shakespearecircle:

“Prince, thou art so sad. Pipers, strike up Despacito!”

— Benedick, Much Ado About Nothing, Act 5 scene 4 

lesbiancarlyrae:

Full offence but I need to sit in a river

robotslenderman:

consumptive-sphinx:

consumptive-sphinx:

consumptive-sphinx:

consumptive-sphinx:

consumptive-sphinx:

consumptive-sphinx:

Concept: the Silmarillion, in the style of Lemony Snicket

“Stealing, of course, is a crime, and a very impolite thing to do. But like most impolite things, it is excusable under certain circumstances. Stealing is not excusable if, for instance, you are in a workshop and you decide that the Silmarils would look better in your crown, and you simply grab the Silmarils and take them there. But if you were very, very hungry, and you had no way of obtaining money, it would be excusable to grab the Silmarils, take them to your fortress, and eat them.”

“Finrod was an Arafinwean, a word which here means ‘lithe blonde twink who, for some reason, everybody in the entire world except for Celegorm seems to underestimate.’

Curufin was smitten, a word which here means ‘not Celegorm.’”

“Now, “in the dark” is a term meaning that one is not aware of something that is going on, and has very little to do with physical light, or the lack of such a thing. If it is a bright sunny day and you are sitting in a park and you have no idea that buried beneath your picnic spot is a treasure chest then you are in the dark not in the dark, and if it is the dead of night and you are traipsing through the woods and you are entirely aware that you are being followed by a troupe of ballerinas then you are not in the dark in the dark, and if you are sitting at your kitchen table working and you are so intent on your work that you do not even realize night has fallen then you are in the dark about being in the dark in the dark, until you look up and find yourself no longer in the dark about being in the dark in the dark. And immediately after Melkor extinguished the Trees, all of Valinor found itself very comprehensively in the dark.“

“Fingolfin was an optimist, a word which here means ‘attempting to make amends with his half-brother who has just threatened him with a sword.’

Fingolfin was an optimist, a word which here means ‘willing to trust his half-brother to bring him across an ocean in the boats they have just stolen together.’

Fingolfin was an optimist, a word which here means ‘about to cross an ice bridge, having previously turned back because such a thing was clearly impossible.’

Fingolfin was an optimist, a word which here means ‘about to charge an evil god and stab him with a sword.’

Fingolfin was an optimist, a word which here means ‘dead.’”

“If you are allergic to a thing, it is best not to put that thing in your mouth, particularly if the thing is cats, or, in Finrod’s case, werewolves.”

@orodrethsgeek

vulgarweed:

sophiamcdougall:

poorquentyn:

It puzzles me when people cite LOTR as the standard of “simple” or “predictable” or “black and white” fantasy. Because in my copy, the hero fails. Frodo chooses the Ring, and it’s only Gollum’s own desperation for it that inadvertently saves the day. The fate of the world, this whole blood-soaked war, all the millennia-old machinations of elves and gods, comes down to two addicts squabbling over their Precious, and that is precisely and powerfully Tolkien’s point. 

And then the hero goes home, and finds home a smoking desolation, his neighbors turned on one another, that secondary villain no one finished off having destroyed Frodo’s last oasis not even out of evil so much as spite, and then that villain dies pointlessly, and then his killer dies pointlessly. The hero is left not with a cathartic homecoming, the story come full circle in another party; he is left to pick up the pieces of what was and what shall never be again. 

And it’s not enough. The hero cannot heal, and so departs for the fabled western shores in what remains a blunt and bracing metaphor for death (especially given his aged companions). When Sam tells his family, “Well, I’m back” at the very end, it is an earned triumph, but the very fact that someone making it back qualifies as a triumph tells you what kind of story this is: one that is too honest to allow its characters to claim a clean victory over entropy, let alone evil. 

“I can’t recall the taste of food, nor the sound of water, nor the touch of grass. I’m naked in the dark. There’s nothing–no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I can see him with my waking eyes.”

So where’s this silly shallow hippie fever-dream I’ve heard so much about? It sounds like a much lesser story than the one that actually exists.

+1

You know how Frodo leaves Sam with the legacy of the quest – the job of bearing witness to what happened – and the duty to finish and protect his writings?

Tolkien lost all but one of his friends in WW1. He was founder member of a literary club at school – the TCBS. There was a larger group and a core of four. They all stayed friends, they kept writing and sharing their work with each other. And they were almost all killed. One of them, Geoffrey Smith, wrote this to Tolkien in 1916.

My chief consolation is that if I am scuppered tonight – I am off on duty in a few minutes – there will still be left a member of the great T.C.B.S. to voice what I dreamed and what we all agreed upon.  […] May God bless you my dear John Ronald and may you say things I have tried to say long after I am not there to say them if such be my lot.

And that was his last letter. There’s something eerie about the way he seems to have pegged Tolkien as an eventual survivor. 

Sam’s survival (and his emergence as the true hero of the book) are beautiful because they’re suffused with loss, because they’re not the grand conquering heroic narrative that on some level was “supposed” to happen.

Tolkien possibly only survived because he got trench fever – a particularly nasty disease carried by lice – and got sent home because he was desperately ill. Considering how the rest of his unit fared, it probably saved his life. Unpleasant and unglamorous, but if not for that, we wouldn’t have LOTR. I’m sure survivor’s guilt was a factor – as was a sickening sense of dread when “The War to End All Wars” didn’t, and his son went off to WWII.

TLOTR has some of the type of valorization of war that you find in the Old Norse and Anglo-Saxon literature that JRRT loved and studied and taught because he loved that style and it’s deeply fitting for cultures like the Rohirrim, but it’s also full of the slog of war, the waste and tragedy, and the irrevocable damage that even victorious survivors carry for the rest of their lives. Frodo’s symbolic “death” is also resonant for survivors of what was called “shell-shock” then and PTSD now.

I mean, it’s not Game of Thrones. It’s not gritty in the same way. But the protagonist of LOTR was minor gentry from a backwater nobody’d heard of, and the REAL hero who saved the world by saving him was his gardener. All the great kings and queens and lords and ladies in the story are background characters compared to the story of the little people. Literally little people, but symbolically too.