The Realms of Tolkien
I asked him what he thought of Naomi Mitchison’s description of his work as “glorified science fiction.” He said he supposed it was valid, if she means that the pleasure of “wonder” is also produced by good science fiction, and that this pleasure must be one of the aims of the author.
He has an interest in, and an appreciation of, good science fiction. He was a close friend of the late C.S. Lewis, who also wrote science fiction. “There’s a terrible undergrowth of rubbish produced by it, of course; though not worse in its way than the awful stuff which is also produced under the labels Fairy-Tale or Fantasy.
“The relationship between science fiction and fantasy is difficult and topically important. At present, there’s a good deal of serious dissension among sf writers, especially in the Science Fiction Writers’ Association of America. Obviously many readers of sf are attracted to it because it performs the same operation as fantasy—it provides Recovery and Escape (I analyzed these in my ‘Essay on Fairy Stories’)—and wonder. But when they invoke the word ‘Science,’ and use an element of scientific knowledge (very variable, sometimes, in scope and accuracy) authors nowadays are more easily able to produce suspension of disbelief. The legendary laboratory ‘professor’ has replaced the wizard.”
Some writers and readers of sf are really primarily interested in the “science,” rather than the “wonder,” or the “Escape,” but it is made more vivid for them by stories which exhibit the working-out of what they believe to be scientific truths.
“It’s a very good medium for the imagination to work with, of course. But it’s been much misused by lesser writers, as if a lot of them will never come to terms with it.”
He says that the only “science,” or body of knowledge, with which he himself is professional acquainted is that of language. He uses this with special emphasis—“just as, for instance, a composer will make special use of horns, if he is specially interested in them. Nothing has given me more pleasure than the praise of those who like my books for my names, whether of English form, or Elvish, or other tongues.” To give each of the two separate Elvish tongues in the book individuality, yet similarity, meant much pain-staking labour.
“I had to posit a basic and phonetic structure of Primitive Elvish, and then to modify this by a series of changes (such as actually do occur in known languages) so that the two end results would each have a consistent structure and character, but be quite different. I have met very few (either in person or by letter) among the most intelligent who can distinguish between the two different Elvish languages, or see or feel that (say) the hymn to Elbereth is in an entirely different mode and prosody from that of Galadriel’s lament.”
It is when dealing with the question of language, he feels, that science fiction writers do not always work satisfactorily He spoke of the three distinctions of what he means by the word “Language.” The first is what people normally think of when they talk of “language”: what is used by people in talking, and by authors as a medium. Good writers of sf can write well, and therefore write good dialogue.
“But I think Language (2) is often neglected by them, that is to say, language as an invention, and as the most important single ingredient in human culture in general, or in any particular culture. They treat it comparatively poorly in descriptions of strange cultures, and the problems of communications between alien beings in different worlds (with which they are often faced) are apt to be perfunctorily and unconvincingly treated.”
Remembering the number of “translator machines,” “communication helmets,” and telepathic races to be encountered in sf, I heartily agree with him.
“I think,” he went on, “that some are interested in and know something about mechanical (computer) analyses of language, but few know anything about its phonetics, history, or process of change. Then there is Language (3), word and name-making as a minor art-form, which hardly anyone thinks of , and fewer practise. Few people have by talent or education the experience for this. They have little feeling for the sound texture and structure of their native language, and less for any others they happen to be acquainted with. They know little or nothing of the history of them, or of their visible symbols. In consequence, even if they thought it important, they would have no notion how to set about making a group of names, or supposed alien words that belong to (and feel and look like belonging to) a real language with a definite character of its own. When they invent names and words, these are apt to take on a quite childish level. The names are absolutely appalling in many cases, they simply don’t bother with them. They leave me totally unconvinced. But this is not peculiar to sf—it is quite as evident in fantasy. E.R. Eddison is a notable example, all the more because he was a great writer.”
