Old Magic

Each year I have the overwhelming urge to reread The Lord of the Rings. I never have this urge in the summer or the spring; it comes when the leaves start to fall and the air takes on what every English-speaker unanimously describes as ‘brisk.’ If I’m on the road I’ll have my very first paperback copies: worn out reprints of the second edition paperbacks released during the initial movie run in the early 2000s. Each volume has a screenshot from one of the movies — Fellowship has Frodo unsheathing Sting for the first time, Two Towers has Saruman leering over his staff, etc. At home I crack open the 1988 Houghton Mifflin editions my family bought for me the last Christmas I lived under their roof. For a long time I thought that was the origin of the urge.

There’s something else that I felt, for a long time, was unrelated: I have a difficult time explaining exactly why I love this series. They’re among my favorite works ever written so you’d think I’d have a basic grasp of what sets them apart. Something distinguishes them from other fantasy series that I love, even just other books that I love, but I can’t seem to identify the discrepancy — much less put a name to it. You’d think I’d be able to amalgamate all the reasons have already have been given by so many others. It’s one of the most universally beloved series worldwide after all. Sadly most of these topple under a little scrutiny.  For a while the Tolkien Society’s (fantastic) observations kept me going, but I wanted more. What in particular sets these brilliantly told stories apart from other brilliantly told ones?

The most common posit is that his superior worldbuilding sets him apart. I won’t deny this is one of Tolkien’s many talents, but to say this is the primary reason for the brilliancy of his novels is a discredit to the countless imitators who have done surpassingly well themselves. I’d like to avoid worldbattles but strong cases can be made from George R.R. Martin’s, Brian Sanderon’s, etc. being superior examples. What’s more is that I cordially dislike worldbuilding; it denies the reader the satisfaction of participating in the storytelling themselves, something Tolkien would have despised.

“I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence. I much prefer history – true or feigned– with its varied applicability to the thought and experience of readers. I think that many confuse applicability with allegory, but the one resides in the freedom of the reader, and the other in the purposed domination of the author.”(emphasis mine) — J.R.R. Tolkien in his Preface to the Second Edition of The Lord of the Rings

Another popular opinion is that they are the best because they were the first. There are far too ‘firsts’ that have faded into the reference section because they have been surpassed by their successors.  True Grit comes to mind. The book was pretty good and laid a strong foundation for the John Wayne film.  The film did well enough to cause the novel to fade into relative obscurity.  Then you have the Coens’ remake in 2010 that blew them both out of the water.  I’ve read the book once, seen the Wayne film once, and rewatch the 2010 version at least once a year.  I know there are some die-hard fans out there that would disagree but they represent the minority on this one.

Consider also how difficult it is to define ‘first’: what exactly did Tolkien do first? Create a world of that size and stature? Write a decent fantasy novel? George MacDonald, Lord Dunsany, and Lovecraft were doing both well before Tolkien came along. They probably inspired him.

Even if I don’t find these explanations sufficient I also don’t hold anything against those who hold them. It’s hard to put words to something as abstract as love for a story; it takes many years of practice and hard work to master language enough to accomplish something like that. And besides, maybe the aforementioned are sufficient for you. You may even have the blessing of not requiring explanations for the abstract. I envy you.

So as it finally gets cold here in the south and I start my yearly re-excursion through Rings my thoughts become cluttered again. I really struggle with setting this down for some reason. But thankfully all of my experience has started to come together to form something resembling the coherent. I don’t claim to have the skill to define the abstract but its good writing practice and might give me some peace to have it on a page.

Tolkien’s books, and particularly Rings, are full of Magic. I’m not talking about Gandalf’s magic or the magic of the Rings, although it’s very similar. This is the magic existing behind the pen. Bear with me because I know this sounds abstract and facile; I truly think this is the key to what makes Tolkien great.

Tolkien’s interests, experiences, tragedies, talents all line up like an astral convergence to produce a man familiar with this kind of magic in ways people haven’t been for centuries. Unlike his contemporaries he read Beowulf and loved it as a story, not a relic. He read the ancients’ poems in the ancients’ tongues and got closer than anyone in his day to the fires around which the stories were told. Their stories and the tongues they were told in exist near the deep roots of storytelling itself, a first sapling. These saplings come forth out of our inexplicable desire to tell stories.  In its first shoots we see the fires of Troy and hear Grendel’s grating howls. What else but magic could produce such a desire in us? And not just any magic, the same kind used to slay dragons and create Rings of Power — a magic somehow dissimilar from the kind we read about in other stories. It’s an Old Magic.

It’s in this fellowship with Old Magic that Tolkien was able to produce one of the greatest stories of our time. He reclaimed that soul, the sapling of the great tree of human stories. He found the roots we had begun to dismiss as relics. And with his talents and mastery of craft he conceived a story worthy of the oldest tales, so near to what makes them so enduring. And they, like Rings, endure not because they were the first but because they are invincible.

So now I understand why I read these books again each winter. It was winter that first caused mankind to gather around fires. It was likely there they started telling stories of what they accomplished during the day or of the significant events in their lives. Then, for some inexplicable reason, someone decided to tell something new: a story about monsters and heroes, cities in ruin and ancient kings, the world before and the world after. They had no way to explain these stories and likely had trouble explaining why they wanted to tell them.  We haven’t changed much, but I know — just like they knew — what to call something I can’t explain: magic.