The Fall of Gondolin: A Review and a Farewell

THE FALL OF GONDOLIN, by J. R. R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien, concludes what might be considered the Great Tales Trilogy, begun with THE CHILDREN OF HURIN and continued in BEREN AND LUTHIEN, in which the three most engaging strands of narrative from the Middle Earth 'Legendarium' are followed and developed, from their earliest conceptions to their last and latest forms. This book, as the others before it, incorporates the artwork of Alan Lee, a name that has come to be associated by an entire generation with the Tolkien brand, in eight color plates and fifteen pencil sketches. A fold-out map of Beleriand is included, the part of Middle Earth where the story takes place, and which has been drowned for many centuries by the time the events of THE LORD OF THE RINGS take place. It is, altogether, a lovely and lovingly-made book.

THE FALL OF GONDOLIN gathers together scattered material mostly already published throughout the monumental twelve volumes of THE HISTORY OF MIDDLE EARTH into one convenient location. This allows the development of this Great Tale to be examined more minutely and the workings of J. R. R. Tolkien's mythopoeic mind and methods, his hopes and dreams, to be laid bare. Someone who has had the time and leisure to follow these threads for nearly forty years, and has had access to every volume in the ever-growing mythos, may think there is nothing new to be found, but such a person would be wrong. The ever-maturing insights of Christopher Tolkien into his father's work, the scholarly labor he brings into classifying and clarifying the different layers of composition, the guardianship and identification he has come to have with that work, has reached its ultimate expression in this book. And at ninety-four (thirteen years older than his father ever lived) Christopher states that this is 'indubitably' the last volume of his father's 'Legendarium' he will ever edit. It is the end of an age. Whatever follows after this must be at best third-hand accounts and analyses, and more or less faithful 'retellings' and retailings from the authentic material.

The story of THE FALL OF GONDOLIN, both of the tale itself and the real-life account of its development, tells of a high achievement that 'founders'. The story follows the fate of the hidden Elvish realm and city of Gondolin, which has been preserved in hidden secrecy from the malice of the Dark Lord, Morgoth. The time of its fate draws near, however, and the great Vala of the sea, Ulmo, who still pities the Elves in their exile, sends the man Tuor to warn the Elven King Turgon of approaching doom. The downfall of the city, the workings out of hope and treachery and fear and fidelity, and an epic battle and defense, are the substance of the narrative. The story's finest flower and embellishment in its last version ends at the poignant point where the questing Tuor pierces the encircling mountains and gets a vision of the white city of Gondolin from afar off. There Tolkien drops the tale, perhaps too tired and in poor hopes of ever getting his stories of the First Age published, perhaps despairing that he could ever raise his powers again high enough to match the visions of his youth. It remains, as Gimli says in THE RETURN OF THE KING of the works of men, a 'might-have-been'. But it is a glimpse, a far-off dream, that can still stir the heart.

And so Christopher Tolkien lays down his steward's rod. I must confess that, after what was the obvious necessity of having a version of THE SILMARILLION edited together, I had some doubts about his releases of Tolkien's unpublished works, fearing a mere 'cash grab'. But the years of his scholarly application and the wary preservation of his father's legacy, even in the face of enormous sums of money to be had, has led me to be ashamed of my original fears. If J. R. R. Tolkien has been Earendil, a star rising with hope unlooked-for in the firmament of literature, Christopher Tolkien has been his son Elrond, preserving lore and wisdom into another age. I believe I have said it before: when we enjoy these posthumously published works of Tolkien we are not merely reading the work of one great man; we find the work of two.

Beren and Lúthien: A Review

"Hobbits delighted in such things, if they were accurate: they liked to have books filled with things that they already knew, set out fair and square with no contradictions." -- Prologue, The Fellowship of the Ring.

I have at long last got a copy of the most recent Tolkien book, "Beren and Luthien," and, as I imagined I would, gulped it down in one swallow. It contains, as Christopher Tolkien himself admits, "not a single page of original or unpublished work," always excepting his own thorough and scholarly editorial work and comments.

So why buy and read such a book? There are several good reasons. For one thing, it draws together all the materials from one of the three great tales of the 'Legendarium,' around which "The Silmarillion" itself could be said to have coalesced. If one does not wish to go hunting and pecking through the twelve massive volumes of "The History of Middle Earth," the three volumes of "The Lord of the Rings," or indeed quotes from "The Letters of J. R. R. Tolkien," here you may find the numerous versions gathered together for your convenience, and in chronological order of composition, no less; all "set out fair and square."

Another would be the inimitable illustrations of Alan Lee, whose work with the producers of the "The Lord of the Rings" films has cemented him in the position of THE illustrator of Tolkien's world. With ten new color pictures (including the cover) and numerous pencil sketches, he fills in more of the visuals of Middle Earth, including alternate visions from "The Book of Lost Tales," where we see Sauron in his original form of Thu, a monstrous black cat.

I got this book close on the heels of the announcement of the coming, on August 30th, of "The Fall of Gondolin," which, with "The Children of Hurin" and "Beren and Luthien," will be the third digest of the founding myths. Christopher Tolkien, with these final volumes, has struck an elegiac note, as, at the age of 93, he finally lays down the care of his great father's work and world.

The Fall of Arthur: A Review

I eagerly went to my local bookstore on its day of publication to get a copy of The Fall of Arthur, the latest posthumous offering from the pen of J. R. R. Tolkien. To my surprise and chagrin I was told that the store did not have it in stock and indeed was not scheduled to receive any copies. I was obliged to special-order it and wait another seven days before I could finally lay eyes on the one and only work by England's master fantasist on the Matter of Britain, the legends of King Arthur. At the time I was privately angry and a little disgusted: a unique work from a great author was, I felt, being slighted. On more sober reflection (I had a week to think about it) I began to perhaps understand the circumstances behind a more restrained release for this production of the Author of the Century, and I think that reason can be summed up in one title: The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun.

The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrun was the last posthumous publication by J. R. R. T., and one with a very wide publishing release (indeed, I remember seeing copies for sale at Wal-Mart). I think it was thought that, in the wake of the popularity of The Lord of the Rings films, anything by Tolkien would sell like hot cakes. But I imagine casual fans of LOTR coming to this long verse re-telling of an ancient Norse saga were in an analogous situation to Queen Victoria in the old apocryphal anecdote. The monarch, having expressed appreciation of Lewis Carroll's Alice's Adventures Through the Looking-Glass and the desire to have a copy of his next work, received in due time a volume on abstract algorithms from the mathematics professor. S&G, while a good work of its kind, did not have the wide-spread popularity that was being banked upon, and perhaps has led to the more reined in release for The Fall of Arthur.

So what do we have in The Fall of Arthur? The poem itself consists of 954 lines of alliterative verse, divided into five cantos, and occupies only forty pages of this 233 page book. The rest of the volume is fleshed out once again by Christopher Tolkien, the professor's scholarly son, and includes a Foreword (introducing and placing the poem in its personal historical context), Notes on the Text (identifying persons and old words occurring in the poem itself), a chapter explaining the poem in relation to Arthurian Tradition, a chapter explaining the poem in relation to Tolkien's own developing ideas about his mythology, and a chapter on how the poem changed through several drafts (only the last version is presented in the book). Finally, there is an appendix explaining Old English Verse, the tradition in which Tolkien was working, relying on stressed alliterative words within the poetic line rather than rhyme.

This all sounds rather dry and drasty, except that it isn't. The real meat on this bone is Tolkien's own voice in the verse, and when it starts rolling out it swells and falls, thunders and sighs like the waves breaking on a stony beach. In the beginning of the poem, Arthur (on the advice of Mordred) leads a punitive army eastward to stem the repeated Saxon invasions and raids on Britain. Here is the vaunt of Gawain in the face of what seems to be a vast army of wraiths and darkness:

"--Clear went his voice
in the rocks ringing above roaring wind
and rolling thunder: 'Ride, forth to war,
ye hosts of ruin, hate proclaiming!
Foes we fear not, nor fell shadows
of the dark mountains demon-haunted!
Hear now ye hills and hoar forest,
ye awful thrones of olden gods
huge and hopeless, hear and tremble!
From the West comes war that no wind daunteth,
might and purpose that no mist stayeth;
lord of legions, light in darkness,
east rides Arthur!' "

In this defiance of the dark we hear once more the authentic Tolkien note.

The Fall of Arthur is woven around five main characters: Arthur, who strives to maintain his kingdom and the remains of the Christian Roman world; Mordred, whose lust for power and for Guinever will make him ally with any invader or outlaw; Lancelot, whose affair with the queen has divided and weakened Arthur's court; Guinever ("as fair and fell as fay-woman/ in the world walking for the woe of men") who cares for nothing as long as she gets what she wants, and Gawain, Arthur's chief knight after Lancelot, restored here to his original British position as the paragon of loyal knighthood.

The plot of the poem (as it stands) can be very plainly summed up. Arthur and Gawaine leave for the East on their mission. They hear that back home Mordred has taken over and caused Guinever to flee, Arthur turns homeward and considers asking Lancelot for help, but Gawain counsels against it, doubting his loyalty. Lancelot wonders if he should come to their aid, but his debate keeps him from leaving in a timely manner. Arthur's forces come once more to Britain and notice woeful changes in the land. And it is here that Tolkien left his work.

It is of course in relationship to the poem that all of the ensuing scholarship derives its interest: when, how, and why Tolkien wrote it, the tradition in which he wrote and how he selected and changed things from the tradition, how it affected his own 'legendarium.' In the end we are left with a beautiful, tantalizing fragment, another 'what if' of literature, and, as Christopher Tolkien phrased it, "one of the most grievous of [Tolkien's] abandonments."

Two "Pogo" Collections: A Twosday Twofer

I've been interested in Pogo since I was "a shirt-tail tad" myself, when in 1969 the Chuck Jones-produced "The Pogo Special Birthday Special" came out. It was promoted at that time with toys and plastic cups as premiums in Procter & Gamble soap products, and we got several of these figures (which the cartoonist and Pogo creator Walt Kelley designed himself), such as Pogo and Howland Owl and Churchy La Femme the Turtle. Later we got one of Porkypine, that was also much treasured. That was the extent of my contact with Kelly's work, however, as our newspaper didn't carry the strip, and Kelly himself passed away soon after and Pogo was discontinued. Only years later when we were allowed into the grown-up section of our local library did we find some volumes of collected Kelly, and they were still so popular it was hard to find a volume that wasn't already checked out. After decades of chasing the fugitive marsupial through used book stores and Fireside omnibuses, we are at last being presented with collections of the complete syndicated comic strips, to be published in twelve uniform volumes, each book consisting of two years of Pogo, Albert, and the other "swamp critters."

Pogo Vol. I: Through the Wild Blue Wonder and Pogo Vol II: Bona Fide Balderdash are the numbers that have been released so far. They are beautifully designed, and large enough (almost a foot long and ten inches high, with four strips to a page) to give each strip the space one needs to appreciate the artistry of Kelly's line, apparent to the original readers before newspapers shrank the size of comics, losing the opportunity for art as well as wit. The colored Sunday funnies (which followed separate stories or one-offs from the dailies) are reproduced in their full glorious spectrum. Each book has a table of contents summarizing the story-lines for easy location and an appendix of annotations ("Swamp Talk," by R. C. Harvey) to explain literary and historical allusions that might be obscure to modern readers.

Forewords, Introductions, and Editor's Notes give much information on Walt Kelly himself and the development of Pogo. We're told how Kelly was employed at and then left the Disney Studios after working on Dumbo, Pinocchio, and Fantasia; how he testified before Congress on behalf of comic books; how after years of developing Pogo he got it syndicated in 1949; how he fought for the copyright to his own work and won it; of his tireless promotion of the strip (including the "I Go Pogo" presidential campaign button); of the growing political satire in the strip in its latter years, causing some newspapers to move it to the editorial page; of his support for environmental responsibility and his famous slogan "We Have Met The Enemy And He Is Us." But we are also told more personal details: his gusto for life, expressed in his enjoyment of whiskey, cigars, and card games; the personal tragedy of the loss of his daughter Kathryn Barbara before her first birthday (memorialized in the strip each year with a bug with a birthday cake, searching for the little girl); the diabetes that plagued him later in life and led to the amputation of his leg; and the enormous sense of humor and the love that sustained him through everything.

As for Pogo itself, it is hard to explain its charm to anyone who hasn't read it. Pogo Possum is the eponymous hero, living in a fictionalized version of the Okefenokee Swamp, which has all the virtues and failings of any small-town backwater. Pogo is friendly, easy-going, and clear-sighted; his closest friends are Albert, a loud, hungry, egotistical, but warm-hearted alligator, and Porkypine, a prickly curmudgeon whose caustic outside protects a sensitive core. They usually have to deal with the enthusiasms and misapprehensions of the likes of Howland Owl (self-appointed "scienterrific" type) and his sometime-stooge Churchy, the probing of the sanctimonious Deacon Mushrat, and the romantic entanglements of Miss Mam'zelle Hepzibah, a glamorous French skunk. But the swamp is also stirred up by the frequent passage of various nomads like P. T. Bridgeport the showboating bear and Seminole Sam the flim-flam salesman fox, or incursions from Okefenokee's darker regions like the lynch-happy ever-hungry Wiley Katt. The strip is full of simple and not-so-simple humor, from the most hilarious cartoony gags to some subtle, even frightening, satire. But the sun outshines the shadows, and the decent usually triumph, often because of the stupid and divisive nature of the bad themselves, rather than any particular virtue of their own. But Pogo is always a sane and humane voice speaking out in the middle of any mania that might grip the swamp, and acts as the conscience for those who can easily be led astray.

But don't let me leave you with the impression that Pogo is preachy. It is first, and above all, funny (and beautiful, too); with the kind of over-all humor you can't explain, the kind you try to explain by quoting, and then can never stop, and still can't give the proper idea of because it is divorced from Kelly's expressive art. It has to be experienced to be appreciated; go find some samples and give it a try. Take several jumps at it if you have to. Once you get in and get a feel for it, you could develop a new enthusiasm for life, and then really appreciate what Fantagraphics Books is doing for us Pogophiles in these new reprints.

Two "Inklings" Novels: A Twosday Twofer

It was perhaps inevitable with the growing awareness of the Inklings in the early twenty-first century (due largely in part to the popular films made from the works of J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis) that this circle of friends and writers would begin to appear in works of fiction themselves. An early effort I remember reading was Here, There Be Dragons (2006) by James A. Owen, published by Simon and Schuster. This was the first volume in his fantasy series The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica, which has since swollen to at least four other titles. These books take the facts of the names and simple existence of Tolkien, Lewis, and Charles Williams and use them as a springboard for meandering imaginary adventures, revealing very little knowledge or insight into the actual lives or personalities of the people thus utilized. Creative use of the Inklings "mythos" has entered a new stage, however, with the publication of two novels by Ignatius Press.
Looking For The King (2010) by David C. Downing, takes place in Great Britain early in World War Two, before the United States has joined the conflict. Two Americans (James McCord, a doctoral student researching Arthurian sites, and Laura Hartman, a young woman ostensibly visiting her aunt but actually investigating a series of disturbing recurring dreams) cross paths and join forces when it seems that their goals have become one: to recover a mystical item from Arthurian legend before hostile forces can sieze it and use its power for evil. Aided by the scholarly and spiritual insights of C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, and Charles Williams, the pair follow the clues, uncovering the neglected history and forgotten stories of "Logres," the other side of England. But greedy and powerful men haunt the quest, making it ever more urgent for James and Laura to unravel the riddle and find the sleeping king of Laura's dream.

Dr. Downing's novel is a "romance thriller," something in the same nature, in fact, of Charles Williams' novels, with hints of Lewis' own most Williamsian novel, That Hideous Strength: James and Laura are rather like Lewis' couple Mark and Jane Studdock, with the men being skeptical and the women intuitive. The reproduction of the Inklings' persons and opinions in this novel are accurate; indeed, they can be, if anything, too painstakingly reproduced, with their conversations sometimes reading (to a person familiar with the source materials) like a Favorite Quotations Page. Downing, a Professor of English, even goes so far as to have an appendix citing where and from which works he acquired them. But this does not greatly detract from the tale, which is exciting and full of physical (and metaphysical) menace: a quest that ultimately culminates in discovery, enlightenment, and love.
Toward The Gleam (2011) by T. M. Doran is a different type of story altogether. Instead of a re-creation of an actual milieu, it is rather like one of Lewis' "supposals": suppose that Tolkien's literary device of translating and publishing a lost work from an ancient world were literally real. Suppose that Tolkien adopted the pseudonym "John Hill" to investigate the legitimacy of this "Atlantean" tale. Suppose his investigations drew the attentions of Adler Alembert, an international Napoleon of Crime who believes the ancient but advanced knowledge of "Atlantis" will grant him incredible power. Can "John Hill" translate the unknown runes, keep Alembert and his agents at bay, protect his family, and come to terms with his obsession with his own "precious" object?

This book owes much to the detective mystery, but it is so much more. "John Hill" is confronted with the prevailing philosophies of nihilism and utilitarianism that grind away at the soul, often in the persons of Adler and his agents who seek to woo "John" (with his valuable knowledge) into their cause. It is the love of his wife "E.M.", his faith, and the help of his friends Jack and Owen (C. S. Lewis and Owen Barfield, "the forgotten Inkling"; being pre-WWII there is no Charles Williams yet) that keep him on track. There is also the example of the mysterious story he is translating, which seems to be a spiritual tonic and an aid against precisely the moral temptations he faces. This tale is referred to only in tantalizing allusions (some characters mentioned are the Hero, the Necromancer, the Burglar, the Grey Pilgrim), and part of the fun is identifying elements from Tolkien's work. Is the box the book is kept in made of mithril? Was a pteranodon recreated by the Necromancer with Jurassic-Park-like engineering? In the end "John Hill" experiences a strange saving grace that would not be unfamiliar to readers of Tolkien's published story.

I was hesitant for a while about reading these books, wondering (in light of past experience) whether they would be true to their origins. But I found them to be engaging entertainments, and indeed read both in three days. If I had to recommend you read only one, I would say try Toward The Gleam first; I deem it the more creative and exciting work. But I couldn't advise a better follow up than Looking For The King, if that left you hungry for more in the genre.

Late For Hallowe'en: A Book Review

"A shiver ran down Judy's spine, but not entirely one of fright. It seemed as though she was on the threshold of a completely new, rather wicked, but very exciting world, a world that went on by itself quite independently of the human one. She was at once thrilled and apprehensive."

Every now and then I run across a book that I could have read as a kid, that I probably would have read as a kid, or that maybe I even did read but lost in the mists of time, so simply and easily it slips into the shelf by old favorites and odd influences. Such a book is Late For Hallowe'en, by Camilla Fegan.

It is the story of ten year old English girl named Judy, and what happens when a witch named Murgatroyd and her black cat Hornsbydale set up housekeeping in the rhododendron cave at the bottom of her garden. Murgatroyd has missed the Annual Witches' Dance on Hallowe'en (hence the title) where the flying spell on her broomstick can be renewed, and so she is stranded for a year.

Judy is a kind and curious girl with an eye for wonder. Murgatroyd is selfish, snappy, and has a thirst for power, but is not without a sort of off-handed generosity. The cat Hornsbydale is a mischievous tattletale, as likely to reveal the witch's secrets to Judy as to tell Murgatroyd what Judy is up to. And Judy does have her own secret agenda when Chinquintafizz shows up.

Chinquintafizz (Fizz for short) is a wise and benevolent dragon that Murgatroyd has released from a painting on an old lacquer tray, so she can learn the magic of Fizz's ancient master, the Chinese magician Fly-by-the-Moon. Fizz wants only to keep Judy out of the hands of the witches and return to Fly-by-the-Moon where he now dwells in the Perfect Beyond.

Judy, who learns more and more about the magic world as the year progresses, must come to terms with what this knowledge means to her, whether she will become a witch as Murgatroyd wants or follow a more enlightened path as Fizz counsels. It all comes to a boil on "The Night of a Hundred Witches," when Hallowe'en rolls around again.

A large part of the charm of this little book (it's only 109 pages long) are the set pieces of description. They are never so long as to slow the story, or so detailed as to paint complete pictures, but are intricate and vivid enough to give the imagination fine food to chew on. For instance, here is the rhododendron cave after Murgatroyd has set up residence:

"There was a bright fire burning in the centre of the cave, with the cauldron slung on a tripod over the centre, giving forth a soft, greeny-colored steam. There was a three-legged stool, and three shelves around the walls. The ends of the shelves balanced on the branches. One shelf was laden with bottles, one with jars, and one with a number of books, all so tattered and blackened with age that it was a wonder they didn't fall to pieces. Propping them up were bookends made of little stuffed barn owls. All the bottles and jars were labeled, and full of peculiar colored mixtures and powders."

Once a scene is set, it is seldom referred to again. The action proceeds briskly. There is never a time when Judy stops to consider the oddity of her adventures. She accepts dragons and witches in much the same way she accepts mice and lizards, owls and bats, simply as another datum of the world in which she lives. But in contrast to Murgatroyd, to whom magic is a matter of everyday business, Judy holds all things, mundane or magical, in wonder.

If I had to guess, I would place Late For Hallowe'en's literary ancestors as The Midnight Folk by John Masefield, Bed-knob and Broomstick by Mary Norton, and Carbonel, The King of Cats by Barbara Sleigh. The illustrations by Eileen Armitage are also reminiscent of Carbonel, being squiggly and suggestive rather than having pinned-down details.

This book was first published in 1966 in Great Britain; the American edition (the one I have) in 1967. Right now, available copies of it seem thin on the ground. A quick search revealed that it is on a "Deserves To Be Reprinted" list, that it evokes fond memories from those who recalled it, and the one edition for sale on Amazon was going for $165. I got mine for fifty cents at our local school book sale. This seems magical enough to me.