#Tolkien Lecture

[sarahthecoat]

I know I saw somewhere on here a post about Neil Gaiman being selected to give a talk, the Tolkien Lecture, and it included a link to their youtube page where you can listen to the earlier talks. I can't find that post (thought I RB it but maybe not, or maybe it was really more than a week ago? time does fly at this time of the year) or I would append this link to it. BUT ANYWAY I just listened to Terri Windling's talk and it's great! and there are several more to catch up with before Neil's talk gets added to the list.

[thelien-art]

“Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.” “No!” said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. “You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!” Boromir smiled. “Which way did they go? Was Frodo there?” said Aragorn. But Boromir did not speak again.

J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers.

[chasing-daisies]

Some things I learned/we discussed in Tolkien class this week

Compare Black speech with other artificial languages such as Esperanto and those in 1984 and Finnigan's Wake

Both Black Speech and the language in 1984 and Finnigan's Wake are Agglutinative, the words stick together (an irl example is Japanese)

Originally all the rings had similar powers so the ring-wraiths were actually barrow wrights riding horses (each via a ring)

Black Speech and Finnigan's Wake language are both proliferating

So I asked about the Dwarves cuz of @thylocalbard and the idea was that while yes it was given to them by Aulë, the fact that it was given to them by their creator and we don't know enough about their language and how they have changed it means its less of a created language than Black Speech

Had an interesting discussion if Orcs are corrupted Elves or Druedain (Tolkien retcons do not help figuring this out)

Tune in next week for Mannish languages in Tolkien

[fistfuloflightning]

‘Beneath Amon Hen I heard his cry. There many foes he fought,  His cloven shield, his broken sword, they to the water brought.  His head so proud, his face so fair, his limbs they laid to rest,  And Rauros, golden Rauros-falls, bore him upon its breast. 

It was not the magic of the Galadhrim that kept the boat intact, but the maia who had slumbered for years uncounted.

[foreststarflaime]

Quickie opinions on the pissed off dragon from Beowulf?

Excellent personification (or monsterification, rather) of the dark side of Anglo-Saxon heroism and the cycle of violence.

Treasure seems to be a heavy visual link with glory for them (brag about it with their conquests, send it with their fallen kings into the sea). The dragon doesn’t use the gold, just like the hero-kings don’t when they’re dead and it’s buried with them. Then a thief steals just one little cup, but that’s enough to set off the bloody cycle of vengeance that others have to suffer for. But also the thief shouldn’t have done that in the first place. Also makes sense that Beowulf, a hero very within that system, is killed by it

Less academic opinions: classic dragon. Amazing. Goes down in a blaze of glory, as it should. Also inspired Smaug and so I owe it a life-debt for that

[martinbouquierauteur]

Mon univers est la fantasy... J'aime inventer des Mondes imaginaires...

[eri-pl]

So much Silm lore. So, so much. Must... not... explode...

PS: about 1:40 the guy says something like "the Valar making Valinor and closing it was similar to Feanor hiding the Silmarils and not giving them up" and I love it, because yes! Also, talks about the narrative frame (cough, Pengolodh). @dfwbwfbbwfbwf if you have time to spare (a lot of it) you may love this, I think.

[thenixkat]

imagine getting mad at someone for not agreeing with you when you make overly broad assumptions on what 'everyone knows' lmao.

"everyone knows that santa is red and white" well fuck everyone who's mental associations with santa are blue and white i guess

[finmoryo]

What would Maeglin’s name in quenya be? I know maeg would be maica, but I’m not sure about glîn. My best guess would be cenda. Maicacendo. Or something like that. Maicendo? Not sure.

[saeculifinem]

OP I love you but let me add another layer of silly onto this with context - Prince Justin's spell could only be broken by true love's kiss.

No, this isn't fanon, this is straight up canon (to both the book and the movie, I believe).

Sophie is this foreign prince's true love. But... I don't know if he's hers.

Rewatched the Howl's Moving Castle movie (fantastic animated movie, definitely inspired by more than an adaptation of the book) while doing something else and I was struck this time by the fact that the Prince (Turniphead the Scarecrow) says that he intends to go tell his king to call off the war, but THEN he intends on COMING BACK to Ingary to shoot his shot with Sophie again because (as he says to the flirtatious Witch of the Wastes) "hearts change".

And maybe he will come back to make Sophie an offer of marriage and then leave again when he's turned down, but I imagined for a moment that the Prince (who is possibly the movie's version of Prince Justin, so let's call him Justin) might just... move back into Howl's house without asking and stay there. There are several cases of precedent for this. Also, as Turniphead, he's shown several times helping Sophie with laundry, or playing with Markl, or helping the Witch of the Wastes move around, and Sophie deserves that kind of help around the house! Howl isn't going to reliably do chores.

And you know what? I think Howl would be into that shit. There's something very Wynne-Jonesian about it all still. It's tempting to write a post-canon fic about this situation from the movie with an extra dash of flavoring from the books. Like:

This is the infamous wizard Howl Pendragon/Jenkins, a vain draft-dodging flirt who likes to build moving castles to evade taxes too. The beautifully angry young woman with the silver hair over there is his wife, Sophie Hatter, who may or may not be an extremely powerful witch, but right now she's dusting and do not get in her way. This is Calcifer, the fire demon who used to have Howl's heart and is arguably his other life partner and also might be in love with Sophie, and this is arguably kind of actually his house. The old lady smoking a cigar over there is Howl's ex-girlfriend and former nemesis, the Witch of the Wastes, who now lives in their house. This is Markl, Howl's apprentice, kind of his kid, and there is no explanation of where he comes from or what happened to his parents. The dog used to be(?) the Royal Wizard's spy (Howl used to be her apprentice and potential successor) but now he also just lives here. And that's Prince Justin of Strangia, Sophie's house-boyfriend. Don't listen to the propaganda, he wasn't kidnapped by a heart-eating wizard; he used to be a cursed scarecrow and now he wants to be here to help Sophie do laundry. He's trying to homewreck and Howl thinks it's both funny and hot.

[capitainerowen]

LECTURES DE 2025 : Le seigneur des anneaux, tome 1 "La communauté de l'anneaux" - J.R.R. Tolkien

Lecture commencée le 2 avril 2025 et terminée le 12 avril 2025 (26/50)

Nombre de pages : 546 pages

Genre : Fantasy

Langue de lecture : Français

Note : 11/20

Et, en prenant la main de Frodon dans la sienne, il quitta la colline de Cerin Amroth, où il ne devait jamais revenir vivant.

Bonjour !

Aujourd'hui, je vous présente une nouvelle lecture que j'ai mis trop de temps à enfin lire : le premier tome du Seigneur des Anneaux, par J.R.R. Tolkien. J'ai la trilogie entière dans ma bibliothèque depuis près de 15 ans, parce que ma grand-mère m'a offert les tomes de mon oncle quand j'étais gosse, mais si j'étais content d'avoir de jolis livres, je n'étais pas plus intéressé que ça par l'histoire à l'époque, j'en avais jamais entendu parler. PUIS, tout le monde s'est mis à parler du Seigneur des Anneaux autour de moi, et je n'avais plus envie de lire l'histoire parce que j'en entendais trop parler.

Alors j'ai enfin décidé de sauter le pas il y a quelques temps et de l'ajouter à ma PAL, et j'ai donc lu le premier tome !

Résumé : Un anneau d'une puissance inégalable est réclamée par Sauron, le maître des ténèbres, qui veut conquérir le monde. Ainsi, pour protéger tout ce qui est bon et honnête, une petite troupe de bonnes âmes avec Frodon en tant que gardien de l'anneau, part sur les routes.

CW/TW : meurtre?, abandon animal, manipulation psychologique, agression, etc...

Bon.

Je dois vous avouer que je n'ai pas aimé le Seigneur des Anneaux... J'AI ESSAYÉ ! J'ai lu tout le livre ! Mais, malgré tout, ça ne l'a pas fait :/

Je crois que c'est parce que j'ai une vieille édition (elle date des années 80) et que la traduction est parfois molle, mais je me suis juste ennuyé...

Je n'ai pas ressenti le moindre intérêt pour les personnages. Très vite, je me suis rendu compte qu'ils étaient très similaires. Tous très bons, tous très honnêtes, tous pleins de bonnes volontés, avec une bonne ouïe et sans le moindre défaut... Et même si on ne prend que les personnages qui sont des Hobbits, bah ils sont tous les quatre franchement pas très doués, ils font très "demoiselles en détresse", et ils me rendent DINGUE à chanter en permanence !!

Puis, la narration est pas intéressante, pas très fun. Il y a ÉNORMÉMENT de descriptions pour des détails de peu d'intérêts (pardon mais je ne comprends toujours pas l'intérêt de ces pages ENTIÈRES de description de la ville de Brie à part pour me faire détester la ville de Brie), et les choses qui pourraient être intéressantes sont totalement occultées. J'ai été DÉPITÉ d'apprendre que Gimli et Legolas étaient devenus amis sans que j'en sois au courant, hors champ ?? Pourquoi je dois me farcir les descriptions géographiques de chaque bout de terre de cet univers, mais je ne peux pas développer de l'attachement pour les PROTAGONISTES de l'histoire ?? Pourquoi je peux pas m'attacher à eux ? Pourquoi je peux pas découvrir comment ils dépassent leurs conflits initiaux pour devenir proches et se respecter mutuellement ?

Et le truc, c'est que c'est sûrement arrivé, dans le livre, écrit, mais comme j'étais saoulé par toutes les descriptions, il y a eu TELLEMENT DE MOMENTS où j'ai juste cessé d'être concentré et j'ai plus fait gaffe à ce que je lisais que ça m'a sûrement échappé !! Il y a eu un moment où j'ai réussi à être concentré mais ça n'a pas duré un chapitre entier :/

Et... Et voilà quoi, j'ai pas accroché. Je reconnais qu'il y a de bonnes choses à ce livre, y'a des idées intéressantes, c'est pour ça que j'ai mis 11, mais c'est clairement pas pour moi :/ Alors j'ai pas passé un chouette moment.

Ceci étant dit, je lirai la suite. Pas par plaisir, parce que je l'ai déjà :') Alors voilà ! Ce sera pas de suite, mais bon !

En tout cas, je ne vais pas vous recommander ou non ce roman. C'est un classique ! Faites-vous-en votre propre idée ! Mais ce n'est pas un classique pour moi, c'est tout

[crocwork-clockodile]

Say, I like this lecturing to undergrads gig. Maybe I'll make a career out of it

[eri-pl]

More Signum University (BoLT). I love it.

How the lecturer speaks about how the Valar are in BoLT = how I see the Valar in general. I don't see them as this dumb, but yes, of course they do have "happy accidents", they can have character arcs, they are... they are blorbos. Basically, in BoLT the Valar are blorbos by design. <3 (But also, they are so dumb in BoLT) I mean, I can't see how I could read them differently, even in published Silm, and not assume from their behavior that it is an evil world... Maybe I'm just too chaotic, idk.

the lecturer said the word "type"! :D (yes, I have weird interests & reactions) (not, not as in "comic sans")

still didn't get to the "Melko on a tree" part :(

[ludmithjacques]

What's really funny is, as far as I'm aware, Bilbo literally never died. Even if they do declare him dead, he's frolicking around in Valinor, isn't he? He literally can just show up again, I think.

Bilbo was declared dead while he was away in the Hobbit (and had to do a bunch of paperwork to get declared alive again) but there’s no indication he was formally declared dead after leaving the Shire, even though most people assumed he had died.

Therefore I posit: having a missing person declared dead in the Shire requires the consent of their next of kin. Whoever Bilbo’s next of kin was at the time of the Hobbit (possibly Otho? I’m not sure) had him declared dead at the first opportunity but Frodo refused to ever do it.

Frodo had anxious hobbit bureaucrats knocking on his door every couple of years like ‘Mr Baggins… blease… it’s been 10 years… he was eleventy-one… can we fill out his death certificate yet’ and Frodo was like ‘absolutely not’.

Early on he genuinely couldn’t bring himself too but after a while it was more that he enjoyed irritating the local magistrate’s office than anything else.

[maaikeatthefullmoon]

Sososo jealous of anyone able to go to this. Wish I could afford to travel to it.

[sophiewritesworld]

ROLL FOR REDEMPTION - E.M.

SUMMARY: in which Eddie cuts you of his life, under his girlfriend’s influence, discarding mementos of your friendship. As you withdraw, becoming a shadow of yourself, Eddie feels trapped, clinging to a small reminder of you.

PAIRING: Eddie Munson x Female best friend

previous part - next part

TWO : The Weight of Absence

The library at Hawkins High smells like old paper and dust, a quiet sanctuary where the world’s noise can’t reach you. You’ve claimed a corner table near the back, hidden behind stacks of encyclopedias no one ever touches. It’s your fortress now, a place where you can bury yourself in books and pretend the ache in your chest isn’t growing sharper every day. Your backpack slumps against the chair, heavy with textbooks you don’t need but carry anyway, as if their weight can anchor you when everything else feels like it’s slipping away.

It’s been a month since that night at the quarry, since Eddie looked at you with those guilty eyes and chose Tara over you. The memory replays like a broken cassette tape, stuck on a loop you can’t eject—his voice, low and cracked, saying, I need to put her first. You haven’t spoken to him since, haven’t seen him except in fleeting glimpses in the hallways, his arm around Tara, his laughter muffled by the crowd. Each sighting is a fresh wound, a reminder that the boy who once knew every corner of your soul now treats you like a stranger.

You avoid the cafeteria, the parking lot, the arcade—anywhere you might run into the Hellfire Club or the rest of Corroded Coffin. Gareth, Jeff, and Dustin used to be your people, your fellow outcasts who’d joke about your terrible dice rolls or beg you to come to their gigs to “keep Eddie’s ego in check.” But now, their faces are landmines. You can’t look at them without seeing Eddie, without hearing the questions they’d ask: Where’ve you been? Why aren’t you at Hellfire? What’s up with you and Eddie? You can’t face their pity or their confusion, so you retreat, pulling away like a tide receding from the shore.

In class, you’ve taken to sitting in the front row, right by the door. You keep your head down, your notebook open, scribbling notes you barely process. The moment the bell rings, you’re out the door before anyone can stop you, your sneakers squeaking on the linoleum as you make a beeline for the library or your car. You’ve perfected the art of disappearing, of making yourself small despite your body’s insistence on taking up space. Your curves, once a source of hard-won pride, feel like a burden now, a reason Tara saw you as a threat. You tug your oversized sweaters tighter, hiding yourself, as if you could shrink into someone who doesn’t hurt this much.

Your grades are slipping, not because you don’t understand the material, but because your mind is a fog of grief. You stare at equations in math class, but all you see is Eddie’s handwriting on the margins of your old D&D notes, doodling dragons and skulls next to your character stats. You read The Great Gatsby for English, but the words blur into memories of Eddie reading Tolkien aloud to you, his voice dramatic and teasing as he narrated Bilbo’s adventures. Everything reminds you of him, and it’s suffocating.

Your friends—well, the ones who aren’t tied to Eddie—notice the change. Robin tries to corner you after history class, her eyes soft with worry. “Hey, you okay? You’ve been, like, a ghost lately.” You force a smile, mumble something about being busy, and slip away before she can press further. Steve, who you used to joke with at the video store, catches you in the parking lot one day, his hands on his hips like he’s about to lecture you. “You’re dodging everyone, you know that, right? What’s going on?” You shrug, your throat tight, and mutter an excuse about needing to study. You can’t tell them the truth—that losing Eddie feels like losing a limb, that you’re terrified if you open your mouth, all that’ll come out is a scream.

Hellfire Club used to be your refuge, the one place where you could be yourself, rolling dice and laughing until your sides hurt. You were the cleric, the group’s healer, always saving their asses when Eddie’s campaigns got too brutal. Now, the thought of walking into that drama room, seeing Eddie at the head of the table with his DM screen and his wild grin, makes your stomach churn. You stopped showing up, letting your character fade into the background of their story, just like you’re fading from their lives.

On the other side of Hawkins High, Eddie’s dodging questions like he’s dodging arrows in one of his campaigns. You don’t see it, but you hear whispers of it through the grapevine—classmates who pass by the Hellfire table at lunch, friends of friends who catch snippets of conversation. Dustin’s the first to ask, his voice loud and earnest during a Hellfire session. “Where’s she at, Eddie? She hasn’t been to a meeting in weeks. Is she okay?” Eddie freezes, his dice clattering to the table. “She’s fine,” he says, too quick, his eyes fixed on his notes. “Just busy, you know. Let’s move on—Gareth, what’s your next move?” The group exchanges glances, but they don’t push. They know Eddie well enough to see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers fidget with his rings when he’s uncomfortable.

At band practice, it’s the same story. Jeff strums a chord, then pauses, looking at Eddie as he tunes his guitar. “You talk to her lately? She’s not coming to the gig at the Hideout, is she?” Eddie’s strumming falters, a sour note ringing out. “Nah, man,” he says, his voice clipped. “She’s got stuff going on. Can we focus?” Gareth raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything, and the rehearsal stumbles on, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Tara’s always there now, perched on an amp during practice, her legs crossed, her eyes scanning Eddie like she’s making sure he doesn’t slip. She’s sweet to the band, all smiles and compliments, but there’s an edge to her, a possessiveness that lingers in the way she loops her arm through Eddie’s or leans into him when someone mentions your name. The band notices, but they don’t say it out loud. They miss you—the way you’d heckle Eddie from the crowd, the way you’d bring snacks and cheer louder than anyone—but they don’t know how to bridge the gap Eddie’s built.

You, meanwhile, are sinking deeper into yourself. You spend lunch periods in the library, your nose buried in a book you’re not reading, your Walkman blasting Joy Division so loud it drowns out your thoughts. The music is a poor substitute for Eddie’s voice, but it’s all you have. You avoid mirrors, avoid your own reflection in the library windows, because every time you catch a glimpse of yourself, you hear Tara’s unspoken accusation: You’re too much. You’re in the way. Your body, your laughter, your years with Eddie—it’s all too much for her, and now it feels like too much for you too.

One day, you’re in the front row of chemistry, scribbling nonsense in your notebook, when you hear his laugh from the hallway. It’s unmistakable, loud and unapologetic, the kind that used to make you smile no matter how bad your day was. Your pen freezes, and you strain to listen, catching Tara’s voice too, high and sharp. They’re close, probably by the lockers, and for a moment, you imagine running out there, grabbing his arm, and begging him to talk to you, to fix this. But the bell rings, and you’re out the door before anyone can stop you, your heart pounding as you duck into the library.

That night, you’re in your room, the lights off, the Polaroid of you and Eddie at the arcade pinned to your corkboard like a wound you can’t stop picking at. You’re curled up on your bed, your knees drawn to your chest, when the phone rings. Your heart leaps, but it’s not him. It’s Dustin, his voice hesitant. “Hey, um, we miss you at Hellfire. Eddie’s being weird about it, but… you okay?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “I’m fine,” you lie, your voice barely steady. “Just… busy.”

“Bullshit,” Dustin says, blunt as ever. “Something’s up. You and Eddie have a fight or something?”

“No,” you say too quickly. “It’s nothing like that. I just need… space.”

He sighs, and you can picture him pushing his cap back, frustrated. “Okay, but you know you can talk to me, right? We’re worried.”

“I know,” you whisper, and you hang up before the tears come. You don’t call back.

The next Corroded Coffin gig is at the Hideout, and you don’t go. You used to be their biggest fan, screaming lyrics from the front row, your voice hoarse by the end of the night. Now, you sit in your car in the school parking lot, the engine off, staring at the flyer someone left on the bulletin board. Corroded Coffin, Friday, 9 PM. You imagine Eddie on stage, his hair flying, his guitar screaming, Tara watching from the sidelines like she owns him. The thought makes you feel sick, so you drive home, the radio silent.

Eddie, meanwhile, feels the weight of your absence. He doesn’t admit it, not to Tara, not to the band, not even to himself. But it’s there in the way he scans the crowd at the Hideout, hoping to see your face, only to find Tara’s instead. It’s there in the way he fumbles lyrics he’s sung a hundred times, because you’re not there to mouth them back at him, your grin a beacon in the dim light. He tells himself he’s doing the right thing, that Tara’s worth it, that love means sacrifice. But every time he sees your empty chair at Hellfire, every time Dustin or Gareth brings you up, he feels a crack in his resolve, a whisper that he’s made a terrible mistake.

You don’t see any of this. You’re too busy hiding, shutting down, letting the silence consume you. Your world is smaller now, confined to library corners and front-row seats, to nights alone with music that can’t fill the hole Eddie left. You wonder if this is what it means to disappear, to become a ghost in your own life. And somewhere, deep down, you wonder if Eddie even notices you’re gone.

Taglist : @whisperingwillowxox @robinsbuckleys @iyskgd @hereforshmut @poshpinklace @kissmyacdc @nubedeoctubreval @hellhoundvv

(did I do this taglist thing correctly ?)