The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien (56 page)

It was widely rumoured that the attendant was Pearl (Pippin's sister), though the Tooks tried to keep the matter within the family. At the celebration of Ferumbras' accession the displeasure and regret of the family was formally expressed by the exclusion of Pearl from the ceremony and feast; but it did not escape notice that later (after a decent interval) she appeared in a splendid necklace of her name-jewels that had long lain in the hoard of the Thains.

Customs differed in cases where the ‘head' died leaving no son. In the Took-family, since the headship was also connected with the title and (originally military) office of Thain,
^fn86
descent was strictly through the male line. In other great families the headship might pass through a
daughter of the deceased
to his
eldest
grandson (irrespective of the daughter's age). This latter custom was usual in families of more recent origin, without ancient records or ancestral mansions. In such cases the heir (if he accepted the courtesy title) took the name of his mother's family – though he often retained that of his father's family also (placed second). This was the case with
Otho Sackville-Baggins.
For the nominal headship of the
Sackvilles
had come to him through his mother
Camellia.
It was his rather absurd ambition to achieve the rare distinction of being ‘head' of two families (he would probably then have called himself
Baggins-Sackville-Baggins
): a situation which will explain his exasperation with the adventures and disappearances of Bilbo, quite apart from any loss of property involved in the adoption of Frodo.

I believe it was a moot-point in Hobbit lore (which the ruling of Mayor Samwise prevented from being argued in this particular case) whether ‘adoption' by a childless ‘head' could affect the descent of the headship. It was agreed that the adoption of 2 member of a different family could not affect the headship, that being a matter of blood and kinship; but there was an opinion that adoption of a close relative of the
same name
^fn87
before he was of age entitled him to all privileges of a son. This opinion (held by Bilbo) was naturally contested by Otho.

There is no reason to suppose that the Stoors of Wilderland had developed a strictly ‘matriarchal' system, properly so called. No trace of any such thing was to be found among the Stoor-element in the East-farthing and Buckland, though they maintained various differences of custom and law. Gandalf's use (or rather his reporter and translator's use) of the word ‘matriarch' was not ‘anthropological', but meant simply a woman who in fact ruled the clan. No doubt because she had outlived her husband, and was a woman of dominant character.

It is likely enough that, in the recessive and decadent Stoor-country of Wilderland, the women-folk (as is often to be observed in such conditions) tended to preserve better the physical and mental character of the past, and so became of special importance. But it is not (I think) to be supposed that any fundamental change in their marriage-customs had taken place, or any sort of matriarchal or polyandrous society developed (even though this might explain the absence of any reference whatever to Sméagol-Gollum's father). ‘Monogamy' was at this period in the West universally practised, and other systems were regarded with repugnance, as things only done ‘under the Shadow'.

I actually started this letter nearly four months ago; but it never got finished. Shortly after I received your enquiries my wife, who had been ill most of 1958, celebrated the return of health by a fall in the garden, smashing up her left arm so badly that she is still crippled and in plaster. So 1958 was an almost completely frustrated year, and with other troubles, and the imminence of my retirement involving many rearrangements, I have had no time at all to deal with the
Silmarillion
. Much though I wish to do so (and, happily, Allen and Unwin also seem to wish me to do).

[Not dated; April 1959.]

Dear Mr Allen,

I am very sorry, but I shall not be able to take part in the symposium. I have only recently returned from convalescence after an operation, and am faced with much neglected work. Term begins on April 24.

I have said all that I have to say about writing for children in my contribution: ‘On Fairy-Stories': to
Essays Presented to Charles Williams
(O.U.P. 1947). It has no special interest to me.

When I published
The Hobbit
– hurriedly and without due consideration – I was still influenced by the convention that ‘fairy-stories' are naturally directed to children (with or without the silly added waggery ‘from seven to seventy'). And I had children of my own. But the desire to address children, as such, had nothing to do with the story as such in itself or the urge to write it. But it had some unfortunate effects on the mode of expression and narrative method, which if I had not been rushed, I should have corrected. Intelligent children of good taste (of which there seem quite a number) have always, I am glad to say, singled out the points in manner where the address is to children as blemishes.

I had given a great deal more thought to the matter before beginning the composition of
The Lord of the Rings;
and that work was not specially addressed to children or to any other class of people. But to any one who enjoyed a long exciting story, of the sort that I myself naturally enjoy. . . . .

I am not specially interested in children, and certainly not in writing for them: i.e. in addressing directly and expressly those who cannot understand adult language.

I write things that might be classified as fairy-stories not because I wish to address children (who qua children I do not believe to be specially interested in this kind of fiction) but because I wish to write this kind of story and no other.

I do this because if I do not apply too grandiloquent a title to it I find that my comment on the world is most easily and naturally expressed in this way. I am not conscious of any repression exerted upon me by ‘ordinary life'. Since large numbers of adults seem to enjoy what I write – quite enough to keep me happy – I have no need to seek escape to another and (possibly) less exigent audience.

I hope ‘comment on the world' does not sound too solemn. I have no didactic purpose, and no allegorical intent. (I do not like allegory (properly so called: most readers appear to confuse it with significance
or applicability) but that is a matter too long to deal with here.) But long narratives cannot be made out of nothing; and one cannot rearrange the primary matter in secondary patterns without indicating feelings and opinions about one's material. . . . .

The relation between
The Hobbit
and its sequel is I think this.
The Hobbit
is a first essay or introduction (consideration will admit I think that it is a very just point at which to begin the narration of the subsequent events) to a complex narrative which had been brewing in my mind for years. It was overtly addressed to children for two reasons: I had at that time children of my own and was accustomed to making up (ephemeral) stories for them; I had been brought up to believe that there was a real and special connexion between children and fairy-stories. Or rather to believe that this was a received opinion of my world and of publishers. I doubted it, since it did not accord with my personal experience of my own taste, nor with my observation of children (notably my own). But the convention was strong.

I think that
The Hobbit
can be seen to begin in what might be called a more ‘whimsy' mode, and in places even more facetious, and move steadily to a more serious or significant, and more consistent and historical. . . . . But I regret much of it all the same. . . . .

The first question, it seems to me, to ask in any discussion of this kind is: What are ‘Children'? Do you limit your enquiry, as may be supposed, to (North) European children? Then in what ages between the cradle and the end of legal infancy? To what grades of intelligence? Or literary talent and perceptiveness? Some intelligent children may have little of this. Children's tastes and talents differ as widely as those of adults, as soon as they are old enough to be differentiated clearly, and therefore to be the target of any thing that can bear the name of literature. It would be useless to offer to many children of 14 or even of 12 the trash that is good enough for many respectable adults of twice or three times the age, but less gifts natural.

Life is rather above the measure of us all (save for a very few perhaps). We all need literature that is above our measure – though we may not have sufficient energy for it all the time. But the energy of youth is usually greater. Youth needs then less than adulthood or Age what is down to its (supposed) measure. But even in Age I think we only are really moved by what is at least in some point or aspect above us, above our measure, at any rate before we have read it and ‘taken it in'. Therefore do not write down to Children or to anybody. Not even in language. Though it would be a good thing if that great reverence which is due to children took the form of eschewing the tired and flabby cliches of adult life. But an honest word is an honest word, and its acquaintance can only be made by meeting it in a right context. A good vocabulary is
not acquired by reading books written according to some notion of the vocabulary of one's age-group. It comes from reading books above one.

Dear Mr Allen,

I very much regret that it seems impossible for me to take part in this symposium that you propose. I have only recently returned from convalescence after an operation and I am faced with much neglected work. Term begins next week and I shall not have time to produce any copy before April 19th.

Yours sincerely,

J. R. R. Tolkien.

12 August 1959

I have to thank you for the honour of appointing me a member of your Board of Examiners. May I respectfully suggest, nonetheless, that it is inadvisable to do this without first consulting the persons appointed? I am unable to accept this examinership. I am fully occupied with other affairs, and I have in any case retired, and do not propose to take any further part in teaching and examining.

11 September 1959

I am sorry that owing to domestic troubles and turmoil I have neglected Mrs Skibniewska's letter.

It is quite impossible for me to write a lot of notes for her use As a general principle for her guidance, my preference is for as little translation or alteration of any names as possible. As she perceives, this is an English book and its Englishry should not be eradicated. That the Hobbits actually spoke an ancient language of their own is of course a pseudo-historical assertion made necessary by the nature of the narrative. I could provide or invent the original Hobbit language form of all the names that appear in English, like Baggins or Shire, but this would be quite pointless. My own view is that the names of persons should all be left as they stand. I should prefer that the names of places were left untouched also, including Shire. The proper way of treating these I think is for a list of those that have a meaning in English to be given at the end, with glosses or explanations in Polish.

9 October 1959

76 Sandfield Road, Headington, Oxford

Dear Sir,

Your letter has eventually reached me, though I am not ‘any Professor of English Language', since I have now retired. The answer is that you can say what you like. Pedantry insists that since
number
is a singular noun, the verb should be singular, (has). Common sense feels that since the
walls
is plural, and are really concerned, the verb should be plural, (have). You may take your choice.

Yours sincerely

J. R. R. Tolkien.

14 October 1959

My only comment is that of Puck upon mortals. I fear that to me Siamese cats belong to the fauna of Mordor, but you need not tell the cat breeder that.

15 October 1959

I ‘retired' – or rather, since even British generals usually imply a voluntary movement to the rear when they ‘retire', I was extruded on the age limit at the end of last term. In many ways a melancholy proceeding, especially financially. Though I have belonged to F.S.S.U.
¹
since it began in 1920, it does not provide enough for one to live on one's laurels (old and dusty as Christmas decorations in January). Without the assistance of ‘Hobbits and all that' things would be meagre. Nonetheless (not a little encouraged by your letter) I decided to get off the treadmill, and resigned from my appointment in Ireland
²
before I returned. I shall, if I get a chance, turn back to the matter of the Red Book and allied histories soon.