Well, we've moved, finally to New South Wales, after a long ten year sojourn in Victoria. I'm doing Year 12 now and looking foward to ending my schooling years. It's been fun though. Recently, I haven't been looking into Tolkien et al. all that much-been focused on school and other more relevant titles. Nonetheless I find myself, periodically, coming back to Tolkien and his ideas.
Somehow though, I think I need to widen my reading and start engaging with other bloggers
Friday, March 6, 2009
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Mysterious Rhun
Along with Khand, Rhun ("The East") typifies the mysteries of Middle-earth geography and sociology. Who lived there, what sort of lands were they?
Apparently, they were fields, and far in the East there were mountains, or Oracarni (Red Mountains). Some Dwarves lived there, and many there were many human countries and peoples as well. Maybe even Avarin elves.
Information is scant about these areas...nonetheless it is always intriguing to think about them.
Apparently, they were fields, and far in the East there were mountains, or Oracarni (Red Mountains). Some Dwarves lived there, and many there were many human countries and peoples as well. Maybe even Avarin elves.
Information is scant about these areas...nonetheless it is always intriguing to think about them.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
The Curious Land of Khand
JRR Tolkien created many lands and histories of Middle earth. However, it was largely the north west of the continent that was mapped. The East and the South are largely 'ignored' at least in terms of geographic and indeed demographic detail, for the most part. Nonetheless we do know a few things, and it is interesting to note that Tolkien did name one particular country specifically.
If you see a map of Middle earth, there is a land named "Khand" directly to the south of Sauron's domain, Mordor. A reference in the chapter "The Battle of the Pelennor Fields" in The Return of the King, calls the inhabitants of this land "Variags". Apparently, they were horse breeders like the Rohirrim, though I've been unable to find any direct references to this idea. "Variag", I think, is Slavic, and was applied historically to peoples who composed the Byzantine Emperor's Varangian Guard-northern Germanic mercenaries. Tolkien's Variags appear not to have been mercenaries however, rather they were soldiers of their own nation fighting for Sauron's cause.
Perhaps they were a northern people who had migrated south to inhabit the lands south of Mordor-a particularly ominous choice for them.
Whatever the case, they are one of the many enigmatic peoples who inhabit Tolkien's world, and on which we'll only ever be able to speculate
If you see a map of Middle earth, there is a land named "Khand" directly to the south of Sauron's domain, Mordor. A reference in the chapter "The Battle of the Pelennor Fields" in The Return of the King, calls the inhabitants of this land "Variags". Apparently, they were horse breeders like the Rohirrim, though I've been unable to find any direct references to this idea. "Variag", I think, is Slavic, and was applied historically to peoples who composed the Byzantine Emperor's Varangian Guard-northern Germanic mercenaries. Tolkien's Variags appear not to have been mercenaries however, rather they were soldiers of their own nation fighting for Sauron's cause.
Perhaps they were a northern people who had migrated south to inhabit the lands south of Mordor-a particularly ominous choice for them.
Whatever the case, they are one of the many enigmatic peoples who inhabit Tolkien's world, and on which we'll only ever be able to speculate
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Tolkien and Language
I am doing a most curios thing at the moment. I am reading a book entitled Les Enfants de Húrin. It is, of course, French, though to be more precise it is the French translation of JRR Tolkien’s ‘latest’ work, The Children of Húrin. I have also read the work in its original English form, but, loving it so much, I thought I would try it in a different language. As I learn French at school, it seemed rather obvious that I should go with that language. It has been and is a most interesting experience.
Since its quiet release in April 2007, The Children of Húrin has almost sold out. Originally its print run was about half a million worldwide; it has now sold almost double that number. The new book, by deceased author J.R.R. Tolkien, once again demonstrates the great enthusiasm that readers have for Middle-earth. Admittedly, Peter Jackson’s acclaimed film trilogy popularised the legenderium (a word Tolkien coined) though no amount of celluloid can make up for the wonders of Tolkien’s writing itself.
Indeed, though Tolkien’s stories are wonderful in English, it is particularly poignant to experience them in a language that is unrelated, except in vocabulary, to English at all. French is, of course, derived from Latin and ultimately takes much of its vocabulary from that language, while English is related more closely to the Germanic family. Tolkien once stated that Icelandic, a Germanic language related to English, would be the ideal language in which to read about his quasi-historical Middle-earth. The divide between Latinate and Germanic is more than linguistic however; it is also cultural. The stories Tolkien drew upon as inspirations for his Middle-earth were very much Northern stories-the Finnish Kalevala (particularly relevant for the Children of Hurin) and Beowulf, among many others. These are Northern, Germanic, stories. Thus, French is a particularly foreign language in which to read about Middle-earth. It is, in a sense, detached culturally from the roots from which the stories have sprung. It is like reading Sophocles in English-the semantics of English are utterly rooted in a time and place that is foreign to Greek history and ideas, and thus concepts are not necessarily translatable to the fullest extent. Similarly, reading The Children of Hurin, or indeed any other of Tolkien’s works, in French shows up some interesting points.
The idea of a “middle-earth” was not invented by Tolkien. This may come as a surprise to some, but it has existed in the consciousness of Germanic peoples, including the Anglo-Saxons, for many hundreds of years. Midgard, Middenheim and Middengeard were all names used to describe the ‘middle-world’, or the place inhabited by mortal peoples. Anglo-Saxon Middengeard was rendered “Middle-earth” by Tolkien who then created a continent out of the concept, filling it with Elves, Dwarves, hobbits and (more or less) normal human beings. No such concept, however, exists in French, or in French culture. “La Terre du Milieu” is the phrase used to describe it in the translations-though it is an idea wholly disconnected from any linguistic, and thus cultural, roots. This throws to light some interesting questions, especially, perhaps, for Australians. In a sense, we too live in a land that is ultimately disconnected from our European cultural roots. Like a Frenchman reading Les Enfants de Hurin, we must in fact come to terms with the ‘foreign’ stories and ideas (and indeed languages) that have existed in this land for many thousands of generations. It is for this reason especially that Indigenous Australian languages should be preserved to the utmost-they are not simply collections of words, they are cultural depositories intimately connected to the Australian landscape. Like ancient Indigenous artwork, they form a continuum to the past that in Europe is expressed in castles and burial grounds.
Here, though the European settlers have in a sense attempted to ‘medievalise’ the country, whether through fiction, art or architecture, it is ultimately the languages and paintings of Australia’s Indigenous peoples that form that oldest link with this landscape. Nonetheless, our Germanic cultural heritage will be with us forever, and it is a heritage expressed primarily in language and art as well. The castellated culture of Europe is an expression of a later age; indeed French consciousness is inextricably linked with castles, palaces and cities. Tolkien’s primary motivation for writing such tales as the Lord of the Rings was the recapturing of ancient Anglo-Saxon myth and legend and its reinterpretation in the modern form. Following the Norman (French) conquest of England, much of this heritage was lost and the stories forgotten. It is therefore strange that I should be reading an English book primarily about the English, in a language once spoken by a people who conquered them. Ironically it is now English that is spoken in England again. The cycles of history never fail to astound.
Tolkien also imbued his books, especially The Lord of the Rings, with this sense of historical continuum and disconnectedness. There are old languages, ruins, failed, broken cities-the stuffs of legend. As the characters progress in the story, they discover that the disconnectedness that they felt at the beginning is unfounded, and that they too are part of an unending historical continuum. Such in itself was the theme of many Northern European myths-the unending cycle of history until the end, a day not of judgment but of battle-Ragnorok, in which the Giants would defeat the Gods and the cycle would repeat itself. Interestingly, many of the (incredibly long) poems Tolkien wrote were done so in the mitre used by the Anglo-Saxons in Beowulf. These poems evoke a sense of history as well-indeed some of them are written in languages totally foreign to the reader (as are in many Australians’ case Indigenous stories), usually Elvish. Some are not translated, so the reader is left with a sense at first of disconnectedness, and then acceptance as he or she comes to understand that the words are not important-it is the realization that these poems and verses are connected to a landscape, to a culture, to a people, that makes them come alive and ensures the reader sympathizes with the peoples concerned.
The Children of Hurin is a grizzly tale about the tyrannical Dark Lord Morgoth (of whom Sauron was but a lackey) who curses a family of humans who dare to defy him. The tale evokes the pagan myths of Northern Europe, and feels, in a sense, very English. Wholly different from the Lord of the Rings the narrative pace nonetheless urges the reader to finish the story and come to its incredibly bitter end. While by that time the reader may feel slightly overwhelmed by the dark and depressing nature of the tale, he or she is nonetheless left with a strange sense that the continuum is continuing: that we, the readers, are part of the same story, the same struggle. It is hauntingly beautiful to read, and hauntingly poignant. Nonetheless, it is only a taste of Tolkien’s greater legend, The Silmarillion. If you get through that one, you’ll certainly know what I’m talking about!
Languages are depositaries of culture, feeling, ideas, concepts, emotion-in short, a particular strain of humanity as it has developed through a particular time period in a particular place. All languages are special, and all can teach us something about others, and ourselves. Tolkien has taught me, in many ways, about this fact. Through his stories, languages, peoples and places wholly alien come alive. Middle-earth and Australia are closer than one might think at first sight.
Since its quiet release in April 2007, The Children of Húrin has almost sold out. Originally its print run was about half a million worldwide; it has now sold almost double that number. The new book, by deceased author J.R.R. Tolkien, once again demonstrates the great enthusiasm that readers have for Middle-earth. Admittedly, Peter Jackson’s acclaimed film trilogy popularised the legenderium (a word Tolkien coined) though no amount of celluloid can make up for the wonders of Tolkien’s writing itself.
Indeed, though Tolkien’s stories are wonderful in English, it is particularly poignant to experience them in a language that is unrelated, except in vocabulary, to English at all. French is, of course, derived from Latin and ultimately takes much of its vocabulary from that language, while English is related more closely to the Germanic family. Tolkien once stated that Icelandic, a Germanic language related to English, would be the ideal language in which to read about his quasi-historical Middle-earth. The divide between Latinate and Germanic is more than linguistic however; it is also cultural. The stories Tolkien drew upon as inspirations for his Middle-earth were very much Northern stories-the Finnish Kalevala (particularly relevant for the Children of Hurin) and Beowulf, among many others. These are Northern, Germanic, stories. Thus, French is a particularly foreign language in which to read about Middle-earth. It is, in a sense, detached culturally from the roots from which the stories have sprung. It is like reading Sophocles in English-the semantics of English are utterly rooted in a time and place that is foreign to Greek history and ideas, and thus concepts are not necessarily translatable to the fullest extent. Similarly, reading The Children of Hurin, or indeed any other of Tolkien’s works, in French shows up some interesting points.
The idea of a “middle-earth” was not invented by Tolkien. This may come as a surprise to some, but it has existed in the consciousness of Germanic peoples, including the Anglo-Saxons, for many hundreds of years. Midgard, Middenheim and Middengeard were all names used to describe the ‘middle-world’, or the place inhabited by mortal peoples. Anglo-Saxon Middengeard was rendered “Middle-earth” by Tolkien who then created a continent out of the concept, filling it with Elves, Dwarves, hobbits and (more or less) normal human beings. No such concept, however, exists in French, or in French culture. “La Terre du Milieu” is the phrase used to describe it in the translations-though it is an idea wholly disconnected from any linguistic, and thus cultural, roots. This throws to light some interesting questions, especially, perhaps, for Australians. In a sense, we too live in a land that is ultimately disconnected from our European cultural roots. Like a Frenchman reading Les Enfants de Hurin, we must in fact come to terms with the ‘foreign’ stories and ideas (and indeed languages) that have existed in this land for many thousands of generations. It is for this reason especially that Indigenous Australian languages should be preserved to the utmost-they are not simply collections of words, they are cultural depositories intimately connected to the Australian landscape. Like ancient Indigenous artwork, they form a continuum to the past that in Europe is expressed in castles and burial grounds.
Here, though the European settlers have in a sense attempted to ‘medievalise’ the country, whether through fiction, art or architecture, it is ultimately the languages and paintings of Australia’s Indigenous peoples that form that oldest link with this landscape. Nonetheless, our Germanic cultural heritage will be with us forever, and it is a heritage expressed primarily in language and art as well. The castellated culture of Europe is an expression of a later age; indeed French consciousness is inextricably linked with castles, palaces and cities. Tolkien’s primary motivation for writing such tales as the Lord of the Rings was the recapturing of ancient Anglo-Saxon myth and legend and its reinterpretation in the modern form. Following the Norman (French) conquest of England, much of this heritage was lost and the stories forgotten. It is therefore strange that I should be reading an English book primarily about the English, in a language once spoken by a people who conquered them. Ironically it is now English that is spoken in England again. The cycles of history never fail to astound.
Tolkien also imbued his books, especially The Lord of the Rings, with this sense of historical continuum and disconnectedness. There are old languages, ruins, failed, broken cities-the stuffs of legend. As the characters progress in the story, they discover that the disconnectedness that they felt at the beginning is unfounded, and that they too are part of an unending historical continuum. Such in itself was the theme of many Northern European myths-the unending cycle of history until the end, a day not of judgment but of battle-Ragnorok, in which the Giants would defeat the Gods and the cycle would repeat itself. Interestingly, many of the (incredibly long) poems Tolkien wrote were done so in the mitre used by the Anglo-Saxons in Beowulf. These poems evoke a sense of history as well-indeed some of them are written in languages totally foreign to the reader (as are in many Australians’ case Indigenous stories), usually Elvish. Some are not translated, so the reader is left with a sense at first of disconnectedness, and then acceptance as he or she comes to understand that the words are not important-it is the realization that these poems and verses are connected to a landscape, to a culture, to a people, that makes them come alive and ensures the reader sympathizes with the peoples concerned.
The Children of Hurin is a grizzly tale about the tyrannical Dark Lord Morgoth (of whom Sauron was but a lackey) who curses a family of humans who dare to defy him. The tale evokes the pagan myths of Northern Europe, and feels, in a sense, very English. Wholly different from the Lord of the Rings the narrative pace nonetheless urges the reader to finish the story and come to its incredibly bitter end. While by that time the reader may feel slightly overwhelmed by the dark and depressing nature of the tale, he or she is nonetheless left with a strange sense that the continuum is continuing: that we, the readers, are part of the same story, the same struggle. It is hauntingly beautiful to read, and hauntingly poignant. Nonetheless, it is only a taste of Tolkien’s greater legend, The Silmarillion. If you get through that one, you’ll certainly know what I’m talking about!
Languages are depositaries of culture, feeling, ideas, concepts, emotion-in short, a particular strain of humanity as it has developed through a particular time period in a particular place. All languages are special, and all can teach us something about others, and ourselves. Tolkien has taught me, in many ways, about this fact. Through his stories, languages, peoples and places wholly alien come alive. Middle-earth and Australia are closer than one might think at first sight.
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