Gems from the Letters

[Mister Underhill]

Indeed, a great letter, Squatter! It's amazing how much Tolkien's love of language, right down to specifics of word choice and grammatical construction, comes through in his work. Virtually everyone I know who is a great lover of language and wordplay is also a Tolkien fan.

Harking back to the Disney references in earlier posts, here's an amusing anecdote - when Walt Disney heard about an imminent Allied invasion of Axis held territory in WWII (yes, Allied security was that bad), he wrote to Washington with an offer to design a logo for the invaders.

Can you imagine hitting the beaches under a flag designed by old Walt?

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Indeed so, Underhill. I can scarcely imagine the horror of charging into battle beneath the banner of the Mouse Rampant. Dreadful thought! I can only paraphrase Sir Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington: I don't know what effect it will have upon the enemy, but by God it terrifies me!

Returning to the subject of Tolkien's letters and gems therefrom, I read the following last night and couldn't resist sharing it.

The formal equivalent (the only known one) of our harp is Latin corbis. (The Romance arpa etc. are borrowed from Germanic.) But the poor philologist will have to call on some archaeological expert before he can decide whether any relationship between 'harps' and 'baskets' is possible - supposing Gmc. harpō always meant 'harp' or or corbi-s always meant 'wicker basket'! corbīta means a fat-bellied ship.

Letter #209 to Robert Murray - 4th May, 1958

Quite aside from the wealth of linguistic information in that one letter, I find the idea of a philologist asking an archaeologist about the difference between harps and baskets most appealing.

[Evisse the Blue]

I thought this bit was cute:

From Letter 87 to Christopher Tolkien:

'Dear Mr Tolkien, I have just finished reading your book The Hobbit for the 11th time and I want to tell you what I think of it. I think it is the most wonderful book I have ever read. It is beyond description ... Gee Whiz, I'm surprised that it's not more popular ... If you have written any other books, would you please send me their names?'
John Barrow 12 yrs.
West town School, West town, Pa.'
I thought these extracts from a letter I got yesterday would amuse you. I find these letters which I still occasionally get (apart from the smell of incense which fallen man can never quite fail to savour) make me rather sad. What thousands of grains of good human corn must fall on barren stony ground, if such a very small drop of water should be so intoxicating! But I suppose one should be grateful for the grace and fortune that have allowed me to provide even the drop. God bless you beloved. Do you think 'The Ring' will come off, and reach the thirsty?
Your own Father.
It's nice to find that little American boys do really still say 'Gee Whiz'.

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

The meetings of the Inklings at the Eagle and Child in Oxford are well known, and a framed testimonial on the wall of the public bar records their having drunk the landlord's health. C.S. Lewis was for a time a fellow at nearby Magdalen College and kept a pair of slippers behind the bar. Here Tolkien recounts a chance gathering of several of his friends there and its aftermath in a letter to his son Christopher, then serving overseas with the R.A.F.

On Tuesday at noon I looked in at the Bird and B[aby] with C. Williams. There to my surprise I found Jack and Warnie [1] already ensconced. (For the present the beer shortage is over, and the inns are almost habitable again). The conversation was pretty lively - though I cannot remember any of it now, except C.S.L.'s story of an elderly lady that he knows. (She was a student of English in the past days of Sir Walter Raleigh [2]. At her viva [3] she was asked: What period would you have liked to live in Miss B? In the 15th C. said she. Oh come, Miss B., wouldn't you have liked to meet the Lake poets? No, sir, I prefer the society of gentlemen. Collapse of viva.) - & I noticed a strange tall gaunt man half in khaki half in mufti with a large wide-awake hat, bright eyes and a hooked nose sitting in the corner. The others had their backs to him, but I could see in his eye that he was taking an interest in the conversation quite unlike the ordinary pained astonishment of the British (and American) public at the presence of the Lewises (and myself) in a pub. It was rather like Trotter [4] at the Prancing Pony, in fact v. like. All of a sudden he butted in, in a strange unplaceable accent, taking up some point about Wordsworth. In a few seconds he was revealed as Roy Campbell (of Flowering Rifle and Flaming Terrapin). Tableau! Especially as C.S.L. had not long ago violently lampooned him in the Oxford Magazine, and his press-cutters miss nothing. There is a good deal of Ulster still left in C.S.L. if hidden from himself. After that things became fast and furious and I was late for lunch. It was (perhaps) gratifying to find that this powerful poet and soldier desired in Oxford chiefly to see Lewis (and myself). We made an appointment for Thursday (that is last) night. If I could remember all that I heard in C.S.L.'s room last night it would fill several airletters. C.S.L. had taken a fair deal of port and was a little belligerant (insisted on reading out his lampoon again while R.C. laughed at him), but we were mostly obliged to listen to the guest. A window on the wild world, yet the man is in himself gentle, modest and compassionate. Mostly it interested me to learn that this old-looking war-scarred Trotter, limping from recent wounds, is 9 years younger than I am, and we prob. met when he was a lad, as he lived in O[xford] at the time when we lived in Pusey Street (rooming with Walton the composer [5], and going about with T.W. Earp, the original twerp, and with Wilfred Childe [6] your godfather - whose works he much prizes).

Letter #83 (6 October, 1944)

1: C.S. Lewis and his brother Warren
2: Walter Alexander Raleigh, Chair of English Literature at Oxford, 1904-22.
3: Viva voce (literally 'with the living voice') - an oral examination.
4: Strider was originally a hobbit
5: Sir William Walton (1902-1983)
6: W.R. Childe, a colleague of Tolkien's at Leeds and author of many poems

[EDIT: It has come to my attention that the letter framed on the wall of the Eagle and Child is in fact a photocopy taken from a book, which has nothing whatsoever to do with the pub. Clearly I was misled by a clever piece of P.R. trickery. I will update this post this evening with more precise details, since I'm fairly sure that my misconception was based on something I read about the Inklings.

"The original twerp" is priceless! How old is that word?

[HerenIstarion]

Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary

One entry found for twerp.

Main Entry: twerp
Pronunciation: 'tw&rp
Function: noun
Etymology: origin unknown
: a silly, insignificant, or contemptible person

Though it does not answer your question, the link above may be helpful in similar occassions. Welcome to BD , Elf Sisters (BTW, how many of you are there?)

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

This is the sort of problem that Tolkien loved and would have been better able to solve than I. Since he's no longer with us, though, I've done my best with what I have at my disposal. I've found two dates on the internet for the first use of 'twerp' or 'twirp': 1923 and 1874; but most of the sources suggest that it originated in the 1920s. My concise Oxford doesn't even give the correct definition and follows up what it does give with a question mark, but no dictionary I've found gives anything other than 'etymology obscure'. Perhaps the full Oxford would be more help.

Edit: Temporarily I have free access to the on-line OED, which has yielded the following on 'twerp'.

Its first recorded use in a published work is its occurrence in Soldier and Sailor Words by Fraser and Gibbons in 1925. 'Etymology uncertain' is right, though: a quotation from Tolkien's letter appears under the OED entry along with another from R. Campbell in 1957, both of which claim that the term originated in Oxford in reference to T.W. Earp. I would guess that in this case the academics are mistaken, and that this is one of many examples of military slang entering everyday English.

That's a good start, Squatter. Thanks!

[Amarie of the Vanyar]

One of my favourite gem from the letters, is the one I quote here. It the best and the most poetical explanation I have ever heard of the guardian angels. Whenever I read it, I experience the same joy that Tolkien mentions

"Your reference to the care of your guardian angel [...] reminded me of a sudden vision (or perhaps apperception which at once turned itself into pictorial form in my mind) I had not long ago when spending half an hour in St. Gregory's before the Blessed Sacrament when the Quarant' Ore was being held there.
I perceived or thought of the Light of God and in it suspended one small mote (or millions of motes to only one of which was my small mind directed), glittering white because of the individual ray which both held and lit it. (Not that there were individual rays issuing from the Light, but the mere existence of the mote and its position in relation to the Light was in itself a line, and the line was Light). And the ray was the Guardian Angel of the mote: not a thing interposed between God and the creature, but God's very attention itself, personalized. And I do not mean 'personified', by a mere figure of speech according to the tendencies of human language, but a real (finite) person. Thinking of it since - for the whole thing was very immediate, and not recapturable in clumsy language, certainly not the great sense of joy that accompanied it and the realization that the shining posed mote was myself (or any other human person that I might think of with love) - it has occured to me that (...) this is a finite parallel to the Infite. As the love of the Father and Son (who are infinite and equal) is a Person, so the love and attention of the Light to the Mote is a person (that is both with us and in Heaven): finite but divine, i.e. angelic."

Letter 89 to Christopher Tolkien; 7 - 8 November, 1944

[Son of Númenor]

One of my favourite excerpts from the Letters come from Letter 96, addressed to Christopher Tolkien on the 30th of January, 1945.

For myself, I was prob. most moved by Sam's disquisition on the seamless web of story, and by the scene when Frodo goes to sleep on his breast, and the tragedy of Gollum who at that moment came within a hair of repentance - but for one rough word from Sam. But the 'moving' quality of that is on on a different plane to Celebrimbor etc. There are two quite diff. emotions: one that moves me supremely and I find small difficulty in evoking: the heart-racking sense of the vanished past (best expressed in Gandalf's words about the Palantir); and the other the more 'ordinary' emotion, triumph, pathos, tragedy of the characters. That I am learning to do, as I get to know my people, but it is not really so near my heart, and is forced on me by the fundamental literary dilemma. A story must be told or there'll be no story, yet it is the untold stories that are most moving. I think that you are moved by Celebrimbor because it conveys a sense of endless untold stories: mountains seen far away, never to be climbed, distant trees (like Niggle's) never to be approached - or if so only to become 'near trees' (unless in the Paradise of N's Parish) (Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, 110-111) (emphasis mine)

I placed emphasis on Tolkien's account of these "untold stories" and the "heart-racking sense of the vanished past" he describes because these qualities are what draw me to The Silmarillion - and really to Middle-earth as a whole. His works often evoke in me a longing for the history he is describing to become a reality, and for stories to be revealed that Tolkien left untold but hinted at within the history. The idea of the Long Defeat appears in my mind when I read certain passages from Tolkien's works, and subsequent to the appearance of this idea comes the longing for a 'higher' time, a time before Man's decline. Another passage from the same letter describes (for me) this longing for that 'higher time'. Though I should note that the passage in question is in reference to Man's Loss of Eden (Adam & Eve's lives in Eden being in this case the 'higher time'), the same concept of the 'decline' is stil present, since Tolkien's views on this Loss are inseparably linked with his idea of the Long Defeat, and thus, ultimately, are a fundamental aspect of Middle-earth.

["The Eden 'myth'"] has not, of course, historicity of the same kind as the NT [New Testament], which are virtually contemporary documents, while Genesis is separated by we do not know how many sad exiled generations from the Fall, but certainly there was an Eden on this very unhappy earth. We all long for it, and are constantly glimpsing it: our whole nature at its best and least corrupted, its gentlest and most humane, is still soaked with the sense of 'exile.' If you come to think of it, your (very just) horror at the stupid murder of a hawk, and your obstinate memory of this 'home' of yours in an idyllic hour (when often there is an illusion of the stay of time and decay and a sense of gentle peace - [would that I were]*, stands the clock at ten to three, and is there honey still for tea' - are derived from Eden. As far as we can go back the nobler part of the human mind is filled with the thoughts of sibb, peace and goodwill, and with the thought of its loss. We shall never recover it, for that is not the way of repentance, which works spirally and not in a closed circle; we may recover something like it, but on a higher plane. Just as (to compare a small thing) the converted urban gets more out of the country than the mere yokel, but he cannot become a real landsman, he is both more and in a way less (less truly earthy anyway)" (Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, 110).

The "way of repentance" that Tolkien describes is exemplified perfectly in The Silmarillion and The Lord of the Rings. Melkor's marring of Arda marks the first decline. Melkor's theft of the Silmarils marks the second, an end to the blissful days of Valinor. The Kin-slaying, the Doom of Mandos, the abandoment of Fingolfin's people at the Helcaraxe, the war against Morgoth, the passing of Luthien, the re-shaping of Arda and the loss of the Silmarils all contribute to this decline, even though evil is not ultimately 'victorious' in The Silmarillion. In the Fall of Númenor, we see the irreversible decline in Men. This decline is furthered by the death of Earnur. In Aragorn's ascension to the throne of Gondor, the decline in Men is reversed to a very limited extent, and the time of Man is ushered in, but the Elves pass away into the West, and Middle-earth is irreversibly diminished.

The "heart-racking sense" of loss and decline that Tolkien describes is for me akin if not equal to the "enchantment" which was discussed in Fordim's 'Canonicity' thread. To append my feelings about the above excerpts from the Letters and the emotions which it describes, here is a quote from Davem from the aforementioned 'Canonicity' discussion:

Its this sense of 'familiarity' we feel about Middle Earth that is difficult to explain. Can we go so far as to say that we are 'remembering' something, some 'real' (in 'inner' or 'outer' terms. This would be ridiculous, if not insane, yet the feeling is there. Why do so many of us feel 'at home' in Middle Earth, even before we've got far into a first reading? Is it because Tolkien has used so many elements from folklore & fairtales? But how many of us are all that familiar with the sources Tolkien used? Not that many, I'd guess. In my case it was only after discovering Middle Earth that I sought out the sources Tolkien used, & I didn't feel 'at home' in the worlds of the Mabinogion or the Eddas or the kalevala. They reminded me of Middle Earth, where I really did feel 'at home'. It was almost as if Middle Earth was the real place & the myths & legends were corrupt, half remembered versions of it, rather than it being an amalgam of them. Of course, that could simply be because I discovered Middle Earth first - but I can't help feeling that it was something more.

Indeed there is something more to Middle-earth, and what it is I cannot say. It is the depth of tragedy and joy. It is the reality of the 'decline' in our own world, in our own lives, and its poignance in the Secondary World that Tolkien created. I chose to share these excerpts from the Letters because I feel that they summarize this elusive enchantment that keeps me attached to Middle-earth.

[mark12_30]

up

[Encaitare]

Thanks for bumping that one up, mark. It was a great read... now I'll have to get a copy of Letters for my very own.

[gorthaur_cruel]

I always thought Tolkien's comments on Zimmerman's LotR script(#210) was funny. It makes me wonder what he would have said to Peter Jackson For those of you who don't own Letters:

I have at last finished my commentary on the Story-line. Its length and detail will, I hope, give evidence of my interest in the matter. Some at least of the things that I have said or suggested may be acceptable, even useful, or at least interesting. The commentary goes along page by page, according to the copy of Mr Zimmerman's work, which was left with me, and which I now return. I earnestly hope that someone will take the trouble to read it.
If Z and/or others do so, they may be irritated or aggrieved by the tone of many of my criticisms. If so, I am sorry (though not surprised). But I would ask them to make an effort of imagination sufficient to understand the irritation (and on occasion the resentment) of an author, who finds, increasingly as he proceeds, his work treated as it would seem carelessly in general, in places recklessly, and with no evident signs of any appreciation of what it is all about. ....
The canons of narrative an in any medium cannot be wholly different ; and the failure of poor films is often precisely in exaggeration, and in the intrusion of unwarranted matter owing to not perceiving where the core of the original lies.
Z .... has intruded a 'fairy castle' and a great many Eagles, not to mention incantations, blue lights, and some irrelevant magic (such as the floating body of Faramir). He has cut the parts of the story upon which its characteristic and peculiar tone principally depends, showing a preference for fights; and he has made no serious attempt to represent the heart of the tale adequately: the journey of the Ringbearers. The last and most important pan of this has, and it is not too strong a word, simply been murdered.
[Some extracts from Tolkien's lengthy commentary on the Story Line:]
Z is used as an abbreviation for (the writer of) the synopsis. References to this are by page (and line where required); references to the original story are by Volume and page.
2. Why should the firework display include flags and hobbits? They are not in the book. 'Flags' of what? I prefer my own choice of fireworks.
Gandalf, please, should not 'splutter'. Though he may seem testy at times, has a sense of humour, and adopts a somewhat avuncular attitude to hobbits, he is a person of high and noble authority, and great dignity. The description on I p. 2391 should never be forgotten.
4. Here we meet the first intrusion of the Eagles. I think they are a major mistake of Z, and without warrant.
The Eagles are a dangerous 'machine'. I have used them sparingly, and that is the absolute limit of their credibility or usefulness. The alighting of a Great Eagle of the Misty Mountains in the Shire is absurd; it also makes the later capture of G. by Saruman incredible, and spoils the account of his escape. (One of Z's chief faults is his tendency to anticipate scenes or devices used later, thereby flattening the tale out.) Radagast is not an Eagle-name, but a wizard's name; several eagle-names are supplied in the book. These points are to me important.
Here I may say that I fail to see why the time-scheme should be deliberately contracted. It is already rather packed in the original, the main action occurring between Sept. 22 and March 25 of the following year. The many impossibilities and absurdities which further hurrying produces might, I suppose, be unobserved by an uncritical viewer; but I do not see why they should be unnecessarily introduced. Time must naturally be left vaguer in a picture than in a book; but I cannot see why definite time-statements, contrary to the book and to probability, should be made. ....
Seasons are carefully regarded in the original. They are pictorial, and should be, and easily could be, made the main means by which the artists indicate time-passage. The main action begins in autumn and passes through winter to a brilliant spring: this is basic to the purport and tone of the tale. The contraction of time and space in 2 destroys that. His arrangements would, for instance, land us in a snowstorm while summer was still in. The Lord of the Rings may be a 'fairy-story', but it takes place in the Northern hemisphere of this earth: miles are miles, days are days, and weather is weather.
Contraction of this kind is not the same thing as the necessary reduction or selection of the scenes and events that are to be visually represented.
7. The first paragraph misrepresents Tom Bombadil. He is not the owner of the woods; and he would never make any such threat.
'Old scamp!' This is a good example of the general tendency that I find in Z to reduce and lower the tone towards that of a more childish fairy-tale. The expression does not agree with the tone of Bombadil's long later talk; and though that is cut, there is no need for its indications to be disregarded.
I am sorry, but I think the manner of the introduction of Goldberry is silly, and on a par with 'old scamp'. It also has no warrant in my tale. We are not in 'fairy-land', but in real river-lands in autumn. Goldberry represents the actual seasonal changes in such lands. Personally I think she had far better disappear than make a meaningless appearance.
8 line 24. The landlord does not ask Frodo to 'register'!2 Why should he? There are no police and no government. (Neither do I make him number his rooms.) If details are to be added to an already crowded picture, they should at least fit the world described.
9. Leaving the inn at night and running off into the dark is an impossible solution of the difficulties of presentation here (which I can see). It is the last thing that Aragorn would have done. It is based on a misconception of the Black Riders throughout, which I beg Z to reconsider. Their peril is almost entirely due to the unreasoning fear which they inspire (like ghosts). They have no great physical power against the fearless; but what they have, and the fear that they inspire, is enormously increased in darkness. The Witch-king, their leader, is more powerful in all ways than the others; but he must not yet be raised to the stature of Vol. III. There, put in command by Sauron, he is given an added demonic force. But even in the Battle of the Pelennor, the darkness had only just broken. See III 114.3
10. Rivendell was not 'a shimmering forest'. This is an unhappy anticination of Lórien (which it in no way resembled). It could not be seen from Weathertop : it was 200 miles away and hidden in a ravine. I can see no pictorial or story-making gain in needlessly contracting the geography.
Strider does not 'Whip out a sword' in the book. Naturally not: his sword was broken. (Its elvish light is another false anticipation of the reforged Anduril. Anticipation is one of Z's chief faults.) Why then make him do so here, in a contest that was explicitly not fought with weapons?
11. Aragorn did not 'sing the song of Gil-galad'. Naturally: it was quite inappropriate, since it told of the defeat of the Elven-king by the Enemy. The Black Riders do not scream, but keep a more terrifying silence. Aragorn does not blanch. The riders draw slowly in on foot in darkness, and do not 'spur'. There is no fight. Sam does not 'sink his blade into the Ringwraith's thigh', nor does his thrust save Frodo's life. (If he had, the result would have been much the same as in III 117-20:4 the Wraith would have fallen down and the sword would have been destroyed.)
Why has my account been entirely rewritten here, with disregard for the rest of the tale? I can see that there are certain difficulties in representing a dark scene; but they are not insuperable. A scene of gloom lit by a small red fire, with the Wraiths slowly approaching as darker shadows - until the moment when Frodo puts on the Ring, and the King steps forward revealed - would seem to me far more impressive than yet one more scene of screams and rather meaningless slashings.....
I have spent some time on this passage, as an example of what I find too frequent to give me 'pleasure or satisfaction': deliberate alteration of the story, in fact and significance, without any practical or artistic object (that I can see); and of the flattening effect that assimilation of one incident to another must have.
15. Time is again contracted and hurried, with the effect of reducing the importance of the Quest. Gandalf does not say they will leave as soon as they can pack! Two months elapse. There is no need to say anything with a time-purport. The lapse of time should be indicated, if by no more than the change to winter in the scenery and trees.
At the bottom of the page, the Eagles are again introduced. I feel this to be a wholly unacceptable tampering with the tale. 'Nine Walkers' and they immediately go up in the air! The intrusion achieves nothing but incredibility, and the staling of the device of the Eagles when at last they are really needed. It is well within the powers of pictures to suggest, relatively briefly, a long and arduous journey, in secrecy, on foot, with the three ominous mountains getting nearer.
Z does not seem much interested in seasons or scenery, though from what I saw I should say that in the representation of these the chief virtue and attraction of the film is likely to be found. But would Z think that he had improved the effect of a film of, say, the ascent of Everest by introducing helicopters to take the climbers half way up (in defiance of probability)? It would be far better to cut the Snow-storm and the Wolves than to make a farce of the arduous journey.
19. Why does Z put beaks and feathers on Orcs!? (Orcs is not a form of Auks.) The Orcs are definitely stated to be corruptions of the 'human' form seen in Elves and Men. They are (or were) squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes: in fact degraded and repulsive versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types.
20. The Balrog never speaks or makes any vocal sound at all. Above all he does not laugh or sneer. .... Z may think that he knows more about Balrogs than I do, but he cannot expect me to agree with him.
21 ff. 'A splendid sight. It is the home of Galadriel. . . an Elvenqueen.' (She is not in fact one.) 'Delicate spires and tiny minarets of Elven-color are cleverly woven into a beautiful[ly] designed castle.' I think this deplorable in itself, and in places impertinent. Will Z please pay my text some respect, at least in descriptions that are obviously central to the general tone and style of the book! I will in no circumstances accept this treatment of Lórien, even if Z personally prefers 'tiny' fairies and the gimcrack of conventional modern fairy-tales.
The disappearance of the temptation of Galadriel is significant. Practically everything having moral import has vanished from the synopsis.
22. Lembas, 'waybread', is called a 'food concentrate'. As I have shown I dislike strongly any pulling of my tale towards the style and feature of 'contes des fees', or French fairy-stories. I dislike equally any pull towards 'scientification', of which this expression is an example. Both modes are alien to my story.
We are not exploring the Moon or any other more improbable region. No analysis in any laboratory would discover chemical properties of lembas that made it superior to other cakes of wheat-meal.
I only comment on the expression here as an indication of attitude. It is no doubt casual; and nothing of this kind or style will (I hope) escape into the actual dialogue.
In the book lembas has two functions. It is a 'machine' or device for making credible the long marches with little provision, in a world in which as I have said 'miles are miles'. But that is relatively unimportant. It also has a much larger significance, of what one might hesitatingly call a 'religious' kind. This becomes later apparent, especially in the chapter 'Mount Doom' (III 2135 and subsequently). I cannot find that Z has made any particular use of lembas even as a device; and the whole of 'Mount Doom' has disappeared in the distorted confusion that Z has made of the ending. As far as I can see lembas might as well disappear altogether.
I do earnestly hope that in the assignment of actual speeches to the characters they will be represented as I have presented them: in style and sentiment. I should resent perversion of the characters (and do resent it, so far as it appears in this sketch) even more than the spoiling of the plot and scenery.
Parts II & III. I have spent much space on criticizing even details in Part I. It has been easier, because Part I in general respects the line of narrative in the book, and retains some of its original coherence. Pan II exemplifies all the faults of Pan I ; but it is far more unsatisfactory, & still more so Pan III, in more serious respects. It almost seems as if 2, having spent much time and work on Pan I, now found himself short not only of space but of patience to deal with the two more difficult volumes in which the action becomes more fast and complicated. He has in any case elected to treat them in a way that produces a confusion that mounts at last almost to a delirium. ....
The narrative now divides into two main branches: 1. Prime Action, the Ringbearers. 2. Subsidiary Action, the rest of the Company leading to the 'heroic' matter. It is essential that these two branches should each be treated in coherent sequence. Both to render them intelligible as a story, and because they are totally different in tone and scenery. Jumbling them together entirely destroys these things.
31. I deeply regret this handling of the 'Treebeard' chapter, whether necessary or not. I have already suspected Z of not being interested in trees: unfortunate, since the story is so largely concerned with them. But surely what we have here is in any case a quite unintelligible glimpse? What are Ents?
31 to 32. We pass now to a dwelling of Men in an 'heroic age'. Z does not seem to appreciate this. I hope the artists do. But he and they have really only to follow what is said, and not alter it to suit their fancy (out of place).
In such a time private 'chambers' played no pan. Théoden probably had none, unless he had a sleeping 'bower' in a separate small 'outhouse'. He received guests or emissaries, seated on the dais in his royal hall. This is quite clear in the book; and the scene should be much more effective to illustrate.
31 to 32. Why do not Théoden and Gandalf go into the open before the doors, as I have told? Though I have somewhat enriched the culture of the 'heroic' Rohirrim, it did not run to glass windows that could be thrown open ! ! We might be in a hotel. (The 'east windows' of the hall, II 116, 119,6 were slits under the eaves, unglazed.)
Even if the king of such a people had a 'bower', it could not become 'a beehive of bustling activity'!! The bustle takes place outside and in the town. What is showable of it should occur on the wide pavement before the great doors.
33. I am afraid that I do not find the glimpse of the 'defence of the Homburg' � this would be a better title, since Helm's Deep, the ravine behind, is not shown � entirely satisfactory. It would, I guess, be a fairly meaningless scene in a picture, stuck in in this way. Actually I myself should be inclined to cut it right out, if it cannot be made more coherent and a more significant part of the story. .... If both the Ents and the Hornburg cannot be treated at sufficient length to make sense, then one should go. It should be the Hornburg, which is incidental to the main story; and there would be this additional gain that we are going to have a big battle (of which as much should be made as possible), but battles tend to be too similar: the big one would gain by having no competitor.
34. Why on earth should Z say that the hobbits 'were munching ridiculously long sandwiches'? Ridiculous indeed. I do not see how any author could be expected to be 'pleased' by such silly alterations. One hobbit was sleeping, the other smoking.
The spiral staircase 'weaving' round the Tower [Orthanc] comes from Z's fancy not my tale. I prefer the latter. The tower was 500 feet high. There was a flight of 27 steps leading to the great door; above which was a window and a balcony.
Z is altogether too fond of the words hypnosis and hypnotic. Neither genuine hypnosis, nor scienrifictitious variants, occur in my tale. Saruman's voice was not hypnotic but persuasive. Those who listened to him were not in danger of falling into a trance, but of agreeing with his arguments, while fully awake. It was always open to one to reject, by free will and reason, both his voice while speaking and its after-impressions. Saruman corrupted the reasoning powers.
Z has cut out the end of the book, including Saruman's proper death. In that case I can see no good reason for making him die. Saruman would never have committed suicide: to cling to life to its basest dregs is the way of the son of person he had become. If Z wants Saruman tidied up (I cannot see why, where so many threads are left loose) Gandalf should say something to this effect: as Saruman collapses under the excommunication: 'Since you will not come out and aid us, here in Orthanc you shall stay till you rot, Saruman. Let the Ents look to it!'
Pan III.... is totally unacceptable to me, as a whole and in detail. If it is meant as notes only for a section of something like the pictorial length of I and II, then in the filling out it must be brought into relation with the book, and its gross alterations of that corrected. If it is meant to represent only a kind of short finale, then all I can say is : The Lord of the Rings cannot be garbled like that.

[Celuien]

Originally Posted by Evisse the Blue

I thought this bit was cute:

From Letter 87 to Christopher Tolkien:

This is a favorite of mine too, mostly because I grew up (almost literally) a stone's throw away from the Westtown School. It's nice to see my hometown mentioned.

[Raynor]

I took the liberty of emphasising several ideas.

Originally Posted by Letter #54, to Christopher Tolkien, 8 January 1944

Remember your guardian angel. Not a plump lady with swan-wings! But – at least this is my notion and feeling – : as souls with free-will we are, as it were, so placed as to face (or to be able to face) God. But God is (so to speak) also behind us, supporting, nourishing us (as being creatures). The bright point of power where that life-line, that spiritual umbilical cord touches: there is our Angel, facing two ways to God behind us in the direction we cannot see, and to us. But of course do not grow weary of facing God, in your free right and strength (both provided 'from behind' as I say). If you cannot achieve inward peace, and it is given to few to do so (least of all to me) in tribulation, do not forget that the aspiration for it is not a vanity, but a concrete act. I am sorry to talk like this, and so haltingly. But I can do no more for you dearest.

My all time favorite

[The Squatter of Amon Rûdh]

Flicking idly through my copy today I found this.

Of course, the L.R. does not belong to me. It has been brought forth and must now go its appointed way in the world, though naturally I take a deep interest in its fortunes, as a parent would of a child. I am comforted to know that it has good friends to defend it against the malice of its enemies. (But all the fools are not in the other camp.)

From Letter #328, to Carole Batten-Phelps (Autumn, 1971).