In a time long past, in a world only he could conceive, there lived a man whose imagination knew no bounds. After 50 years of passing away on September 2nd, we are commemorating him. His name, dear readers, was John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and his existence was a testament to the magic of storytelling.
Photo by Lance Chang on Unsplash
He was a philologist, a master of languages, and a scholar of ancient tongues. But his brilliance extended far beyond the dusty pages of academia. Tolkien was a weaver of dreams, a bard of Middle-earth, and a creator of worlds. His tales were not mere stories; they were living, breathing legends.
Tolkien gifted us the Shire, a place of rustic simplicity and humble hobbits, and the fiery heart of Mount Doom, a realm of unfathomable darkness. His words painted landscapes in our minds, from the ethereal beauty of Lothlórien to the haunting desolation of Mordor.
He was a custodian of myth, a guardian of folklore, and a whisperer of ancient legends.
Tolkien drew inspiration from the sagas of old, breathing new life into forgotten tales. He unearthed the magic of Beowulf and the enchantment of Arthurian legends, infusing them into the very essence of his Middle-earth.
Tolkien forged languages, crafting Elvish tongues and Dwarvish dialects with the meticulousness of a blacksmith shaping a blade. His invented languages, such as Sindarin and Quenya, were not linguistic curiosities; they were the lifeblood of his world, an enchanting symphony of words.
He introduced us to the Fellowship of the Ring, a band of diverse and noble souls whose journey captivated our hearts. Frodo, the reluctant hero; Aragorn, the destined king; Gandalf, the wise guide; each character was a mirror reflecting the facets of human nature.
Tolkien’s love of nature flowed through his pen, from the whispering trees of Fangorn Forest to the melancholic beauty of the Old Forest. His reverence for the earth and its creatures echoed in the Elves’ harmonious coexistence with their surroundings and the Ents’ ancient guardianship of the woods.
He showed us the battle between good and evil, a timeless conflict that resonates in every corner of his world. The darkness of Sauron, the treachery of Saruman, and the resilience of Frodo reminded us that the greatest battles are not fought with swords but with the strength of one’s spirit.
Tolkien’s stories are tales of heroism and friendship, of unlikely alliances and unyielding hope. They remind us that even in the darkest of times, the smallest of beings can make the biggest difference. Frodo’s courage, Sam’s loyalty, and Gollum’s tragic redemption are enduring lessons in the power of the human spirit.
He penned “The Silmarillion”, a mythopoetic masterpiece, a creation story that unraveled the mysteries of his world’s birth. I saw that I also was unintentionally inspired by that narrative while writing the background of my stories. It was literally a legend of divine beings, fallen angels, and the struggles of a world’s creation. His mythology was not an afterthought; it was the foundation upon which Middle-earth stood.
Tolkien’s influence is immeasurable, his legacy eternal. His works inspired generations of writers, artists, and dreamers. From the epic battles of “The Lord of the Rings” to the lyrical verses of “The Lay of Leithian”, his creations continue to echo in the hearts of those who seek enchantment.
He was a professor, a father, a friend, and a storyteller. His life was a testament to the power of imagination, the beauty of language, and the enduring magic of storytelling. Tolkien was not just an author; he was the real word weaver and a wizard, and his words were the incantations that summoned Middle-earth into existence.
In the end, Tolkien’s greatest gift was not the One Ring, the palantíri, or the Arkenstone. It was the gift of wonder, the invitation to explore realms beyond our own, and the reminder that magic is not lost — it is simply waiting to be discovered within the pages of a book.
Photo by Amandine BATAILLE on Unsplash
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.
Namárië.
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