This book is the seventh, and the only non-novel-component, of J.R.R. Tolkien's masterwork. It comprises the appendix to the series proper - the reason for which I have done this as seven separate posts is that the books I own actually are seven separate books, which is the way the text was cut up in the original publications, a similar version of which I have linked here. But you know, these books are so famous that you'll probably easily find a version that suits you best - be it single-volume, triple, quadruple, seven[tuple]?
Anyway. My six previous posts about this incredible trilogy are viewable below and devote themselves largely to summarising the plot - whereas in this final post I will give some more personal ruminations on the series itself and what it means to me. I will not be nitpicking changes between the books and movies, as Jess of the Shire is already doing that more than well enough; nor will I be relying on Tolkien's own philosophies of story, fantasy, language and interpretation to give any kind of exact statement of how one should read and imagine these characters in this world to be, as TolkienTrash already has a brilliant video covering that in-depth using queer readings as a launchpad.
A brief word on the appendices themselves: comprising timelines, family trees, pronunciation guides, and historical overviews of events only alluded to in the main trilogy, as well as a bunch of other stuff - this is quite dry reading, but I love it because it shows how much depth and care Tolkien had for the imaginative consistency of this world he spent so long developing as a home for the languages he so lovingly created. I just think it's absolutely brilliant.
That said though - ruminations on the whole series. I'll try to break these down into three main chunks:
- Applicability of all the characters for a coherent moral framework: as is well-known among Tolkien nerds, he "cordially disliked allegory" and never meant for his stories to be taken as any sort of coherent real-world set of metaphors, instead preferring readers to simply enjoy the story on the merit of its linguistic beauties alone, and if deriving any lessons from what is told or done in the tales, to make these meanings themselves, knowing that there is a complex web of applicability built into the story so that many varying readings are possible and none completely wrong. That's a bold move from such an influential author - declaring his own death in the interpretative realm in the very prologue to his work, and saying "whatever this means to you, fine, let it mean that". But one aspect of this that I want to dive more deeply into is the non-allegorical but morally-consistent sense of Catholic virtue baked into the characters in the narrative, each with a universal lesson to teach a reader. Let me give a few examples:
- Frodo. We are all Frodo; sometimes called from the comforts of our known lives to undertake acts of bravery that scare and bewilder us, and we have to face those knowing we may fail.
- Sam. We are all Sam; sometimes called by duty to support and uphold the struggles of our compatriots who are dealing with more than us, or even more than they can manage.
- Merry & Pippin. We are all "the spare hobbits"; free to attach ourselves, even ignorantly, to what seems like adventure or intrigue in the lives of our friends; and commendable when we achieve more in doing so than we could have ever expected.
- Gandalf. We are all Gandalf; expected to use our wisdom and experience to guide and protect those who are under our care.
- Aragorn. We are all Aragorn; expected to use our skill, strength and integrity to lead, inspire and fight for those who depend on us, also knowing that only by doing so can we become the men we are meant to be. (Sorry, there really aren't many female characters in these books. But my point stands.)
- Legolas & Gimli. We are all these dudes; worthy of utmost respect when we put aside our grudges to work together to repair generations-old wounds for the good of the world around us (especially when we're good at killing into the bargain).
- Boromir. We are all Boromir; capable of succumbing to temptation no matter how impenetrable we had thought our honour.
- Faramir. We are all Faramir; capable of overcoming temptation when not only our honour but the fate of the people we must defend is at stake.
- Eowyn. We are all Eowyn; to some degree boxed in by the norms and traditional expectations surrounding us, but capable of accomplishing incredible things when we throw off these shackles to carve our own path.
- Treebeard. We are all Treebeard; often too stuck in our own little worlds, hoping that the troubles of the world will pass us by, even though we are strong enough to face those troubles decisively when we choose.
- Saruman. We are all Saruman; far too susceptible to the lure of power even when we think ourselves too clever to become a victim of this trap, and so blind to the wretch we become when we fall into this.
- Galadriel. We aren't all Galadriel. Don't even try.
- Tom Bombadil. See Galadriel. Being as happy as him is worth a shot though.
- Gollum. We are all Gollum; there are things, vices or habits, in our life that can become so destructive that we become something unrecognisable even to ourselves, though we do not notice until those things are taken from us - and then we tend to lose our shit, and get into nasty patterns of untrustworthy neuroticism.
- Richness of a lived-in world: Tolkien's worldbuilding is meticulous to the point of almost anal. Places' names have their own specific linguistic histories - they probably have numerous different names in different languages relating to when different people knew those places at different times. Same with people - Gandalf alone has at least four names I can think of off the top of my head. There are ruins that nobody remembers; there are scars on the landscape from battles millennia hence; there is a tangible sense of the shift shape of geopolitics between the lesser races watched over by the longevity and weariness of the elves; there is even, though religion is virtually unmentioned in the series itself, a strong sense of faith present in all the free folk - faith that the goodness with which Middle-Earth was created will ultimately always reassert itself, despite the temporal struggles it may be facing. The sheer depth to the massive history he made for this world is staggering - I mean, look at the dozen-or-so volumes The History of Middle-Earth that his son Christopher Tolkien has been painstakingly editing together out of his father's leftover notes. Frequent comparisons to George R.R. Martin are often made, but I haven't read Martin's works yet - so I'm reserving judgment on that particular for now.
- You can tell how much fun he was having: though I'm sure it wasn't always an easy ride, Tolkien's love of language, and fantasy storytelling in particular, shines through on every page. Whether he's allowing Legolas to spend several paragraphs describing why the vibe of the trees in Fangorn Forest is so exciting only to be rebutted by Gimli spending several further paragraphs expounding the natural wonders of Helm's Deep's glittering caves; or whether it's writing entire stanzas of poetry in Elvish that a random character spits out and never bothers to even translate; or the bubbling undercurrent of good-humouredness and spirit - you really can just tell this was a labour of love. And that makes it all the lovelier to read.
So there you have it. I read this whole series, excluding the appendix, when I was nine, and again when I was fifteen, so revisiting it with so much other reading and life-experience under my belt now truly was a delight. And I can't wait until I've finished reading enough other stuff to justify going back to it again. If you like reading for pleasure and beauty, these books are for you, even if you typically shun fantasy like the snob you are. If you love the movies but have never read these - oh man, there is so much extra depth you're missing out on.
