Finding the Last Homely House
I'll pick many fights with Game of Thrones. But perhaps the one I have fewest supporters in is this: that there are no parties without disaster, no restful joy without hidden menace. George R.R. Martin is not alone here—I’ll charge N.K. Jemisin’s Inheritance trilogy with the same, along with all our current fantasy and sci-fi that heaps urgency upon urgency, battle upon battle. Trust, comfort, and community fall by the wayside.
I’ll pick many fights with Lord of the Rings too. In a world where dwarves and hobbits and elves can befriend one another, there is no humanity for the “swarthy men,” the Easterlings and Southrons. The dwarves are Jewish caricatures mashed into Norse mythology. Yet look at the havens. We know one does not simply walk into Mordor. It is a slog, a marathon, an unending march for Frodo and Sam. But along that slog, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry welcome the hobbits into their house on the Withywindle; Elrond’s Rivendell gives laughter, music, healing, a safe haven for planning, and space to reforge the broken sword Narsil; Galadriel offers urgently-needed rest, repair, and reorientation to the Fellowship in Lothlorien. When Gandalf cures Theoden, Edoras’s Golden Hall becomes once more a meadhall of parties, the living core of the community.
Much has been made of Tolkien’s industrial hellscapes. Mordor’s volcanic wasteland and Saruman’s repurposing of Isengard into the factory-esque, treeless Orthanc are the ultimate evil. Tolkien writes a different bleakness and depression into social decay, imbues a particular horror in the grim, pre-revitalization Edoras. In Minas Tirith under Denethor’s hopelessness. In the lost capital Osgiliath.
In contrast, the Shire centers around the Green Dragon Inn for drink and merriment. The Inn literally shines light out into the darkness. Bilbo strikes up a party for his hundred and eleventh birthday with dancing, fireworks and food. Minas Tirith begins to rebloom and repair itself even in the most dire of times, once it has a functioning community again. Eowyn can host fellowship in the Golden Hall despite knowing that the world (and the hall itself!) remains precarious, despite her own grim thoughts—she knows, too, that those inside are themselves, are united once more, and need celebration.
We read histories of resistance, resilience and rebellion without asking how individuals found endurance. We barely look at the political roles of French women’s salons, gathering people for intellectual debate and progress, support, and networks. We keep the relatively recent role of bathhouses and queer spaces relegated to a queer-specific dynamic, forgetting why Stonewall was important in the first place. We have written out most of the rest as the history of either women or POC, un(der)valuing the social labor that enabled events and creations we prioritize. It’s unquantifiable, difficult to trace, and gendered.
But again, imagine the Fellowship without Rivendell, the “Last Homely House.” Frodo would not have healed from the Ringwraith’s blade, physically or psychically, enough to go on. The Fellowship would have hit Moria unrested after prior encounters with Ringwraiths, worn down even further and squabbling more, low on energy, provisions, and weapons. No widely multi-species party would have formed; remove Gimli, Legolas, and Boromir from the Fellowship, or replace a neophyte-hobbits-and-one-wizard cadre with a platoon of detached elves. A battalion of Boromir’s men. Gandalf alone. What would Thorin’s overwhelmingly dwarvish group from The Hobbit have accomplished with the Ring?
Imagine Dumbledore’s Army without the Room of Requirement, the jokes and the dances and the hammocks. Or the Order of the Phoenix with neither Grimmauld Place nor the Burrow. Harry, Hermione and Ron’s camping trip is dreary and unsustainable—Ron gives up and goes home. And then, once he’s recuperated, returns.
This first week of Trump’s administration I’ve watched my friends as their energy and well-being has drained away. We try to act, but are bombarded by too much to respond to. The battle is already costing lives via the assault on people’s mental health. We feel depressed, stressed, alone and hopeless. The stress causes very real deterioration of our health—an effect we are increasingly coming to recognize in those populations oppressed by racism. The emotional distress eats up energy and leaves inertia and fatigue. We would be close to tapping out were there only an acceptable way to do so.
Don’t. Make the Last Homely House. Find a space: a dorm room, a frat, someone’s home, a local cafe. Invite friends over. Set this up now, to have it established as a resource before vitally necessary. Create trust, warmth, laughter, and a network of support. Establish distributions of emotional labor and connections between disparate groups. Celebrate and share. We might manage without these spaces. But most of us will accomplish far more and stay in the fight far longer if we can form Fellowships in our Rivendells.
