Dallas John Baker - Writing Back To Tolkien
Dallas John Baker - Writing Back To Tolkien
Dallas John Baker - Writing Back To Tolkien
They came to the top of the hill and looked down onto a small village. A group of thatched cottages hugged the
banks of a shallow river, their chimneys all working overtime sending white smoke up to mingle with a few
clouds scudding westward … Most of the cottages already had light in their windows. The distinct smell of home
cooking wafted up from the town, carried on a lazy breeze. As the breeze reached them, bringing with it a
bouquet of mouth-watering fragrances, Harriett gasped with joy. The sight and smell of the quaint little village
was like something from one of the books she loved so much.
“Do you think Frodo’s home?” she asked in all seriousness. (McPhee 2016a, 45)
Introduction
Without naming him, the excerpt above invokes Tolkien, not the person J. R. R. Tolkien but the works written by
him, what could be called his textual or discursive trace. The excerpt is also an explicit example of, and intertextual
jape referring to, the near ubiquitous influence of Tolkien on certain types of fantasy fiction. The excerpt is from
Waycaller, the first book of The Faeden Chronicles, a Young Adult epic fantasy trilogy that also includes Keysong
(McPhee 2016b) and Oracle (McPhee 2017). The Faeden Chronicles are the product of a “writing back” to
Tolkien, which will be described in detail later in this essay.
Fantasy novelist John Ronald Reuel Tolkien (1892–1973) is the opposite of forgotten. He is
internationally renowned, remembered by legions of readers, by a global scholarly community focused on his
work1 and by fans of the highly-successful film adaptations of The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001, 2002 & 2003)
and The Hobbit (2012, 2013 & 2014). Tolkien Studies is an established academic discipline, with informal
beginnings in 1969, with at least two dedicated peer-reviewed journals, The Journal of Tolkien Research and
Tolkien Studies, published since 2014 and 2004 respectively.2 It is also now possible to study for a degree in
Tolkien Studies at Signum University in the United States.3 Tolkien’s work has, indeed, inspired an entire genre
of fiction, referred to interchangeably as epic fantasy, High Fantasy or sword and sorcery (Fultz 2013). Those few
fantasy authors not inspired directly by Tolkien follow his lead indirectly by contributing to a tradition of epic
fantasy supported by intricate world building that includes invented languages (Stockwell 2006; Beckton 2015),
diverse cultures and a detailed fictional topography (often presented in map form).
The races Tolkien imagined for The Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit are drawn from European folklore,
though adapted and refined by him so that they are distinct. The characteristics these races display are now features
of those races as they appear in the fantasy fiction of numerous other authors. The clearest example of this is
Tolkien’s rendering of the race of Elves, who are now depicted in dozens of fantasy narratives just as Tolkien
imagined them – as tall, virtuous, beautiful, immortal and light-skinned.4 The fantasy fiction of Raymond E. Feist
(The Riftwar Saga, 1982-1986), Markus Heitz (The Dwarves series, 2009-2018), Terry Brooks (Shannara
sequence, 1977-2017) and R. A. Salvatore (Forgotten Realms, 1988-2004) all include depictions of fantasy races
that owe a debt to Tolkien. Tolkien’s creation of an elaborate and racially diverse fictional world is a model that
many fantasy authors following after him have used when populating their own imagined worlds. Take as
1 See The Tolkien Society, established 1969. Accessed 20th April 2017,
https://www.tolkiensociety.org/
2 See Tolkien Studies: An Annual Scholarly Review, Accessed 20th April 2017,
https://signumuniversity.org/departments/language-literature/tolkien-studies/
4 See ‘Elven Characteristics’, Tolkien Gateway, Accessed 20th April 2017,
http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/Elven_Characteristics
examples Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea series (1968-2001), David Eddings’ Belgariad (1982-1984), Terry
Pratchett’s Discworld series (1983-2015) and the Game of Thrones series (1996-2011) by George R. R. Martin.
(Even Martin’s middle initials invoke the ghost of Tolkien, whether intentionally or not.)
Given that Tolkien is internationally renowned and profoundly influential, why then is he a subject for a
chapter in a book on forgotten lives? This is because there is now more than one Tolkien. At the very least there
are four J. R. R. Tolkiens. There is the Tolkien of history, the actual person who lived and wrote and died. Then
there is the subject of the numerous biographies based on that actual person.5 There is the Tolkien as imagined by
the, perhaps millions, of people who have enjoyed his novels or the film adaptations. This Tolkien is perceived as
akin to Gandalf, a kind of wizard genius who created a world that many of his fans feel more at home in than the
real world.6 Finally, there is the Tolkien as constructed in the scholarly research about his writing.
It is this last Tolkien, perhaps the least broadly known, that I address here. This Tolkien emerges from
discussions and analysis of his many literary works, but mostly those set in the fictional world of Middle-Earth.
This Tolkien is a contested figure, precisely because he is a discursive figure, a figure that emerges from text. The
meanings of text or discourse are dependent on the subjective position of the reader (van Dijk 1997; Kress, Leite-
Garcia & van Leeuwen 1997; Klages 2006). Text is open to interpretation and changeable and often, if not always,
ambiguous (van Dijk 1997; Klages 2006). In other words, texts are always multi-modal (Kress, Leite-Garcia &
van Leeuwen 1997). The Tolkien who emerges from this textual haze is paradoxical – simultaneously sexist
(Roberts 2014) and an advocate for women’s power (Brennan-Croft & Donovan 2015), Christian (Agoy 2011)
and pagan (Hutton 2011) at the same time, and both conservative (Coulombe 2008)7 and radical (Shippey 2002).
The textual Tolkien is also overtly racist (Ibata 2003; Fimi 2009; Brackmann 2010; Sinex 2010) and not racist
(Chance 2001; Straubhaar 2003; Evans 2003; Rogers 2013).
Who, then, is the real Tolkien? This is a question that is impossible to answer of the discursive Tolkien.
The real Tolkien’s attitudes to gender and race appear to be complicated, ambiguous, dependent on environment
and place and are also likely to have changed over his lifetime. The discursive Tolkien, the Tolkien that can be
gleaned from his written works, is even more ambiguous and contradictory. For me, the inability to define a real
(textual) Tolkien is a good thing. A contested Tolkien provokes discussion and debate, and keeps questions of
gender and race in fantasy fiction on the agenda. Unfortunately, this contested Tolkien is obscured by the huge
success of his books and the film adaptations (Isaacs 1976; Rearick 2004). Some decades ago Neil Isaacs (1976,
1) had already noted that ‘The Lord of the Rings and the domain of Middle-earth are eminently suitable for faddism
and fannism, cultism and clubbism’ and that the popularity and cultish appeal of Tolkien’s works ‘acts as a
deterrent to critical activity’ (Isaacs 1976, 1). There is a danger that the Tolkien who survives in the public memory
will be the Tolkien as wizard genius, an uncomplicated and unproblematic figure whose Gandalf-like status makes
it difficult to get any popular attention for questions like: How are race, gender and sexuality represented in
Tolkien’s writing? Do Tolkien’s books privilege racist, sexist or homophobic interpretations? What happens when
the contested, problematic and ambiguous Tolkien is forgotten, or obscured by the celebrity of the Tolkien
imagined by fans? What can be done to address or intervene in any problematic representations of race, gender or
sexuality in Tolkien’s work? How might those interventions be disseminated beyond scholarly circles, to the
broader public? These are the questions I will engage with below.
5 See ‘Books about Tolkien’, The Tolkien Society, Accessed 20th April 2017,
https://www.tolkiensociety.org/author/books-about-tolkien/
6 See LOTR/Hobbit Cosplay, Accessed 20th April 2017, http://one-cosplay-to-rule-them-all.tumblr.com/ and Middle-Earth
political-context
Tolkien’s works are to be lauded because they depict a diversity of peoples, cultures and social practices (Chance
2001; Evans 2003; Rogers 2013). Some have gone so far as to claim that Tolkien’s works are examples of
multiculturalism (Chance 2001), while others suggest that it displays ambiguous racialism rather than racism
(Rearick 2004; Cramer 2006; Vink 2013), that is, the belief that separate races with distinct physical and
behavioural characteristics exist rather than the belief that one race (Caucasians) is superior to other races. These
competing arguments about race and the discursive Tolkien are well-represented by the following quotes:
… returning the Ring to its origin means refusal of power as domination by the One – by sameness, homogeneity
– and therefore acceptance of respect for difference and diversity” (Chance 2001, 33).
It is undeniable that darkness and the colour black are continually associated throughout Tolkien’s universe with
unredeemable evil, specifically Orcs and the Dark Lord Sauron. So unredeemable is this evil, in fact, that,
especially in encounters with the Orcs during the war’s action, it is dealt with by extermination. Contrariwise,
the Orcs’ mirror-selves, the Elves, are called “the noblest of the children of Eru” … and continuously described
as extremely fair. (Rearick 2004, 861)
A number of critics of Tolkien have suggested that his works are also sexist, specifically because women are
scarce in both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings and those female characters that are present reinforce female
gender norms and passivity (Roberts 2014, 476). Alternatively, some feminist critics have argued that Tolkien’s
writing depicts a number of powerful women who are not subject to men (Enright 2015; Rawls 2015). As Laura
Michel (2006, 56) writes about this debate:
For years, Tolkien has been criticized, attacked, explained, forgiven, and mainly misunderstood when it comes
to the matter of women. Criticism on this topic has ranged from mild attempts to excuse Tolkien’s point of view
to truly violent accusations of misogyny and chauvinism.
With each passing year, the pendulum swings one way or the other, either adding more fuel to the argument that
Tolkien’s works are racist and/or sexist or to the counter idea that Tolkien’s works are not sexist or racist at all.
All of this discussion is about the textual or discursive Tolkien rather than the actual person named J. R. R.
Tolkien. This perpetual debate evidences the heart of my argument – that the discursive Tolkien who emerges
from discussion of the books is shaped mostly by the reader. This means that the questions about race and gender
in Tolkien’s writing are not likely to ever be settled. Certain readings of Tolkien’s works are, however, privileged
over others.
The privileged readings of a text are the ones that are easier to make, that require less cognitive acrobatics
on the part of the reader for them to work, and to make meaning out of that text. A privileged reading is one that
can be made by non-scholarly readers without use of a critical framework to interpret or build meaning. They are
easy and seem “natural”. They are also the readings, or meanings, supported and reinforced by the dominant
groups and institutions in societies (Kress, Leite-Garcia & van Leeuwen 1997), which are almost universally
patriarchal and heteronormative. As Kress, Leite-Garcia & van Leeuwen (1997, 270) argue:
The meanings of the dominant will remain dominant for me, and it is they who shape, more than I can, the
representational resources of my community and thereby the means of my making of meaning. Cognitively,
psychically and affectively, I am in the position of making meanings through means of making meaning
developed by others – precisely those who dominate my world. (emphasis original)
The privileged reading of Tolkien is arguably one that places white skin as superior to black skin, men as superior
to women. I would add that the privileged reading of Tolkien constructs heterosexuality as presumed norm and
homosexuality or bisexuality as non-existent. This privileged reading makes it difficult to interpret any of the
beings of Middle-Earth as non-heterosexual or non-gender normative. The dominance of this privileged reading of
Tolkien is evidenced by the fact that Tolkien’s books are required reading for a number of racist and fascist
organisations, such as the youth wing of the British National Party.8 As David Ibata (2003) of the Chicago Tribune
has noted: ‘For years, Tolkien scholars have waged a fight on two fronts: against an academic establishment that
for the most part refused to take the author's work seriously, and against white supremacists who have tried to
claim the professor as one of their own’ (n.p.). The connection between Tolkien’s writing and extreme right wing
politics is made explicit by the following facts: the Heathen Front (a British organisation of right wing “volkists”)
admired him as “racialist”; at least one far right movement ran paramilitary youth groups called “camp Hobbits”,
and; there are strong links between the spiritual fathers of modern Italian fascism and Tolkien’s writing.9
8 See ‘Tolkien: Master of Middle Earth’, Our Race is our Nation, Accessed 20th April 2017,
http://library.flawlesslogic.com/tolkien.htm
9 See, ‘The use of Tolkien to defend fascism’, Compromise and Conceit, Accessed 20th April 2017,
https://faustusnotes.wordpress.com/2010/03/18/the-use-of-tolkien-to-defend-fascism/
Tolkien’s writing would not be used by these groups unless a racist interpretation of the works was
relatively easy. As one white nationalist, also anonymous, notes:
There is much with which nationalists can identify in J. R. R. Tolkien's writings: the nobility of ancient and self-
reliant peoples; the neighbourliness, comradeship and community spirit of The Shire, with its clean air and green
landscape; the heroic life or death struggle for a great cause, between the forces of light, freedom and racial
survival, against the conspiracy of corruption and tyranny. 10 (emphasis added)
None of this means that the actual Tolkien was racist and/or sexist. That may never be known for sure. It is
possible that the privileged racist and sexist readings of The Lord of the Rings and the other Tolkien works do not
reflect the author’s intended meaning. The most likely explanation about the real Tolkien, the actual person, is
that he unwittingly created a racist discourse in his earlier works and attempted to address and atone for that in
his later ones. For me, the ongoing debate about gender and race that the discursive Tolkien inspires shows that
the works are complex and nuanced. This does not diminish the fact that the discursive Tolkien evidently
privileges some unsavoury readings. Instead, it places the onus on Tolkien’s readers to actively intervene in, and
work against, these kinds of interpretations, in whatever way they can.
As the textual Tolkien emerges from subjective readings of text, from an engagement with, and reflection
on, his writing, it is worthwhile to outline my own history of reading and thinking about The Lord of the Rings
and The Hobbit. My reading of these works highlights (some of) the specific ways that the texts privilege
normative masculinist and heteronormative discourse and how that triggered my intention to work against that
discourse by “writing back” to Tolkien.
A wave of overwhelming pleasure rolled up his arm and spread through his entire body. Glittering silver light
surrounded them, blocking all view of the cemetery and enfolding them in utter silence. The pleasure mounted
as the glittering light increased. Jack closed his eyes to enjoy it and felt himself being forcefully pulled away,
hurtling through the silver light to another place.
This section of text is a subtle encouragement for readers to keep the notion of crossing (from page to mind, from
text to imagining) in mind, so that what they are about to read might communicate with what they have already
read (in this genre). It is a flag that their intertextual knowledge will enrich their experience, and that their
knowledge of the genre will deepen and change as they read.
The first book portal I crossed was J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit (1937), which transported me at the
age of eight to Middle Earth, right into the parlour of Bilbo Baggins. Once there, I didn’t want to come home –
mostly because the idea of second-breakfast appealed to me greatly, but also because I found that world so rich
and engaging. The world of my everyday existence was pale and uninteresting compared to Bilbo’s world, though
inarguably safer. After The Hobbit, I read The Lord of the Rings (1954), and then my own world seemed
exceedingly bland. It had no Gandalf or Lady Galadriel, only soapie stars and dull politicians. On the upside, my
everyday world had no Orcs or mountain trolls to threaten me in the dark hours of the night. Still, I would have
willingly forgone the safety of my run-of-the-mill existence for a little danger if it meant I could tramp in the
Misty Mountains or visit the enchanted woods of Lothlórien.
My love for the world that Tolkien created was an unquestioning one. That changed one autumn morning
in 1986, when I was eighteen. I remember it vividly. It was the kind of morning perfect for reading in a patch of
sunlight by a window, cool yet sunny with a clear sky. A Hobbity kind of day. I’d settled myself by just such a
window to finish re-reading The Lord of the Rings trilogy. I hadn’t picked up those books for many years and had
thrown myself into the re-reading with some excitement. When I finished The Return of the King (1955) later that
day I was left with an uneasy feeling.
By that point I had noticed the overt environmental messages of Tolkien’s work (Curry 1998; Dickerson
& Evans 2006; Campbell 2011). The ecological interpretations of Tolkien are, perhaps, the least contested. As
Kristine Larsen (2012, 84) argues:
At this late date there can be no serious Tolkien scholar who denies the environmental themes in Tolkien’s
legendarium. After countless essays and conference presentations on the topic, and an entire conference devoted
10 See ‘Tolkien: Master of Middle Earth’, Our Race is our Nation, Accessed 20th April 2017,
http://library.flawlesslogic.com/tolkien.htm
to it at the University of Vermont in 2011, saying that Tolkien was concerned about the environment is like
saying that The Lord of the Rings contained rings.
As a committed environmentalist myself I found the ecological elements of the books gratifying. But now, on this
re-reading, I could not help but notice other things that unsettled me. Unlike my earlier (childhood) readings of
Tolkien, this fresh reading brought to my attention the problematic representation of race and gender in Tolkien’s
work. All the good characters, the heroes and heroines, are white people, some of them are even described that
way – the White Lady Galadriel for example. The most noble of the races of Middle-Earth, the Elves, are all
white-skinned. Worse, all of the bad or evil characters are often described in language associated with non-white
people (Ibata 2003; Fimi 2009; Brackmann 2010; Sinex 2010). Tolkien himself described the Orcs, the principle
antagonists and evil-doers of his novels as:
…squat, broad, flat-nosed, sallow-skinned, with wide mouths and slant eyes; in fact degraded and repulsive
versions of the (to Europeans) least lovely Mongol-types (Carpenter & Tolkien 2012, letter 210, n.p.).
Furthermore, physical descriptions of evil humans indicate that they are dark-skinned, and possibly inspired by
middle-eastern or Oriental cultures (Luling 1995; Curry 2004; Sinex 2010). This excerpt, from The Two Towers
(Tolkien 2005, 660) when the fictional race the Haradrim first appear, illustrates this:
His scarlet robes were tattered, his corslet of overlapping brazen plates was rent and hewn, his black plaits of
hair braided with gold were drenched with blood. His brown hand still clutched the hilt of a broken sword.
Cementing this vision of the ‘wicked’ Haradrim as Orientals is this description from the character Smeagol or
Gollum:
‘Dark faces ... They are fierce. They have black eyes, and long black hair, and gold rings in their ears ... some
have red paint on their cheeks, and red cloaks; and their flags are red, and the tips of their spears; and they have
round shields, yellow and black with big spikes. Not nice; very cruel wicked Men they look. Almost as bad as
Orcs, and much bigger. Sméagol thinks they have come out of the South beyond the Great River’s end.’ (Tolkien
2005, 646)
The only exception to this white is good and dark is bad discourse is, of course, Saruman, the White Wizard, but
his presence in the novels does not lessen the sense that the books present white people as noble and black people
as degenerate and wicked. This is mainly because Saruman is not intrinsically evil. He starts out as good and is
turned evil by Sauron. In contrast, many of the dark-skinned races in The Lord of the Rings are constructed as
intrinsically evil, as beyond redemption (Rearick 2004).
None of the main characters in The Lord of the Rings are female. There are a number of positive female
secondary characters (Brennan-Croft & Donovan 2015), particularly, Arwen, Galadriel and Eowyn of Rohan, but
none of the members of the Fellowship of the Ring are women. Most glaring of all for me was the complete
absence of any non-heterosexual, non-gender-normative characters. Apart from one scene in which Eowyn
masquerades as male in order to join in the battle against Sauron, gender performance in The Lord of the Rings
and The Hobbit is starkly normative. Since the release of the films, some fans and commentators have questioned
whether or not Frodo Baggins’ relationship with Sam Gamgee can be read as having homosexual undertones.11
This is more a result of Elijah Wood’s portrayal of Frodo in the films than anything present in the books, in which
their relationship reads as a platonic friendship with Sam’s commitment to Frodo arising from his role as Frodo’s
servant rather than from (sublimated) romantic love.
11 See ‘Were Frodo and Sam Gay?’, Accessed 22nd April 2017,
https://www.quora.com/The-Lord-of-the-Rings-creative-franchise-Were-Frodo-and-Sam-gay, and ‘Relationship Between
Frodo and Sam’, Accessed 22nd April 2017, http://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/6497-relationship-between-frodo-and-sam
novels.12 More to the point, I wanted to create a fantasy world in which women and girls were central and people
of non-European backgrounds were represented fairly.
Resistance theory in post-colonial literature refutes the very notion that idea of representation also connotes
further subjugation. Resistance literature uses the language of empire to rebut its dominant ideologies. In other
words, the colonized nation is “writing back,” speaking either of the oppression and racism of the colonizers or
the inherent cultural “better-ness” of the indigenous people.
Feminist and queer writers characterise writing back as a rewriting, or appropriation and reframing, of dominant,
masculinist and/or heteronormative discourses (Hite 1989; Tiffin 2003; Baker 2010). Feminist and queer
rewritings of Shakespeare and fairy tales are clear examples of how rewriting can have both a creative and political
or social impact (Baker 2010). An example of both postcolonial and feminist writing back is the novel Wide
Sargasso Sea (1966), in which Jean Rhys writes back to Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre (1847). In it, Rhys addresses
the naturalised assumptions about Britain’s imperialistic enterprise in their many colonies that dominated thinking
in nineteenth and twentieth century Britain, and that went unchallenged in Jane Eyre. The inspiration for the novel
was the shock Rhys felt at Brontë's portrayal of the character Bertha Mason, Rochester's Creole wife, who was
imprisoned in the attic of Thornfield Hall for most of the novel (Raiskin 1999, 144). Rhys turned the story of
Brontë's “madwoman in the attic” into a full-length novel that was not only a significant re-writing of one of the
classics of Victorian fiction but also a narrative in which issues of race, gender and social and economic power
are contested.
In the context of The Lord of the Rings, my own writing back is an act against forgetting the complicated
and ambiguous (textual) Tolkien, an act that aims to produce (creative) discourse that adds to the discussion of
race and gender in Tolkien’s writing and in the genre and individual works inspired by him. The Faeden
Chronicles, a Tolkienesque fantasy trilogy thus includes all the things we expect of the genre (halflings, elves,
dragons, magic and so forth) but also not only features a diversity of race and gender but makes that diversity
central to the story.13
The Faeden Chronicles are, however, not a dramatic departure from Tolkienesque fantasy. Writing back
is not about creating something completely new or original (Hite 1989; Tiffin 2003; Baker 2012), but rather about
strategic appropriation and shifted emphasis (Hite 1989; Baker 2010). For me, writing back is also about
celebrating Tolkien-inspired fantasy whilst making it more inclusive and appealing to a more diverse range of
readers by contributing a counter voice to the marginalizing readings of High Fantasy.
The act of writing back need not completely abandon conventional genre traits or conventions to achieve
its ends (Hite 1989). In fact, the opposite – that is, the maintenance of conventional form and familiar characters
12 The Faeden Chronicles were situated in the Young Adult domain because young adult readers are at the forefront of
Hurley’s Worldbreaker Saga (2014-2017), Lynn Flewelling’s Tamir Triad (2001-2006) and Ashok Banker’s Ramayana series
(2003-2010), however there is little explicit, direct appropriation of Tolkien, in terms of the types of characters, races (esp.
halflings) and settings. For this “writing back” to work, The Faeden Chronicles needed to be identifiably Tolkienesque.
and settings – is more likely to produce results (Hite 1989; Baker 2010). Even the use of cliché, much derided in
fiction of any kind, has a role to play in writing back to genre (Baker 2010). When writing back to a dominant
discourse the use of clichés, such as ubiquitous character types (wizards, orphans), stock scenes (final battle) and
repeatedly used settings (idyllic village, mysterious forest), is a potent strategy. Indeed, Molly Hite (1989, 4) has
argued that clichés ‘tend to have unanticipated potency in relevant contexts, and certainly the notion of telling the
other side of the story in many ways describes the enterprise of feminist criticism’. Hite further suggests that
‘changes in emphasis and value can articulate the “other side” of a culturally mandated story, exposing the limits
it inscribes in the process of affirming a dominant ideology’ (1989, 4). In other words, the utilisation of familiar
characters, stereotypes as it were, in familiar settings, with familiar plot devices but with a shifted emphasis, a
revaluation, ‘can have a deconstructive potency that is beyond what one would anticipate for such a, seemingly,
simple undertaking’ (Baker 2010). The use of clichés is thus a powerful way to keep the ambiguous (textual)
Tolkien alive. The appropriation of Tolkienesque discourses, particularly those ubiquitous character types, fantasy
races, stock scenes and common settings, and the re-emphasis of same, promises some considerable
deconstructive and resistant potency.
Hite (1989) argues that this kind of rewriting – a mixture of appropriation, reframing and shifting
emphasis – is a more suitable method to the methods espoused by Postmodernism. She writes that though
experimental fictions by women share with Postmodernism certain ‘decentering and disseminating strategies’
these experimental narratives are arrived at ‘by an entirely different route, which involves emphasising
conventionally marginal characters and themes, in this way re-centering the value structure of the narrative’ (1989,
2). This different route ‘privileges a politics of representation which, under the influence of Postmodernism, has
been largely abandoned despite the fact that misrepresentation of marginal groups in discourse continues to be the
norm rather than the exception’ (Baker 2012, 156).
Thus, the rewritten Tolkienesque fantasy trilogy The Faeden Chronicles employs “decentering” and
reframing strategies that emphasise marginal characters and themes, specifically relating to representations of
race, gender and sexuality. It is the continued production and circulation of the clichés of the genre – but rewritten
to emphasise racial, gender and sexual diversity – that evokes an instability in the (masculinist and
heteronormative) narrative tradition. This discursive resistance is potent precisely because the most widely
disseminated norms – those that privilege masculinist and heteronormative discourse – are perceived as stable,
singular and true. When other discourses (other stories) are circulated a multiplicity, a plurality, arises that reveals
the fiction of the dominant normalizing and marginalizing narrative. The excerpt below, another from Waycaller
(McPhee 2016a, 304), demonstrates how a revaluing of standard fantasy characters, in this case elves, produces
different, more positive, messages about race, especially as it is constructed in this genre:
The horn blew again, closer now, and the doors opened. A dozen fearsome-looking elves strode out into the
courtyard, all with black skin and brilliant yellow eyes. All but one was armed with spears and wore breastplates
and helms of white metal over their long black dreadlocks, helms that took the shape of dragon-heads breathing
flame. Jack recognised them at once from the Battle of Bright ... These were members of the Elvish Guard. In
the centre of them paced a seemingly young man, unarmed and unarmoured, his eyes more gold than yellow and
his skin almost glowing, if the night sky could glow. Jack recognised him immediately. The ornate winged crown
of Elvinidd kept his black dreadlocks in place, which otherwise hung well below his waist. The man’s bearing
declared him as the elvish Sovereign more than any crown or blaring horns.
In this way, The Faeden Chronicles seek to disseminate different knowledges about gender and race, knowledges
that emphasize diversity, powerful women and positive depictions of non-white characters. In terms of negative
depictions of race, Tolkien describes the principle villain of his ring trilogy, the Dark Lord, thus: 'Sauron should
be thought of as very terrible. The form that he took was that of a man of more than human stature, but not gigantic'
(Carpenter & Tolkien 2012, letter 246, n.p.). In the novels themselves the character Smeagol (Gollum), who has
come face-to-face with Sauron, describes the Dark Lord with these words: 'Yes, he has only four [fingers] on the
Black Hand, but they are enough' (Tolkien 2005, 641). The character Isildur, who had also come face to face with
Sauron, says this: ‘The Ring misseth, maybe, the heat of Sauron’s hand, which was black and yet burned like fire’
(Tolkien 2005, 253). This strongly suggests that Sauron, the ultimate evil antagonist of the Lord of the Rings
trilogy, has dark skin. The film adaptations reinforce this, without showing any actual skin, by representing Sauron
as a large, black-armoured being. The messages about race these descriptions and images encourage are far from
balanced. In fact, they equate dark-skin with evil.
The following excerpt communicates quite different things about race and the notion of evil to those
evoked by The Lord of the Rings. This excerpt is the scene in which the main antagonist of The Faeden Chronicles
(McPhee 2016a, 64) is revealed:
Coming towards him from out of the darkness was a pale woman, beautiful and yet terrifying, with white hair in
long dreadlocks. Her eyes shone in the dark, a luminous emerald green. The nausea increased as Jack was struck
by an awful stench. His stomach heaved, but he held it down. The woman opened her mouth, parting lips that
were blackened and scarred, as if burned. Out of her ashen mouth came a burst of power that knocked Jack onto
the ground, spreadeagled on his back.
Whereas in Tolkien, and most High Fantasy, the antagonist is an evil male, dark of mind and often of complexion
(and just as often somehow effeminate), the antagonist of The Faeden Chronicles is fair – with pale skin, white
hair and green eyes. Based on and named after the Celtic goddess of war and death, Morrigan, she is also,
obviously, female. In order to decouple racial associations with the word “dark” when used to describe evil,
Morrigan is referred to interchangeably as the Dark Goddess and the Pale Mother.
There is a long history of discourse that constructs the female as evil or corrupt and the male as good and
incorruptible. Even so, the impression given by much fantasy fiction is that women can never be so powerful that
they pose a significant (global) threat. The ultimate evil in David Edding’s Belgariad series (Torak), J.K.
Rowling’s Harry Potter series (Lord Voldemort) and Stephen Donaldson’s The Chronicles of Thomas Covenant
series (Lord Foul), and dozens of others, are all male. In Tolkienesque fantasy the most powerful beings on both
sides are usually male. In The Lord of the Rings, the Dark Lord Sauron and his opponents, the wizards, are all
male. The Lady Galadriel, who does display temporal and magical power, is not present in the final battle with
Sauron and plays only a supporting role in the fight against him. I would suggest this is because her powers are
constructed as wholly feminine (protective and defensive, prophetic and personal) rather than the “masculine”
powers accorded to Gandalf and the wizards, that are offensive and destructive, potent and global. The Faeden
Chronicles addresses this by making the most powerful beings on both sides of the good/evil spectrum female.
Morrigan is the ultimate (and potent) evil who poses a global threat. In contrast, the head of the Druid Order, my
version of Tolkien’s brotherhood of wizards, is Kashashem, a black, elvish woman. There are also supporting
characters of both genders on both sides of the good/evil spectrum, making it clear that gender is not an obstacle
to power and does not determine whether a person is good or bad. Thus The Faeden Chronicles decouple good
and evil from race and present women as capable of ultimate power, and able to be as good or wicked as they
please, just like men.
Despite some fans questioning of Frodo and Sam’s sexuality, the works of Tolkien and other
Tolkienesque fantasy are almost completely devoid of non-heterosexual characters. The recent works of George
R.R. Martin are a notable exception, however these works, though influenced by Tolkien and in the epic fantasy
genre, could not reasonably be described as Tolkienesque. In many ways, Martin’s Game of Thrones series is a
refusal of many of the themes (and innocence) of Tolkien’s writing. In writing back to Tolkien, one of my goals
was to include characters who occupied the full spectrum of sexuality. The Faeden Chronicles includes
heterosexual, bisexual, gay and lesbian characters, whose sexuality is a significant part of their characterisation,
but who are not solely defined by it. One of the important secondary characters, Ellisenn, is an elvish bisexual
male. Another character, Tru, a Fennling (a kind of halfling) is gay and also effeminate, in a way that does not
trivialise or demean effeminacy.14 There is also a lesbian warrior queen (human) and a female bisexual druid (also
human). The Faeden Chronicles reflect contemporary questions about whether or not sexuality is inborn or a
choice, a question which I believe does not have a single answer, by including more than one pathway to sexual
orientation or behaviour for the characters. One of the human characters states that she has chosen to be bisexual.
On the other hand, the elves in The Faeden Chronicles experience a thing called ‘the twining’, which is a life-
long, magical bonding to a mate in which gender matters not at all. As the character Ellisenn explains:
“The twining is how elves experience attraction, love. For the elves, love comes just once in their long lives. We
do not choose who to love. The twining strikes us and we cannot fight it. When one elf twines with another the
bond is unbreakable. It is a magical bond, eternal.” (McPhee 2016b, 263-264)
Thus, the diversity of race, gender and sexuality in The Faeden Chronicles writes back to Tolkien in a way that
enriches the field of Tolkienesque fantasy and keeps the questions of how race, gender and sexuality are
represented in the genre, and in Tolkien’s writing, in discussion.
Conclusion
It is important that the Tolkien that survives in public memory is not one that silences discussion about gender,
sexuality and race. One potent way to work against this forgetting, to keep the ambiguous discursive Tolkien
alive, is to produce creative works that contribute to readers’ knowledge about race, gender and sexuality in
Tolkien’s writing and Tolkienesque literature. Using fiction to foreground the ways that gender, race and sexuality
are represented in Tolkienesque fantasy broadens the discussion beyond the scholarly domain, making such
discussions part of everyday culture for many readers. The Faeden Chronicles are one contribution to the
14For my scholarly work on effeminacy see Baker, D.J. (2017) ‘(Re)Scripting the Self: Creative Writing, Effeminacy and the
Art of Subjectivity’, Writing In Practice: The Journal Of Creative Writing Research, volume 3, n.p.,
https://www.nawe.co.uk/DB/current-wip-edition-2/articles/rescripting-the-self-creative-writing-effeminacy-2.html
broadening of this discussion. They also reframe epic fantasy worlds as places rich in diversity of race, gender
and sexuality.
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