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Happy Caretaker day! Apologies for being rather inactive, as life happens and there are badgers and other whatsits to care for. Thought I'd pop in and celebrate for a moment, and show off JAO's tweet:

“Happy Caretaker Day! The annual celebration of Caretaker Day began when a few of the more devoted readers of the Imaginarium Geographica b

#caretaker day #chronicles of the imaginarium geographica #cotig #the gatherum #caretakerday #sorry for falling off the earth y'all they really need to put signs up on Terminus

teabooksandsweets

Sometimes I think about three young men, who met in a rainy night during WWI and travelled far, in very many ways, and were dearest friends for all times, and it certainly does make me very emotional. I mean… them!!!

arda-marred

‘And he died with the Dawn in his eyes’

On the eve of war, Tolkien encounters ‘Earendel’

Exeter College, Oxford, 1914.

Note: By the end of 1914, most of Tolkien’s Oxford friends and fellow TCBS members had enlisted. But as an orphan who had always struggled to stay out of poverty, and being by then engaged to his beloved Edith, Tolkien could not afford to abandon his studies, which were crucial to his future chances of an academic career. And so, despite immense pressure from his extended relations and intense societal scorn, he deferred his enlistment until after finishing his final exams the following summer.

“ Back before war broke out, at the end of the university term, Tolkien had borrowed from the college library Grein and Wülcker’s Bibliotek der angelsächsischen Poesie. This massive work was one of those monuments of German scholarship that had shaped the study of Old English, and it meant Tolkien had the core poetic corpus at hand throughout the long summer vacation. He waded through Crist, by the eighth-century Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf, but found it ‘a lamentable bore’, as he wrote later: ‘lamentable, because it is a matter for tears that a man (or men) with talent in word-spinning, who must have heard (or read) so much that is now lost, should spend their time composing such uninspired stuff.’ Boredom could have a paradoxical effect on Tolkien: it set his imagination roaming. Furthermore, the thought of stories lost beyond recall always tantalized him. In the midst of Cynewulf’s pious homily, he encountered the words ‘Eala Earendel! engla beorhtast / ofer middangeard monnum sended, ‘Hail Earendel, brightest of angels, above the middle-earth, sent unto men!’ The name Earendel (or Éarendel) struck him in an extraordinary way. Tolkien later expressed his own reaction […]: ‘ I felt a curious thrill, as if something had stirred in me, half wakened from sleep. There was something very remote and strange and beautiful behind those words, if I could grasp it, far beyond ancient English….I don’t think it any irreverence to say that it might derive its curiously moving quality from some older world.’ But whose name was Éarendel? The question sparked a lifelong answer.

Cynewulf’s lines were about an angelic messenger or herald of Christ. The dictionary suggested it meant ray of light, or the illumination of dawn. Tolkien felt that it must be a survival from before Anglo-Saxon, even from before Christianity. (Cognate names such as Aurvandil and Orendil in other ancient records bear this out. According to the rules of comparative philology, they probably descended from a single name before Germanic split into its offspring languages. But the literal and metaphorical meanings of this name are obscure.) Drawing on the dictionary definitions and Cynwulf’s reference to Éarendel as being above our world, Tolkien was inspired with the idea that Éarendel could be none other than the steersman of Venus, the planet that presages the dawn. At Phoenix Farm [his widowed aunt’s residence in Nottinghamshire], on 24 September 1914, he began, with startling éclat:

Éarendel sprang up from the Ocean’s cup In the gloom of the mid-world’s rim; From the door of Night as a ray of light Leapt over the twilight brim, And launching his bark like a silver spark From the golden-fading sand; Down the sunlit breath of Day’s fiery Death He sped from Westerland.

Tolkien embellished ‘The Voyage of Éarendel the Evening Star’ with a favourite phrase from Beowulf, Ofer ýpa ful, ‘over the cup of the ocean’, ‘over the ocean’s goblet’. A further characteristic of Éarendel may have been suggested to Tolkien by the similarity of his name to the Old English ēar ‘sea’: though his element is the sky, he is a mariner. But these were mere beginnings. He sketched out a character and a cosmology in forty-eight lines of verse that are by turn sublime, vivacious, and sombre. All the heavenly bodies are ships that sail daily through the gates at the East and the West. The action is simple: Éarendel launches his vessel from the sunset Westerland at the world’s rim, skitters past the stars sailing their fixed courses, and escapes the hunting Moon, but dies in the light of the rising Sun.

And Éarendel fled from that Shipman dread Beyond the dark earth’s pale. Back under the rim of the Ocean dim, And behind the world set sail; And he heard the mirth of the folk of earth And hearkened to their tears, As the world dropped back in a cloudy wrack On its journey down the years.

Then he glimmering passed to the starless vast As an isléd lamp at sea, And beyond the ken of mortal men Set his lonely errantry, Tracking the Sun in his galleon And voyaging the skies Till his splendor was shorn by the birth of Morn And he died with the Dawn in his eyes.

It is the kind of myth an ancient people might make to explain celestial phenomena. Tolkien gave the title in Old English too (Scipfæreld Earendeles Æfensteorran), as if the whole poem were a translation. He was imagining the story Cynewulf might have heard, as if a rival Anglo-Saxon poet had troubled to record it.

As he wrote, French and German armies clashed fiercely in the town of Albert, in the region named for the River Somme, which flows through it. But Éarendel’s is a solitary species of daring, driven by an unexplained desire. He is not (as in Cynewulf) monnum sended, ‘sent unto men’ as a messenger or herald; nor is he a warrior. If [this early version of] Éarendel embodies heroism at all, it is the maverick, elemental heroism of individuals such as Sir Ernest Shackleton, who that summer had sailed off on his voyage to traverse the Antarctic continent.

If the shadow of war touches Tolkien’s poem at all, it is in a very oblique way. Though he flies from the mundane world, he listens to its weeping, and while his ship speeds off on its own wayward course, the fixed stars take their appointed places on ‘the gathering tide of darkness’. It is impossible to say whether Tolkien meant this to equate in any way with his own situation at the time of writing; but it is interesting that, while he was under intense pressure to fight for King and Country, and while others were burnishing their martial couplets, he eulogized a ‘wandering spirit’ at odds with the majority course, a fugitive in a lonely pursuit of some elusive ideal.

What is this ideal? Disregarding the later development of his story, we know little more about the Éarendel of this poem than we do the stick figure stepping into space in Tolkien’s drawing The End of the World. Still less do we know what Éarendel is thinking, despite his evident daring, eccentricity, and uncontainable curiosity. We might almost conclude that this is truly ‘an endless quest’ not just without conclusion, but without purpose. If Tolkien had wanted to analyze the heart and mind of his mariner, he might have instead turned to the great Old English meditations on exile, The Wanderer and The Seafarer. Instead he turned to Romance, the quest’s native mode, in which motivation is either self-evident (love, ambition, greed) or supernatural. Éarendel’s motivation is both: after all, he is both a man and a celestial object. Supernaturally, this is an astronomy myth explaining planetary motions, but on a human scale it is also a paean to imagination. ‘His heart afire with bright desire’, Éarendel is like Francis Thompson (in Tolkien’s Stapeldon Society paper), filled with ‘a burning enthusiasm for the ethereally fair’. It is tempting to see analogies with Tolkien the writer bursting into creativity. The mariner’s quest is that of the Romantic individual who has ‘too much imagination’, who is not content with the Enlightenment project of examining the known world in ever greater detail. Éarendel overleaps all conventional barriers in a search for self-realization in the face of the natural sublime. In an unspoken religious sense, he seeks to see the face of God. ”

— John Garth, Tolkien and the Great War: The Threshold of Middle-earth

oldsolidbooks

John and Jack

cowabummercunt

charles, kicking magwich: vibe check

theforgottenbibliophile

***Recommendation of the Week***

"Here, There Be Dragons" by James A. Owen.

This is the first book in a wonderful fantasy series called The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica. It combines elements of established fantasy and literature with a rather interesting twist.

I first encountered it by total chance when I was in middle school and absolutely fell in love with the series. I've seen it categorized under 9-12 fiction, teen fiction, and adult fiction so it really is a versatile story for all ages, with each level of reader getting something different out of it.

It's one of my favourite books to recommend to people, especially since it seems to be rather unknown. Share the love!

memeuplift

teabooksandsweets

Rose Dyson ghostwrote this.

ftafp

Fun fact! According to folklorists, all myths, fairy tales and nursery rhymes that are about some dude named Jack are talking about the same guy

What this means is, that ever single one of the following

Jack Be Nimble (who jumped over burning candles for fun)

Jack the Giant Killer (who sold his cows for magic beans then robbed and killed a giant)

Stingy Jack (who tricked the devil so many times he was banned from both afterlives)

Jack of Jack and Jill (who splattered his head open falling down a hill)

Jack o’ Lantern (the headless horseman spirit of halloween)

Jack Frost (the spirit who heralds the end of autumn and the start of winter)

Are literally the same jackass who made so many bad life choices he ended up an immortal ice dullahan with a pumpkin serving as both his head and flashlight

biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist

but what an incredible journey he had getting there

disenfranchisedchads

He’s Ye Olde Florida Man

brunhiddensmusings

‘ye olde florida man’ is actually way closer then it has any right to be and that scares me

#there he goes again #jack #cotig

gayboymint

“The mariners had it wrong,” said Charles, “ ‘Here, There Be Dragons’ wasn’t a caution. It was a reassurance.”

bliss-delight-jr

bad cotig aesthetic

clockheartedcrocodile

The Caretakers of the Imaginarium Geographica

“It is the World, my boy,“ he said. “All the World, in ink and blood, vellum and parchment, leather and hide. It is the World, and it is yours to save or lose.”