"The nearer the so-called 'nature myth,' or allegory, of the large processes of nature is to its supposed archetype, the less interesting it is, and indeed the less is it of a myth capable of throwing any illumination whatever on the world."

The Lord of the Rings, published as three volumes in the mid-1950s, is an intricate colossus: a remix of history, zoology, folklore and language; an adventure story; an inquiry into power; a rant against modern times; a lament for a dying world.

Take some critic's theory of what "good literature" is, put Tolkien into it, and watch the whole edifice collapse into its own contradictions. For example, as Tom Shippey points out so beautifully, Philip Toynbee says that "The Good Writer" can write about anything, even "incestuous dukes in Tierra del Fuego" and it is up to the public to adjust, not to just discount the writing as too strange or different. Apparently Mr. Toynbee neglected to mention the "incestuous dukes are A-Ok, but Elves are not allowed" codicil to his theory, because Tolkien fits Toynbee's description (and many others) of "The Good Writer" to a T, and yet Toynbee, and "Bunny" Wilson, and Salman Rushdie, and most recently Bryan Appleyard clearly would not put Tolkien anywhere near their pantheon of "Good Writers."

And yet he fits the criteria so well: Struggling with the recalcitrance of the English language? Check (Except Tolkien knew more about the structure and complexity of English, its history and its development, than Pound, Eliot or Joyce--though Joyce probably had an internalized phono-aesthetic sense as deep as Tolkien's, if not so explicitly theorized). Following his imagination wherever it goes? Check. Refusing to accept the givens of contemporary ideologies? Check. Writing for himself and not worrying about the opinions or critics or publishers or even posterity? Check.

...Perhaps, though, we could solve many problems by making official a new dictum. Call it Dyson's law: It is impossible for good writing to include an Elf.

laurelgardner

As for the distant, non-human and ultimately powerful evil? Well, those kind of require a different kind of tale, don't they? An epic, like LOTR in which the the real test for the characters is not to find a way of undoing the evil, but standing up in the face of it knowing that they can't defeat it (then of course, they prevail anyway, but hey, I'm not complaining).

It's always seemed to me indeed ironic that those critics who like to call Tolkien "juvenile" are the same ones who jump up and down on him for not including sufficient angst or sex--but then, aren't angst and sex precisely the preoccupations of sulky adolescents?