J.R.R. Tolkien (1892-1973) is probably the most famous fantasy author of the 20th century. His created world “Middle Earth” lives on in movies, series and games, while his ideas have influenced countless authors. At the same time, the British author, teacher and scholar was well acquainted with the languages and stories of antiquity. What influence did antiquity have on Tolkien’s creative work?
Hamish Williams emphasizes in this book that this influence was not small. Specifically, he explores the extent to which classical “utopian thought exercises” (48) resonated with Tolkien. Williams does this in an introduction, three loosely connected chapters, and a concluding epilogue. Endnotes and bibliography comprise a good quarter of the book (pp. 143-198); a concise thematic index concludes the work.
In his introduction, Williams discusses not only the life and work of Tolkien, but also the concept of utopia, which he outlines by means of a working definition as a “form of thinking which defamiliarizes physical space for the sake of exploring and evaluating an ideal” (2). The word ‘utopia’ already contains a verbal pun, for it contains both the Greek ou-topia (no place) and eu-topia (good place). Williams emphasizes that Tolkien did not write a utopian work, but “his writing triangulates over the defining components of spatial richness in narrative, of imaginative defamiliarization (nowhereness) and of (im)perfectionism or idealism” (6). In this, his utopian concepts were influenced by classical authors that Tolkien studied and taught throughout his life. Williams therefore uses the term “retrotopianism”: “a rediscovery and rewriting” (8) of well-known ancient texts.
“All stories are ultimately about the fall” (Williams quotes Tolkien, 17) — hence the focus of the first chapter is on so-called “lapsarian narratives”. The history of decline is omnipresent in Tolkien’s self-created world of Middle Earth, as Williams shows with reference to the lesser-known Silmarillion. Here, for example, there are parallels to the Judeo-Christian story of creation (Genesis). But in Lord of the Rings, the most prominent settings and realms are in decline — The Shire, Rivendell, Moria, Minas Tirith — have all already passed their peak and are gradually experiencing their fall in the face of the growing power of evil. But how is this connected to utopias?
In Graeco-Roman literature, narratives of decline were used to formulate utopian visions. Communities from days long past (Golden Age) lived perfect lives according to high moral values, usually in harmony with nature and the gods. Williams shows that literary narratives of fall are often linked to a reflection on the present, and they suggest the possibility of restoring the former state of bliss. Utopian musings are thus also capable of social criticism, or of triggering reflections on moral and religious mores.
In detail, Williams compares the fall of two powerful island kingdoms: Plato’s Atlantis and Tolkien’s Númenor. But what do these narratives mean, what are their implications for readers? In Plato, Williams recognizes a desire for a moderate, ascetic, pious, economically self-sustainable and sophrocratic community. The case of Atlantis is a story of hybris, of imperialists who reached too far, and who craved wealth and luxury. Williams finds the same pattern in the Fall of Númenor, which seeks to conquer the East with a vast fleet until finally its own island sinks. Also interesting is Williams’ observation that the classical Greek sense of superiority of the West over the decadent East can also be found in Tolkien: “the association of immoderation with the cultural Orient and moderation with the Occident, as a trope inherited from classical narratives, is a less palatable taste in post-colonial times.” (p. 34).
Williams finds another narrative of decay in Tolkien’s Gondor: the kingdom has already passed its golden age, but it undergoes a restoration through Aragorn’s intervention and kingship. This narrative has already been paralleled with the Rome of late antiquity, which transitioned into the Holy Roman Empire and came to new power under Charlemagne.[1] Williams, on the other hand, suggests parallels with Emperor Augustus, who, like Aragorn, stands for renewal, reconstruction, and peace. Williams here uncritically follows the Roman propaganda of a Pax Romana as reflected in Suetonius’s Life of Augustus.
In a purported conclusion, Williams discusses other interpretations of Rome’s decline in the 20th century, placing Tolkien in a broader context.[2] An engagement with antiquity always takes place, he concludes, in the context of contemporary experience. The story of the fall of Rome has thus been rewritten again and again with different ideological agendas. William’s actual conclusion is then that Tolkien’s narratives of decline and restoration can be interpreted in light of ancient writings but must also be contextualized in terms of the writer’s own life and times. This highlights many different motifs in Tolkien’s writings: “religious conservatism, anti-modernism, anti-technological thought, anti-imperialism and liberalism” (58).
In the second chapter, Williams discusses Tolkien’s The Hobbit. Williams briefly mentions possible narratological interpretations of this children’s story but posits that The Hobbit is “not simply a heroic quest of dragon slaying or treasure hunting, nor a geopolitical quest, nor a psychological quest into adulthood, but an ethical quest, centered on the social, religious institution of the house and the relationship between hosts and guests” (86). This bridges Williams to his theme: what is a good place, a eu-topos? It is where hospitality is cultivated.
Just as the journey of the hobbit Bilbo and his dwarven companions is a sequence of different encounters and “homes”, so too is the Homer’s Odyssey a journey from oikos to oikos. In each, different forms of hospitality (xenia) and also different behaviors by the guests are thematized. Xenia has a religious component; one speaks not without reason of the sanctity of hospitality. But expectations were also placed on the guests, who would suffer consequences if they did not comply. Right at the beginning of The Odyssey, for example, the reader encounters the abusive guests in Odysseus’ palace. In The Hobbit, Bilbo is an unwilling host at the beginning. Common to both stories is the subsequent juxtaposition and thematization of “homes”, the hospitality associated with them, and the “home-coming.” Both stories play with these motifs, so the Cyclops Polyphemus is a parody of the ritual in which “the guests are not served food but become food” (73), just as the traveling party in The Hobbit encounters man-eating trolls.
Williams discusses the concept of xenophilia (love not only the neighbor but also the stranger) in the context of the 20th century. Tolkien, Williams argues, represented an “anti-modern desire for the individual to reclaim an autonomy over a home space, and thus the right to express xenophilia, which is rapidly disintegrating in the technocratic modern world…” (95). In this respect, The Hobbit can also be read as a utopia of the perfect oikos and the perfect xenia, and thus also as a directive for action by the readership (or the children listening to the story?).
Finally, in the third chapter, Williams discusses “sublime narratives” in Tolkien. This chapter gave the reviewer the most trouble. Tolkien was a self-confessed dendrophilist who was shocked by the destruction of British nature and forests by advancing industrialization. This “war on trees” was also reflected in Lord of the Rings, where the wizard Saruman drives deforestation with his orcs. Williams interprets Tolkien against his Christian background, the author seeing nature as a gift of God, of which man must take care. Gardening thereby becomes an act of faith (the hobbit Sam is the perfect gardener!). In contrast, the orcs are pure destroyers of nature.
Despite these interesting remarks, however, the chapter revolves around sublime experiences that one can experience when entering certain natural settings. For me, even after reading it, understanding William’s sense of the sublime remains difficult. But with Edmund Burke, Williams at least emphasizes some motifs such as the “greatness of dimension”, “obscurity”, and especially “the feeling of awe.” Sublime experiences of entering certain natural settings can sometimes be positive (joy), sometimes negative (terror). Such sublime experiences are said to lead to a transformation “where some revelation or epiphany enables the characters to transcend their previous selves” (107).
An example of a sublime setting is the Old Forest, which the hobbits enter in Lord of the Rings. Tolkien adopts the old topos of the ancient, dangerous forest (which has been reflected extensively in the fairy tales). He draws on Ovid’s Metamorphoses as a precursor for this motif, where also as in Tolkien the forest is described as “densely treed and untouched by human ordering (axe-work)”, a dangerous place for humans. In Ovid, the Old Forest is the home of primitive and violent deities – a motif that Tolkien picked up with the Old Man Willow in The Hobbit. These forces of nature defend their realm against human invaders. Interesting is William’s interpretation of Tom Bombadil (the good antagonist, a kind of nature spirit) as an Orphic figure with his qualities as “lover, musician, and nature pacifier.” Thus Tom’ss home is “a sublime realization of a peaceful, essentially Christian view of heaven” (128).
Williams mentions the experience of the sublime at the sight of ancient ruins. Just as modern archaeologists have moving, emotional experiences at the sight of Graeco-Roman ruins, so do the protagonists in Lord of the Rings when they enter the ruins of the ancient realm of Númenor.
But how is this connected to utopias? Except for Tom Bombadil’s paradisiacal home, neither the Old Forest nor Ovid’s Metamorphoses are eu-topoi, at best they are ou-topoi. Fantasy literature is, to a certain extent, always a depiction of invented, non-existent settings (ou-topoi), but that alone does not actually justify William’s statement that “Tolkien’s engagement with such ancient narratives is…governed by an overarching utopianism” (139). As I said, this chapter remains elusive for me. Equally elusive for me is the consequence of utopian thought. Williams, after all, defines utopia as a “form of thinking which defamiliarizes physical space for the sake of exploring and evaluating an ideal”, but the formulation of an ideal is absent in this chapter. The sublime, according to Williams, is supposed to bring about a transformation of the self, or a transcendence, but I did not find that either in the sublime experience of the hobbits in the Old Forest. The “key spiritual lesson” (129) is therefore not tangible for me.
In the epilogue, Williams summarizes Tolkien’s “retrotopianism”: his utopian musings provide visions of perfect communities which can be restored, of perfect hospitality, and of an ethical ideal of the home. These ideas, Williams argues, provide a coherent picture, but one that must be considered in the context of the 20th century. Tolkien’s ideas are therefore, from a contemporary perspective, extremely retrogressive and conservative.
Tolkien’s books are still fascinating today and have rightly become world literature. It remains exciting to see what new facets literary scholars and classicists will discover about the books. Hamish Williams has succeeded with sound method and meticulous source work to highlight parallels to ancient writings. In order to dig as deep as possible, Williams not only examined Tolkien’s books, but also consulted the author’s letters, draft-versions and notes, as well as placing his curriculum vitae in this context. This gives Williams’ analysis a very sound basis, and the reading of the short book is altogether a great pleasure. He repeatedly emphasizes that different interpretations are desirable in the interpretation of Tolkien’s books: “the study of one leaf of Tolkien’s compost does not preclude that of others, nor does it imply a singular dominance” (105). In this respect, I find it justifiable that Aragorn in the restoration of Gondor can be compared to both Augustus and Charlemagne: Tolkien will not have rewritten a template one-to-one but has been influenced by various ideas.
One point of criticism goes to the book’s editors, who opted for endnotes at the end of the book, where the reader will find only abbreviated citations, necessitating an additional hunt in the bibliography. Each reference thus has to be traced by turning the pages twice, which considerably impairs the reading flow.
Notes
[1] Cf. J.A. Ford, «The White City: The Lord of the Rings as an Early Medieval Myth of the Restoration of the Roman Empire”, in: Tolkien Studies 2 (2005), 53-73; M. Librán-Moreno, “Byzantium, New Rome!” Goths, Langobards, and Byzantium in The Lord of the Rings, in: J. Fisher (ed.), Tolkien and the Study of His Sources. Jefferson, North Carolina, London (2011), 85-115.
[2] As with other chapters in the book, Williams’s conclusions to chapters tend to be continuations of each chapter that introduce new material.