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| Melian of the Silmarillion, by AndrewRyanArt |
I am trying to be mindful of a balance between Novel Corornavirus and COVID-19 posts and ones that feature escapist materials for better sheltering in place strategies, such as Sunday's STAY HOME AND READ COMICS outcry, both as an encouragement to comic lovers every where but also as a clear reminder to myself to practice self-care, which I did. For the first time in months, I stayed in and read comics on Sunday. Not that staying in is a problem. I often stay in. But I am often working. Mostly, I took off the weekend and only did a little work on Saturday and none on Sunday. My jobs rarely allow "days off" or keeping the work confined to the week days, but I am trying to make space for the kind of schedule in my life and practice healing, self-care.
For me, reading is a form of meditation and the ultimate self-care. Sure, I like watching shows and movies, but often, I grow agitated if I am absorbing too much media that way and not reading enough or delaying the start of a reading session. I have a huge back log of things to read, and so making time for what I love is more important than ever before.
That said, I love Tolkien, and I love the TOR publishing company, which runs an amazing blog in which geeky people like me write about the things they love, as seen here.
Often, my blog exhibits my study and not my practice, as I have written before. This concept is true of this post. Here's two articles on Tolkien characters written by the brilliant Megan Fontenot, who actually studied at a school in my home state (Michigan State University). She's active on Twitter.
These are great reads, and I am only collecting two of the parts from the series. I may return and do a comprehensive list another time, though the TOR links to Ms. Fontenot's work will lead to any others already published by the time you see my sharing post or that were previously published, such as the Galadriel material she mentions in the introduction to the first post.
Great stuff!
Read on!
QUOTE OF THE WEEK:
https://www.tor.com/2020/03/05/exploring-the-people-of-middle-earth-melian-divine-enchantress-and-deathless-queen-rerun/
Exploring the People of Middle-earth: Melian, Divine Enchantress and Deathless Queen
Megan N. Fontenot
In this biweekly series, we’re exploring the evolution of both major and minor figures in Tolkien’s legendarium, tracing the transformations of these characters through drafts and early manuscripts through to the finished work. In place of a new installment this week, please enjoy this encore post: Following our recent two-part discussion of Galadriel, we’re looking back at the story of her friend and mentor Melian, the incarnated Maia whose power, wisdom, and beauty were renowned in the First Age of Arda and who becomes the foremother of some of Middle-earth’s greatest heroes.
“In the gardens of Lórien she dwelt, and among all his fair folk none were there that surpassed her beauty, nor none more wise, nor none more skilled in magical and enchanting song. It is told that the Gods would leave their business, and the birds of Valinor their mirth, that Valmar’s bells were silent, and the fountains ceased to flow, when at the mingling of the light Melian sang in the garden of the God of Dreams” —The Shaping of Middle-earth, hereafter SM, 103.
This passage describes the Maia Melian before she passed over to the hither shore and took up her incarnate form in Middle-earth. Little is known about the divine mother of Lúthien when she dwelt in the Undying Lands. It’s said that she was kin to Yavanna (according to The Lost Road, hereafter LR, 241), the creator of flora and fauna and lover of trees, and that for a time she dwelt in and tended the gardens of the Vala Lórien and of Estë, as he is also called (Morgoth’s Ring, hereafter MR, 147). She’s also called the fairest of all the Maiar (MR 72). And from the passage above, we know that she has a talent for music—a potent power she’ll later pass on to her similarly-gifted daughter, Lúthien. Her voice is so beautiful that all of paradise leaves off its normal activities just to listen to her. She’s the Orpheus of Arda.
It seems, though, that Melian was, if not actually unhappy, at least somewhat discontent with her life in Valinor. The Shaping of Middle-earth reveals that though she lived in the holy light of the two Trees, Melian “loved deep shadow, and often strayed on long journey into the Outer Lands, and there filled the silence of the dawning world with her voice and the voices of her birds” (103). The desire to go to Middle-earth first came into her heart when she “went up upon Taniquetil [to see the stars]; and suddenly she desired to see Middle-earth, and she left Valinor and walked in twilight” (MR 72).
According to one telling, Melian first comes to Middle-earth in Valian Year 1050 (The War of the Jewels, hereafter WJ, 5). She spends many of those early years traveling, filling the “dawning world” with song and with her nightingales. Eventually she settles down in what will later become Doriath, and she’s the one, we’re told, who “fostered” the young woods of Sirion. Melian herself spends most of her time in “the glades of Nan Elmoth beside the River Celon” (WJ 6).
She doesn’t meet Elu Thingol until 1130, according to one timeline (WJ 7). It’s at this point that Melian’s story probably becomes more familiar, especially as it approaches the famed tale of Beren and Lúthien. But first: a different romance.
Melian and Thingol meet as the latter is wandering in the wilderness, having become lost on his way home after a meeting with Finwë (WJ 7; in another version, he’s leading a company that is on its way to Valinor and strays away. See The Book of Lost Tales 2, hereafter BLT2, 41). In a scene that foreshadows (and for us, recalls) Beren’s first vision of Lúthien, Thingol passes by Nan Elmoth, hears nightingales singing, and is entranced. He stumbles into the glade and is at once ensnared by the heart-stopping vision of the goddess with hair like midnight and eyes like the deep wells of time (BLT2 41). In this moment, he sees:
Melian standing beneath the stars, and a white mist was about her, but the Light of Aman was in her face. Thus began the love of Elwë Greymantle and Melian of Valinor. Hand in hand they stood silent in the woods, while the wheeling stars measured many years, and the young trees of Nan Elmoth grew tall and dark. Long his people sought for Elwë in vain. (WJ 7)
Those last two sentences are gross understatements. According to the Annals, Melian kept the unsuspecting Thingol enchanted for over two centuries (MR 89)! And it is an enchantment. Many of the more succinct versions of the meeting of the Maia and the elf lord, such as the one found in The Shaping of Middle-earth, notes that she enchanted him and immediately follows that with the news that they were married and became King and Queen of Doriath. Because of their brevity, they’re sometimes in danger of implying that Thingol had no choice in the matter—but, while Melian certainly has a lot of power over her king (as we’ll see later), the longer tales work diligently to dispel any uneasiness we might have in regards to the validity of their relationship.
Specifically, other versions point out that while enchantment was certainly and to some degree involved in the beginning, Melian and Thingol loved each other profoundly and each made tremendous sacrifices for their relationship. Thingol chooses not to relocate to Valinor with the majority of his people, and Melian, significantly, confines herself to an incarnate body (The Peoples of Middle-earth, hereafter PM, 365). It might be noted here that Thingol gets a great deal out of this exchange: because of his association with Melian he himself becomes something like a Maia in appearance; he is identified as nearly the most mighty of all the Elves, second only to Fëanor; and Doriath, his realm, is a stronghold impregnable to the might of Morgoth. The text “Of Thingol and Melian” says this: “Great power Melian lent to Thingol her spouse, who was himself great among the Eldar; […] he was not accounted among the Moriquendi, but with the Elves of Light, mighty upon Middle-earth” (MR 173). Both Thingol and Melian are regarded with awe and devotion by their people.
Otherwise, Melian’s role as Queen of Doriath often seems minor, primarily because she tends to remain silent, rarely sharing her profound wisdom and offering her counsel mostly to individuals and sometimes after the fact. But in fact, Melian’s power and wisdom upholds the kingdom from the very beginning—and not just through the famed “Girdle of Melian” that keeps all strangers and evil from entering their realm. It was Melian, in fact, who first counseled the building of Menegroth when the power of Morgoth began to grow (WJ 10), and she was its major architect and designer. The Elves and Dwarves commissioned to build the great hall worked “each with their own skills, [and] there wrought out the visions of Melian, images of the wonder and beauty of Valinor beyond the Sea” (WJ 11). And, much like Míriel beyond the Sea, “Melian and her maidens filled the halls with webs of many hues wherein could be read the deeds of the Valar, and many things that had befallen in Arda since its beginning, and shadows of things that were yet to be. That was the fairest dwelling of any king that hath ever been east of the Sea” (WJ 11).
This passage is significant because it points out an important aspect of Melian’s character that emerges time and again: she’s a prophetess or a seer, and often in her divine wisdom knows something of what is to come and counsels accordingly (though, like Cassandra, she’s often ignored, to the detriment of all).
Some time later Melian, using her power as Maia and kin of the Valar, establishes the Girdle of Melian, first to protect the kingdom against the ravages of Ungoliant (WJ 15), and then from the assaults of the servants of Morgoth in general—and later, to keep out those blasted Fëanorians. Out of love for the region of Sirion and reverence for Ulmo, Melian also expands the Girdle westward in order to preserve some of that land unsullied.
Not long after this, the Exiles arrive from Valinor. The Fëanorians are firmly excluded from passing through the mazes of Melian’s magic, but Galadriel is, significantly, welcomed in and becomes a close friend and confident of Melian. In fact, many of the things that mark Lothlórien as a last safe haven in the days of Sauron were likely inspired by Galadriel’s time in Doriath, including its likeness to the gardens of Lórien in Valinor. According to The War of the Jewels, “the pillars of Menegroth were hewn in the likeness of the beeches of Oromë, stock, bough, and leaf, and they were lit with lanterns of gold. The nightingales sang there as in the gardens of Lórien; and there were fountains of silver, and basins of marble, and floors of many-coloured stones” (11). Furthermore, Galadriel’s Lothlórien is protected by the power of the elf-queen’s Ring, much like Doriath is protected by the Girdle of Melian.
It’s through her relationship with Galadriel—we’re told there was “much love between them” (WJ 35)—that Melian first learns much of what happened in Valinor, though Galadriel refuses to speak of the Oath, the Kinslaying, or the treachery of Fëanor at Losgar. But Melian, being divine and also really smart, knows that something terrible has happened and she divines that it’s at least largely, if not entirely, the fault of the Fëanorians. So she goes to Thingol and tells him to beware. “‘The shadow of the wrath of the Gods lies upon them,’” she says; “‘and they have done evil, I perceive, both in Aman and to their own kin.’” Thingol brushes her off, pretty much telling her that it’s not his problem, and that at least they’ll be useful in the fight against the Enemy. Melian tries once more: “‘Their words and their counsels shall have two edges,’” she warns. And they never speak of it again (WJ 42).
Thingol and Melian, by SaMo-art
Melian doesn’t stop subtly working against the growing power of the Enemy, though. She consistently counsels Thingol against engaging with the Fëanorians after Beren enters the picture, and at one point encourages him to give up the Silmaril to Maedhros without a struggle (SM 220). She also becomes a powerful ally to the children of Húrin and Morwen, even going so far as attempting to intervene in the dark fate of the family (Unfinished Tales, hereafter UT, 79). She sends the young elf-woman Nellas to watch over Túrin’s childhood (UT 83), attempts to harbor Morwen and Nienor from the pursuing hate of Morgoth, and even counsels Túrin to remain in Doriath as long as possible. In an unforgettable scene, that young man snaps back at the wise counsel of the king and queen, arguing that he is fully capable of leaving Doriath and joining the fight against Morgoth. When Melian and Thingol demur, he brashly announces his capability: “‘Beren my kinsman did more.’” Melian (and I image she’s as calm and inscrutable as always) responds, leaving no doubt as to her meaning: “‘Beren,’” she agrees, “‘and Lúthien […]. Not so high is your destiny, I think’” (my emphasis). She then gives Túrin advice which he ignores, and finally tells him to remember her words, and to “‘fear both the heat and cold of [his] heart’” (UT 83).
It’s Melian who will later heal Húrin from the last remnants of Morgoth’s control. She also heals the wounded Beleg, who is attempting to provide protection and companionship to the volatile Túrin, and she sends Beleg back to the bitter exile with a remarkable gift: lembas, the waybread of the Elves. It is said that “in nothing did Melian show greater favour to Túrin than in this gift; for the Eldar had never before allowed Men to use this waybread, and seldom did so again” (PM 404). It was, according to the same text, the sole prerogative of “the queen, or the highest among the elven-women of any people, great or small,” to distribute lembas. This was because it came to them through the hand of Yavanna, the queen of the harvest (PM 404). One has to wonder if Galadriel knew of Melian’s gift and consciously mirrored it when she gave stores of lembas to the Fellowship.
Melian also apparently intervenes with the Valar on behalf of her daughter. Competing legends, Tolkien writes, are told of how exactly Lúthien made it to the Undying Lands to petition for Beren’s life. Some tales say that through a gift of power from her mother, Lúthien crosses the narrow ice at the far north of the world (SM 65). Others say that Melian, in her status as a minor goddess, summoned Thorondor himself and requested that he bring her daughter to the Halls of Mandos (SM 138). Either way, it’s partially through her influence that Lúthien is given an audience and that her request is ultimately granted. Although Melian supports her daughter’s decision to take on a mortal life, the final edict of Mandos nearly breaks her heart. The Grey Annals say that “Melian looked in [Lúthien’s] eyes and read the doom that was written there, and turned away: for she know that a parting beyond the end of the World had come between them, and no grief of loss hath been heavier than the grief of the heart of Melian Maia in that hour (unless only it were the grief of Elrond and Arwen)” (WJ 70-71).
When through treachery the Girdle of Melian is breached and Doriath falls, Melian endures yet more grief. Thingol is slain because of the Silmaril he wears, and Menegroth is broken. Melian the deathless escapes, and she joins Beren and Lúthien briefly in the Land of the Dead that Live—long enough to warn them of the Dwarvish army approaching hot off the sacking of Menegroth. Not long after, Melian “depart[s] to the land of the Gods beyond the western sea, to muse on her sorrows in the gardens whence she came” (SM 161).
What strikes me about the story of Melian is that she gives up the splendor, joy, and privilege of eternal life in Valinor to dwell in the middle-world, a world of shadows as well as light, out of a vast, unreasonable, powerful love. Thus does Melian the Maia, in her willing sacrifice, become the foremother of some of the most powerful, redeeming figures in Middle-earth’s long, scarred history. Her blood runs in the veins of Lúthien, Elwing, Elrond, Elros, Arwen, Elendil, and Aragorn.
I admire Melian for her strength and wisdom, but I also find myself drawn to her silences and her ability to know precisely when it is best to speak and when to listen and observe. And not only that—her ability to enjoy and appreciate even the shadows brought other joy and beauty to Middle-earth. The spiritual light of Aman shines in her face, and she’s accompanied by the birds that make songs in the darkness: an important metaphor in Tolkien for one’s ability to remain hopeful even in the most dire and desperate of circumstances.
Originally published in May 2019.
Megan N. Fontenot is a hopelessly infatuated Tolkien fan and scholar who is yet again very happy that this week’s star didn’t have a special character in her name. Catch her on Twitter @MeganNFontenot1 for scholarly and unscholarly news and other sometimes-tragic tales, and feel free to request a favorite character in the comments!
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| "Fëanor's Last Stand," by Jenny Dolfen |
Exploring the People of Middle-earth: Fëanor, Chief Artificer and Doomsman of the Noldor
Megan N. Fontenot
In this biweekly series, we’re exploring the evolution of both major and minor figures in Tolkien’s legendarium, tracing the transformations of these characters through drafts and early manuscripts through to the finished work. This week’s installment begins a short series on that most infamous of Noldorin Elves: Fëanor, father of seven sons and creator of the Silmarils.
Most great stories have characters around which the narrative itself orbits, anchored around their charisma, their compelling stories. We see this in history, as certain figures come to dominate the terrain and stand as giants, casting shadows in the stories we tell about the human journey. Something about the lives they lived—the quality that makes them larger than life, as we like to say—pulls disparate moments and events together, allowing us to see a cohesive narrative where one might not otherwise exist. Middle-earth has figures of this caliber, too: names like Lúthien, Túrin, Idril, and Frodo suggest to us not just individuals, but rather entire stories or movements in time.
Fëanor is perhaps the greatest of these figures.
Few have left such an enduring mark on the histories and legends of Middle-earth. And even from the beginning, Fëanor was destined to be such a figure: Tolkien called him the “chief artificer of the Elves,” a phrase which we’ll unpack more later, and which suggests his preeminent place among even the foremost of his people (Letters 148).
Indeed, none is said to have been the equal of Fëanor Curufinwë, unless it were Galadriel. The texts trace most of Fëanor’s great deeds, both good and ill, to the fire of his spirit and his burning desire, which mirrors that of Galadriel, to leave the world forever changed. In this, at least, he succeeded. In order to follow just how his influence transformed Tolkien’s understanding of the history of Middle-earth, I’d like to start by looking at the growth in complexity and foreshadowing in the accounts of Fëanor’s creation of the Silmarils.
Fëanor enters Tolkien’s early “Silmarillion” drafts as a renowned gem-smith, whose skill was unsurpassed in the devising of jewels. Originally, the Noldoli (as they were then called) created gems in an undisclosed process that depended on sea pearls gifted them by the Teleri (The Book of Lost Tales I, hereafter BLT1, 137). Thus, Fëanor’s crowning work, the Silmarils, were in Tolkien’s first conception, pearls bathed in the luminescence of the Tree Silpion (later Telperion), combined with a drop of that from Laurelin. According to that draft, only Fëanor could have accomplished such a feat of artistry, and this because “so great was the slender dexterity of [his] fingers” (BLT1 138). It’s unclear why this is the case, or why one would need “slender dexterity” to bathe pearls in liquid light. Regardless, at this stage the craft itself is relatively simple, complicated only by the unexplained assertion that Fëanor alone was capable of their making.
A later passage might help us understand this a bit more, though ultimately we won’t get any satisfying explanations. Tolkien writes of the light of the Two Trees that:
…not even the Gods could tame much to their uses, and had suffered it to gather in the great vat Kulullin to the great increase of its fountains, or in other bright basons [sic] and wide pools about their courts, for the health and glory of its radiance was very great. […] Those first makers of jewels, of whom Fëanor has the greatest fame, alone of the Eldar knew the secret of subtly taming golden light to their uses, and they dared to use their knowledge but very sparingly, and now is that perished with them out of the earth. (BLT1 202)
While it seems odd that the Eldar would be capable of works that even the Valar had failed at, this passage does elaborate on the idea that the manipulation of the Light required a special skill and power that only a very few had access to, Fëanor of course being the foremost of these.
As the drafts progress, and as he tells the story in different formats, Tolkien adds complexity to this original idea. The first real elaboration we’re given is in the earliest drafts of the Quenta Silmarillion. There it is said that:
Fëanor began on a time a long and marvellous labour, and all his power and all his subtle magic he called upon, for he purposed to make a thing more fair than any of the Eldar yet had made, that should last beyond the end of all. Three jewels he made, and named them Silmarils. A Living fire burned within them that was blended of the light of the Two Trees; of their own radiance they shone even in the dark; no mortal flesh impure could touch them, but was withered and was scorched. These jewels the Elves prized beyond all the works of their hands. (The Shaping of Middle-earth, hereafter SM, 106)
There’s quite a bit of unpacking we can do here. First of all, it’s important to point out here that by this time, the crafting of the Jewels has become “a long and marvellous labour” and no longer, apparently, involves bathing pearls in light. Rather, Fëanor needs both his inherent power and the “magic” of gem-craft he’s learned in order to accomplish his goal. Tolkien doesn’t offer an explanation for just what “subtle magic” means or entails. We know that later, he became skeptical of the term (see, for example, the confused response of the Elves of Lórien to the hobbits’ references to elf-magic, as well as Tolkien’s renowned essay “On Fairy-Stories”). But here, it appears that Tolkien took for granted the idea that this work went beyond simple smith-craft. It’s a task that requires something more—and this goes some way in explaining why Fëanor might have been the only one who could have made the Silmarils. It takes skill and dedication.
The other thing to notice is that in this simple description, hints of Fëanor’s arrogance and possessiveness have already entered. He specifically sets out to create something better than anything the other Elves have made. He wants them to last “beyond the end of all,” which implies that Fëanor resists, consciously or not, the limits of time and life put on the world by Ilúvatar. His creation will have no end—and not only that—it will outlast the end of all other things. The Jewels also come with their own prohibition: “no mortal flesh impure could touch them, but was withered and scorched.” Thus we are to understand that this light has been confined and hoarded in that it cannot be extended to those who are in darkness. We’ll see later that this description is a mirror image of one Fëanor uses to accuse the Valar, so it’s important that it appears here, so early in the textual life of the Silmarils. What we’re seeing here is a foreshadowing of what is to come: the prized Jewels are starting to reveal their shadow-side.
Later, Tolkien elaborated on the nature of the Silmarils and their making:
[N]ot until Sun passeth and the Moon falls shall it be known of what substance they were made. Like the crystal of diamonds it appeared and yet was more strong than adamant, so that no violence within the walls of this world could mar it or break it. Yet that crystal was to the Silmarils but as is the body to the Children of Iluvatar: the house of its inner fire, that is within it and yet in all parts of it, and is its life. […] Therefore even in the uttermost dark the Silmarils of their own radiance shone like the stars of Varda; and yet, as were they indeed living things, they rejoiced in light and received it, and gave it back in hues more lovely than before. (Morgoth’s Ring, hereafter MR, 94-95).
Tolkien introduces new and intriguing elements here. First and foremost, this passage impresses upon us the living quality of the Silmarils themselves. The Light within them is not a dead or insensible thing; rather, it is like the spirits of the Children of Ilúvatar. We should note this especially because later, the Oath of Fëanor itself will take up this living quality and will be spurred on by the lust that the Jewels inspire.
Furthermore, with this description Tolkien is setting up two central tenets of Fëanor’s character: his isolation and greed. Notice that Fëanor doesn’t tell a single soul how the Silmarils were made. As we saw in the last passage, he specifically takes up the task specifically because he wants to make a thing that’s better than everyone else’s things—so he holds the making of the Jewels like a secret recipe, telling no one how he accomplishes it, not even his beloved father. Now, this isn’t unusual for Fëanor. We read in The War of the Jewels that Fëanor was not only a craftsman: he was also an accomplished linguist. He devised the first writing system of the Eldar, and “is credited with founding the ‘Loremasters of the Tongues’” to carry out “linguistic lore and enquiry” (WJ 396). The text also informs us that he “probably knew more of [the language of the Valar] than any of the younger generations born in Aman,” but unfortunately, he “deliberately withheld his knowledge” out of bitterness and mistrust of the Valar (WJ 405). It’s times like this that I suspect one of the best words to describe Fëanor is actually “petty.”
I’ve said a bit about Fëanor and his personality defects in multiple other installments of this series, especially in those about his mother (Míriel) and his wife (Nerdanel), but I want to go back and reconstruct Fëanor’s life from his birth in Valinor to that fated day on which he commits the most heinous of betrayals and burns the ships at Losgar.
Fëanor was always talented and proud of it, but he wasn’t always one of the more important among the Noldor. Originally, Fëanor wasn’t related to any of the lords of the Noldor and “the other princes, Fingolfin, Finarfin, Fingon, Felagund, do not appear at all, in any form, or by any name” (BLT1 193). At one time, Fëanor was the only son of an elf by the name of Bruithwar (BLT1 160); later, in a draft labeled “Sketch of the Mythology,” Fëanor becomes the second son of Finn while Fingolfin is the eldest and Finnweg the youngest—and here they are full- rather than half-brothers (SM 15). Tolkien changed the birth-order almost immediately, however, making Fëanor the eldest. Appended to this draft is also a paragraph introducing the descendants of Finn, including for the first time a relatively complete section describing Fëanor’s seven sons (SM 16), who had only recently come into existence in a draft marked “Gilfanon’s Tale: The Travail of the Noldoli” (BLT1 271).
The shifts in Fëanor’s family unit are significant because they illustrate the growing complexity of the narrative in Tolkien’s mind. And that complexity, as we’ll see, is familial, political, and theological.
In time, Fëanor’s father becomes Finwë, and a close father-son bond develops. Fëanor “grew swiftly as if a secret fire were kindled within him, and he was tall and fair of face and masterful, and he became of all the Noldor the most subtle of heart and of mind, and the most skilled of hand” (MR 185). As he did so, “he became ever more like Finwë in statue and countenance” (MR 261): both were grey-eyed and had “raven-dark” hair (MR 272). When Míriel chooses to lay down her life after expending her spirit in giving life to Fëanor, Finwë and Fëanor bond over their grief, keeping watch by the side of her body’s shell. Unfortunately, this doesn’t last long: “During the time of his sorrow Finwë had little comfort from Fëanor. For a while he also had kept vigil by his mother’s body, but soon he became wholly absorbed again in his own works and devices” (The Peoples of Middle-earth, hereafter PM, 335). Again, we see Fëanor’s self-absorption and his tendency to isolate himself at work. In this case, it leaves his father lonely and without support or comfort. Despite this, the text still notes that “his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands: and who among sons, of Elves or Men, have held their fathers of greater worth?” (MR 295).
Fëanor’s relationship with his mother was complicated, as you might know if you’ve read about Míriel already:
Fëanor loved his mother dearly, though except in obstinacy their characters were widely different. He was not gentle. He was proud and hot-tempered, and opposition to his will he met not with the quiet steadfastness of his mother but with fierce resentment. He was restless in mind and body, though like Míriel he could become wholly absorbed in works of the finest skill of hand; but he left many things unfinished. Fëanáro was his mother-name, which Míriel gave him in recognition of his impetuous character (it meant ‘spirit of fire’). While she lived she did much with gentle counsel to soften and restrain him. Her death was a lasting grief to Fëanor, and both directly and by its further consequences a main cause of his later disastrous influence on the history of the Noldor. (PM 333)
Míriel’s recognition of the driving force of her son’s life (which we’ll talk about a bit later) reveals the extent to which she understood him and his motivations, but also knew exactly what would tempt him and draw him astray, likely because she experienced many of the same trials herself. We can see their similar temperaments in Míriel’s stubbornness in holding to her decision to not return to life with her husband and son.
When Finwë decides to remarry and the Valar hold counsel about whether or not this will be allowed, since Míriel isn’t technically dead, Fëanor is furious, despite the fact that “it is not recorded that he attended the Debate or paid heed to the reasons given for the judgement, or to its terms except in one point: that Míriel was condemned to remain for ever disincarnate, so that he could never again visit her or speak with her, unless he himself should die” (PM 335). Notice the phrasing of his reasoning. He doesn’t care that his mother suffered so much in life that to return to it would be past enduring. He doesn’t care that his father is bereaved, lonely, and has found in Indis consolation and, beyond all hope, the possibility of happiness. He doesn’t even try to understand the arguments of the Valar, or even of Míriel herself. All he cares about is that he can no longer have her.
Because of this, he “grudged the happiness of Finwë and Indis, and was unfriendly to their children, even before they were born” (PM 335). This is the birth of the division in the family of Finwë. Indeed, “many saw the effect of this breach in the house of Finwë, judging that if Finwë had endured his loss and had been content with the fathering of his mighty son, the courses of Fëanor would have been otherwise, and great sorrow and evil would have been prevented” (MR 263). Of course, this would have meant an unbearable loss in other ways, however, for “the children of Indis were great and glorious, and their children also; and if they had not lived, the history of the Eldar would have been the poorer” (MR 263). These divisions will become only clearer as the story progresses, especially as Fëanor accuses his half-brothers of treason and then abandons them at Losgar.
Fëanor’s relationship with his wife, Nerdanel, isn’t much better. At first he loves her for her mind and her inimitable craftsmanship, and even deigns to learn from her for a while (MR 274). They grow apart over the years, however, and by the time of Fëanor’s exile from the heart of Valinor, Nerdanel chooses to dwell with Indis rather than accompany her husband. She, like Míriel, softens Fëanor’s rough edges and counsels him in patience and gentleness while their relationship lasts. Eventually, though, Fëanor pushes even her away, rejecting her advice and going directly against her counsel (MR 274).
This sets up for us those people and things in Fëanor’s narrative that helped to shape his character. Ultimately, though, Fëanor directs his own life: he “was driven by the fire of his own heart only, and was eager and proud, working ever swiftly and alone, asking no aid and brooking no counsel” (MR 94). These faults only fester and darken as Fëanor continues, like Melkor before him, to go apart from others and work in the solitude and bitterness of his own heart and mind. In the installments that follow, we’ll look at his part in the rebellion of the Noldor, his infamous Oath, and the progress of the departure of the Noldor from Valinor. As we do so, we’ll see Fëanor’s character take on all the qualities and obsessions that are the particular temptation of the artist. Finally, we’ll see him choose the path of Melkor, who was once a creative craftsman himself, but who fell to ruin through pride and greed.
Megan N. Fontenot is a dedicated Tolkien scholar and fan who’s happy to have a way to share Tolkien with fellow fans even when the world seems to be falling to pieces. Catch her on Twitter @MeganNFontenot1 and feel free to request a favorite character while you’re there!
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- Bloggery committed by chris tower - 2004.02 - 10:10
- Days ago = 1734 days ago
- New note - On 1807.06, I ceased daily transmission of my Hey Mom feature after three years of daily conversations. I plan to continue Hey Mom posts at least twice per week but will continue to post the days since ("Days Ago") count on my blog each day. The blog entry numbering in the title has changed to reflect total Sense of Doubt posts since I began the blog on 0705.04, which include Hey Mom posts, Daily Bowie posts, and Sense of Doubt posts. Hey Mom posts will still be numbered sequentially. New Hey Mom posts will use the same format as all the other Hey Mom posts; all other posts will feature this format seen here.
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