I’ve neglected the blog a bit- strange days- but I am pleased to announce the title for the sequel to Doomwalker: The Mourning Company!
As I all too slowly wrap up the work on the Doomwalker sequel (I have a name, but announcing that and commissioning a cover Are thing I want to hold off from until I put the last period into pixels), I get ideas. The present moment lends itself to it, as it’s weirdly stressful and does what weirdly stressful present moments do: lay bare human nature to the bone. This is actually a post about writing, by the way.
I am fascinated by how how people transform their perception of outright poisonous (and classical) vices into virtues. I used to think people did this because they lacked awareness of these particular flaws of theirs, as we do, but I’m starting to doubt that.
Recently Papa John gave a tour of his ridiculous massive mansion. I don’t particularly care of itself, it’s silly, I’ve been to Hearst Castle (medieval manuscript lampshades) and am hard to impress in this fashion. He has the house he wants, good for him. The reaction was what interested me.
Envy is monstrous. The depiction of it as changing people into raging destructive beasts is very accurate. Lots of those beasts were on display in regard to that house tour. Papa John- or Jeff Bezos, or any other rich person- is a human, maybe a jerk, maybe cruel, maybe callous, I don’t know, but as much a person as anyone else. To wish everything they have, and often built themselves, torn to the ground is vicious and self-degrading. We modern men and women of the first world live better than kings, all of us. Someone worse off than you could wish the same of you and actually might. Does that seem right to you?
To the envious in this, however, their jealousy seems to them a virtue. Demanding angrily that someone else surrender everything…to them…ah, it’s often presented as ‘to the less fortunate’ or ‘to others’…is something they see as noble. They decree what’s necessary or desirable to another like tinpot tyrants based on matters of taste- not that they aren’t as ridiculous as their target, given opportunity.
The most recent Star Wars brought to light that the same dynamic is in play with wrath. Rey doesn’t have many standout personality traits, but one of the few is a deep abiding anger. This is an interesting thing to explore in a hero, a tendency that requires one to resist to be a good person, but it’s not treated that way. Her rage is presented as one of her many virtues (she has no outright flaws by the movies’ logic; even her seeming naïveté is actually proven to be the right mindset in the story). You see this online, where ‘getting angry’ is trumpeted as the correct and best solution to problems. In some circles it’s more common than others but it bleeds over everywhere.
Wrath, like envy, turns you into a destructive beast. One thing that stands out about it as a sin is that the destruction you seek to bring is that it becomes the consuming focus, even if you state that you want to build something better on the ashes. It’s not a sober or calculating thing, though some people have that tone by merit of personality (less than think they do). Broken, doomed, obsessive Captain Ahab is the result of being consumed by wrath, not apocalyptic destruction followed by heaven on Earth.
Sin makes us small. They didn’t call them the Seven Deadly Sins for fun or fashion or even control. They make us less- while wallowing in them, mistaking them outright for virtues often enough! I didn’t understand this until recently. Besides being being spiritually or philosophically interesting, it’s also something I think makes for an interesting setting or character element that can be very compelling.
It’s certainly a simple but effective set up for character development. If you’re writing a dystopia, or just a setting or culture with glaring flaws, making envy or wrath or pride to be treated like virtues instead of the obvious sins they are is a useful start. It’s an insidious thing, more so because it doesn’t seem like it should be.
If you- like me- often come up with a good setting, plot, or characters but not always at the same time, this might be a way to figure out how to combine them. People and cultures and places do not exist in vacuums and the effects they have on one another, like this twisting of vice into virtue, has impacts large and small on all of them. Thinking about may help bridge a gap in a story you are writing in an interesting and perhaps even disturbing (but interestingly) way.
I’ve e watched this movie twice, which I don’t do often anymore, and I’ll probably watch it again soon. At the time of this writing, it is on Netflix. I should probably buy it.
What is The Death of Stalin about? The historical power struggle in the USSR after Stalin’s sudden death. It’s also a comedy. If you know anything about Communism in practice, this is perfect.
It’s a hilarious movie, dark witty comedy at its best. Everyone is some kind of terrible but it works. there are no heroes; there is a protagonist. I’ve known the gist of Soviet power struggles for some time and knowing makes the movie even better.
Considering the horrors being perpetrated on screen and in truth, how can this be a comedy? How could you portray these butchers (they all are, except perhaps Zhukov, depending on your definitions) in a funny way?
Because, while you may need to break a few eggs to make an omelette, communism breaks a lot of eggs and yet there’s still no omelette. The hallmark of these governments, especially the USSR, was/is still to present themselves as highly capable and competent but they were not. Witness the early scene in the movie where they discuss how they’ve killed all the good doctors. The USSR married, somehow, starry-eyed Utopianism, ambition, raw brutality, and massive incompetence to produce something so absurdly stupidly cruel it beggars belief.
The power struggle was a vicious cycle, reading rather biblically pretty much everywhere on the ladder: this bastard killed this bastard, who was killed by the next bastard, who was killed by the bastard after that…and caught in the middle of this like some sort endlessly expendable mass of McGuffins are the people of Eastern Europe. Except they weren’t set pieces, they were people. The movie portrays this very well in its bit parts, and the black sitcom at the concert, and the scenes of the NKVD arrests, and the final management of Stalin’s household, and the riot at the funeral. It’s clear where everyone stands. It’s clear why it’s horrible. It’s clear that the whole thing is absurd to the point of comedy.
The acting is magnificent. While mercifully no one attempts a Russian accent, the performances are perfect. Steve Buscemi as Nikita Kruschev portrays both fearful simpering lackey and ambitious ruthless schemer well, while not being much more competent than anyone else in my opinion. He did not fix the USSR’s slow motion collapse when he took over, or do anything to halt the decay of Russian culture that had been inflicted upon it by the USSR.
The most special thing is Jason Isaacs magnificent turn as Field Marshal Zhukov, by far the most heroic of the lot on screen and in history. Worthy of note is that he was never allowed to become one of the major players, as Zhukov was very much a Russian peasant in his goals and attitudes. The Party in his eyes was to be a servant of the people, though in truth it never was from its inception. I think it is not wrong to respect and admire Zhukov. A good man in a bad place, perhaps. That’s a sad thing. Maybe it mattered and kept some worse thing from happening.
The Death of Stalin can be found where you find movies. If you’re in the mood for some dark humor and a history lesson of a period and place too often ignored, give it a watch!
So I’ve been watching my fiancé play Fallout 76 and digging around in Fallout lore. This has led me to thinking about the ever-popular post-apocalyptic genre.
The premise is generally ‘the world after the End’. Pick your end. Nuclear war, plague, zombies, robot rebellion, purposely left vague…civilization has collapsed and the protagonist(s) must now survive. The Walking Dead, Book of Eli, The Matrix, Mad Max, and Fallout are all examples.
My issue is that the cataclysmic events are questionably apocalyptic. Traumatic and world-shattering, yes, but the world is still here. Humans are generally still there and are rebuilding, after one fashion or another.
Now, resources are scarce in these settings and the civilizations coming into power may not be pleasant, but it’s not utter chaos, though it may be close. A tribe is a culture and a method of human organization. I think that the nearest truly apocalyptic bits of fiction are ones where the world has utterly descended into a world of vicious raiders and cannibals, similar to the morbid The Road and the way it was heading in The Book of Eli.
The thing is, civilization has always been a mad desperate scramble. Rust never sleeps.
We now live in a world where roadside banditry is rare enough for occurrences to be shocking, but that is a rare thing in history. Time was that a good king was not necessarily a good man, but one strong enough to make sure the wilderness between villages was safe enough for ordinary travel.
Resources? We are in a worldwide economic crisis presently and I stood at the gas station trying to decide on which candy bar to buy out of dozens of options. It was always or often not so. And not long ago that it came to be that way.
As for health…death in childbirth is rare. Death from the infection from a small wound is rare. Viruses and bacteria that once ravaged the world are now footnotes in our minds of dirty and poor days gone by.
Through all this an genuinely horrifying plague and true famine, through wars that left nations scarred and generations decimated, we built what we have now, where even the least among is can live like relative kings in the kind of health and safety legions of personal guards and physicians couldn’t have granted to the lords of mighty empires in ages past.
So largely post-apocalyptic fiction is more ‘reset fiction’. It’s a thought experiment where creator’s imagine that human civilization has been suddenly thrown into its typical state: desperate, ragged, scavenging, savage, carving out cities and wonders bit by bit against all odds, and always fighting the encroaching rust. It’s a miracle we’re in the world we’re in, honestly.
Rust never sleeps.
This is such a beautiful book. Wonderful.
The beginning of the book follows immediately after The Two Towers. Pippin and Gandalf arrive in Minas Tirith, Rohan prepares to ride to war, and Aragorn meets The Grey Compant- the rangers and Elrond’s sons who have come to accompany him to the end, whatever it may hold.
It’s in this book where we see the biggest deviation from the movies. The book is not only better, it is smarter. This is obvious in two ways: the characters and the battles.
Denethor makes more sense and is far more interesting. Jackson tried to make him a cartoon villain, I guess, but he is a truly great, rightfully proud man in the book. Denethor’s story is tragic. He thought that he could withstand Sauron in a battle of wills, but he was horribly wrong. Sauron got into his head and slowly, steadily, crushed him, driving him into mad despair. As I pointed out last time, Sauron cannot be beaten by any conventional means and Denethor’s downfall makes that clear yet again.
The whole story of Denethor and Faramir is better done. It’s an interesting juxtaposition, by the way, of Christian and pagan reactions to oncoming defeat. Denethor’s reaction is Roman; he will die on his own terms, taking down all he built with him, before he loses to his enemy. For him, hope is utterly dead. He acts in pride, striving to keep control of his fate to the very end. This was wrong; hope is not dead, but a glimmering star in the depths of night. Denethor’s twisted pride is what is mean by the sin of pride and it ends in lunacy and agony and a betrayal of what he seeks to preserve.
The Gray Company is absolutely epic, another missed movie opportunity. Everything with the Paths of the Dead is, but come on. The line of grim, rugged rangers, decorated only with a star on their cloaks, riding beneath that beautiful banner…We see the Passing of the Gray Company through Gimli’s eyes, mostly, and it’s an eerie, almost dreamlike experience, full of both fear and courage.
The Dead are much more interesting in the book, too, and scarier. They seem to kill with fear, in fact, which turns one of Sauron’s greatest weapons back on him.
Eowyn! I understand Eowyn. I was Eowyn once, though none of the men I fell for compared remotely to Aragorn. I get how she is, what she wanted…and what she grew into. I hate when people accuse Tolkien of misogyny; most assuredly not! Eowyn turns away from a life of war, but she was not wrong to pursue it. She’s a great hero in her own right before any romance. She pursued glory, but I think she knew rightly why those actions are glorious. Her despair is a familiar thing (the lines said about that by Wormtongue in the movie are said by Gandalf in the book, which gives them a very different tone). Eowyn in the books has a depth I think many miss. Their lives have never been that. This deserves an essay when my brain is working properly (‘social isolating’ has done something to it).
I wonder how Tolkien knew. His world worked differently than ours.
Aragorn, of course, is incredible. I do not know if men like this walk the earth anymore, though I think they did. I think men who could be this might be about, but we are all made in part by the times we live in. Aragorn tells a joke to Merry and Pippin by the way.
Also, Aragorn’s crowning plays out very differently, in that it is told comedically. Not the ceremony itself, which is properly dignified. But we get it with asides from Ioreth, healer-woman and citizen of Minas Tirith and town chatterbox. It’s hilarious and so deeply human. Tolkien is both making fun of this kind of woman and expressing affection for her, as he did with the hobbits of the Shire. I love this scene for this lively and fun approach.
The battles and plot in general make more sense in the book than the movie. I really recommend this multi-part analysis that covers both book and movie versions of the Siege of Gondor. The changes make some of the things said in the movie not make any sense. The seizure of the Black Ships and the point of it is much better. The march to the Black Gate is also awesome.
The best part of the book is Sam and Frodo. They are coming to the end, trekking through the hellish land of Mordor. There’s a physicality to the journey. The land is harsh, water is scarce, there is little food, and the enemy is ever-present. There is nothing for it but to keep going.
And the end! All this time, you’ve known Frodo was struggling. There had been hints of Gollum’s mad lust for the Ring. But he had come all this way, utterly committed to destroying the Ring.
And he gives in. You feel Sam’s shock and despair with him when it happens, even when you know it’s coming.
He does in fact turn invisible, but the struggle between him and Gollum plays out very quickly, sans prolonged stupid invisible wrestling. Also, no dramatic over-the-cliff scene. Hollywood, man.
Well, I call it the end, but it isn’t. The falling action is all about the beautiful rise of the Fourth Age and was a wonderful thing to read on Good Friday, as I did. Ah! To march home through blooming Ithilien with the victorious army or to walk the streets of Minas Tirith in those days.
Of course, we then get the Scouring of the Shire. It’s an intensely interesting part and it really is a shame it didn’t make it into the movie. I understand why because of cinematic and time limits, but I also suspect other reasons.
The system that Saruman implements in the Shire is, I am not kidding, communism. He has officers who come out and collect ‘excess’ food, there are a ton of rules enforced by a police state, and any violation gets you thrown in jail. It’s the USSR. I don’t know how I’ve missed this in my previous re-readings.
The Scouring teaches that, while saved, the world is still broken. It gives us a chance to see the lordly nature Frodo has gained and allows us to see the hobbits as epic heroes in their own right. It also shows us what good, honest people can do if they choose true heroism over fear, even if they are small and comfortable people by nature. It teaches many other things besides. Another essay to write.
Saruman’s end interests me, as well. Saruman is an angelic being and he was originally one of the truly great. He was a force for good and is deeply ancient. He ends by spitefully ruining the Shire, petty yet terrible, incapable of standing before the might of hobbits, and dies by the hand of the man he has abused into inhumanity. It’s a pathetic end for a once-great being, a running theme for Tolkien’s works.
Of all the famous people I’d wish to meet, I really wish I could have met Tolkien. I like how he thought- this is not something one can say of great authors- and he seems to have been a genuinely likeable person who enjoyed life and pursued truth. It’s Tolkien who provided the way forward from the charnel house of the twentieth century. If you think his books shy away from that kind of horror, you need to pull your head out of the arrogant, delusional, postmodernist hole you’ve decided to stick it in.
The Lord of the Rings earns its place as a classic. I think Tolkien managed to pull off one of his goals and created an epic for our time. As derivative of it as modern fantasy is (*raises hand*), it is better in the way Casa Blanca is better than all the derivations of it. I know it’s intimidatingly large and the writing can seem hard to read in some spots, but it is well worth taking the time to read or re-read.
Having bees invade one’s home is apparently one of the unifying experiences of the modern middle American adult.
Thanks to Google and the end of spring, this is my sole comment on Earth day.
If you haven’t reread The Two Towers, it is a surprisingly quick read. It is more strangely paced than Fellowship, but that’s because of the core concept of the trilogy: true victory is not possible why the Ring exists.
The Rohan/Fangorn portion is where we start and it moves quickly, but sensibly, I think. There’s a lot modern about Lord of the Rings’ story structure, which makes sense, as all modern (or at least prior to contemporary, which has been infected by D&D structures, such as they are) fantasy stories have their roots in it.
The gist of the first part of The Two Towers flows as you remember it. It flows more sensibly, though, than the movies, and of all the books I think this one has the biggest contrast with the Jackson movies, but it’s the important details that are different.
Aragorn is showcased here and you really start to get him more, though his point of view is not as present as Gimli’s. Why Aragorn is the king and why he commands such intense loyalty becomes clear. He’s very driven, but very human, and really just wonderful. Again, self-doubt doesn’t enter into it. He crossed that bridge decades ago.
Rumor has it that Treebeard is based on C.S. Lewis, or at least owes a lot to him. The man had a big personality, apparently, and Tolkien interacted with him a lot during the writing of the trilogy. Lewis was a tall man with a booming voice and he was, I gather, loquacious. If Treebeard is a general portrait of Lewis, it’s a much kinder portrait than he gave of himself in his own works. That portrait can be found in That Hideous strength, I think, in the form of Mark Studdock, who is deeply flawed.
(That Hideous Strength is a good read and anyone who complains about its grotesque ending is, well, as the saying goes “Throw a rock into a pack of dogs, and the one that yelps the loudest is the one that got hit.” Lewis knew well the thinking and society he skewered in that book, as he used to be a part of it. It deserves what it gets in the story. Alternatively, the complainers are snobs, but they’re less vocal or common in this case.)
I enjoyed the Fangorn scenes. Of all the things that didn’t make it on screen, I don’t understand why Treebeard’s house didn’t. It’s clever and wondrous, a fairy tale set but with more dignity than we often assign such things these days.
Let me tell you, a girl could fall in love with Shadowfax. That horse…he takes back to my horse-crazy days. If you want to understand why horse people go nuts for horses, read closely the descriptions of Shadowfax.
Eomer is much better in the books than the movies. The movies just really did him a disservice in terms of the importance of his role (he and Aragorn develop a war buddy relationship) and character. Eomer would never have talked to his sister like he does in the movies.
Helm’s Deep plays out much like it does in the movie, actually, but how they get there and what’s going on are different and make more sense. The refugees huddled in the Glittering Caves (another mysteriously missing movie environment) are the bulk of Rohan’s people, but Edoras and Eowyn do not evacuate to Helm’s Deep; they’re set up in Dunharrow, which is closer.
Our heroes arrive in the middle, even the end, of the war with Isengard and Rohan, not the beginning. Rohan is already on the back foot largely because Theoden is brainwashed, depressed, and enchanted- all the same thing here- into not caring. Eomer is not exiled but rides with the king and the three hunters to Helm’s Deep and fights in the battle there. The riders who show up with Gandalf to turn the tide are actually the forces of the lord of Helm’s Deep, who had taken his army to fight Isengard and evacuated the people to the fortress. They’d been scattered following their defeat.
The explosion at the weak point of the wall, the mud, the darkness, the counterstrike against the ram at the main gate, all that happens, though not so comic-booky as the movie. The elves do not show up and it makes sense why they wouldn’t. Lothlorien and Mirkwood are facing their own battles and are essentially under siege. I’m not sure why Jackson did this; something sort of similar happens later, with The Grey Company sent by Elrond, but that’s in the next book.
For Sam and Frodo, a lot happens. Sam and Frodo’s story does an excellent job of depicting where they are and the feel of it, all while still moving. It is generally stranger and has more (usually bad) magic in it than the first half of the book, Ents notwithstanding.
Ithilien is an interesting environment and plot point. The Window to the West is yet again another movie environment that is not featured that should have been.
Faramir was shortchanged in the movies, though not as badly as Eomer and the extended edition makes it better. He’s got some of the best lines in the series and hardly any of them are in the movies.
Shelob is terrifying. I have fought many giant spiders in video games and Shelob in these books is worse than all of them.
Side note, I consider it a sign of modern decay that sexy Shelob (that article and site is very silly, but they have some good points in this case; some, many are still nuts) is a licensed thing that exists. “We wanted to explore this character”. The problem is, Shelob’s character is gross animal appetite. That’s it, that’s all there is. The reason Gollum takes the hobbits there is so he can get the Ring which she won’t take because she does not care about that sort of thing or any kind of power play. She cares about food. Those games are so ridiculous…
What’s interesting and often missing in any depiction or discussion is Sam’s beautiful Gethsemane moment when he takes the ring. Frodo didn’t have one in the same way, partly because the real meaning of the Ring and the horror of carrying it was not obvious. It isn’t that Frodo didn’t know it was dangerous and going to be hard, but he didn’t know the degree, not in a real sense. Sam does because Sam has seen what the Ring has done to Gollum and Frodo now. It’s already been a hellish journey, and now he must choose to carry the torturous Ring. It’s such an amazing scene. Sam has always been wonderful before this, but from this point forward he really shines.
Sauron is often dismissed as too simplistic, blah blah blah. Part of this is because evil ultimately isn’t complex, in fact, and Sauron has been evil for a very very very long time, but it also comes from…well, the movies. Sauron is scary in the books. Frodo’s dialogue in the movies, about how he is “naked in the dark. There’s nothing–no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I can see him with my waking eyes”, is the only point where the real terror of Sauron comes through. He is stronger than every one of the heroes by vast orders of magnitude, more clever, with more resources. He conquers and tempts and his most used and perhaps most effective power is a supernatural despair. Saruman is a joke by comparison. Sauron is the being who laid low the great and holy kingdom of Numenor, tricked it into turning itself into a horrible pile of filth so horrible that it must be washed away by God Himself. There is none upon Middle Earth who can hope to overcome him by force or cunning.
It’s only by playing to Sauron’s greatest psychological blind spot, his failure to understand the willingness to surrender power, that there is any hope for victory.
Well, that’s my thoughts on the Two Towers. Next up, The Return of the King.
I reread Lord of the Rings every few years, partly out of delight and partly to gain greater familiarity with the text. After Fellowship, events get blurry, not helped by the movies. There is no time like the present, particularly this one, to start my third reread.
I just wrapped up Fellowship of the Ring. It is the easiest one to follow, as the narrative does not jump much between sections.
Fellowship is extremely well-paced and those who bemoan how it contains so much walking probably haven’t read it since they were young and knew everything. The first part of the journey proper, the flight to Bree, is an adventure in the mode of The Hobbit and is so delightful that I can’t be angry or bogged down by it. I get why people are mad the movies skipped it.
Important plot and world-building things happen here, too. It becomes clear what the size, history , and peril of the world actually are, making the Shire all the more precious. Pippin and Merry get their swords, with their great heritage, which for Merry in particular are vital for future great deeds. The nature of the Ring is made clearer and clearer. The true terror of the Ringwraiths is showcased and we also get our first feel for the elves.
The Council of Elrond gets a bad rap, too, and I admit to deciding to go to bed at a break in it. It’s interesting though, and not as draggy as the jokes go. There needs to be a discussion of what to do with the Ring and everyone needs to know what the current circumstances are and all the options on the table.
Tolkien leaves no stone unturned. You, move-watcher ask, why the eagles did not fly the Ring to Mordor but it’s made clear in Gandalf’s tale of escape that the eagles are entities with their own motives and they would not do that. Why didn’t they give Tom Bombadil the Ring for safekeeping? Addressed. Tolkien’s loose ends are few.
As far as writing goes, one thing that’s clear is that Tolkien breaks all the rules. Fellowship is largely written in third-person omnipotent. He jumps into people’s heads all the time. The whole front half of the book meanders and there’s parts of the book where the characters are just sort of observing. It works, thanks to his skill and care and plot structure. The Lord of the Rings books are real art, neither calculated entertainment nor amateur dabbling. (I think, today, they’d be dismissed as the latter by the publishing powers that be; they like more calculation, you see).
With two rereads under my belt and working on a third, I can tell you that the movies are wonderful but deeply flawed. Perhaps, as the late great Christopher Tolkien held, they cannot truly be adapted. I think the flaw may stem primarily from Jackson’s own limited experiences and the limits of the medium.
Jackson and much of the entertainment industry, I think, have very limited experience with the different people of the world for all they travel. I don’t mean different looking people or even different cultures. I mean different kinds.
I think, but cannot in any way verify, that Merry and Pippin are tributes to some of the friends Tolkien lost in the Great War. There’s a sort of loving easiness to the way they are written, that I think there’s an echo of beloved and lost ones in them. I could be wrong. I’m not sure it was the intent even if it’s true. They decided to go on the Quest out of great loyalty and courage, come what may, but they had no idea what they were in for. It reminds me of how Tolkien and his friends ended up going to war.
Merry and Pippin are a of certain kind of young man who exists, small town princelings, aristocratic in their domain but prepared and willing to take on responsibility in the future. They have both the roguish nature of country boys with and the noble aspirations of squires. It’s not something you encounter often anymore, though I think Merry and Pippin are like one of my cousins. The movie version isn’t like this, but it’s more familiar to most modern people, that of mischievous teenagers who have to be forced to grow up. In the books, Merry and Pippin are already growing up. If they are reluctant, it’s from very legitimate fear of physical harm, not anything adolescent.
Generally, the movies give characters too much of that adolescent tentativeness. Aragorn was excellently cast, but the movie downplays his already proven leadership and his embrace of a frightening and perhaps fatal destiny. Again, movie Aragorn is a more familiar type. Sam is really the only character that should be like this, because he has much less social status than anyone else in the Fellowship. I think he and Merry and Pippin are around the same age, but being a member of a great house involves responsibilities not taught to or expected from a groundskeeper. Sam, though, has hidden depths and I think the movies capture him perfectly.
Arwen replacing Glorfindel was a cinematic necessity. You needed more interaction than you get in the books to make that love story make sense and there’s no way a movie could include their tale from the appendices and stay coherent. There’s not really anywhere else to fit her in the story, either.
Lothlórien could have been done better. Rivendell, too. Cinematic limitations, maybe, but also I think a limited sense of imaginative wonder. Jackson likes landscapes that largely actually exist. It seems to be how his mind works. The most magnificently imaginative location in the movies, visually, is Minas Tirith. Not much choice there. Perhaps I’m shortchanging him.
On to The Two Towers!
A last thought for these times:
I have very lucid dreams, which I gather is rare and occasionally envied. I guess people take substances sometimes to get them.
It’s not all sunshine, roses, and spiritual enlightenment, folks. Often, it has been nightmares. I’ve drawn a lot of inspiration from the dreams, which can be wonderful tales, but the nightmares…
The thing about lucid dreams is that you know they aren’t real. This does not make them less terrifying as nightmares, as you still cannot escape. This is worse, I think, than a normal nightmare, because it’s a thing you know comes upon you without the experience of the concept of escape or control. Lucid dreaming is not this way in my experience. I will try to explain.