by David Lenander.
used by permission.
The two color shots of the Hobbit Holes are used by permission of Mike Sullivan.
The rest of the photos are by David Lenander.
I've been rereading the LOTR this year. Slowly. For the first time in
years. I've been surprised by how deeply some of the description of the
countryside traversed after Bree in Book I, and of little hints about Strider
and the Rangers, had sunk into my subconscious mind and merged with earlier
hints about this countryside from The Hobbit. I knew that my sonnet,
"From Amon Sul" (published in Mythlore as "Aragorn
Gazes Upon Ruined Arnor") was based upon my impressions of this countryside,
along with some of Charles Williams' ideas about country as body, and that
old mythic equation of King's body=Kingdom. I hadn't realized how clearly
Tolkien had set out the descriptions for me. Or how much of this countryside
JRRT had "known" as early as the writing of The Hobbit.
I think that that idea of land as body, and our body, has sunk deeply into
my values and political involvements. For that matter, my best poem, "To
Go Fishing in a Dark Cave," was consciously about the unconscious,
and consciously Freudian. It was only after I'd written it that I realized
that its imagery was straight out of The Hobbit. To acknowledge this
debt I retitled it "Soliloquy for Smeagol."
Much of Tolkien functions for me on this level. His work, notably the essay
on "Fairy Stories" carries less conscious impact for me than that
of his obvious predecessor, Owen Barfield, or that of Lewis. But as someone
who was always painfully conscious of being short and young-looking throughout
my grade and high-school years, hobbits became empowering and important
role models. To some degree, at least insofar as hobbits are child-like,
they must function that way for all child readers. But for the short, maybe
they're especially important. Not that I consciously modelled my life after
Bilbo's, but on some mythic level, hobbits helped me to successfully travel
over the hill and across the water into the Wild.
Some people have followed such a model even further. Mike Sullivan is even
shorter than I am. And like Mike, many other members of the Mythopoeic Society
Rivendell Discussion Group over the years have been obviously inspired to
pursue life choices by Tolkien and his characters. Some like me, into literary
study, as undergraduate or graduate student, others into linguistics, history,
writing fiction, teaching and scholarship.
I reported on of my fondest Tolkien-related memories a few years ago in
our local newsletter:
Mike Sullivan and Rick Peterson, two modern hobbits interested in contemporary
architecture--especially energy-efficient, earth sheltered designs--constructed
a modern hobbit hole at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival which is both
a prototype for the designs that Peterson and Sullivan would like to see
incorporated into new human housing, and also a startling realization of
its builders' inspiration in the mythopoeia of J.R.R. Tolkien (with design
features like a round door and windows). The hobbit hole was a great curiosity
at the Festival, to which most attenders made a pilgrimage, passing through
the white picket fence to the round, green door, and entering if it was
open to gawk at the quaint furnishing, or rudely pounding on the door if
it was shut.
When the door was shut, it was usually for one of two reasons. Either its
hobbit proprietor, Mike (who usually passes as a human of less-than-gigantic
stature, but who annually took off his shoes to display his hobbit-hairy
toes) was inside reading tarot cards, or he was hosting a meeting of the
Rivendell Group, which held a number of its annual Mythopicnics as Mike's
guests. In 1980, Mike decided that the newly constructed Improved Hobbit
Hole ("Newly Revised?" "Second Edition?" "HHII?"
"Son of Hobbit Hole?") was wasted on tarot cards. He persuaded
the Festival to partially underwrite a dramatic production to take advantage
of the New Hole. The Palantir Players were born, and performed for a couple
of years.
He also had some ideas for setting
up the Hobbit Hole as a sort of Middle-earth embassy, a showplace of Tolkien
culture. Among his ideas: a continuous reading (aloud) of LOTR, calligraphy
demonstrations, story-telling, music and singing, limited theatre--as in
people taking on the roles of characters to reminisce about the Elder and
Middle days. Loremasters or Middle-earth historians to staff the Hobbit
Hole in between the Palantir Players' productions, able to talk knowledgeably
about Tolkien, Middle-earth, hobbits and the Hole and its construction,
as well as other lore on myth and fantasy generally, for the general public
wandering up to this charming little hobbit hole.
I don't think that the actual realization of Mike's vision really lived
up to this description, at least over the entire length of the Festival.
But for some of us who tried to carry out a part of it, the experience was
strangely thrilling and satisfying. Meanwhile, in the summer of 1981, Rick
and Mike were flown to St. Louis to receive an architectural award for the
stress tests they'd designed and conducted to prove the soundness of the
construction of their Hobbit Hole--tests which finally convinced the Chaska
Building Inspector. This award was for a design competition at the Earth
Sheltered Housing Conference of the American Underground Association. Their
research paper concerned the construction and testing of a certain "Steel-reinforced
Concrete Shell Structure," a.k.a. the New Hole. At the time I reported
that the award-winning hobbits were "looking forward mainly to the
free meals, according to a confidential source."
Hobbit Holes co-builder Mike Sullivan, in front of the "new Hobbit-hole,"
at the Minnesota Renaissance Festival, c. 1980. It was on top of the grasy
roof that the "elf-maid" sang her "Namarie." Photo by
Lenander.
Reflection on the '79 meeting and preparation for the '80 Festival led me to propose as a discussion topic: "The Hobbit as Hero, or Tolkien's Myth Takes Hold," something I'd hoped to further explain at the meeting. On the appointed day, Margaret Howes and I arrived at the Performers' Gate to find that our names were indeed on the pass list. We made our way fairly directly to the Hobbit Hole, where we had the opportunity to watch other Loremasters in action. Loremasters wear costumes--not necessarily either authentically Middle-earth or Renaissance, but with that feel--no R-2 D-2 or Mr. Spock outfits. Most Renaissance Festival players affect a sort of accent inspired by bad movies ostensibly set in the courts of Henry VIII, Elizabeth I or Mary Stuart of Scotland. These accents are not limited to those players dressed in English Renaissance costume. By and large, most Loremasters maintain the polite fiction that the Common Speech of Middle-earth was 20th-Century English. I was pleased to learn that the fake Shakespearean accents are optional--you can attempt it if you feel comfortable doing that....
Margaret was wearing a new costume, but I needed one of the handy, all-period
Loremaster Robes that Mike was keeping on hand for those Loremasters whose
lore is limited in the areas of tailoring and needlecraft. We really weren't
needed for the time being, but we ended up watching the Loremasters in action
for quite a while. Neither of Mike's ideas for continuous readings of LOTR
or Elvish calligraphy demonstrations had been realized, but I was impressed
by the efforts of the two young Loremasters were valiantly reading aloud
from The Silmarillion, The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, and other,
similar, sacred texts, and also attempting some impromptu discussion in
character as residents of Middle-earth. A bit later we watched the performance
of the Palantir Players, including Mike as an Elf.
A minstrel and his young companion wandered up to the Hobbit Hole, where
the former loudly professed disbelief in Faerie, or at any rate in the lingering
power of such creatures as Hobbits in the present day. His companion, who
played guitar to accompany his singing, was obviously reluctant to listen
to such blasphemy, which only encouraged the minstrel in his absurd skepticism.
The minstrel's words were cut short at the sudden, explosive entrance of
a grey wizard, who warned him that the principles of good and evil persist
in present reality from earlier days reflected in stories and legends. Gandalf
(?) warned mysteriously of dark shadows rising in every age, but also offered
hope in good forces. In token of the latter, he summoned (with another explosion)
the Hobbit, Frodo, who was about as enthusiastic about coming out of retirement
as one might expect (remembering how Bilbo felt about leaving his comfortable
Bag-end for an uncomfortable Adventure). Soon our heros were joined by a
couple of Rangers, a Dwarf and a grey Elf (no Ents), who scampered off to
fight a terrible battle just out of sight behind the Hobbit Hole (we could
hear the wizard's explosions, and we saw some Orc fur fly), after which
the whole company disappeared into the Hole for tea, pipeweed and strategy.
The minstrel, now a believer, exited through the crowd, singing. The Players
also roamed the Festival grounds, interacting with one another and other
Festival actors in character.
Back at the Hobbit Hole, an elf named Holly, wearing a green gown, showed
us that except for The Middle-earth Song Book, and The Tolkien
Scrapbook, we could have left our backpacks at home--the Hole was well-supplied
with texts. Margaret and I took turns reading, mostly poems, but also an
abridged version of "An Unexpected Party." Sometimes our audience
was very small, and at times I felt silly, as when I stood holding an umbrella
over Margaret's head to protect the book from which she was reading, but
by and large, I felt proud to be a part of this little outpost of hobbit
culture. I particularly admired Margaret's ability to tell some of her "Tales
Told by the Lonely Mountain" from memory--a much more effective communication
with the audience than reading from a book. In her costume I could quite
believe that she was a woman of Dale, telling stories to the children who
gathered about outside of the picket fence. (I don't suppose the children
of Dale wore such lurid T-shirts, thought). I really didn't feel that we'd
been there for long when our shift was over, and it was time for the next
performance of the Players.
I failed to remark above how impressed we were with the tasteful realization
of characters and costumes, the music and theme--which tied into my proposed
discussion topic very nicely. But it was one oft he Loremasters who most
impressed me: When one of the performances was late because the Players
had been delayed elsewhere on the grounds, Holly climbed up on top of the
Hobbit Hole to reassure the restive crowd. She spoke for a bit, as she watched
the distance for the approaching Players, and then sang an unaccompanied
"Namarie" set to her own melody. This was the unexpected climax
of my day. Standing on the green, grass-covered hill, in her green gown,
against the bright and dark horizon (there was little actual rain, but it
threatened on and off all day) I saw not another human, dressed in a costume,
but an Elf-maid. If I was reminded less of Tolkien's elves than of the Irish
Sidhe, or of Ruth Berman's story "The
Death of Gawaine," this was, nevertheless, a glimpse of Faerie.
A number of members showed up for our actual meeting, which focused more
on the performance we'd witnessed than on my proposed topic. Later, Holly
sang again, then Mike led us in his version of the Dwarves' Treasure Song,
and finally I accompanied us as we sang my setting of the Fall of Gil-Galad.
I distributed some extra song sheets and information about The
Mythopoeic Society to interested watchers and left enthused about doing
more next year. --David Lenander
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d-lena@maroon.tc.umn.edu