Why Do They Hate Him?
by
Stephen W. Carson
An
article
by John Yatt from the Guardian of December 2, 2002 attacks Tolkien's
The
Lord of the Rings with amazing hostility. He not only dismisses
the book as "a fake, a forgery, a dodgy copy" but he also attacks
it as harmful, "The Lord of the Rings is racist." He ends with this
judgement, "Strip away the archaic turns of phrase and you find
a set of basic assumptions that are frankly unacceptable in 21st-century
Britain."
This
kind of hostile reaction is neither unique to John Yatt nor unique
to our time. It's been going on since The Lord of the Rings
was published in 19545 in the U.K. and 1965 in the U.S. Tom
Shippey writes in Tolkien:
Author of the Century that "In 1956 Edmund Wilson, then
doyen of American modernist critics, had dismissed The Lord of the
Rings as 'balderdash', 'juvenile trash', a taste which he thought
was specifically British (...a prophecy about to crash in flames
as the American market conversely took off)." (p. 307) Shippey notes
a "general phenomenon of intense critical hostility to Tolkien,
the refusal to allow him to be even a part of 'English literature',
even on the part of those self-professedly committed to 'widening
the canon'." (p. 305)
I had the good fortune to attend a lecture by Tom Shippey after
having read his recent book on Tolkien. He is now a professor at
St. Louis University and is also, by the way, an informative and
hilarious speaker. During the Q&A, I read out a few phrases from
John Yatt's article and asked Shippey to talk more about why Tolkien
continues to get these hostile reactions from the literary establishment.
Shippey's first response was "They're bastards!"
There is a historic conflict, he argues, between the literati, products
of departments of English literature and philologists like Tolkien
and Shippey who used to be from departments of English (Anglo-Saxon)
language. Tolkien felt that to understand literature, one
ought to understand the language, the roots and history of the words
used. His works of fiction derive from this very approach to literature
(Shippey's book discusses this extensively), and he has inspired
a whole new genre of literature, "fantasy". As Shippey points out,
in the academic arena the English literature world won and departments
of English language are no more to be found. "The misologists [haters
of the word] won, in the academic world; as did the realists, the
modernists, the post-modernists, the despisers of fantasy." (p.
xvii)
Yet, Tolkien has had the last laugh, "But they lost outside the
academic world. It is not long since I heard the commissioning editor
of a major publishing house say, 'Only fantasy is mass-market. Everything
else is cult-fiction.' (Reflective pause.) 'That includes mainstream.'
He was defending his own buying strategy, and doubtless exaggerating,
but there is a good deal of hard evidence to support him. Tolkien
cried out to be heard... he found listeners, and they found whatever
he was saying worth their while." (p. xvii)
What is meant by the "literati", these folks who consider themselves
the arbiters of what English literature is? Shippey talks about
this in the context of the critical reaction to the polls in the
late 1990s that controversially named Tolkien's The Lord of the
Rings the greatest book of the century. "These results were
routinely and repeatedly derided by professional critics and journalists
(the latter group, of course, often the products of university literature
departments). Joseph Pearce opens his book [Tolkien:
Man and Myth] with Susan Jeffreys, of the Sunday Times,
who on 26th January 1997 reported a colleague's reaction to the
news that The Lord of the Rings had won the BBC/Waterstone's
poll as 'Oh hell! has it? Oh my G-d. Dear oh dear. Dear oh dear
oh dear'. This at least sounds sincere, if not deeply thoughtful;
but Jeffreys reported also that the reaction 'was echoed up and
down the country wherever one or two literati gathered together'.
She meant, surely, 'two or three literati', unless the literati
talk only to themselves (a thought that does occur); and the term
literati is itself interesting. It clearly does not mean 'the lettered,
the literate', because obviously that group includes the devotees
of The Lord of the Rings, the group being complained about
(they couldn't be devotees if they couldn't read). In Jeffrey's
usage, literati must mean 'those who know about literature'. And
those who know, of course, know what they are supposed to know.
The opinion is entirely self-enclosed." (p. xxi)
The literati are not just humble scholars of English literature.
They want to control what is considered English literature, to some
degree past literature, but particularly the present and future.
The success of Tolkien's books drives them crazy because it shows
that they do not control what literature is. Readers do. Shippey
writes, "This is probably at the heart of the critical rage, and
fear, which Tolkien immediately and ever after provoked. He threatened
the authority of the arbiters of taste, the critics, the educationalists,
the literati." (p. 316)
Tolkien was a literary entrepreneur, breaking many literary conventions,
completely flouting the conventional ideas of "what sells", and
yet outselling all the favored sons of the literary establishment.
These literati are would-be central planners. No wonder that we
often find them rather annoying (or just irrelevant) and find Tolkien
and his work to be heroic and inspiring. The metaphor I'm using
here for Tolkien of a literary "entrepreneur" isn't purely metaphor.
After all, Shippey estimates that the publisher Stanley Unwin has
made about a billion pounds and the Tolkien estate another billion
pounds on the Lord of the Rings. Unwin thought that The Lord
of the Rings wasn't going to make any money so he had Tolkien
pay for part of the publishing costs and split the profits 50/50.
Oops!
There are other reasons that the literati hate Tolkien. Tolkien
completely rejected the Modernist movement which has been unquestioned
orthodoxy among the literati. Tolkien's priorities and themes were
not that of the literary establishment.
Shippey further argues that the literary establishment, by any objective
measure, is failing. He says that if they were a business, they
would have gone out of business a long time ago. The number of students
going for degrees in English literature is falling drastically relative
to the population. I can personally attest to this negative effect
of the literary establishment. When starting college, I was torn
between majoring in Computer Science and majoring in English literature.
I ended up majoring in Computer Science and minoring in writing.
Part of the reason is that I had read some modern literary criticism
and I thought it was rubbish. I didn't want to spend 4 years "learning"
their politically correct, unperceptive literary theories. If I
could have studied under Tolkien or someone like him, I would have
gone for it like a shot.
Thus, Tolkien's ongoing (and, with the films, increasing) popularity
contrasts painfully with the increasing irrelevance of the literati
and their favored literature.
Why
Do We Love Him?
Tolkien stands in stark contrast to the socialist-leaning, Modernist,
elitist literati that hate him so much. As Mingardi and Stagnaro
have demonstrated,
Tolkien understood that socialism was unworkable and made little
distinction between "left" and "right" socialism. Shippey notes
that the literary coterie that "ruled and defined English literature
at least for a time, between the wars and after World War II...
were committed modernists, upper class, often Etonians, often professed
Communists, often extremely rich, well-entrenched as editors and
reviewers in the literary columns." (p. 316) In another article,
Mingardi and Stagnaro show that far from being a statist as so many
of the literati were throughout the 20th century, Tolkien identified
himself as an anarchist (of the private property sort, not the socialist,
bomb-throwing sort).
Furthermore, he commits a cultural/political crime that for our
socialist literati is unforgivable. He likes the middle class and
writes about them affectionately in the guise of the Hobbits. No
sense of alienation! No sense of looking down on the middle class
snootily from a lofty vantage point! Unforgivable!
Shippey discusses this particularly in his discussion of The
Hobbit, the prequel to The Lord of the Rings, "Bilbo
is then defined from the start by time, class, and culture. He is
English; middle class; and roughly Victorian to Edwardian. Hobbits
in general will prove to be all these things even more definitely
than Bilbo, except that some of them will be working class (the
Gamgees), though none quite reach the upper class, not even the
Tooks and Brandybucks." (p. 11) The Hobbits, then, in their adventures
in the rest of Middle Earth which they really know very little about
except through legends stand in for Tolkien's readers as they join
the Hobbits in trying to figure out this odd world where wizards,
dragons and orcs are not just legends but real and dangerous. As
the films and books make clear, the hobbits in their own, humble
way become the heroes of the tale. This demonstrates Tolkien's affection
for his own roots, "Tolkien indeed had nothing against middle-class
Englishman, for he was one himself: and, unlike so many of the English-speaking
writers of his time, Lawrence, Forster, Woolf, Joyce, he did not
feel in any way alienated, nor have any urge to reinvent himself
as working-class, non-English, in internal exile, or any other glamorous
pose. It is one reason why he has never found any favour with the
determinedly cosmopolitan British intelligentsia." (p. 11)
Another difference with most of the literati of his time is that
far from being militantly atheistic or aggressively secular, Tolkien
was a staunch Catholic. He played a key role, in fact, in the conversion
of C. S. Lewis to Christianity. This, by itself, has created no
end of trouble for the literati as Lewis' fiction and apologetic
works continue to offer a reasoned and popular defense of beliefs
that the modernists had thought safely dismissed as reactionary,
backwards and Medieval a long time ago. Shippey makes clear that
The Lord of the Rings is not directly a Christian work. Middle
Earth is set in a time long before Christ, though the "pagans" in
Tolkien's world are rather virtuous pagans, not practicing human
sacrifice for instance. What Shippey does not say, though, is what
isn't in Tolkien's work as a result of his very orthodox Christianity
and his anti-Modernist stance. Unlike, say, Marion Zimmer Bradley's
torturous feminist retelling of the King Arthur myth, The
Mists of Avalon, Tolkien's work is not a thin veil for modernist,
politically correct preoccupations.
In fact, reading The Lord of the Rings, one gets the impression
(which I gather is quite correct) that Tolkien was perfectly comfortable
with older things and deeply suspicious of the brutal drives toward
modernization that characterize the Left and, now, the Neoconservatives
with their plans to bomb various peoples into the 20th century.
Our modernist elite is obsessed with being modern. There are few
curses more lethal from these folks than that you are a reactionary,
a throwback, standing in the way of progress. Needless to say, the
happy LRC crew must surely be about as "reactionary" as they come...
Even gladly using the label "paleo" to distinguish ourselves, which
simply means "ancient".
But to delve deeper into why many of us have responded so deeply
to The Lord of the Rings, I must explain Shippey's brilliant,
and I believe original, analysis of 20th century literature. He
begins his book with this sentence, "The dominant literary mode
of the twentieth century has been the fantastic." (p. vii) His list
of examples already begins to make his case, "when the time comes
to look back at the century, it seems very likely that future literary
historians, detached from the squabbles of our present, will see
as its most representative and distinctive works books like J.R.R.
Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, and also George Orwell's
Nineteen
Eighty-Four and Animal
Farm, William Golding's Lord
of the Flies and The
Inheritors, Kurt Vonnegut's Slaughterhouse-Five
and Cat's
Cradle, Ursula Le Guin's The
Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed, Thomas
Pynchon's The
Crying of Lot-49 and Gravity's
Rainbow. The list could readily be extended, back to the
late nineteenth century with H.G. Wells's The
Island of Dr. Moreau and The
War of the Worlds..." (p. vii)
Why has the fantastic as a literary mode been used so many times
and produced such popular books? "A ready explanation for this phenomenon
is of course that it represents a kind of literary disease, whose
sufferers the millions of readers of fantasy should be scorned,
pitied, or rehabilitated back to correct and proper taste. Commonly
the disease is said to be 'escapism': readers and writers of fantasy
are fleeing from reality. The problem with this is that so many
of the originators of the later twentieth-century fantastic mode,
including all four of those first mentioned above (Tolkien, Orwell,
Golding, Vonnegut) are combat veterans, present at or at least deeply
involved in the most traumatically significant events of the century,
such as the Battle of the Somme (Tolkien), the bombing of Dresden
(Vonnegut), the rise and early victory of fascism (Orwell). Nor
can anyone say that they turned their backs on these events. Rather,
they had to find some way of communicating and commenting on them.
It is strange that this had, for some reason, in so many cases to
involve fantasy as well as realism, but that is what has happened."
(p. viii) He later adds C.S. Lewis, T.H. White and Joseph Heller
to the list. (p. xxx)
Why have these fantastic books connected so much better than most
of the literature in the modernist canon? The modernist novel has
a marked tendency to be very inner directed. Tom Wolfe comments
on this hilariously in his essay "My Three Stooges" in which he
critiques the excessive inwardness in the works of modernist darlings
John Updike, Norman Mailer and John Irving. But Tolkien, and many
of these other authors of fantastic novels, are oriented differently,
"...although [Tolkien's] concern and the concern of the authors
I mention is not with the private and the personal (the themes of
the 'modernist' novel), but with the public and the political, it
should be obvious that to all but the sheltered classes of this
century, the most important events in private lives (and even more,
in deaths) have often been public and political." (p. xxxi)
Shippey is more blunt later in his book about what these "traumatized
authors" were all dealing with, "Most of these authors, then,
had close or even direct first-hand experience of some of the worst
horrors of the twentieth century, horrors which did not and could
not exist before it: the Somme, Guernica, Belsen, Dresden, industrialized
warfare, genocide. Their very different but related experiences
left all of them, one may say, with an underlying problem. They
were bone-deep convinced that they had come into contact with something
irrevocably evil. They also... felt that the explanations for this
which they were given by the official organs of their culture were
hopelessly inadequate, out of date, at best irrelevant, at worst
part of the evil itself." (p. xxx)
Thus, bringing our focus back to Tolkien, we find the other meaning
of Shippey's title, "Tolkien: Author of the Century". Not just might
he be the most important author of the century, but he was, despite
the fantastic setting of his fiction, very much an author of
the 20th century. We respond to Tolkien, in part, because he
is wrestling with the horrors of our century in a very deep way.
Thus his literary approach is in line with his anarchism that rejected
both left and right socialism. Tolkien was not interested in the
half measures that went over so well with the literati time and
time again: "No, no, it must be Left socialism, not Right socialism";
"No, it must be Democratic socialism, not totalitarian socialism."
Tolkien saw, as many of these other authors saw in their own way,
that we were facing radically destructive evil and that we must
be radical in our approach to understanding it.
The theme of The Lord of the Rings is that the Ring, the
ring of power that is so tempting, must be resisted. If it is not
resisted than the individual who gives in becomes a ringwraith.
"...people make themselves into wraiths. They accept the gifts of
Sauron, quite likely with the intention of using them for some purpose
which they identify as good. But then they start to cut corners,
to eliminate opponents, to believe in some 'cause' which justifies
everything they do. In the end the 'cause', or the habits they have
acquired while working for the 'cause', destroys any moral sense
and even any remaining humanity. The spectacle of the person 'eaten
up inside' by devotion to some abstraction has been so familiar
throughout the twentieth century as to make the idea of the wraith,
and the wraithing-process, horribly recognizable, in a way non-fantastic."
(p. 125)
No wonder we love Tolkien so much! In an extremely original and
artistic book, he gives us a vision that we are longing for. Not
another variation on the themes that gave us the horrors of the
20th century, but a principled refusal to play the game of power
at all. In Tolkien's moving vision, the good comes not by massive
righteous slaughters and crusades to stamp out badness but by the
strength of will of "small" people to protect the ordinary, beautiful
things of family and home and to resist the temptation to use power
to do it.
Seen in this light, Tolkien's book has a powerful and very relevant
message for those of us who are Hobbits in a world controlled by
wraiths. No matter how dark it gets, don't give up hope. Stay true.
Have courage. Help may come from unexpected places.
December
19, 2002
Stephen
W. Carson [send him
mail] works
as a software engineer, studies Political Economy at the graduate
level at Washington University and works with inner city children
in St. Louis through a ministry of his church. See his reviews of
Films on Liberty.
Copyright
© 2002 LewRockwell.com
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