, more than ⅓ of which consists of ‘loan-words' from German, French and Latin:
thriller-genre
being a good specimen of good old pure Swedish.

I find this procedure puzzling, because the letter and the list seem totally pointless unless my opinion and criticism is invited. But if this is its object, then surely the timing is both unpractical and impolite, presented together with a pistol: ‘we are going to start the composition now'. Neither is my convenience consulted: the communication comes out of the blue in the second most busy academic week of the year. I have had to sit up far into the night even to survey the list. Conceding the legitimacy or necessity of translation (which I do not, except in a limited degree), the translation does not seem to me to exhibit much skill, and contains a fair number of positive errors.
^fn61
Even if excusable, in view of the difficulty of the material, I think this regrettable, & they could have been avoided by earlier consultation. It seems to me fairly evident that Dr. O. has stumbled along dealing with things as he came to them, without much care for the future or co-ordination, and that he has not read the Appendices
^fn62
at all, in which he would have found many answers. . . . .

I do hope that it can be arranged, if and when any further translations are negotiated,
that I should be consulted at an early stage
– without frightening a shy bird off the eggs. After all, I charge nothing, and can save a translator a good deal of time and puzzling; and if
consulted
at an early stage my remarks will appear far less in the light of peevish criticisms.

I see now that the lack of an ‘index of names' is a serious handicap in dealing with these matters. If I had an index of names (even one with only reference to Vol. and chapter, not page) it would be a comparatively
easy matter to indicate at once all names suitable for translation (as being themselves according to the fiction ‘translated' into English), and to add a few notes on points where (I know now) translators are likely to trip. . . . .

This ‘handlist' would be of
great use
to me in future corrections and in composing an index (which I think should replace some of the present appendices); also in dealing with
The Silmarillion
(into which some of the L.R. has to be written backwards to make the two coherent). Do you think you could do anything about this?

21 February 1958

I think it was a very excellent performance. It filled me with great delight: first of all because it was so interesting that, after a day (for me) of unceasing labour & movement, I never desired to close my eyes or abstract my mind for a second – and I felt that all round me; and secondly because of parental pride. (Not that I think that this sensation is really one of the
hwelpes of pe liun
at all: it is a legitimate satisfaction with the least possible of egotism in it (there is never none) to feel that one has not wholly failed in one's appointed part, and has paid forward at least a part of the debt one owes backward.)

It was enormously successful, and I realize now why you hold audiences. There was, of course, life and vividness in your phrases, but you are clear, generally unemphatic and let your stuff speak for itself by sheer placing and shaping. All the same, I suddenly realized that I am a
pure
philologist. I like history, and am moved by it, but its finest moments for me are those in which it throws light on words and names! Several people (and I agree) spoke to me of the art with which you made the beady-eyed Attila on his couch almost vividly present. Yet oddly, I find the thing that really thrills my nerves is the one you mentioned casually:
atta, attila
.
¹
Without those syllables the whole great drama both of history and legend loses savour for me – or would.

I do not know what I mean, because ‘aesthetic' is always impossible to catch in a net of words. Nobody believes me when I say that my long book is an attempt to create a world in which a form of language agreeable to my personal aesthetic might seem real. But it is true. An enquirer (among many) asked what the L.R. was all about, and whether it was an ‘allegory'. And I said it was an effort to create a situation in
which a common greeting would be
elen síla lúmenn' omentielmo
,
²
and that the phase long antedated the book. I never heard any more. But I enjoyed myself immensely and retire to bed really happy. It was obvious that the ball is right at your toes, so far as the
total sphere
of the academic world is concerned. (Actually I think it of vast nobility and importance.)