Emily C

The process of “losing words” is significant because it is tied to changes in values, traditions, and the surrounding world. It’s a negative phenomenon in nearly all cases because words also hold knowledge. To lose words is to lose the knowledge of those words, even without being aware of it. This makes people so unhappy because there’s still memory and traces of the knowledge but once the words are gone, a distance is established that places those ideas in categories history and myth. The words become part of “past” rather than a part of a living culture. In Earthsea we see this with people who have forgotten many words and as a result lose their connections to magic. The exact reason for the change isn’t known but the people sense the change itself. The practices and skills they used to rely on gradually fade as they lose the words needed for them. We see this in real life too with dying languages. Every language has its own set of these important words that have a cultural significance shaped by the traditions and experiences of its speakers. These are the kinds of words that have no direct translation in other languages. When fewer people learn and use a language, those meanings and the words for them exponentially decrease as the number of speakers decrease. Many power dynamics and other factors can cause this to happen, but in recent years this process has been accelerated. With so much access to information, there’s more pressure for people to speak more common languages to keep up with demands in education, work, etc. If a person’s native language is localized and only spoken by a small group to begin with, they become less and less likely to pass on that language to the next generations. While the process of losing words happens naturally over time, voluntarily (or often involuntarily) giving up a language in favor of another accelerates the shifts that result, which is what causes it to be harmful. A lot of languages today are only used by older groups which is concerning in terms of preserving those languages. Especially in the cases of nonwritten languages, where oral history and knowledge is integral, losing the ability to understand the names and ideas from those words permanently impacts how that community functions. 

It’s interesting to look at how places become known for one specific thing since we see this pattern in fictional stories and the real world. Particularly before the Industrial Revolution, cities and regions became well known as “the best” when it comes to producing a specific item. One factor is resources: both what is easily accessed and most abundant. A group of people that has access to the best wheat seeds and good soil, for example, might become especially skilled at making bread. Cultural factors are also important because what people value and prioritize is integral to determining the things that they create. If a group of people has a significant connection to a certain material or concept, they would probably invest time and craftsmanship into things related to it. Places that become known for one specific thing are also heavily affected by what limitations exist for that population. If people have access to few or a limited variety of options/materials, it’s easiest to just become very specialized in what has the fewest limitations. An example could be that in some harsh climate plant agriculture is difficult so a group of people become known for their animal agriculture and its products (eg foods, wool/textiles, etc).

We see the concept of a divine leader over thousands of years, spanning across real world cultures and fiction. The idea of a ruler being chosen by or acting out the will of a God or gods is a well known trope in terms of how we understand many types of governance. But because it’s so seemingly universal, we can look at where this comes from. In the example of the Sumerian city-states, the challenge is how to assert legitimacy as a ruler especially with this kind of sociopolitical system being so new at the time (pg 133). It’s uncertain exactly how this was done, but most likely theocratic rule by groups of priests was the beginning much like the system of Priestesses in “Tombs of Atuan”. With power struggles over time, kingship was established as a melding of religious duties with secular matters (eg trade, military, land, etc), which seemed to be key in creating the legitimacy that was needed (pg 134). The similar structure in the Kargad lands seems impractical to us as the readers but, as this article explains, the God-king as a leader is very real within that community. Not only do they have political power, but also religious approval that can’t exactly be disproven or challenged. Dickson explains that “by combining coercive power and supernatural authority, kingships were able to assemble and organize manpower on a scale far larger than anything seen before them” (pg 134). This same reasoning is how all of the ruling powers of Kargad (the God-king, Twin Gods, Priestesses, the Tombs) can be so distanced from each other and the people they govern yet still have such a strong influence.

Despite the setting being limited to The Place or Atuan, we learn a lot about the Kargad lands and their culture. In the first book, the Kargs are more or less glossed over and simply typed as “the invaders” in this world. This book goes very in depth about their complex spiritual-political system. The Godking and Twin Gods are referenced often, and seem to be leaders in the way most cultures think of kings and gods. They have dedicated temples and priestesses, but on a level above all of them are the Tombs of Atuan. The tombs are described as being there “since the time of the first men, since Earthsea was created... older by far than the Godkings of Kargad, older than the Twin Gods, older than light... the tombs of those who ruled before the world of men came to be” (pg 15). Only one priestess interacts with them, which seems like the most powerful position that someone can have in this culture. Once Arha takes on this role, it’s mentioned that she is “one whom not even the Godking himself might command”, implying that the only beings above her are those that she serves, the Tombs (pg 26). This system is interesting in how closely it connects the spiritual/supernatural with the ruling of the various lands and how it doesn’t seem to follow a conventional hierarchy in terms of power (as seen with the wizards in Earthsea). It’s also interesting how these two very different societies exist in the same world, with completely different ideas about magic and religion. In a lot of fantasy settings, such as Middle Earth, the entire world more or less follows a consistent belief system with beings that have consistent roles and abilities. This doesn’t seem to be the case here, which is refreshing and makes the world of Earthsea seem more layered and multifaceted.

Based on these excerpts, there are clear similarities between concepts in the Tao Te Ching and Le Guin’s Earthsea. Lao Tzu explains how “not doing” and “not wanting” is integral to being in tune with the Way. Even doing for the sake of positive things like beauty or goodness disrupts the balance that’s necessary and leads to negative consequences as a restoration of equilibrium (pg 4). It seems like this “action by inaction”, as described by Le Guin, isn’t focused on simply doing nothing but acting in ways that are indirect and self-conscious so as to not impose one’s own interests onto the balance (pg 6). This concept of power and action is reflected in how magic is used in Earthsea. For the wizards, they only use their powers when necessary and Ged releasing the shadow was a direct consequence of his use of magic for his own wants. Despite his action being with good intention, he used his power in such a disruptive way that some force had to counteract it. This kind of act creates “the extremes, excess, extravagance” which Lao Tzu says destroys the sacredness of our selves and the world (pg 40). The wizards follow this avoidance of extremes; nearly all of the magic they do practice is illusion rather than directly changing things in the world (knowing that truly altering things is dangerous as proven by Ged’s situation). 

Because so much of Earthsea is divided by ocean, all people in it have strong connections to water (even though this varies in nature from one place to the next). The archipelago is the only significant landmass, so many people of Earthsea live on one of the scattered islands completely surrounded by water. The archipelago seems relatively well connected and, even where people don’t travel to other islands, there’s still trade and communication with other places. However, this seems very different for the Reaches. Ged and Vetch stop briefly at Astowell (or “Lastland”) which is described as completely isolated from the rest of the world. So few people travel that far and the island has so few resources for trade that only their very old leader had ever encountered someone from the archipelago (pg 203). Their physical distance from the closest land (about 150 miles based on the map) is combined with being limited by boats made of woven reeds due to not having wood available, resulting in a very different way of life compared to other parts of Earthsea. This is an interesting contrast to Ged and Vetch, who use the “magewind” to help them travel and by this point had seen many other places on the way. 

The way that magic functions is a key difference between Earthsea (thus far) and Middle Earth. Magical abilities/qualities are prominent in both worlds but are practiced and perceived very differently. In Middle Earth, few people have magical capabilities and the nature of their magic is determined based on who they are (eg wizard or elf). Magic simply vaguely exists and isn’t really something used often/in direct ways. In Earthsea, it seems that magic is far more common and also practiced more. There are different levels of power and various types of magic for different purposes. For example, Duny’s aunt is described as “no black sorceress, nor did she ever meddle with the high arts or traffic with Old Powers; but being an ignorant woman among ignorant folk, she often used her crafts to foolish and dubious ends” (pg 6). She isn’t particularly powerful but, having magical abilities and living in the semi-isolated Ten Alders, she becomes extremely skilled small scale magic for more pragmatic purposes (eg herding goats, potions). Magic is also something that can be learned if the person has some amount of inherent ability (which seems relatively common in comparison to Middle Earth). As soon as his aunt sees that Duny has some kind of power, she immediately begins teaching him magic and even realizes that he has more magical ability than she had thought (pg 7). Even though only a small amount of magic in Earthsea has been explained, it already seems far less mysterious than Middle Earth’s. This makes sense since it seems that it’s more present in everyday life and less so of a symbolic power.

This is what makes this part of their journey so difficult: Sam and Frodo are stuck for several days moving through a liminal space before reaching Mordor, the end of their journey. At this point, it’s difficult to make decisions because all of their options are bad. So even though the Marshes are unpleasant and dangerous, travelling through them is ultimately the “least bad” route. To even reach Mordor, the only other way was across Dagorlad where “there was no cover, and across it ran the highways of the Orcs and soldiers of the Enemy. Not even the cloaks of Lorien would have concealed them there” (pg 625). They’ve reached a point of constant danger, being so close to Mordor, that the hobbits’ decisions aren’t about how to avoid danger but to take the options with less danger.

The “King of the Golden Hall” chapter is a very good example of the ways that Tolkien sets up a place for the reader. His descriptions of Edoras and Meduseld itself create a clear picture of both the physical setting and the social atmosphere. As Gandalf anticipates, there’s a sense of tension and underlying turmoil when they arrive due to Saruman’s interference. In one section particularly, there’s a drawn out struggle to get into the hall after getting through the main gate. Gandalf warns them, “draw no weapon, speak no haughty word, I counsel you all, until we are come before Theoden’s seat” (pg 507). He knows the current situation of Rohan and how it’s effected its people, making them uncertain and wary of the outside world; so he knows that he and the others have to be extremely cautious if they want to be allowed to even reach Theoden. When Hama asks that they leave their weapons outside, it’s interesting to see how differently the characters react. It seems like the people of Rohan know the history of Gondor and other kingdoms of men along with some level of familiarity with the Elves (eg showing respect for the Elven made weapons, recognizing mention of Galadriel). However, Aragorn refuses to give up his sword Anduril due to its importance for his lineage. It’s almost comical how this escalates to the point of Hama suggesting that Aragorn would “fight alone against all the men in Edoras” if he wouldn’t leave the sword and Gimli responding “not alone!” in spite of Gandalf’s instructions and obvious attempts to mediate the situation (pg 511). This kind of tension continues once inside and as Gandalf confronts Wormtongue, but he eventually gets through to Theoden and they are able to start preparing to defend Rohan.

Ruins of fortresses are common landmarks in both history (the example of Trusty’s Hill) and fiction (in Tolkien’s work such as Weathertop). Over centuries, the remains of abandoned places continue to hold significance to the groups that continue to inhabit the surrounding areas. Even if the history is forgotten over time, the symbolism typically persists. Through my own writing, I’ve also explored this theme. The Aedia people initially lived on fishing and foraging around the lake shores of Thaquekchá. Over the next 100 years, they learned woodworking techniques from their neighbors, the Quevica, and built their capital city at the base of the southern Hiin Chylquen’e range. Much like other famous ruined cities (eg Dale or Trusty’s Hill), it became well known and many people travelled to and from it. At a central location along the main road running parallel to the Heauned river, the Aedia were able to transport their goods and skills to all the neighboring lands. However, the hills were also inhabited by the Thyadiv, one of the balancing forces created by the Edukia at the beginning of the world. The city was burned and the people never returned, but the place became significant in the memory of the Aedia. Days of solemnity were practiced in the following centuries, and some of the Aedia chose to leave and resettle further north many years later as a means of escaping the “curse” of their homeland. While those that remained in Thyaluned attempted to rebuild and adapt, those that left maintained a close connection to the traditions and sorrows of their past despite being hundreds of miles away. 

Rereading these chapters I realized how significant they were for me initially reading Tolkien in appreciating his writing style. He describes the house of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry as a kind of safe haven from the surrounding dangers and a comfortable place to rest. Probably the most interesting thing about them, specifically Bombadil, is how they’re portrayed as powerful immortals in contrast to the elves, for example: “...but the spell that now was laid upon him was different: less keen and lofty was the delight, but deeper and nearer to mortal heart...” (pg 123). They invoke a sense of awe in the hobbits but in a more familiar way, unlike how the elves are more so mystical and otherworldly. They offer the hobbits comfort with food and beds already prepared when they arrive, and Bombadil tells them stories (pg 125). The hobbits even seem to lose track of how long they are there and the time of day because they’re so comfortable and interested in learning more. Bombadil and Goldberry also offer a sense of safety, with Goldberry saying to them “Heed no nightly noises! For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and the wind off the hilltop” (pg 125). This shows them acting as an authority (having the power to keep out any evil or harmful beings) which is supported by Bombadil’s answer to Frodo’s question: essentially he is older than the world so he has full power over it. He describes seeing everything change over time and the movement of other people through the land, a separate entity that simply acts as a steward of his surroundings.

It’s easy to feel distanced from societies from hundreds or even thousands of years ago, but too often we are quick to make judgements through the filter of our own culture. Something I notice that happens any time there’s discussion of “human sacrifice” in any historical context is that people unfairly create instant associations with violence and cruelty, disregarding the role of ritual/cultural symbolism and human relationships with death, life, and afterlife. At first, the way the author described the deposits of childrens’ skulls (eg “irrational actions” stemming from human desperation) was unsettling, whether or not it was intentional; but as the most plausible theories were explained this wasn’t the case. There’s so much consistency between the three sites described that these communities most likely had a strong symbolic connection to the head/skull and viewed death as being closely tied to their environment. Also, because the skulls were found near the protective palisades around the villages, this seems to imply a sense of ritual and serve as a symbolic reminder. Although two of the well preserved skulls show that they were both killed by head trauma, which could point to the idea of “sacrificing their children to appease the gods”, other pieces of evidence show that it’s more likely that this happened because of “unstructured violence” such as warfare (pg 462). This makes it even more plausible that the skulls of those children specifically would be recovered and placed again as a way of remembering them through a multi-stage burial. The author also mentions that metalwork hordes were discovered in the same areas which implies that they were intentionally placed together, and these burials were communal events that involved the contributions of the entire village (pg 466). There’s also a line near the end of the article that seems to make this entire complex ritual seem very realistic: “In the face of climatic changes, ‘traditional’ metalwork depositions may have been made in attempts to appease the responsible deity, but in the face of continued climate deterioration and increasingly precarious position of the settlements, the community turned to more symbolic objects- the remains of their children” (pg 467). Faced with the challenges of their environment, these communities probably were desperate, but ultimately the skull deposits don’t seem all that “macabre” or “irrational” given the care put into the process and the potential that it could remind them of hope and rebirth despite everything (losing loved ones but also the risk of losing their homes to the lake). 

I found it very interesting how Bilbo learned context about Lake Town while listening to the people navigating the raft. Essentially, based on what they were saying about the conditions of Mirkwood and the rivers, Bilbo and the dwarves only made it that far by several cases of good luck. Not only were there and earthquakes and other natural events that altered the landscape, but relations between the elves and men of Esgaroth had changed greatly since the arrival of Smaug (pg 175). He learns that the path they were on through Mirkwood led to nowhere because of not being maintained, so the chance that they were captured by the elves (and also managed to escape via the river) was ultimately the only way for them to reach the Lake (pg 175). It also explains a lot about the state of that region, such as how much it’s changed to the point that the advice that Gandalf and Beorn gave wasn’t even accurate anymore. Specifically, the characterization of Lake Town was interesting given their situation of living right next to a dragon. In this way, they almost mirror the hobbits in their lack of interest in the outside world because “other folk were far away” despite being in the area of real danger (pg 180). There also seems to be a strong contrast between groups of people in Esgaroth based on the stories they know and what they believe, and there’s also a general sense of distance from the history of Dale and the Mountain. While some people know songs and stories about the past, some “openly doubted the existence of any dragon in the mountain” (pg 180). So memory or lack of it creates a kind of tension that sets up the plot for the dwarves arriving and later Smaug attacking the town.

This article gave a much more in depth look at the linguistic influences that Tolkien draws from, specifically in the context of The Hobbit. Fisher explains Tolkien’s use of words that have layered or combined multiple meanings such as “Orthanc” which translates to “Mount Fang” in Elvish Sindarin but also “cunning mind” in Old English (pg 5). The name describes the physical place but also who inhabits it. With this in mind, Fisher then focuses on the word “attercop” that appears in the song Bilbo uses to distract the spiders. I always assumed it was a nonsense insult that Tolkien made up for the chapter but he actually used words from several languages to essentially create this word that means “poisonous spider”. Specifically, he most closely uses the Anglo Saxon word “átor-coppe” and the Medieval and Modern Welsh words “adargop” and “adrop”, which all are words to describe spiders (pg 6). I also found it very interesting that he probably took the title of the chapter, “Flies and Spiders” from a line in the Middle English poem, “The Owl and the Nightingale”. Later in the reading, Fisher explains the linguistic connection between dwarves and spiders. In Swedish and Welsh, the words for each are the same which Fisher says is likely because of dwarves being known for their metalwork to the point that their craftsmanship is comparable to spiders building their webs (pg 12). This linguistic context for Tolkien’s languages and naming makes Middle Earth even more interesting for readers, and I’d personally like to do more research on it.

I clearly remember Tolkien’s vivid descriptions of Mirkwood and the sense of dread it creates from the first time I read The Hobbit. Darkness, or rather what we don’t see because of the darkness, is a common indicator of a dangerous place in both Tolkien’s work and real life (eg how common it is for people to be scared of the dark from childhood on). In Mirkwood, he uses different levels of darkness to indicate the amount of danger that Bilbo and the dwarves are potentially in such as a gloominess during the day versus pitch darkness at night with the only light being the eyes surrounding them. Tolkien also describes a “green light” once they reach the birch trees which gives them hope that they’re soon leaving the forest. He uses other elements to create a sense of discomfort. The dwarves are used to darkness since they spend so much time underground, so a dark forest isn’t necessarily something that creates fear in them. However, Tolkien explains that the forest has a “stuffiness” to it that makes it feel close and suffocating. It’s so extreme that “even the dwarves felt it, who were used to tunnelling, and lived at times for long whiles without the light of the sun...” (pg 131). The fact that Mirkwood is so dark, unusually quiet, and seemingly still makes it eerie and uncomfortable. The reader gets the sense of being trapped in a neverending forest. We relate to that kind of claustrophobia which makes the chapter impactful and makes it clear that forests in Middle Earth are places of both mystery and danger.

It’s easy to see the ways that Tolkien may have drawn inspiration (consciously or unconsciously) from the site in the Orkney Islands. The most significant similarity is that researchers have determined the houses would have been individually covered with turf to function as a roof, and as more layers were added over time the structures were eventually covered by mounds of it (which created the appearance of the houses being built into the ground). Scarre describes how this would have looked at the time: with “the only sign of life”, once the villagers have gone inside for the night, being the smoke coming through the hidden roofs (pg 103). For the people of Skara Brae, this seems like it was out of necessity in such a harsh environment. With that in mind it’s interesting that Tolkien structured the hobbits’ built environment similarly while the Shire is anything but a harsh place to live. It might be a reflection of the reclusiveness of hobbits (geographical and social) and how they exist with most of Middle Earth not even knowing. Skara Brae also seemed to share the significance of comfort that’s also present in the Shire. Remaining fixtures in the houses show that certain design elements were consistent implying that social conventions were tied to those things, such as the hearths in the middle of each house and the cupboards/shelves opposite of the entrances (pg 104). There’s a shared sense of “should be” when it comes to how the built environment is set up much like how the hobbits have their own ideas about what makes a space a “proper home”. 

However, Robbins does make the argument that this hopefulness that readers take away from the hobbit characters is what makes them such a “real” part of Middle Earth. While the other groups (elves, men, dwarves, wizards, etc) are closely tied to the ancient cultures and texts that Tolkien was inspired by, characters like Bilbo Baggins stand out in how much more they think and act like many of us would today (pg 74). This is something that I notice is often missing from fantasy storytelling: a more relatable “guide” to help make sense of the epic narrative and the mythological/ancient characters and places within it. Having elements that are perceived as more modern and therefore more relatable in a contemporary world makes the ancient and unfamiliar references less intimidating for us (such as Old English terms or including characters that are hundreds of years old). Robbins explains that the hobbits, whether we relate to them as a reflection of ourselves or what we hope to be like, bring us closer to the old poems and legends that are referenced in Middle Earth because of this (pg 74). So in this sense, I definitely do agree with the idea that hobbits in the context of Middle Earth reflect modern humans (ie the audience) because our ability to see ourselves and our values in them makes the story and place feel more “real”.