On Eagles' Wings: An Exploration of Eucatastrophe in Tolkien's Fantasy

On Eagles’ Wings:

An Exploration of

Eucatastrophe

in Tolkien’s Fantasy

By Anna Thayer

Text Copyright © 2016 Anna E. Thayer

Cover Illustration © Jay Johnstone 2016

First published, 2016 by Luna Press Publishing, Edinburgh

On Eagles’ Wings: An Exploration of Eucatastrophe in Tolkien’s Fantasy © 2016 Anna E. Thayer. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including this condition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser.

www.lunapresspublishing.com

ISBN-13: 978-1-911143-08-6

Contents

Abbreviations

PREFACE

Slow-Kindled Courage. A Study of Heroes in the Works of J.R.R. Tolkien

Spiritual Mimesis: The Lord of the Rings

Moving Mandos: The Dynamics of Subcreation in ‘Of Beren and Lúthien’

Seeing Fire and Sword, or Refining Hobbits

‘Clean Earth to Till: A Tolkienian Vision of War’

Stars Above a Dark Tor: Tolkien and Romanticism

A Star Above the Mast: Tolkien, Faërie and the Great Escape

‘An Old Light Rekindled: Tolkien’s Influence on Fantasy’

Abbreviations

The Lord of the Rings - LotR

The Fellowship of the Ring - FotR

The Two Towers - TT

The Return of the King - RotK

The Hobbit - TH

The Silmarillion - TSil

Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth - UT

On Fairy-Stories - OFS

Farmer Giles of Ham - Giles

Smith of Wootton Major - Smith

The Adventures of Tom Bombadil - Bombadil

Bilbo’s Last Song - BLS

Leaf By Niggle - LN

PREFACE

The clouds were torn by the wind, and a red sunset slashed the west. Seeing the sudden gleam in the gloom Bilbo looked round. He gave a great cry: he had seen a sight that made his heart leap, dark shapes small yet majestic against the distant glow.

The Eagles! The Eagles! he shouted. The Eagles are coming!¹

If you are at all familiar with Tolkien’s work, then Bilbo’s cry – proclaiming the arrival of Eagles – will be no stranger to you. Indeed, it is somewhat of a hallmark of the Master of Middle-Earth, one rejoiced over and lampooned in equal measure by both lovers and critics of his writing: at the moment of crisis, the eleventh hour when darkness holds sway and there is nothing more that the heroes can do to win the day, these plot-armoured birds appear, our protagonists fall conveniently unconscious, and when the heroes awake, the good guys have won.

A reductive way of looking at it, perhaps; but the Eagles, and their ability to swoop in and save all at the last possible moment (without a focaliser to witness exactly how they do it) seem, superficially, to fly in the face of good storytelling. You could even argue that they entirely undercut the narrative by making all the efforts of the heroes amount to... well, nothing. And then there’s that niggling question – if they had all this power, why in Middle Earth didn’t they step in before, and save everyone a good thrashing?

Tolkien was not infallible, either as a man or a storyteller, and while some elements of his mythos resist our attempts to pin them down (Tom Bombadil-o, anyone?), it is possible for us to understand the Eagles – even if we continue to object to them. To do so, we need to look into Tolkien’s critical writing and, in particular, his concept of eucatastrophe:

...I would say that Tragedy is the true form of Drama, its highest function; but the opposite is true of Fairy-story. Since we do not appear to possess a word that expresses this opposite – I will call it eucatastrophe. The eucatastrophic tale is the true form of fairy-tale, and its highest function... The consolation of fairy-stories, the joy of the happy ending: or more correctly of the good catastrophe, the sudden joyous ‘turn’... [the] sudden and miraculous grace: never to be counted on to recur... [gives] a fleeting glimpse of joy, joy beyond the walls of the world... it can give to child or man that hears it... a catch of the breath, a beat and lifting of the heart, near to (or indeed accompanied by) tears... A tale that in any measure succeeds in this point has not wholly failed, whatever flaws it may possess.²

Tolkien’s treatise as to the purpose and function of fairy-stories is as much a work of theology as it is of literary theory, culminating in his view that those stories that evoke the eucatastrophic turn ultimately reflect what he calls ‘the Great Eucatastrophe’ (OFS, 73): the story of the birth, death and resurrection of Christ, which is ‘the eucatastrophe of Man’s history’ (OFS, 72) – and that the taste of Joy which we experience in fairy in the unlooked for ‘turn’ is a glimmer and a pointer to that supreme eucatastrophe in our own, primary reality. Tolkien leaves Plato – and his theory of forms – quite in tatters: for Tolkien, story, rather than distracting us from the true nature of things by presenting pale copies and imitations, actually, at its pinnacle, has the potential to draw us closer to God. Better let those poets back into the Republic, Plato!

So how does this concept illuminate the Eagles for us? We need to understand them as a narrative embodiment of Tolkien’s eucatastrophic theory; they are the unlooked for grace, the redemptive turn – such a strong glimpse of Joy that the protagonists cannot truly and consciously look on it.

Of course, not being God themselves, the Eagles don’t solve everything. Despite their intervention, Thorin still dies, Frodo is still so injured that he cannot remain in Middle Earth. But these aquiline amigos are a pointer to that presence beyond the walls of the world that were so instrumental in Tolkien’s life and writing. Perhaps, in choosing the Eagles to crystallise this concept, Tolkien had in the back of his mind a few verses from Isaiah:

Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens...

those who hope in the Lord

will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles;

they will run and not grow weary,

they will walk and not be faint.³

As this preface might suggest, I’ve been fascinated, inspired and led by Tolkien’s concept since childhood. Whatever my line of enquiry into Tolkien’s work, the sequence of clues has always led to the same culprit: eucatastrophe. The book that you’re holding represents a kind of eucatastrophe casebook, a series of investigations into Tolkien’s work that reveal how overarching this theory was in his writing and mindset. It is a theory that has, in turn, enormously influenced my own genesis as a critic and a writer.

I invite you to join me on my journey into the eucatastrophic qualities of Tolkien’s stories – for, while it found its pithiest expression in eagles’ wings, its touch on the landscape of Middle Earth is entirely inescapable.

1. J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit, HarperCollins, London, 1999, first published Allen and Unwin 1937, p. 263. All quotations from TH are taken from this edition.

2. J.R.R. Tolkien, ‘On Fairy Stories’ in Tree and Leaf, HarperCollins, London, 2001, first published Allen and Unwin 1964, pp. 68-69. All quotations from OFS are taken from this edition.

3. The Holy Bible New International Version, Hodder & Stoughton, London, 2000, Isaiah 40, v. 26, 31.

Slow-Kindled Courage. A Study of Heroes in the Works of J.R.R. Tolkien¹

It is posited that in the dislocation between literature’s example and reality’s experience, the Great War created a backlash against the linguistic and ideological form of heroic literature, eliciting a sense of ‘disenchantment’ for concurrent poets and writers. Heroes in Tolkien’s fictions are examined as an attempt to reinstate these older frameworks of heroism, especially at levels of sophrosynic achievement or Christian mimesis. Discussion covers the historical context of the Great War, models of heroism upon which Tolkien drew, Tolkien’s own theory regarding the links between the primary world of history/reality and the secondary world of literature, and the crossing of these issues to elicit the heroes of his fiction. Exploration of Tolkien’s heroes illustrates the way in which Tolkien attempts to escape the prevailing disenchantment of his age, but concludes that his heroes are ultimately symptomatic of the time in which he wrote.

We all have a problem with heroes. We want them

so badly that we keep inventing new ones.²

If literature is a mimetic art, then heroes in literature both reflect and answer the need for heroes in the real world. The Iliad, the Aeneid, the Bible, Beowulf, historiographic works such as those of Wace or Laзamon: all exemplify the curious overlap between the secondary world of literature and the primary world of history. This dialogue between reality and fiction is a complex system of encouragement and self-perpetuation for writers and readers alike.

In this article, Tolkien’s heroes are examined in terms of their antecedents, the heroic spaces created for them, and the ways in which they enter into the aforementioned dialogue with history via the historical moment of their creation.

Fairies and Fusiliers

In Tolkien’s time history and literature were closely intertwined in creating a model of heroism. Partially due to the amount of literature preserved, the Great War is one of the most-documented conflicts in western history. Generally speaking, the prevailing initial literary voice of the trenches came from officers and soldiers who were themselves educated on epics: the Iliad, the Aeneid, Paradise Lost. These possess a high-linguistic register that praises courage, honour and glorious death in battle, Paradise Lost doing so in its Homeric depiction of Satan. The trench-writers applied this style of thought and linguistic expression to a new conflict; for example, Rupert Brook’s Peace captures a sense of language that originates ideologically in Homer:

Now God be thanked Who has matched us with His hour

And Caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping …

Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary,

Leave the sick hearts that honour could not move,

And half-men, and their dirty songs and dreary,

And all the little emptiness of love!³

This elucidation of honour and shame shows war as the ideal occupation of youth. Married to the Homeric framing (‘hearts that honour could not move’) is a redemptive bellicosity influenced by Christianity: ‘…we have found release there, / Where there’s no ill, no grief…’

But this glorious view was disturbed by the sheer scale of the war; linguistic traits characteristic of the Classics and the Christian faith, used previously to aggrandise battle, were employed to sing a different song:

What passing bells for these who die as cattle?

Only the monstrous anger of the guns.

Only the stuttering rifles’ rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries for them from prayers or bells,

Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, –

The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;

And bugles calling for them from sad shires.⁴

In merging heroic/Christian language, Owen challenges views that automatically confer heroism on war. He does the same in Strange Meeting, where the poem’s dream-like frame is reminiscent of Odysseus’ and Ajax’s meeting in Odyssey XI; the title of ‘Arms and the Boy’ plainly references the Aeneid’s opening line, Arma uirumque cano (‘I sing of arms and of the man’), emphasising soldiers’ youth. An archaic linguistic register associated with the values of war is consistently employed to undermine them, for Owen’s subject was ‘the pity of war’, not its heroism.

Siegfried Sassoon wrote likewise. Keenly aware of ‘one… who reads/ Of dying heroes and their deathless deeds’,⁵ his concern was to highlight the bitter difference between perception and reality. The Hero, for example, depicts the ‘gallant lies’ told to keep up heroism’s façade for an Every-Woman whose son has been killed. Sassoon was also aware of the point where history, literature and war interlocked. In Songbooks of the War he writes:

In fifty years, when peace outshines

Remembrance of the battle lines,

Adventurous lads will sigh and cast

Proud looks upon the plundered past…

And dream of lads who fought in