Minor?

23 Wednesday Sep 2026

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

It’s true, as I said in my posting about War and Peace, that the novel certainly appears to have a lot of characters, many of them minor, people who appear for a scene or two, as T.S. Eliot (1888-1965) writes, speaking in the voice of “Prufrock”:

“No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse…”

(from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock”, first published in Poetry, June, 1915)

I would say that this is also true for The Lord of the Rings, with its many characters, some of whom “start a scene or two”—think of Sandyman the miller, for example, and his son, Ted, two sceptical Hobbits, who pop up in the first chapters of the book, foils for Gaffer Gamgee and his son, Sam, with their gossip about the Bagginses and traveling Ents—definitely “scene-starters”, though not much more.

Then there are minor characters who, for a moment, have more major roles and here I’m thinking of Hama, the doorward of Meduseld.

(This is from the wonderfully creative Lego “Rebrickable” site:  https://rebrickable.com/mocs/MOC-174256/Sir%20BuildsALot/meduseld-the-golden-hall-of-edoras/#details which is all about building new things with Legos.)

In a letter to the editor of The Observer, Tolkien had stated of The Hobbit:

“Beowulf is among my most valued sources…”  (letter to the editor, 20 February, 1938, Letters, 41)

and, in the case of Hama, this continues to be true.

At the beginning of Beowulf, Hrothgar, the king of the Danes, is in trouble.  His mead hall (which the English for “Meduseld”)

has been attacked, for 12 years, by a monster from the moors—Grendel.

Security is tight, therefore, in Denmark, so, when Beowulf arrives from Sweden with his companions, he is first stopped and questioned by a coast guard,

and then, at Hrothgar’s door by Wolfgar, the doorward–

“As the party was approaching the palace together

They set their arms and armor against the wall.

In warlike equipments. ’Gainst the wall of the building

Their wide-fashioned war-shields they weary did set then,

Battle-shields sturdy; benchward they turned then;

Their battle-sarks rattled, the gear of the heroes;

The lances stood up then, all in a cluster,

The arms of the seamen, ashen-shafts mounted

With edges of iron: the armor-clad troopers.”

Wolfgar then questions them–

“A Danish hero asks them whence and why they are come.

Were decked with weapons. Then a proud-mooded hero

Asked of the champions questions of lineage:

“From what borders bear ye your battle-shields plated,

Gilded and gleaming, your gray-colored burnies,

Helmets with visors and heap of war-lances?—

To Hrothgar the king I am servant and liegeman.

’Mong folk from far-lands found I have never

He expresses no little admiration for the strangers.

Men so many of mien more courageous.

I ween that from valor, nowise as outlaws,

But from greatness of soul ye sought for King Hrothgar.”

(from John Lesslie Hall’s 1892 translation, which you can read here:  https://www.gutenberg.org/files/16328/16328-h/16328-h.htm#page_5 This translation suggests the heavy alliteration and rhythm of the original, but it’s occasionally archaic, so, if you’d prefer, there are many others out there.   There have, in fact, been English translations since 1837 and you can see a list of most of them here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_translations_of_Beowulf )

Here, we see Wolfgar (his name is mentioned in line 30) greet and question Beowulf and his companions after they have put down their weapons.  In the same scene in The Lord of the Rings, Hama is less friendly—

“ ‘I am the Doorward of Theoden,’ he said.  ‘Hama is my name.  Here I must bid you lay aside your weapons before you enter.’ “

Legolas easily lays aside his weapons, but Aragorn resists, saying,  “It is not my will…to put aside my sword or to deliver Anduril to the hand of any other man.“

To which Hama replies:  “It is the will of Theoden.”

And here Aragorn begins to sound rather high-handed:

“It is not clear to me that the will of Theoden son of Thengel, even though he be lord of the Mark, should prevail over the will of Aragorn son of Arathorn, Elendil’s heir of Gondor.”

This almost causes a political disaster as Hama replies:

“This is the house of Theoden, not of Aragorn, even were he King of Gondor in the seat of Denethor.”

And then—

“[Hama] step[s] swiftly before the doors and bar[s] the way.  His sword was now in his hand and the point towards the strangers.”

Gandalf temporarily calms the situation, but then Hama says to Gandalf:

“ ‘Your staff…Forgive me, but that too must be left at the doors.’ “

Gandalf pleads old age and Hama, hesitating for a moment, then allows him to keep it and, by doing so, steps from minor character for a moment to major as, when Gandalf and the others enter the hall, they find

(the Hildebrandts)

“…a man so bent with age he seemed almost a dwarf…”

(Alan Lee)

as well as “…a woman clad in white..”

and

“At his feet upon the steps sat a wizened figure of a man, with a pale white face and heavy-lidded eyes.”

This is Grima Wormtongue, who, we soon find out, is not the loyal counselor of Theoden he pretends to be, but an agent of Saruman,

(the Hildebrandts)

bent upon betraying the king.  Angered by him, Gandalf

“…raised his staff.  There was a roll of thunder.  The sunlight was blotted out from the eastern windows; the whole hall became suddenly dark as night.  The fire faded to sullen embers.  Only Gandalf could be seen, standing white and tall before the blackened hearth.

In the gloom, they heard the hiss of Wormtongue’s voice.  ‘Did I not counsel you, lord, to forbid his staff?  That fool, Hama, has betrayed us!’  There was a flash as if lightning had cloven the roof.  Then all was silent.  Wormtongue sprawled on his face.” 

With Grima thrown down, great age falls away from Theoden—

“He drew himself up, slowly, as a man that is stiff from long bending over some dull toil.  Now tall and straight he stood, and his eyes were blue as he looked into the opening sky.”  (all of the above from The Lord of the Rings, Book Three, “The Two Towers”, Chapter 6, “The King of the Golden Hall”)

In fact, Hama hasn’t betrayed Theoden, but has given Gandalf the weapon to free the king from Grima’s betrayal and what seems to have been some sort of aging spell.

Theoden then goes on to fight at Helm’s Deep,

(Angus McBride)

to lead the charge at the Fields of the Pelennor,

(Denis Gordeev)

and to die heroically at the battle’s end.

(Angus McBride)

Hama is no Prince Hamlet, but, in allowing Gandalf to keep his staff, he has done more than “start a scene”—he has restarted his king, and, in doing so, he has brought Theoden back into the story, leading the Rohirrim to actions which will help to thwart both Saruman and Sauron—not bad for a minor character.

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

And, as always, know that there’s

MTCIDC

O

An Homeric PS

16 Wednesday Sep 2026

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

I earlier posted a review of Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey (see “Out of Work Athena”, 12 August, 2026),

but I’ve thought a lot about the film since and I felt that it might be helpful to add a second note on the subject–about the film’s ending, in particular.

Here’s what the Wiki article has to say:

“After the meal, Odysseus, still disguised, confesses to Penelope his guilt for violating Zeus’ law during the sacking of Troy, desecrating Athena‘s statue after killing her priestess (whose form Athena assumed in visions), and initiating the collapse of the Bronze Age… After the remaining suitors surrender, Odysseus cedes his throne to Telemachus and leaves with Penelope to seek peace in exile. Sailing west to honor his fallen soldiers, the couple expect civilization’s renewal and muse that time will forget Odysseus’ mistakes.”

I was surprised when I read this and even more surprised when I saw it acted out on the screen.  This may be “Christopher Nolan’s Odyssey”, but it’s not “Homer’s”.  And that subtitle on the poster, “Defy the Gods” shows the major difference, as I began to demonstrate in my earlier posting.  Athena is Odysseus’ patron and therefore the last god he would “defy”, but it’s because of another god that Odysseus will perform the action which is first laid out for him in the Otherworld by the seer Tireisias.

Odysseus’ trouble began in Book Nine, where Odysseus tells his Phaeacian audience (an important part of the story left out of the film) that, previously trapped by Polyphemus, the Cyclops, in the Cyclops’ cave, he has escaped after blinding him.

Groping his way to the shore in pursuit of the fleeing Odysseus, Polyphemus attempts to destroy him and his men by heaving the equivalent of a mountain top at them.

In the process of escaping, Odysseus does something which may seem rash, if not downright crazy, to us (and Odysseus’ crew would agree).  He shouts to the Cyclops:

“Κύκλωψ, αἴ κέν τίς σε καταθνητῶν ἀνθρώπων

ὀφθαλμοῦ εἴρηται ἀεικελίην ἀλαωτύν,

φάσθαι Ὀδυσσῆα πτολιπόρθιον ἐξαλαῶσαι,

υἱὸν Λαέρτεω, Ἰθάκῃ ἔνι οἰκίʼ ἔχοντα.”

(Od. 9.502–9.505—my translation)

“Cyclops, if any one of mortal men

Should ask [you] about the shameful blinding of [your] eye,

Say that city-destroying Odysseus blinded [it],

The son of Laertes, having his home on Ithaka.”

Doing so, Odysseus seems to have just handed over his name and address to his victim, even though the story makes it clear that Polyphemus’, by killing and eating a number of Odysseus’ men, deserved what he got.  (Polyphemus also violated the Greek custom of xenia, hospitality/guest-friendship, which, as Odysseus earlier had pointed out to him, was overseen by Zeus—unlike the completely imaginary “Zeus’ law”, which is mentioned more than once in the film.  Odysseus, by the way, when speaking to Polyphemus, is obeying another actual early Greek custom, if not “law”:  that of kleos.  This is a hard word to translate, meaning something like “reputation/fame”, and Odysseus, to add the escape of the Cyclops to it, must let his enemy know who tricked him, even though, in this case, it brings him and his men into mortal danger.)

Polyphemus, thwarted in destroying Odysseus there and then, prays to his father, Poseidon,

for revenge, something which is mentioned by Zeus at the beginning of Book One of the Odyssey (lines 68-75) when Athena approaches him for help in getting Odysseus out of the clutches of Calypso on the island of Ogygia and sent on his way home.  (Odysseus, by the way, hasn’t, as in the film, forgotten about home, stoked up on lotos, but, instead, grieves for it every day—see Book One, lines 55-59.) 

We then see Poseidon’s revenge told by Odysseus in Book Five, as Odysseus, aided by Calypso (through Zeus’ prompting via his messenger, Hermes), is attempting to get home via a homemade raft.  Poseidon spots the raft, with Odysseus on it, and works up a violent storm which partially destroys the raft and drops Odysseus into the sea before he can regain the wreckage, now at the mercy of the waves. (see Book Five, lines 282-332)

Odysseus survives, saved by the mysterious Phaeacians (whom I’ve mentioned earlier) and sent home by them, although Poseidon, annoyed by their helping Odysseus, turns the ship which carried Odysseus to stone as a punishment (see Book Thirteen, lines 125-165)

Odysseus is left with a very serious problem, however:  he lives on an island, among sea-faring people:  how will he ever be safe from Poseidon?  The answer lies in the directions which Tireisias gave him in their Otherworld meeting.  Once Odysseus has killed the suitors (all the suitors—unlike the film, Odysseus shows no mercy in the poem), Tireisias says:

“ἔρχεσθαι δὴ ἔπειτα λαβὼν ἐυῆρες ἐρετμόν,

εἰς ὅ κε τοὺς ἀφίκηαι οἳ οὐκ ἴσασι θάλασσαν

ἀνέρες, οὐδέ θʼ ἅλεσσι μεμιγμένον εἶδαρ ἔδουσιν·

οὐδʼ ἄρα τοί γʼ ἴσασι νέας φοινικοπαρῄους

οὐδʼ ἐυήρεʼ ἐρετμά, τά τε πτερὰ νηυσὶ πέλονται.

σῆμα δέ τοι ἐρέω μάλʼ ἀριφραδές, οὐδέ σε λήσει·

ὁππότε κεν δή τοι συμβλήμενος ἄλλος ὁδίτης

φήῃ ἀθηρηλοιγὸν ἔχειν ἀνὰ φαιδίμῳ ὤμῳ,

καὶ τότε δὴ γαίῃ πήξας ἐυῆρες ἐρετμόν,

ῥέξας ἱερὰ καλὰ Ποσειδάωνι ἄνακτι…”

(Od. 11.115–11.130—my translation)

“Go, then, having taken a broad[bladed] oar,

Until you reach those men who don’t know the sea,

[and] neither do they eat food mixed with salt

Nor yet do they know ships with painted bows [literally “purple cheeks”],

Nor broad[bladed] oars, [which] are the wings of ships.

And I will tell you a very clear sign [which] you won’t miss:

Whenever some traveler, meeting you,

Should say that you have a winnowing fan on your splendid shoulder,

Then, having stuck the broad[bladed] oar in the earth,

Having made fine sacrifices to the lord Poseidon…”

go home and continue making sacrifices to the gods.  And, having done so, Odysseus will have an easy death in old age and his people will be blessed.  Although Odysseus later relates this to Penelope (see Book Twenty-three, lines 248-284), we don’t see him do it in the poem, but he certainly doesn’t “sail west to honor his fallen soldiers” (why west?  And how does that “honor his fallen soldiers”?)

It’s clear, from Tireisias’ directions, that what Odysseus is meant to do to placate Poseidon includes getting as far away from the sea as he can—but what’s this business with the oar and a “winnowing fan”?

In earlier times, the process of producing flour was complex.  One had to:

1. harvest the grain,

2. break the beards of grain off the stalks, called “threshing”,

3. then, often by tossing it up, using the air to free the grain from the husks which cover it, called “winnowing”,

before grinding the final product into powder—flour.

Winnowing could be done by tossing the grain in its husks into the air from a basket,

or by forking it into the air by a “winnowing fan”.

Probably because the fork had a long shaft, like an oar, Tireisias was suggesting that, meeting someone so far inland as to be ignorant of boats that he would confuse an oar with an agricultural tool, Odysseus would be safe from Poseidon’s natural element and could make his sacrifice to placate the god.

So—no abdication, no sailing west, nor restoration of civilization, but a godly man, so long protected by a goddess, now seeking peace by appeasing a god he has angered:  a very different and reverent story—and ending of the story–from Christopher Nolan’s, with its totally manufactured “defiance”.

Thanks for reading, as always,

Stay well,

Always check before assaulting someone—he might be related to a vengeful god,

And remember, as well, that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

December in September

09 Wednesday Sep 2026

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As ever, welcome, dear readers.

Recently, I watched an historical film which has been on my shelves for some time.

In English, this would be “Union of Salvation” which title, because the image includes what is clearly a soldier in a shako (a kind of military hat worn mostly in the first half of the 19th century),

may make you wonder—along with the title of this posting—what’s this one going to be about?

There are clues, however, both in the film’s title and in the posting’s title:  we’re beginning this posting with a film about the Decembrists, a group of Russian would-be revolutionaries, who, under the name “the Union of Salvation”, led a military uprising against the government in St Petersburg in December, 1825.

The soldiers involved included units of the tsar’s own bodyguard, who paraded in what was then called Senate Square to proclaim their support of a new tsar, Constantine,

 and a constitution.  Instead, it was revealed that Constantine had previously declined the position of tsar, so the new tsar would be his younger brother, Nicholas.

Nicholas, in fact, first attempted to deal with the rebels, but, when his emissary, the distinguished general Miloradovich, was mortally wounded by one of the rebels,

things went rapidly downhill and the new tsar turned his artillery on the troops, shooting down a number before the rest fled in confusion.

After this, Nicholas pursued the rebels, many were rounded up, and punishments ranged from demotion in rank to exile to Siberia,

to execution—the most prominent being that of the five men deemed the ringleaders.

The film was a striking one–beautifully made, with what appeared to be Star Wars quality CGI,

but, because I already knew the outcome, there was a grim, fateful feel to the film, even though I very much admired and appreciated the work which had clearly gone into it.  The conspirators were both ambitious and idealistic and even a little naïve, and, at the moment of crisis, things came apart and they and their attempted revolt failed miserably.  It’s a powerful film, and well worth watching, even if you are aware of its conclusion.  The version of the film I saw had subtitles which looked like they’d been done by an AI with almost no knowledge of idiomatic Russian, producing some very odd translations, but there is a far superior version on YouTube, which you can see here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E_JiQWe36xM  Before you do, however, I would suggest that, to understand the complexities of the revolt (and it was complex—lots of personalities and plans), watch this very good documentary: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXx_jLEG4KU 

Those who were sent into exile in Siberia made new lives for themselves there, but there were some who always hoped for pardon and, in 1856, with the accession of a new tsar, Alexander II (son of Nicholas),

they were allowed to return westward, and old noble privileges were even restored to their children.  (For more on this, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Decembrist_revolt )

This event, we’re told, inspired a writer already known for Childhood, Boyhood, Youth (1852-56),

(which you can read here:  https://archive.org/details/childhood-boyhood-youth-e-lev-tolstoy/page/n5/mode/2up )

Sebastopol Sketches (1855),

(which you can read here:  https://tolstoyarchive.org/Fiction/books/Sevastopol%20Sketches.pdf )

and The Cossacks (1863),

(which you can read here: https://archive.org/details/landedproprietor00tols/page/n7/mode/2up

Count Leo Tolstoy (1828-1910),

 to begin a new work, which would be based upon the revolt and its consequences.  He commenced his novel in 1863, but realized that, to make sense out of the events of 1825, he would have to go back in time, and the first version of this work was entitled 1805, and published in 1865, but then came years of revision and occasional publication of drafts until the final version, now entitled War and Peace, appeared in 1869.  (The creation and publishing history is as complex as the Decembrist plot—you can follow it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/War_and_Peace )  And, although there is a hint of the Decembrists in an epilogue, the actual events of 1825 have completely disappeared from the novel which Tolstoy eventually published.

It’s a novel I’m now beginning to read for what I think is the 9th time, and, each time, I’m surprised at how easily I’ve been pulled in.

It’s long—the estimate of one translation is 628,215 words—and it has many secondary characters, but the primary characters—Pierre, Andrei, Natasha—are so vividly drawn that, reading, it’s those you follow, even as you do Andrei’s family—his seemingly severe father, his gentle, pious sister—and Natasha’s family—her overly-generous father, her loving mother, her siblings and their attachments.  And you watch Pierre gradually grow from the troubled, illegitimate son of a nobleman into a deeply thoughtful and kindly man.   As well, although Tolstoy had originally intended a very different historical novel, we see these characters set against the history of Russia in the period of the Napoleonic wars, beginning with its defeat, along with its Austrian ally, at Austerlitz in 1805 (you can read more about that here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Austerlitz#General_references )


through Napoleon’s invasion and eventual defeat in 1812, with the burning of Moscow

and the terrible French retreat, through deepening winter and Russian pursuit.

There are battles,

but the majority of scenes are from civilian life:  dances, a hunt, jealousies, weddings, family struggles, even a duel. 

If this interests you, but the idea of such a massive work seems, potentially, a little overwhelming, I would start with the second BBC series from 2016.

This wisely concentrates upon those three primary characters (they are depicted in this image) and, having seen that, you can form a good idea of the shape of the book as a whole, then turn to what many believe to be the best modern translation—

or, having read this intelligent opinion–https://tolstoytherapy.com/tips-for-reading-war-and-peace-first-time-tolstoy/ –perhaps this translation—

and see what you think.  If you’re like me, you’ll become hooked and find yourself reembarking on this long but wonderful book again and again.

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Be glad that Napoleon was eventually defeated and exiled to a tiny island from which he didn’t return,

And remember that, also as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Fan/Finn Fiction

02 Wednesday Sep 2026

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Welcome, as ever, dear readers.

If you read this blog regularly, you know that I have a mostly positive view of fan fiction.  On the one hand, it can be a good teacher:  how many modern fantasy writers have used, say, Tolkien, or even his characters, as a model when they were first beginning to write?  And, on the other, there are those moments in Tolkien which are nothing but brief mentions—like the cats of Queen Beruthiel–(mentioned by Aragorn in The Fellowship of the Ring, Book 2, Chapter 4, “A Journey in the Dark”—“He is surer of finding the way home in a blind night than the cats of Queen Beruthiel.”  Tolkien once wrote of them:  “I have yet to discover anything about the cats of Queen Beruthiel.”—letter to W.H. Auden, 7 June, 1955, Letters, 316—although he had a little more to say in Unfinished Tales, 419, including the mysterious end of the Queen.)

(Steamey—see more of his art here:  https://lotr.fandom.com/wiki/Category:Art_by_Steamey )

where one might wish that someone—a clever fan, respectful of the original material–would write more about her.  It wouldn’t be Tolkien, but it might be fun.  (I say a clever and respectful fan as there are moments in some of the films based upon Tolkien where there is such a clear violation of Tolkien’s work—I mention only “Tauriel” in the Hobbit as an obvious example—that I, for one, could wish that the “fan” there had left the story as JRRT had written it.)

It recently occurred to me that, in fact, Tolkien, himself once wrote such fiction, early in his career.

This began when Tolkien was at the end of his time at King Edward’s School,

when

“And at about this time he discovered the Finnish Kalevala…the collection of poems which is the principal repository of Finland’s mythology.  Not long afterwards he wrote appreciatively of ‘this strange people and these new gods, this race of unhypocritical low-brow scandalous heroes,’ adding ‘the more I read of it, the more I felt at home and enjoyed myself.’   He had discovered the Kalevala in W.H. Kirby’s Everyman translation, and he determined to find an edition in the original Finnish as soon as possible.”  (Carpenter, J.R.R. Tolkien, 57.  Here are the two volumes of the Kirby for you:    https://archive.org/details/in.ernet.dli.2015.102315/page/n7/mode/2up and https://dn760104.eu.archive.org/0/items/kalevalalandofhe02kirbiala/kalevalalandofhe02kirbiala.pdf  )

The Kalevala, in fact, is just what Carpenter says, a “collection of poems” which contain a series of songs about various heroes of Finnish folklore, assembled into a volume by Elias Loennrot (1802-1884),

a Swedish doctor with a strong interest in philology and folklore, after a number of collecting trips in the area of what is now Finland and beyond from 1828 to 1845.

He published the first edition of his work in 1835,

and a second in 1849.  These songs were chanted in a rhythm which H.W. Longfellow (1807-1882)

 later employed in his epic poem The Song of Hiawatha, 1855, (which should be pronounced, according to Longfellow’s own phonetic spelling, as Hee-a-WA-tha),

which opens with

“Should you ask me, whence these stories?

Whence these legends and traditions,

With the odours of the forest,

With the dew and damp of meadows,

With the curling smoke of wigwams,

With the rushing of great rivers,

With their frequent repetitions,

And their wild reverberations,

As of thunder in the mountains?”

(You can have your own copy of the first English edition from 1855 here:  https://archive.org/details/songhiawathathe00longrich/page/n3/mode/2up   There is a very comic and deft parody of this by Lewis Carroll, “Hiawatha’s Photographing”, from his Phantasmagoria, 1869,   which you can read here:  https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Phantasmagoria_and_Other_Poems   For the influence of the Kalevala on the prosody of “The Song of Hiawatha”, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Song_of_Hiawatha ) 

Commonly, two would perform the songs, clasping hands and rocking back and forth, as in this photograph.

Those songs, many about magical events and objects and bloody revenge, clearly fascinated the young Tolkien and that fascination almost destroyed his academic career at Oxford as he admits:

“But the beginning of the legendarium, of which the Trilogy is part (the conclusion), was in an attempt to reorganize some of the Kalevala, especially the tale of Kullervo the hapless,

(Aleksi Gallen-Kallela, 1899)

Into a form of my own.  That began, as I say, in the Honour Mods [the initial exams at Oxford] period; nearly disastrously as I came very near having my exhibition [scholarship] taken off me if not being sent down [expelled].”  (to W.H. Auden, 7 June, 1955, Letters, 313)

This led to:

“He was also trying his hand at writing.  His enthusiasm for William Morris had given him the idea of adapting one of the stories from the Finnish Kalevala into a Morris-style prose-and-verse romance.  He chose the story of Kullervo, a hapless young man who unknowingly commits incest and, when he discovers it, throws himself onto his sword.  Tolkien began work on ‘The Story of Kullervo’ as he called it, and although it was little more than a pastiche of Morris it was his first essay in the writing of a legend in verse and prose.  He left it unfinished.”  (Carpenter, 80-81).

As to the adventures of the “hapless Kullervo”, you can read about him in detail here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kullervo and read his story in translation on pages 100-125 in volume 2 of the Kirby translation cited above.

As well, you can read Tolkien’s William Morris/Finnish fan fiction in an edition published in 2015

with an article on the edition here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Story_of_Kullervo .  And read more about Morris—and Tolkien—in “Remembering the North”, 15 March, 2023, here:  https://doubtfulsea.com//?s=william+morris&search=Go )

And so I have another reason for a mostly positive view of fan fiction:  Tolkien.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Ask yourself what would be the basis of your fan fiction,

(myself, I would like to continue the story of the Turbin family from Mikhail Bulgakov’s The White Guard, 1924—for a detailed summary of the book see:  https://sovlit.net/whiteguard/ )

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Demons on the Big Screen

26 Wednesday Aug 2026

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As always, welcome, dear readers.

Some time ago, I was talking about the mining of minor Tolkien to make major films, specifically about taking a page of an appendix of The Lord of the Rings to make The War of the Rohirrim.

Although I admired the effort which went into making that film (and basing it on the look of anime), I said then that I wished that film-makers would look for fresh material instead of continuing to employ the equivalent of footnotes from Tolkien, which then would be fleshed out by script-writers who, at best, lacked JRRT’s narrative gifts, but who, at worst, would add their own non-Tolkien fantasies to the small amount of narrative provided by the original author.  One subject which I suggested was the Ramayana, an ancient Indian epic which, to me, has all the right qualities for life on the screen:  a complex antagonist—Ravana—(RAH—va-nah)

(Yes—he has ten heads)

and his demonic (literally) followers, the Rakshasas (RAK-sha-sas),

his noble (in fact divine) opponent, Rama,

and Rama’s allies, forest-creatures, led by Hanuman,

and Jambavan.

The story of the Ramayana, at base, is that of a struggle between gods and demons, in which Ravana, through observing austere religious practices for 10,000 years, has been given a gift by the high god, Brahma:  to be invulnerable to attacks by divine beings—but not (and this, as I know that you’ll know right away, will be his downfall) by humans or animals. 

This invulnerability leads to complaints from divine beings about the behavior of Ravana and his Rakshasas and, in turn, the god Vishnu

incarnates himself as the human prince, Rama, to deal with Ravana.

The story becomes more complicated when Rama seeks to marry Sita, the adopted daughter of Janaka, the king of Videha.

He wins her by competing in a contest which bears a strong resemblance to an event in another epic:  the stringing of the bow by Odysseus in the Odyssey.

(Andrew Wyeth)

In the Odyssey, Penelope, the wife of Odysseus, sets out Odysseus’ bow, saying to her obnoxious suitors that she will marry the man who can string the bow and fire an arrow through a series of axes. 

(Alan Lee)

Only Odysseus (disguised as an old beggar) can do so—and then he uses the bow to begin killing the suitors, who richly deserve it, have been abusing the house’ hospitality for years and are currently planning to kill Odysseus’ son and heir, Telemachos.

In the Ramayana, Rama actually breaks the bow and wins Sita anyway, but then there’s a new complication:   Kaikeyi, the third and favorite wife of Rama’s human father, Dasharatha, was once told by her husband that he would grant her one wish, whatever it might be.  Now, with the return of Rama, she collects, demanding that Rama be exiled to the Dandaka forest for 14 years.  Rama goes, accompanied by Sita and by one of his (half-)brothers, Lakshmana.

They have a number of adventures there, ending with the kidnapping of Sita by Ravana.

Someone has had the same idea as I about a film and here it is–

It’s, in fact, in two parts, and, if what I’ve read is correct, the first part (which will appear this November) ends with that kidnapping.  That part, then, must include Ravana’s gaining power from Brahma’s gift, his behavior believing that he’s impervious to attack, the birth and childhood of Rama, his courtship of Sita, his banishment, and the adventures in the forest.  From the previews I’ve seen, it appears that there will be more about Ravana, but the previews are brief and totally visual (and quite spectacular), so it’s unclear what may be done there.  (You can see one of several previews here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=axuz33JfkXQ )

In the second part (due in November, 2027), I’m assuming that we’ll see Rama gathering his forest-creature allies,

meeting Hanuman,

Hanuman’s leap across the strait to Ravana’s city of Lanka to see the captive Sita,

the building of the causeway to allow Rama’s forces to attack Lanka,

the battle at Lanka and the death of Ravana,

and perhaps it will go on to the sad later part of the story, where Sita’s fidelity to Rama is questioned and she is forced to undergo an ordeal to prove that fidelity.

I myself am only a beginner when it comes to the great epics of India, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana, and the complex mythological worlds in which they stand, but, if you’d like to make a beginning, what is said to be the most faithful and scholarly translation of the latter is this—

which is, in fact, the digest of this—

but, if you’d like to start smaller, there is a good children’s version—

which will get you started.

As always, with big, very expensive films like this, there is a certain amount of hype—as well as criticism based upon the trailers—but I, for one, am very much looking forward to this, not only for itself, but because it actually grants my wish for something fresh in the world of filmed epic.

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Think about what one wish which you would like granted,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

The wiki- site will give you a useful beginning:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ramayana

Solution (2)

19 Wednesday Aug 2026

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As ever, dear readers, welcome.

In my next-to-last, we were given two riddles:  one, in a dream sent to Faramir and Boromir, the other posed by Bilbo, both appearing in the council of Elrond—

“Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.” 

The second is presented by Bilbo:

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken:

The crownless again shall be king.”

(The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

As Aragorn displays the sword—originally belonging to Elendil, the founder of Gondor—and Frodo, the Halfling, at Gandalf’s bidding, brings out the Ring (Isildur’s Bane), we might think that both riddles have been solved—but Boromir, for one, has doubts:

“ ‘Isildur’s Bane is found, you say…I have seen a bright ring in the Halfling’s hand, but Isildur perished ere this age of the world began, they say.  How do the Wise know that this ring is his?  And how has it passed down the years, until it is brought hither by so strange a messenger?’ “

And there are greater doubts—as voiced by the Mouth of Sauron:

“ ‘Is there anyone in this rout [“mob”] to treat with me?…Or indeed the wit to understand me?  Not thou at least!’ he mocked, turning to Aragorn with scorn.  ‘It needs more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass, or a rabble such as this.  Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!’ “ (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 10, “The Black Gate Opens”)

(Douglas Beekman—for more on him and his work, see:  https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/beekman_doug )

How, beyond the broken sword

and his claim, can Aragorn prove that he is the wanderer, the light, the crownless?

The wanderer part is perhaps the easiest, because it’s self-evident:  Aragorn

(the Hildebrandts)

 is a ranger, one of those few survivors of the lost north kingdom of Arnor,

(Stephen Raw—you can learn a little more about him here:  https://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Stephen_Raw )

of whom the narrator of The Lord of the Rings says:

“In those days no other Men had settled dwellings so far west, or within a hundred leagues of the Shire.  But in the wild lands beyond Bree there were mysterious wanderers.  The Bree-folk called them Rangers, and knew nothing of their origin…They roamed at will southwards, and eastwards even as far as the Misty Mountains; but they were few now and rarely seen.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

For further proofs, I’m reminded of Stephen Sondheim’s wonderful musical Into the Woods, 1987,

in which two characters, the Baker and his Wife, to have a witch’s curse removed, must bring her:  “the cow as white as milk, the cape as red as blood, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold” and much of the plot concerns their journey in the Woods to try to obtain these things—just the sort of objects one might obtain on a quest.  (For more on quests, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quest )

In Aragorn’s case, although he’s not on a deliberate quest, one piece of his evidence is acquired as he and the Fellowship travel southwards:  the Palantir, inadvertently provided by Saruman.

(the Hildebrandts)

Pippin learns, to his unhappiness, that this isn’t something which one can casually pick up, but Aragorn, having used it, says to Gimli:

“I am the lawful master of the Stone, and I had both the right and the strength to use it…”

and here we see JRRT, in a brilliant bit of plotting, adding the reforged sword to the Palantir:

“…but Sauron has not forgotten Isildur and the sword of Elendil.  Now in the very hour of his great designs the heir of Isildur and the Sword are revealed; for I showed the blade re-forged to him.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 2, “The Passing of the Grey Company”)

So, now we have the shattered Sword and a display of Aragorn’s control of a Palantir, the next proof isn’t an object, but an event. 

Aragorn and his company follow the Paths of the Dead under the mountains, coming out at last to the Hill of Erech and its large, round, black stone.

(from Lotro-Wiki—where you can find more details:  https://lotro-wiki.com/wiki/The_Stone_of_Erech_(King’s_Gondor) and here:  https://lotro-wiki.com/wiki/Vandassar )

Behind them have come the “Oathbreakers”, men of long ago, who had pledged to help Isildur against Sauron, but then refused to join him.  In response, Isildur cursed them and they retreated to the hills and gradually faded, becoming uneasy spirits which troubled the land.   (For more, see:  https://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Oathbreakers )  Aragorn has summoned them and here we see another proof:

“ ‘The hour is come at last.  Now I go to Pelargir upon Anduin, and ye shall come with me.  And when all this land is clean of the servants of Sauron, I will hold the oath fulfilled, and ye shall have peace and depart for ever.  For I am Elessar, Isildur’s heir of Gondor.’ “  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 2, “The Passing of the Grey Company”)

(Ted Nasmith)

To this, we can add a skill.

In the battles before Minas Tirith, Faramir has been struck down—seemingly by both a Southron arrow and by a Nazgul’s Black Breath—

(Angus McBride)

and both Eowyn and Merry have suffered from their fight with the chief of the Nazgul.

(Ted Nasmith)

They are brought to the Houses of Healing and there Ioreth, “the eldest of the women who served in that house”, looking at Faramir, said:

“ ‘Alas!  If he should die.  Would that there were kings in Gondor, as there were once upon a time, they say!  For it is said in the old lore:  The hands of the king are the hands of a healer.  And so the rightful king could ever be known.’ “

Using the herb athelas/kingsfoil, as well as some unspoken power, Aragorn restores all three, at which Ioreth says:

“ ‘King!  Did you hear that?  What did I say?  The hands of a healer, I said.’ “

(the Hildebrandts)

Her words spread:

“And soon the word had gone out from the House that the king was indeed come among them, and after the war he brought healing, and the news ran through the city.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 8, “The Houses of Healing”)

And, finally, a sign.  The White Tree, symbol of Gondor—

“ ‘There in the courts of the King grew a white tree, from the seed of that tree which Isildur brought over the deep waters, and the seed of that tree came from Eressea, and before that out of the Uttermost West in the Day before days when the world was young.’ “  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

(artist?  So far, no luck in finding one, but I would be glad to credit someone for this impressive image.)

but now—

“A sweet fountain played there in the morning sun, and a sward of bright green lay about it, but in the midst, drooping over the pool, stood a dead tree, and the falling drops dripped sadly from its barren and broken branches back into the clear water.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 1, “Minas Tirith”)

(from Jackson’s film)

As this is the emblem of Gondor itself,

a replacement would certainly be a sign of renewal, which even after the defeat of Sauron seems doubtful to Aragorn:

“ ‘The tree in the Court of the Fountain is still withered and barren.  When shall I see a sign that it will ever be otherwise?’ “

Gandalf leads him to a place high on Mount Mindolluin and reveals to him:

“…a sapling tree no more than three foot high.  Already it had put forth young leaves long and shapely, dark above and silver beneath, and upon its slender crown it bore one small cluster of flowers whose petals shone like the sunlit snow.”

“Then Aragorn cried:  ‘Ye!  Utuvienyes! I have found it!  Lo!  Here is a scion of the Eldest of Trees!’  “

Gandalf is vague about its origins there, but says to Aragorn:

“ ‘Here it has lain hidden on the mountain, even as the race of Elendil lay hidden in the wastes of the North.’ “

Aragorn transplants it to the Court of the Fountain and sees its growth as a kind of prophecy—

“ ‘The sign has been given…’ “

On “the day before Midsummer”, the whole of the household of Elrond then appears at Minas Tirith, Elrond himself “bearing the sceptre of Annuminas”.  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 5, “The Steward and the King”)

In Appendix A, this object is explained:

“The sceptre was the chief mark of royalty in Numenor…and that was also so in Arnor, whose kings wore no crown, but bore a single white gem, the Elendilmir, Star of Elendil, bound on their brows with a silver fillet.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, “The North-kingdom and the Dunedain”)

(not the sceptre of Annuminas, described as a simple silver rod, but it will give you the idea)

Then—

“…the King welcomed his guests, and they alighted; and Elrond surrendered the sceptre…”

And here we have a final proof:  the shattered sword, the ranger, the Palantir, the healing hands, the White Tree, and now the sceptre of Numenor—just as the acquisition by the Baker and his Wife of  “the cow as white as milk, the cape as red as blood, the hair as yellow as corn, and the slipper as pure as gold” will allow them to break the curse, with the sceptre the confirmation that Aragorn is the rightful king is complete—although we should also add:

“And Aragorn the King Elessar wedded Arwen Undomiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfillment.” 

(the Hildebrandts)

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

And remember, as always, that there’s

MTCIDC

O

Out of Work Athena

12 Wednesday Aug 2026

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

The second part of “Solution” will appear next week.

In the meantime, as promised, I’ve been to see Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey,

but I’m going to break my usual rule of seeing it twice before writing about it—having just seen it yesterday, it’s all very vivid in my mind.  I will certainly keep to my constant rule of avoiding destructive criticism, however, which often seems to crowd the internet and which is not only depressing, but, worse, unhelpful.

I would begin by saying that the film is well-acted and the effects are large-scale and, on that scale, impressive.  It’s clear that an enormous amount of work on the part of everyone involved went to making the film.  And yet, for me—and for the poem—something important—even vital—is lacking and you can see it in my title. 

I’ve written earlier that I was disappointed with Troy (2006),

not only for the changes to the story but perhaps more important for the removal of the gods.  Both The Iliad and The Odyssey are, at base, deeply religious works.  The Trojan War itself was said to take place because (and be prepared for complications):

1. Zeus, head of the gods, lusts after Thetis, a sea goddess

2. but, when told that a prophecy predicts that their child will be more powerful than his father, marries her off to a mortal, Peleus, instead.

(Thetis isn’t easy to catch—Peleus is shown here wrestling with a shape-shifting goddess)

3.  to the wedding, it happens that another goddess, Eris (“Strife/Discord”), isn’t invited (not a surprise—and you probably know this motif from “Sleeping Beauty”) and, in revenge, she bowls in a golden ball or apple with the words “For the Most Beautiful” on it into the feast.

4. Three goddess, Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite then argue over who deserves it and, when Zeus refuses to choose, they find a mortal shepherd, Paris—presumably neutral—to judge.

5. Aphrodite wins by offering Paris the most beautiful woman in the world, who just happens:

a. to be Helen, a demigoddess (father Zeus)

b. to be already married to Menelaus, the younger brother of the high king of Greece, Agamemnon

6. Paris, however, isn’t really a shepherd, but the long-lost prince of Troy and, when that’s revealed, he goes on a diplomatic mission to Greece and either persuades Helen to leave with him, or steals her, carrying her back to Troy.

7. the major kings of Greece were once Helen’s suitors but, as she could pick only one, the rest took an oath to protect her.

8. and so big brother Agamemnon, when Menelaus complained that his wife was gone, called on those kings to join an expedition to bring her back—and the Trojan War began.

9. the gods—except for Zeus—then took sides and aggressively backed either the Greeks or the Trojans through the ten years of the war.

As you can see, at every step of the war, one or more divinities was involved—and sometimes very actively.

Although fewer gods are involved in The Odyssey, one goddess, Athena, is a major player throughout.

In fact, the poem begins with her on Olympus, appealing to Zeus to free Odysseus from the clutches of Calypso, with whom he’s been marooned for seven years.

She then (sorry for a second list, but, again, it’s complicated)–

1.  goes to Ithaka to help Telemachos, Odysseus’ son, to grow up, appearing both as Mentes, a guest friend of Odysseus, and then as Mentor, an Ithakan elder, as whom she travels with Telemachos to mainland Greece, first to the most senior of all Greek heroes, Nestor, and then on to Sparta, to see Menelaus and Helen, now brought back from fallen Troy. 

2. continuing in her disguises, pops up when Odysseus, on his way home from Calypso (it takes a second try for Athena to get Zeus to send Hermes to order Kalypso to help him to go home), lands on the island of the Phaeacians (left out of the film entirely) where she appears first, as a little girl who directs him to the house of Alcinous, the king of the Phaeacians, and then as a spectator at the athletic event in which Odysseus participates. 

3. appears to Odysseus, disguised as a shepherd boy, after the Phaeacians take Odysseus home, and he awakes on a beach on his home island of Ithaka.

4. is more present from then on, giving Odysseus his beggar disguise and appearing to Odysseus as herself when she pushes him to reveal himself to Telemachos at the hut of Eumaeus, the swineherd (who is not blind in the poem, by the way).

5.  in Odysseus’ home, first encourages him to believe that, with her help he can beat the suitors, and then appearing for a final time to put the suitors into a panic when Odysseus, Telemachos, and their two servants destroy all of them and their attendants.  (No one surrenders in the poem.)

6.  makes a final appearance in the poem appealing once more to Zeus, this time as to how to resolve the conflict between Odysseus and the vengeful families of the suitors. 

She is a busy character, in fact, helping both Odysseus and his son, but Nolan’s script has almost entirely erased her and certainly has removed all of her help and, as you can see from 1-6 above, she is actually an active participant throughout the poem, even being the reason why—through her pushing Zeus to send Hermes to Calypso—Odysseus actually goes home.  To allow her to be nothing more than an occasional visitor and a passive one, at that, is to misrepresent not only the story, but the character of Odysseus.  (Who, by the way, unlike in the film, has no guilt or regret over his actions and certainly doesn’t sail off into the sunset with Penelope on a mission to commemorate his dead crewmen.)

That poster I’ve used as the first image in this posting has a subtitle:  “defy the gods”, something Odysseus, with a goddess for a patron, would never think of doing, is actually more like the motto of the film.  In the poem which is the basis of the film, Odysseus survives and even wins because he has a goddess for a patron.  Without her, would he have ever returned and, having returned, would he have survived the suitors and their angry families?

So, is this a film which I would recommend?  In fact, with rare exceptions, I would recommend that everyone see/listen to any and all art and decide for her/himself as to its value, entertainment or otherwise.  In this case, I would say certainly, go and see it, but I would also encourage you to read the poem first—preferably in Richmond Lattimore’s translation

Version 1.0.0

which, although now some 60 years old (original publication 1965), is still the closest of modern translations to the original Greek and the one I’ve used in classes for many years.  Of necessity, although 3 hours long, the film leaves out many details, but, at the same time, as I hope I make clear, it also changes the text significantly, and, for me, those changes turn it from the ancient story to Christopher Nolan’s story and it is up to you, as readers and viewers, to decide which you would prefer–or perhaps you would keep both, even though being aware that the two differ significantly.  As a student once said to me about Jackson’s The Hobbit trilogy, “If you haven’t read the book, they are fun adventure movies”.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

If you make a surprise visit to a very large man in a cave, plan ahead what to do if you’re not welcome,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

Solution (1)

05 Wednesday Aug 2026

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

When you reread The Hobbit, do you look forward to any particular chapter?  Mine is Chapter 5, “Riddles in the Dark”–

(Alan Lee)

although, logically, I’ve always wondered about the conditions of the riddle game:  if Bilbo lost, would he automatically have shrugged, put down Sting, and allowed Gollum to make a meal out of him?

Still, the consequence of losing gives the scene an extra tension, along with Bilbo being at an unknown location, being alone in the dark, and sitting next to such a strange and menacing creature.  (I also wonder about Gollum’s language:  he had gained the Ring about the year TA 2463 and met Bilbo in TA 2941, meaning that he had been born over 500 years before.  Gollum had been in hiding for virtually all of that time, so that he had had no contact with native speakers of his language, which would be rather like someone from Shakespeare’s time suddenly meeting us.  We know what Shakespeare’s English sounded like—see:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y2QYGEwM1Sk if you don’t—so would he have, in fact, been harder to understand than he appears in The Hobbit, with his snaky hissings?)

About the riddles, Tolkien once wrote:

“And what about the Riddles?  There is work to be done here on the sources and analogues.  I should not be at all surprised to learn that both the hobbit and Gollum will find their claim to have invented any of them disallowed.”  (letter to the editor of The Observer, printed in the paper 20 February, 1938, Letters, 42)

In fact, almost 10 years later, he has more to say about their “sources and analogues”:

“As for the Riddles:  they are ‘all my own work’ except for ‘Thirty White Horses’ which is traditional, and ‘No-legs’.  The remainder, though their style and method is that of old literary (but not ‘folk-lore’), have no models as far as I am aware, save only the egg-riddle which is a reduction to a couplet (my own) of a longer literary riddle which appears in some ‘Nursery Rhyme’ books, notably American ones.”  (from a letter to Allen & Unwin, 20 September, 1947, Letters, 177)

These are all riddles in The Hobbit, in the contest between Gollum and Bilbo, but in The Lord of the Rings, two more riddles appear, the first presented in a dream which both Faramir and Boromir have had:

“Seek for the Sword that was broken:

In Imladris it dwells;

There shall be counsels taken

Stronger than Morgul-spells.

There shall be shown a token

That Doom is near at hand,

For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,

And the Halfling forth shall stand.” 

The second is presented by Bilbo:

“All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken:

The crownless again shall be king.”

(The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

Parts of these two riddles are answered immediately—

“ ‘And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you,’ said Aragorn, standing up.  He cast his sword upon the table and that before Elrond, and the blade was in two pieces.  ‘Here is the Sword that was broken!’ “

And Gandalf then adds:

“ ‘Bring out the Ring, Frodo!’ said Gandalf solemnly.  ‘The time has come.  Hold it up, and then Boromir will understand the remainder of his riddle.’ “

So much for the Bane, the Sword, and the Halfling, but there is a further part of the riddle, however, that it will take much of the rest of the story to solve:  who is the unglittering gold, the wanderer, the light and fire, the crownless?

It’s also important to note that, as well as riddling, there is prophesying here:  it begins with “Doom near at hand” and “a fire shall be woken”, as well as “a light from the shadows shall spring”, “renewed shall be blade that was broken”, and “the crownless again shall be king”.  With words like “renewed” and “again”, there is a sense both of the past and the future here, and, linked with the previous “unglittering” and “wanderer”, it suggests that some one, not some thing, is the answer to these riddles—and what about that “Doom”?

Boromir is puzzled:  “Isildur’s Bane” (“bane”= “curse”) is identified as the Ring, which Frodo, the Halfling, has held up, but—

“Boromir’s eyes glinted as he gazed at the golden thing.  ‘The Halfling!’ he muttered.  ‘Is then the doom of Minas Tirith come at last?  But why then should we seek a broken sword?’ “

Appropriately, it is the holder of that sword who responds:

“ ‘The words were not the doom of Minas Tirith,’ said Aragorn.  ‘But doom and great deeds are indeed at hand.’ “

To JRRT, the medievalist, “doom”, coming originally from Old English “dom”, which has a fairly wide field of meanings but, in Middle English, can mean “fate”, and, combined with all of the prophecy we’ve just seen, might suggest “something inevitable”—but not necessarily evil—especially provided that the conditions set out are understood and fulfilled:

1. the sword must be reforged

2. the Ring must reappear, in the hands of a hobbit

What happens then is left open—what must be done with the sword and the Ring?

One part of the riddles, however,, is made clearer when Aragorn continues:

“ ‘For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fell.  It has been treasured by his heirs when all other heirlooms were lost; for it was spoken of old among us that it should be made again when the Ring, Isildur’s Bane, was found.  Now you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask?  Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?’ “

So, following that, we can guess that the inheritor of the sword must then be the wanderer, the unglittering—but then, to take it a step farther, he must also be descended directly from Elendil, the founder of Gondor—and therefore be that uncrowned king. 

Boromir has already had his doubts, even before Frodo displays the Ring: 

“ ‘And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?’ asked Boromir, looking in wonder at the lean face of the Ranger and his weather-stained cloak.“ 

And even after Gandalf identifies Aragorn as the descendant of Isildur, son of Elendil, Boromir continues to doubt:

“ ‘Isildur’s Bane is found, you say…I have seen a bright ring in the Halfling’s hand, but Isildur perished ere this age of the world began, they say.  How do the Wise know that this ring is his?  And how has it passed down the years, until it is brought hither by so strange a messenger?’ “

So, although possessing the sword, Aragorn’s claims are questioned and this is, really, a new riddle:  how can he back up his claim as to who he is and what he should then inherit?

As the Voice of Sauron says:

“ ‘Is there anyone in this rout [“mob”] to treat with me?…Or indeed the wit to understand me?  Not thou at least!’ he mocked, turning to Aragorn with scorn.  ‘It needs more to make a king than a piece of Elvish glass, or a rabble such as this.  Why, any brigand of the hills can show as good a following!’ “ (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 10, “The Black Gate Opens”)

(Douglas Beekman—for more on him and his work, see:  https://sf-encyclopedia.com/entry/beekman_doug )

In part two of this posting, we will see the answer.

Thanks, as ever, for reading.

Stay well,

If you’ve seen this rear-window sticker, wonder if Aragorn has learned to drive,

And remember that there’s

MTCIDC

O

More Troy?

29 Wednesday Jul 2026

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

A new film of the Odyssey has just appeared this summer.

I’m always interested to see what creative people can do with an old favorite, although I was disappointed by Troy (2004),

not only because of the many changes to the story, but also because the gods, who, ultimately, are behind the Trojan War, were removed completely, thus telling, really, only half of the tale of Troy.

If you read this blog regularly, you know that I try to see a film or even series at least twice, if I can, and I always attempt to understand what it is that the creators are trying to do before I review it, trusting that the work was made with the best intentions.  Having only seen trailers and read about it, I’ll hold off on making any comments about this new Odyssey until I’ve actually sat in the theatre and watched.

Even before seeing it, however, I’m impressed, once more, by the interest the story of Troy continues to hold, and not only in films, of which we have, among others, Ulysses (1954)

 Helen of Troy (1956),

a television series with Armand Assante (1997),

as well as Troy (2004) and The Return (2024),

but through time—ancient Greek dramatists based plots upon it, like Aeschylus (c.525-455BC),

who used the consequences of the war upon the victorious returning Greeks in his Oresteia trilogy, beginning with the murder of the Greek leader, Agamemnon.

Roman poets, like Statius (c.45-96AD), planned epics, like his unfinished Achilleid, using material from the huge field of earlier tradition,

(a late 14th-early-15th-century ms)

and Vergil (70-19BC) has left us, in Book 2 of his Aeneid, a striking depiction of the fall of Troy from the viewpoint of an inhabitant, Aeneas, the subject of his epic,

(Aeneas is carrying his aged father, Anchises, and leading his son, Ascanius)

and founding father of the Roman state to come, as he leads his band of Trojan fugitives across the Mediterranean, finally to settle in Italy.

This new tradition of fugitive founders even comes to England, first in the form of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s (c.1095-1155AD) Historia Regum Britanniae (“History of the Kings of Britain”), where a certain Brutus, the great grandson of Aeneas (via Ascanius and his son, Silvius), exiled from Italy (having accidentally killed his father, Silvius), then leads Trojan refugees to war in Greece before heading an expedition westwards where, after consulting the goddess, Diana, he lands in England to found a new homeland there, which is named “Britain” after himself (suggesting that the place should really have been called “Bruton”?).  (You can read about Brutus and his complex adventures—including war in Gaul on his way westwards–here:  https://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/eng/gem/gem02.htm  Start with Book I, Chapter III.  Medieval people loved the Troy tale and elements of it turn up everywhere, from the 12th-century Roman de Troie of Benoit de Sainte-Maure to Chaucer’s “Troilus and Criseyde” and beyond.)

I would also suggest that, removing the Trojans, but keeping the idea of refugees, we might see that theme continuing in England in the form of a new mythology—

“…but when Ar-Pharazon set foot upon the shores of Aman the Blessed, the Valar laid down their Guardianship and called upon the One, and the world was changed.  Numenor was thrown down and swallowed in the Sea, and the Undying Lands were removed for ever from the circles of the world.  So ended the glory of Numenor.

The last leaders of the Faithful, Elendil and his sons, escaped from the Downfall with nine ships, bearing a seedling of Nimloth, and the Seven Seeing-stones (gifts of the Eldar to their House); and they were borne on the wind of a great storm and cast upon the shores of Middle-earth.  There they established in the North-west the Numenorean realms in exile, Arnor and Gondor.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix A, I, “The Numenorean Kings”)

(Ted Nasmith)

As someone who was on his way to becoming a classicist, but then veered off into medieval studies, JRRT, would have had all of that rich past behind him, so would we be wrong in thinking that, in founding a new Numenor, he was inspired by other founders, all the way back to Aeneas?

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Imagine that, in the 250th anniversary of the founding of the US, those “founding fathers”, trained in the classics, probably also thought of Aeneas,

And think, as well that there’s

MTCIDC

O

Prismatic

20 Monday Jul 2026

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

“ ‘So you have come, Gandalf,’ he said to me gravely; but in his eyes there seemed to be a white light, as if a cold laughter was in his heart.

‘Yes, I have come,’ I said.  ‘I have come for your aid, Saruman the White.’ And that title seemed to anger him.

‘Have you indeed, Gandalf the Grey!’ he scoffed…”

This seems like an odd bit of dialogue—why such an emphasis on colors?  And there’s more—

“ ‘Radagast the Brown!’ laughed Saruman, and he no longer concealed his scorn.  ‘Radagast the Bird-tamer!  Radagast the Simple!  Radagast the Fool!’ “ (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

These colors began with the arrival of the 5 “wizards” (Istari) on Middle-earth, a thousand years into the Third Age.  They are, in fact, Maiar, which we may think of as a form of “lesser angel”—that is, belonging to the orders of spiritual beings who inhabit Valinor, to the far west of Middle-earth. 

(Karen Wynn Fonstad)

These particular Maiar were intended to be a counterforce to Sauron, who appeared to be once more on the rise.  Although there were 5 of them—Saruman, Gandalf, Radagast—and two more who may have been named Alatar and Pallando—and all had colors attached to them—Saruman white,

(the Hildebrandts)

Gandalf grey,

(the Hildebrandts)

Radagast brown,

(I can’t find an artist for this, but it strikes me as a much better depiction than that seen in the Jackson Hobbit movies.)

and the other two blue—those last two, only briefly mentioned, go eastwards and disappear entirely from the narrative.  (For more details, see Unfinished Tales, 405-420)

As for the other three, their colors appear to have a definite significance:  Radagast is an earthy type, with a passion for birds and animals, Gandalf is seen as an elderly man, grey as his garments, and Saruman as “the greatest of my order”, as Gandalf once described him, could be stainless in white.

And this is where color comes in in a different way and we see why Saruman is not pleased at being given his old title—

“ ‘For I am Saruman the Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colours!’

I looked then and saw that his robes, which had seemed white, were not so, but were woven of all colours, and if he moved they shimmered and changed hue so that the eye was bewildered.”

Although Gandalf’s eye might have been bewildered, his mind was clearly not:

‘I liked white better,’ I said.”

White was the color in which Saruman had appeared on his mission to Middle-earth and his behavior at Gandalf’s arrival shows that he has already betrayed that mission:  

“ ‘For you have come, and that was all the purpose of my message.  And here you will stay, Gandalf the Grey, and rest from journeys.’

“Rest”, of course, is not quite what Saruman has in mind.

‘He was cold now and perilous.  ‘Yes,’ he said.  ‘I did not expect you to show wisdom, even in your own behalf; but I gave you the chance of aiding me willingly, and so saving yourself much trouble and pain.  The third choice is to stay here until the end.’

‘Until what end?’

‘Until you reveal to me where the One may be found.  I may find means to persuade you.  Or until it is found in your despite, and the Ruler has time to turn to lighter matters:  to devise, say, a fitting reward for the hindrance and insolence of Gandalf the Grey.’ “

“The Ruler”, we can suppose, is Sauron, but Saruman has plans of his own, proposing, when the Ring has been discovered, not to turn it over to that “Ruler”, but to keep it:

“ ‘Why not?  The Ruling Ring?  If we could command that, then the Power would pass to us.’ “

But Gandalf sees through this immediately:

“ ‘Saruman…only one hand at a time can wield the One, and you know that well, so do not trouble to say we!’ “

Thus, not only has Saruman betrayed his mission from the Valar, but he plans to betray the object of that mission, Sauron, as well.  It’s no wonder, then, that he no longer wears white—and, in fact, has nothing but contempt for it:

“ ‘White!’ he sneered.  ‘It serves as a beginning.  White cloth may be dyed.  The white page can be overwritten; and the white light can be broken.’ “

And here Tolkien suggests that Saruman has rather advanced information about the science of optics.

In our Middle-earth, up until at least the beginning of the 18th century, people subscribed to the theory, created perhaps by Aristotle (384-322BC),

 that colors were, in fact, a mixture of certain simpler colors, like black and white (see for more on this:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/On_Colors  ). 

It was Isaac Newton’s (1642-1727) experiments with prisms

which led to a different theory—that the “white” light which he passed through a prism

was actually a series of colored lights, a theory which he published in 1704,

and which is the basis of our current understanding of light and color.  (For more on the electromagnetic spectrum, see:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Vsl0Iom3S0  This is from a children’s program and about my level of understanding!)

To Gandalf, seeing Saruman’s actions as the betrayal they are, replies:

“ ‘In which case it is no longer white,’ I said.”

Just as Saruman is no longer the leader of the Maiar mission to Middle-earth, but a would-be Sauron, an imitation “Ring-maker”, who will, in time, be overthrown and eventually die a miserable death, murdered by his own agent.

(Joan Wyatt—you can see more of her work here:  https://www.artnet.com/artists/joan-wyatt/ )

But this is not the end of wizard colors, of course.  Gandalf appears to die, dragged down into the depths of Moria along with the Balrog,

(Denis Gordeev)

but reappears, not as Gandalf the Grey or Gandalf of Many Colors, but as Gandalf the White,

(the Hildebrandts)

and here we see white in a new light (sorry!):  as the color of someone who has been purified by his near-death experience and returned to become that leader of resistance to Sauron that Saruman, in breaking that trust, has betrayed. 

Is it surprising that Shadowfax, his horse, is white, as well?

(Angus McBride)

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Imagine a spectrum where we could see all of the other elements, like ultraviolet and gamma-rays,

But, until we can, at least remember that there’s

MTCIDC

O