#faërie

[camille-lachenille]

I was curious to see how many books by Tolkien I have so far and I must say I’m pleased with the size of the pile. I have 12 books by him, eight I have read, two I am currently reading (Children of Húrin and Morgoth’s Ring) and two that are in my TBR pile (Fall of Gondolin and Faërie). The battered English edition of the Hobbit is actually my sister’s but it’s a long-term loan so I think of it as mine…

And that’s not counting the books about Tolkien I have (half of them I haven’t read yet), which would bring me to 18 books!

[ladysparrow01]

Exploring Faërie: Ryls

(Fairytale: A True Story, 1997.)

Ryls (a term created by L. Frank Baum) are probably what most people think of when they hear the word "Faery". These small creatures are only a few inches tall and are said to be very beautiful. They are also known to fly, though whether this is achived through riding the wind astride ragwort stems or under the power of insect-like wings is much debated.

Ryls are Trooping Faeries who make their homes together in the seclusion of nature. They are described as being among the care givers of the natural world. According to the fictional works of L. Frank Baum, these Faeries tend to plants and flowers with their magical gifts. This kind of Faery is also said to love music and create Faery Rings by dancing under the full moon. They have been known to lure mortals into their revels, tempting them to dance their lives away with glamoured gifts and enchanted music. And those that refuse to dance are sometimes plagued by the Faeries' ill will. These beings are also keen on riddles and games. And they are thought to be easily enamoured by interesting objects or even their own reflections. Like so many Faeries, the Ryls value politeness and take offence when it is not shown to them. Ryls can be both helpful and troublesome. It all depends on the mood of the individual and the situation at hand. They are clever Faeries. And ine should always try to keep their wits when encountering the Ryl.

[ladysparrow01]

I was a sort of pet to Her. She was content to take care of me and let me wander freely around Her little house. And She would sometimes call me over to sit with Her by the fire so She could stroke my hair affectionately and talk to me. It was strange at first. But as time moved along in its peculiar way, I had become rather used to my situation.

She had woken earlier than usual. I wondered at the chance of some breakfast. But She was too busy gathering jars and a few tools into Her willow basket. The irridecent fractals of the honeycomb window above Her work bench caught my interest. I didn't understand the many ingredients and collections that filled every space of the kitchen. I didn't need to. I did enjoy the steady way she worked, though, bent over the bench or the little stove as she made her recipes and remedies. It was soothing, somehow. And today was no different. I listened contentedly to the sound of Her packing the basket, talking to Herself about what She was doing.

When She had gathered all that She needed, She hooked the basket over Her thin arm and crossed the open room of the house. She rubbed a hand over my hair as She passed me. I watched, suddenly curious, as She took down Her cloak from where it hung by the door. I was keen to know if She would take me out with Her or simply leave me behind as She often did.

"Come along, My Sweet." She said in the sing-song voice She used only for me as She wrapped the crystal studded moss cloak around Her narrow shoulders.

I got up happily, having long since forgotten any shame I once felt at being excited by the prospect of a walk. She laughed, a sound like clear river water over smooth stones, and slipped the braided lead of silvery rope around my left wrist as She always did before we departed the house.

Outside, the perpetual dawn of Summer Faërie was soft and still. A dreamy lilac sky dressed in peach tinted clouds and faintly shimmering stars stretched out above. The damp scent of clover moved through the air. And the day was cool and fresh.

I kept close to Her side as we set out, leaving the piled stone and earth that formed the house behind us. She moved with slow, careful steps that once again made me wonder at Her age. She looked elderly. Her round face and long-fingered hands were spotted and wrinkled beneith the sheen of glimmering dust that always clung to Her skin. Her moon-silver hair was thick and braided so that it fell in several long plaits over Her shoulders. She was small and had the appearance of being frail, but She had a physical strength that never failed to surprise me. And there was a sharp glint of something hale in Her black eyes.

We walked down a meandering path that was overgrown with glass flowers that glowed as we passed. I would have liked to investigate them for a while, but She gently pulled me along by the lead around my wrist.

"Leave that, My Sweet." She told me kindly.

I turned from the flowers dutifully, the ever present desire to please Her full in my chest. We walked on for some time. Occasionally we crossed one of Her many extraordinary Neighbours. Some of Them I knew. Some of Them I didn't. One, who looked to me as though They were little more than a child, stopped to chat for a moment. They reached up to scruff my hair playfully as They spoke about things I didn't understand. When the conversation was spent, They left us with a smile and the cheerful compliment that I was a good human.

It wasn't much longer before She and I came to a glade dazzled with glinting dew drops. She looped my lead around the low branch of a twisted tree so as to free Her hands. And I was left somewhat to my own devices as She carefully collected dew into the beautiful little jars in Her basket.

My curiosity led me around the enclosed clearing as far as my lead would allow. I explored the sighing trees that let their branches overhang low enough for me to duck under or climb. I found a large fallen log dressed in pastel lichen and fungi. A frog-like creature with luna moth wings had made its home there, though. It leapt at me with a watery shout when I got too near. And I went scrambling away without a second glance. This made Her laugh again, like spring rain in a lush garden. I had not even realized that She was watching me while She worked.

I gave up my exploring for a comfortable place under a tree with graceful tendrils of feathery leaves. I sat down in the soft grass and leaned against the papery trunk, breathing deep the clean smell of growing things. Somewhere, unseen animals were calling to one another in chirps and barks and yelps. The line of my lead drew a silver stream through the jade grass. And She was stooped low on the far side of the clearing with Her back to me.

I might have fallen asleep for a time if it weren't for a sudden smell like boiled cabbage and stale beer and smoke. I burried my mouth and nose into the crook of my arm, the soft linen-esque fabric of my poet sleeves protecting me from the stench, and looked around.

Standing under the low branches of a tree not far from where I sat was a shabby Faery man. When I looked at Him, He grinned at me with a mouth full of short, sharp teeth. He had large blue eyes like a cat, a snubbed nose, and a head full of shaggy fair hair that reminded me of dandelions.

"Hullo, you." He said around his teeth in a purring voice, "What a nice little human you are."

I didn't like the way His slitted pupils slid over me as he edged closer to where I sat. I didn't like the coaxing sound in His voice. I didn't like Him.

He must have been able to see my mistrust. He lowered Himself into a crouch and reached into the pocket of His patchwork coat. His clawed hand pulled out a palmful of jewel coloured berries. Their sweet, deep smell filled the air. And He held them out towards me.

"See what I have for you, pretty human." He purred at me convincingly, "Come and have a taste."

I moved to go to Him, the plump berries more alluring than I could stand to resist on an empty stomach. I hardly noticed the smile growing across His face as I edged tentitivily forward from where I sat. All I could think about was the promise of tart-sweetness.

Her voice filled the clearing like the breaking of thunder. My true name hit me full on. And the temptation of the offered berries became watered down and distant. The compulsion to respond to Her loving command filled me. I leapt to my feet and fled across the glade to the safety of Her waiting embrace.

She praised me full heartedly as She held me in her delicate arms. I don't know what words of reproof She leveled against the Faery man. I only know that He turned and disappeared into the gloam of the forest.

"I think that is quite enough excitement for one day, My Sweet." She told me kindly, rubbing her hand over my hair gently, "Let us return back home."

It is well-known that if you give your name or eat the food of a Fey, they have power over you, and in turn own you. You decided this wasn’t a terrible deal.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Fleur de grenadier, flower of pomegranate tree (1867) by Swallowtail Garden Seeds Via Flickr: The Flowers Personified. Grandville, J. J., Les fleurs animées vol. 1 (1867) From the Swallowtail Garden Seeds collection of botanical photographs and illustrations. We hope you will enjoy these images as much as we do.

[softnessisaweapon]

all i see is the fullness of you

[petaltexturedskies]

The faëry forest glimmered beneath an ivory moon, the silver grasses shimmered against a faëry tune. Beneath the silken silence the crystal branches slept, and dreaming thro' the dew-fall the cold white blossoms wept.

Sara Teasdale, from "The Faëry Forest" in The Collected Poems of Sara Teasdale

[thefisherqueen]

And write he did, a light-hearted letter enough, but full of serious solicitude for me and for my health and prospects; a letter almost touching in the light of our past relations, in the twilight of their complete rupture. He said that he had booked two berths to Naples, that we were bound for Capri, which was clearly the island of the Lotos-eaters, that we would bask there together, "and for a while forget." It was a charming letter. I had never seen Italy; the privilege of initiation should be his. No mistake was greater than to deem it an impossible country for the summer. The Bay of Naples was never so divine, and he wrote of "faëry lands forlorn," as though the poetry sprang unbidden to his pen

So I'm reading Graham's Robb 'Strangers. Homosexual love in the nineteenth century', and gods, this passage has connotations. Quote: "Some form of homosexual community seems to have existed in any city large enough to provide anonymity. In most European and American cities, there was a place or even a district where homosexual men - and, more rare, women - could meet in relative safety: the waterfront in San Francisco, Broadway and Central Park in New York, parks alleyways and toilets in Toronto (from about 1890), Montmartre in Paris, Unter den Linden in Berlin, the Retiro in Madrid, the docks in Barcelona, the Boulevard Ring in Moscow, the quare in from of Copenhagen town hall, about seventeen different places in Amsterdam, and almost everywere in Naples." The gay (and forcefully outed) poet Count von Platen wrote about Naples "where love between men is so frequent that one never expects even the boldest damands to be refused'. Italy, and especially Naples, had such a reputation that queer people used to reference it to for example test the waters in a conversation, or safely advertise in search of potential partners. One could always claim to just talk about the literal place and not mean anything else

[norellenilia]

En train de capter un truc : les mercenaires humains venus chercher Erika à l'épisode 13 et dont on a jamais réentendu parler, je viens de comprendre le délire en fait !

Je repense à un post de ChiNoMiKo (que j'avais reblogué de mémoire) où elle donnait la vision qu'elle avait eue du personnage de Leiftan. Et dans sa version de l'histoire, qui n'a visiblement pas été retenue (ou pas dans la durée), Papounet était au courant pour Eldarya AVANT la potion, je crois qu'il débarque à Eldarya quand Erika est petite et très malade et bute les parents adoptifs de Leiftan pour choper de la flotte de la fontaine ou de la rivière de la mère de Leif qui est une naïade afin de soigner sa fille, ou un truc dans ce goût-là.

Du coup oui les mercenaires ça semble logique que ça vienne de cette version-là de l'histoire, où Papounet soupçonnerait sa fille d'avoir disparu à Eldarya, potentiellement il sait qu'elle et lui ont du sang faëry, du coup il envoie des gens pour la retrouver.

Sauf que bah du coup ça colle pas avec le canon établi par la saison 2, dans laquelle Papounet ne découvre l'existence d'Eldarya qu'APRES qu'Erika a bu la potion : il comprend pas pourquoi il se souvient de sa fille et personne d'autre, il fait des recherches et tombe sur l'histoire du moine et du fermier, etc.

Donc oui ok je pense que l'épisode 13 avait été écrit avec le canon de ChiNo en tête, sauf qu'il y a eu des changements de scénaristes et sans doute plein d'autres bordels, et la saison 2 n'a pas du tout pris en compte ce qui a été écrit en saison 1 sur le sujet (ni sur plein d'autres, d'ailleurs), du coup on se retrouve avec... Bah une grosse incohérence, où des mercenaires sont sortis d'un trou en scénarium pour retrouver Erika, et l'explication elle existait (ils viennent de Papounet), mais la version où elle existait n'a pas survécu assez longtemps pour qu'on l'ait, ce qui fait que de notre point de vue, y'a des types qui soi-disant connaissaient Erika, sont venus la sauver, mais qui, pourquoi, comment, on saura jamais.

J'invente sûrement pas le fil à couper le beurre mais je voulais le consigner quelque part parce que dans ma tête ça a fait :

Mdr

[lunamagicablu]

“Faërie contiene molte cose oltre agli elfi e alle fate, e oltre ai nani, alle streghe, ai troll, ai giganti o ai draghi; contiene i mari, il sole, la luna, il cielo; e la terra, e tutte le cose che sono in essa: alberi e uccelli, acqua e pietra, vino e pane, e noi stessi, uomini mortali, quando siamo incantati.” JRR Tolkien, Tolkien sulle fiabe art by_0buzz_ ******************** “Faërie contains many things besides elves and fairies, and besides dwarves, witches, trolls, giants, or dragons; it contains the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky; and the earth, and all the things that are in it: trees and birds, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted.” JRR Tolkien, Tolkien on Fairy-Stories art by_0buzz_ 

[groundedgreenwitch]

“faërie contains many things besides elves and fays, and besides dwarfs, witches, trolls, giants, or dragons; it holds the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky; and the earth, and all things that are in it: tree and bird, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted.” -j.r.r. tolkien

[eri-pl]

Another alliterative verse

While seeking Feanor's speech, I found this gem from Lays of Beleriand and I will again do a very ignorant analysis (sorry I cannot internalize the more subtle rules of how this should work, Jirt seems to ignore them and it makes this even harder)

(Early Silm, so Noldor=Gnomes, and there are 9 male Valar and so on and so forth)

Lo! slain is my sire | by the sword of fiends,

his death he has drunk | at the doors of his hall

that Gnome and Elf | and the Nine Valar

and deep fastness, | where darkly hidden

the Three were guarded, | the things unmatched

not Fëanor Finn’s son | who fashioned them of yore –

can never remake | or renew on earth,

recarve or rekindle | by craft or magic,

the light is lost | whence he lit them first,

\ * ??? proto-Taniquentil? (or whatever it's called)

the fate of Faërie | hath found its hour

Thus the witless wisdom | its reward hath earned

of the Gods’ jealousy, | who guard us here

to serve them, sing to them | in our sweet cages,

to contrive them gems | and jewelled trinkets,

their leisure to please | with our loveliness,

while they waste and squander | work of ages,

nor can Morgoth master | in their mansions sitting

at countless councils. | Now come ye all,

who have courage and hope! | My call harken

to flight, to freedom | in far places!

The woods of the world | whose wide mansions

yet in darkness dream | drowned in slumber,

the pathless plains | and perilous shores

no moon yet shines on | nor mounting dawn

in dew and daylight | hath drenched for ever,

far better were these | for bold footsteps

than gardens of the Gods | gloom-encircled

with idleness filled | and empty days.

Yea! though the light lit them | and the loveliness

beyond heart’s desire | that hath held us slaves

here long and long. | But that light is dead.

Our gems are gone, | our jewels ravished;

and the Three, my Three, | thrice-enchanted

globes of crystal | by gleam undying

illumined, lit | by living splendour

and all hues’ essence, | their eager flame –

Morgoth has them | in his monstrous hold,

my Silmarils. | I swear here oaths,

unbreakable bonds | to bind me ever,

by Timbrenting* | and the timeless halls

of Bredhil the Blessed** | that abides thereon –

may she hear and heed – | to hunt endlessly

unwearying unwavering | through world and sea,

through leaguered lands, | lonely mountains,

over fens and forest | and the fearful snows,

till I find those fair ones, | where the fate is hid

of the folk of Elfland | and their fortune locked,

where alone now lies | the light divine.’ 

** I guess that's proto-Varda?

[ladysparrow01]

An iridescent morning.

[atranswomansdiary]

Day 24

June 29, 2020

Today I discovered the true meaning of happiness.

I’ve never been a happy person. I don’t consider myself a cynical or bitter person, though, despite what my mom or some other people may think. I try to treat people as well as I can, even though I think I’ve had a difficult life. Not impossibly difficult, mind you, but not easy either.

Out of all my friends and former partners, for example, I’d say that I’ve had the most difficult life, at least in terms of socioeconomic obstacles—basically a permanent lack of money—which somehow never hindered my development in many senses. I had many saving graces, on other hand. My family is the most functional out of all those that I’ve come to know but, even then, that doesn’t mean that it was really all that functional.

I think that, in perspective, I’ve been dealing with depression since my early adolescence. There were many factors that contributed to it but, of the top of my head, the most relevant are: hard bullying since late middle school (and throughout high school), plus some bullying and isolation during primary school as well. My mother’s untreated depression and my father’s psychological abuse, mostly in the form of stonewalling, gaslighting, and angry outbursts. My general isolation, loneliness and, I must say, the general feeling that I was always misunderstood.

This last point I think bears some expansion. I don’t know how common this, but I often daydreamed as a child that this was not my “real” family. That I had been adopted or was from somewhere else (Faërie or even another planet) or some such contrivance, inspired no doubt by the stuff I read in novels and watched in soap operas.

As the years passed—and my innocence, slowly but surely faded away—I came to accept the reality of my existence. This was my life. This was my family. These were my mother and father. And, I don’t think I realized it until very recently, this was a huge disappointment for me that I never truly recovered from. This feeling had little to do with my family and everything to do with me. And, specifically, my body and, as I’ve come to realize, my gender.

Today I was bored and alone, enjoying the last day of a long weekend, and because of an ad on social media (I think), I ended up downloading an app which allows you, among other things, to generate an "opposite gender" version of a photo.

With trepidation, excitement, and a sudden nervousness that wasn’t there before, I downloaded the app, as well one of my latest photos. I don’t take (or allow others to take) many photos of myself.

I uploaded this months-old photo into the app. The whole process must have taken a few seconds at most, but it felt way longer. Like, impossibly long. It felt like Christmas when I was a kid, when I’d be so excited about getting presents that I’d get literally sick of waiting.

And then the final picture appeared and I was done for.

I was smiling and then laughing. I got out of bed and started pacing around the apartment with a joy that I hadn’t felt in… Weeks? Months? Years?

Maybe ever?

I really believe I cannot faithfully put into the words the sheer joy, the absolute and perfect happiness that overcame me in that moment. It must be so little, so minor to you, but it meant everything to me.

[Note from the future: In retrospect, this was probably the moment that I realized, perhaps on a subconscious level, that I was trans. Cis people don’t get this level of joy, I think, when they see a photo of themselves.]

There are things I need to clarify here, I think. First: the joy had little to do with me looking “good” and everything to do with feeling like this was the first time I identified with a picture of myself. It felt like every other photo was of someone else that I’ve come to accept a myself but that, deep inside, I know is not me.

A poorly modified picture of myself that shows what I could look like if I were a woman is the best gift I’ve ever received, the greatest source of genuine, unadulterated happiness I’ve encountered. And this being so small yet so significant is, for me, the greatest clue that there is something important underneath it. My instinct tells me that I need to pay attention to this. That I need to investigate this, to get to the bottom of it.

What started as mere imagination and daydream has turned into something more. It’s like an itch I can’t scratch, a seed that has taken root and is growing, fast and strong and untameable. I have a feeling that, no matter what I or anybody else tries, it will be impossible to uproot.

Still, this must remain my secret… At least for now. Maybe one day I’ll feel confident enough to share it with someone in the dark of the night. in whispers that are never acknowledged under the light of day.

Until then, with love,

ZZ

[tolkiens-middleearth]

Topics & Themes in Tolkien’s Legendarium

The Perilous Realm

“Stories that are actually concerned primarily with ‘fairies,’ that is with creatures that might also in modern English be called ‘elves,’ are relatively rare, and as a rule not very interesting. Most good ‘fairy-stories’ are about the adventures of men in the Perilous Realm or upon its shadowy marches.” – J. R. R. Tolkien. On Fairy Stories.

Tolkien called it the Perilous Realm, Faery or Faërie, and for me these words represent one of the most fascinating theme in Tolkien’s Legendarium. It is both a narrative and a world-building element that can be found in all his major Middle-earth stories and is in a way essential for understanding Tolkien’s approach to his own created world.

Yet I feel it rarely gets talked about, so I want to briefly highlight what it is, how it functions in the narrative, and give a few examples from various stories. Unfortunately can’t go into a deep analysis because doing so would require me to write a book – which I would love to, but I don’t have the time or qualification). Quote sources and further reading recommendations are given at the end.

WANDERING INTO FAERY

 “It is common in Fairy tales for the entrance to the fairy world to be presented as a journey underground, into a hill or mountain or the like. [...] My symbol is not the underground, whether necrological and Orphic or pseudo-scientific in jargon, but the Forest […].” – J. R. R. Tolkien. “Smith of Wooton Major” essay.

The core of this theme is the mortal wanderer who comes to or crosses the borders of Faërie, the land of fairies or elves. This idea has been part of legends and myths for a long time, one of the most prominent examples probably being the island of Avalon in the Arthurian legend. Depending on the story, Faërie can occupy a different time and space than our own world, or share the same space or time “in different modes”. Getting into Faërie is not always possible and many things can stop someone from entering: it may be completely inaccessible, it may be hidden and people have to find it, or it may be accessible only to those who know the secret on how to enter it. Once you are there, it may be difficult to leave, or it may take some time. Being there could turn out to be dangerous, but it also doesn’t necessarily have to be. Tolkien wrote that “in it are pitfalls for the unwary and dungeons for the overbold”.

In The Lord of the Rings, there are many examples of such a realm, some barely noticeable and some very clear and detailed.

It starts subtle when Frodo, Sam and Pippin meet Gildor and his Elves near Woodhall. It is no specific realm that they enter, but just wandering with the Elves already lets the Hobbits experience something they are not used to. They have trouble finding words for it afterwards or remembering it clearly, with Tolkien describing it that for Pippin it felt like he was in a waking dream. The next example is then already more direct: the four Hobbits enter the Old Forest. This time it really is perilous for them, they get lost and cannot find a way out. Tolkien describes it as follows:

“They began to feel that all this country was unreal, and that they were stumbling through an ominous dream that led to no awakening.”

Frodo almost falls asleep near an enchanting river, Merry and Pippin almost die. Without the help of an unexpected inhabitant of this forest, they never would have gotten out.

Reaching Rivendell is another less clear example. Rivendell itself is easier accessible than the Old Forest and less perilous for the Hobbits. But reaching it also includes a river, a river that is under Elrond’s command and that rises “in anger when [Elrond] has great need to bar the Ford”.  And within Rivendell, Frodo experiences another kind of “Faërian Drama” as Tolkien calls it: the stories and songs told in Rivendell hold him “in a spell”, and “the enchantment became more and more dreamlike” until in the end Frodo falls asleep once more. Bilbo comments that it’s difficult to stay awake “until you get used to it”.

The most prominent example is of course Lothlórien, a land of Elves that is rarely visited by mortal beings and where the flow of time is indeed different than that in the outside world. It’s also well defended against wanderers, and both in the world and the narrative the fellowship has to pass through: there are guards at the boarders that have to be convinced, there is a river that has to be crossed, a hidden path that has to be taken blindfolded. Tolkien is in no rush to get the fellowship to Galadriel – the reader, together with the wanderers, have to experience this journey.

The purest form of this theme in The Lord of the Rings is, of course, Frodo and Bilbo leaving for the island Tol Eressëa at the end of the story. It is the longest journey into Faërie, a journey that only a few are allowed to take and that you won’t come back from. Tol Eressëa is no longer in the space of the human world, and it’s very telling that Tolkien named the haven on the eastern shore on the island Avallónë.

More examples can be found in Tolkien’s other stories, and I will mention them less detailed when talking about the actual centre of the theme:

THE MORTAL VISITOR

„It seemed to [Frodo] that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured forever.” – J. R. R. Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings.

All of Tolkien’s major stories have one thing in common: they have someone human at the core who is unfamiliar with Faërie and able to experience it as new and from an outside perspective.

In The Hobbit it is Bilbo who stumbles into a world he is not prepared for at all, and while it is less clearly shown in the narrative of a children’s book, the journey of Bilbo and the Dwarves clearly show signs of this theme – a dangerous forest, an enchanted river, a white deer, and Elven fires that suddenly vanish.

For The Lord of the Rings I have shown above that all four Hobbits experience this in one way or another, although Frodo is probably the one given the most focus.

“This is a history in brief drawn from many older tales; for all the matters that it contains were of old, and still are among the Eldar of the West, recounted more fully in other histories and songs. But many of these were not recalled by Eriol, or men have again lost them since his day. This Account was composed first by Pengolod of Gondolin, and Aelfwine turned it into our speech as it was in his time, adding nothing, he said, save explanations of some few names.” – J. R. R. Tolkien. Quenta Silmarillion.

The Quenta Silmarillion is a different type of story, so here the theme also takes a different form: it’s not a narrative as The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings and more a historical chronicle in style. It’s written as such, but also given the corresponding context: when Tolkien was first writing the Book of Lost Tales and later the Quenta Silmarillion, the framework he had built for it was that of a mortal men coming to Tol Eressëa and learning of these past events. The one wandering into the Perilous Realm is Eriol or Ælfwine, listening to the stories of the Elves and writing them down for other humans to read. When Tolkien eventually started writing The Lord of the Rings, he was able to change his framing story. There was no longer a need for Ælfwine to reach Tol Eressëa to learn about these tales – now it’s Bilbo who wrote it down in three volumes called “Translations from the Elvish” that he had added to his private diary when he handed it over to Frodo.

This concept applies to the Quenta Silmarillion as a whole, but the main three stories within the Quenta Silmarillion still have a similar mortal visitor as The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings. In Beren and Lúthien, it’s the mortal Beren who wanders into the Elven Kingdom Doriath and gets enchanted when he sees Lúthien dancing and singing. In the Children of Húrin, it’s Túrin who enters Doriath as well, but also the Elven Kingdom Nargothrond. Both times, Túrin is unable to find the entrance himself; he is lead there by Elven guides – first Beleg, then Gwindor. And in the Fall of Gondolin, Tuor is led by an Elven guide to through many gates under a mountain to the Elven Kingdom Gondolin – one of the rarer cases of a "journey underground, into a hill or mountain".

And even the Akallabêth incorporates this theme, although in a different way than the previous stories. The story of the Fall of Númenor is about wanting to go to Faërie, and not being allowed to. There are other aspects to this as well of course, but looking at it with this theme in mind, that is the core of the story. Ar-Pharazôn is the mortal man who desires to reach Faërie, but when he tries to get there by force it ends in his death.

The mortal visitor as the protagonist in their story is essential for this theme to work. To experience Faërie as a visitor, to enter a “dream that some other mind is weaving” in such a way, it is a uniquely mortal experience that the reader could imagine to have, but that the immortal Elves can almost never share – after all they create their realms, they are the creator of a dream that the mortal wanderer, Tolkien as the writer, and we as the reader are dreaming.

THE CREATOR OF THE DREAM

“Faërie contains many things besides elves and fays, and besides dwarfs, witches, trolls, giants, or dragons: it holds the seas, the sun, the moon, the sky; and the earth, and all things that are in it: tree and bird, water and stone, wine and bread, and ourselves, mortal men, when we are enchanted.” – J. R. R. Tolkien. On Fairy Stories.

The immortal creators are not irrelevant of course, although they cannot be the centre of any story about wandering into the Perilous Realm. The outsider experience, essential for this theme, cannot come from the one living inside the Perilous Realm. The inhabitants in Tolkien’s stories are Elves most of the time – near Woodhall, in Rivendell, Lóthlorien, Mirkwood, Gondolin, Doriath and Nargothrond. But they are of course not the only creators of such realms. Dwarves come in and out of these stories, and in the case of the Old Forest the implication is that Old Man Willow is the main force behind the spell:

“His grey thirsty spirit drew power out of the earth and spread like fine root-threads in the ground, and invisible twig-fingers in the air, till it had under its dominion nearly all the trees of the Forest from the Hedge to the Downs.”

And of course the Valar and Maiar have their part in the story. Especially Tol Eressëa and Valinor are mainly built by the Valar, and in Middle-eath the magical boundaries of Doriath were set by Melian. In moments where Fëarie is not solely or not at all made by the Elves, they may enter the dream of another mind as well. It happened when the Elves first came to Valinor, and a more personal example is Thingol meeting Melian for the first time, where “an enchantment fell on him” in which he was caught for years without moving. This is only possible, however, when Elves meet someone with a creative power far greater than them – one of the Maia or above is required.  

However, this was never Tolkien’s focus. In Tolkien’s stories, the Perilous Realm is often a place inhabited by the Fair Folk – but I have also mentioned that sometimes Faërie exists in another mode. Throughout the examples given, dreams have been an important element of the experience of Faërie, and it’s one that Tolkien also thought a lot about. In our own world, we cannot reach Faërie in our space, but it may be approachable in another mode – through dreams. This becomes especially apparent in his texts The Lost Road and The Notion Club Papers, and it was also a part of how Tolkien saw his own relationship with his work: a mortal entering a dream of Faërie.  

ENDING THOUGHTS

There are many aspects of this that I haven’t touched on, and that I would love to explore or discuss. There is for example the case of Frodo, a mortal who has been in touch with something that belongs into the world of Faërie, that he cannot properly come back: when coming back to the Shire, Marry comments on how it feels like a dream is slowly fading, like he is waking up. Frodo however says: “To me it feels more like falling asleep again.” Already, it is clear he can never fully return.

Then there is the case of reversing the idea of Faërie in the case of Túrin – he is trying to bring Nargothrond closer to the outside world so that he can use its force in war. In return, he makes it accessible and the kingdom falls. In general, it’s a fascinating thing to see Túrin’s relationships with the Perilous Realms.  

Or if we talk about dreams, what about the nightmares? Is Mordor basically an anti-Faërie, inhabited by Orcs instead of Elves, where the path leads through a spider lair instead of over a river, and where any mortal being can only end up as a corrupted slave if they stay there for too long?

What about including such an essential theme in adaptations? In Peter Jackson’s The Lord of the Rings movies, flawed as they may be at times, the experience of Faërie through the eyes of the Hobbits is notable – especially in Rivendell and Lóthlorien. Meanwhile in Amazon’s The Rings of Power, this theme is completely absent and the Elven realms in Middle-earth have no more mystery than a Harfoot camp or a random human village in the South.  

I hope I get to explore this theme more, I’ve been eager for month to write at least a tiny bit about it and it’s already way too long for tumblr again. But there are other themes that are also very interesting, so we’ll see how it’ll go…

If you have read up to here to the end I would like to thank you for your time and attention – both is much appreciated!

READ MORE ON THIS TOPIC

On Fairy Stories, an essay by J. R. R. Tolkien.

Smith of Wootton Major, by J. R. R. Tolkien.

The Lost Road, fragments by J. R. R. Tolkien.

The Notion Club Papers, fragments by J. R. R. Tolkien.

Faërie: Tolkien’s Perilous Land, an essay by Verlyn Flieger.

A Question of Time, by Verlyn Flieger.

QUOTE SOURCES

J. R. R. Tolkien. On Fairy Stories.

J. R. R. Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings.

J. R. R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien. The Silmarillion.

J. R. R. Tolkien; edited by Veflyn Flieger. Smith of Wootton Major ‘Extended Edition’, Smith of Wootton Major essay.

J. R. R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien. The Lost Road and other Writings, Quenta Silmarillion.

[aureentuluva70]

Yet west they wandered    by ways of thirst, and haggard hunger,    hunted often, and hiding in holes    and hollow caverns, by their fate defended.    At the furthest end of Dor-na-Fauglith's    dusty spaces to a mighty mound    in the moon looming they came at midnight:    it was crowned with mist, bedewed as by drops    of drooping tears. 'A! green that hill    with grass fadeless, where sleep the swords    of seven kindreds, where the folk of Faërie    once fell uncounted. There was fought the field    by folk naméd Nirnaith Ornoth,    Unnumbered Tears. 'Twas built with the blood    of the beaten people; neath moon nor sun    is it mounted ever by Man nor Elf;    not Morgoth's host ever dare for dread    to delve therein.' Thus Flinding faltered,    faintly stirring Túrin's heaviness,    that he turned his hand toward Thangorodrim,    and thrice he cursed the maker of mourning,    Morgoth Bauglir.

-The Lay of the Children of Hurin

[a-ramblinrose]

“There are many doors between the worlds of the Faërie and the Folk. Some look like doors; or windows; or books. Some are in Dream; others, in Death. And some simply wait for one person—the right person—to find them and pass through.”

― Joanne M. Harris, Honeycomb