Oldenhammer in Toronto

JRR Tolkien (1892-1973)

If there was ever an author who wanted to disappear behind his books, that author was JRR Tolkien. If you read the Foreword to The Lord of the Rings, you can't miss his message. The War of the Ring is not an allegory; it's not a metaphor for Christianity; it's not social commentary; it's not about the Second World War (which was raging as he wrote it) or the First World War (in which JRR Tolkien served). Or, as Tolkien writes in the Foreword:

As for any inner meaning or 'message', it has in the intention of the author none. It is neither allegorical nor topical.

...I cordially dislike allegory in all its manifestations, and always have done so since I grew old and wary enough to detect its presence.

Such vehemence reminds me of another great book about two companions who leave home and make a perilous journey into parts unknown. Mark Twain begins the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn(1884) with a foreword that is equally clear and much more succinct. In its entirety, it simply reads:

NOTICE.
Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot.
BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR
Per G.G., CHIEF OF ORDNANCE.

I get the sense that both Tolkien and Twain didn't want their books appropriated by critics, moralizers or other dangerous bores.

But there is something more here too. Tolkien writes that the problem with allegory is that it enslaves the "freedom of the reader" to the "domination of the author". In other words, a heavily allegorical book (ahem, CS Lewis, cough, cough) puts the reader on a rail and tells him what to think. If The Lord of the Rings is about anything, it is about the struggle of freedom over domination. This struggle (of course) animates the plot -- but it also infuses the way Tolkien writes the book itself. He does not interpret the book for you. Almost like Gandalf, Tolkien could use his authorial powers to influence you -- but he will not. He will not deprive you of your freedom to make of the book what you will. That's what he's saying in this Foreword.

And this light touch is precisely what makes The Lord of the Rings so enchanting: since Tolkien removes himself from the scene, the readers feel free to colonize Middle Earth with their own dreams and experiences.

One more thing about the Foreword. Tolkien concedes that his book may have been indirectly shaped by the World Wars, but that attempts to trace this influence are merely "...guesses from evidence that is inadequate and ambiguous." This seems like a peculiar thing to say, since surely Tolkien himself possessed pretty good information (or "evidence" as he call it) about what influenced him.

In any case, I don't need to dwell on this topic because this has been covered by Nancy Marie Ott in a thoughtful essay on Tolkien's experiences in World War I. My own view is that the man was entitled to maintain his privacy about his service in the British Army. If he wanted to throw a barrier between real and fictional violence, who am I to gainsay him? After all, the saddest words in the entire trilogy are contained in this Foreword: "By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead."

On first glance, the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings seems like dry toast. Headings like "Concerning Pipe-weed" or "Of the Ordering of the Shire" do not seem calculated to inflame the passions. Even for those who enjoy Tolkien's donnish airs, the Prologue may appear to be little more than a recapitulation of the events in The Hobbit as a set up to The Fellowship of the Ring: hobbits love peace and quiet, the Shire's pretty sleepy, and Bilbo found a ring.

But this appearance deceives.

Saruman's Book from the Two Towers Extended Edition DVD, image from www.elvish.org

Amid all the trivia about genealogy and hobbit architecture, the prologue reveals something essential: The Lord of the Rings is a book about books.

Authors and readers -- rather than mighty heroes or seasoned adventurers -- are the main characters. In the Prologue, we are first introduced to Bilbo, Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin. But we meet them in the act of writing, collecting and reading books. Some of these books are the books that they will write when the War of the Ring is over: Merry's Herblore of the Shire or The Tale of the Years. Some were written during the War itself, like Bilbo's Translations from the Elvish. And one very important work was written years before by Bilbo - this is the first part of the book the hobbits call the Red Book of Westmarch... or what we call The Hobbit.

The Red Book is important because it is the prototype for Frodo's own journey. As The Lord of the Rings progresses, Frodo will often end up comparing his adventures to the ones that he read about in The Hobbit. This seems natural enough perhaps, but it's good to take a step back and think about how weird this all is. A fictional character in a book writes the very book he's in. And then this real book goes on to be read by the main character in the book's sequel.

What's more, Tolkien uses the Prologue to play games with the real-life publication history of The Hobbit. In the Prologue, Tolkien tells us that after Bilbo obtained the Ring under the Misty Mountains, he lied to his companions and told them that Gollum meant to give him the Ring as a present. Tolkien writes:

This was the account Bilbo set down in his memoirs, and he seems never to have altered it himself, not even after the Council of Elrond. Evidently it still appeared in the original Red Book, as it did in several of the copies and abstracts. But many copies contain the true account... derived no doubt from notes by Frodo or Samwise...

This is a peculiar thing to write because nowhere in any version of The Hobbit did Bilbo lie to the dwarves and tell them that he obtained the Ring as a present. Instead, what Tolkien is doing is making fun of the fact that he -- the author -- changed The Hobbit from edition to edition. In the first edition, Gollum is a more friendly character and does intend to give the Ring as a present; at this stage, Tolkien had not conceived of the plot of the Lord of the Rings, and the magic ring was just a trinket. But in later editions of The Hobbit, to accommodate the growing mythology of Sauron, Tolkien changed Gollum into a fiend who could never give the Ring up willingly. So really, it is not Bilbo who was telling fibs, as much at it was Tolkien himself.

Where does all this leave us? Well, as I read the Prologue, I am struck by the parallel between The Lord of the Rings and another great work of western literature. I speak of The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha (1605) by Miguel de Cervantes -- or, as it is better know, Don Quixote.

The Don (played by Nikolai Cherkassov in Don Quixote, 1957)

Don Quixote is a novel about a country squire nearing the age of 50 (incidentally, when they embark on their journeys, both Bilbo and Frodo are country squires nearing the age of 50). The Don's wits are addled by reading adventure stories, and imagining that he's a great hero, he sets off on a series of haphazard adventures. To assist him on his journey, he takes along a plain-speaking farmer to act as his squire... this is ~~Sam Gamgee~~ Sancho Panza.

More importantly, Don Quixote is also a book about books. As the Don travels, he keeps meeting people who have read earlier chapters of the book Don Quixote, and question him about his past doings in the very book that they are all now in. By doing this, Cervantes blurs the line between characters and readers. The effect is an endlessly self-referential work -- both funny and strange. The way that Cervantes plays with his readers is very much like how Tolkien plays with us in the Prologue.

I don't know if Tolkien was actually influenced by Cervantes. But I do believe that the similarities between both books helps explain their enduring power. The Don, Frodo and Bilbo are people like you and I: readers of adventure stories, probably somewhat bookish, not too used to wielding a sword. And as these characters are overtaken by the world of adventure, Cervantes and Tolkien find ingenious ways to make the reader feel like he or she is entering the same world. Both authors use the books in their books to open a gate.

What makes The Lord of the Rings a fathomless book? Re-reading A Long-Expected Party today, my eye caught on a passage that I think I've previously overlooked -- a passage that captures something essential about Tolkien's magic. Here's the scene. Bilbo Baggins has just sneaked away from his eleventy-first birthday party. At the end of a long, painful conversation with Gandalf, he's managed to give up the Ring. He prepares to leave Bag End:

"Well, that's that," he said. "Now I'm off!"
They went out into the hall. Bilbo chose his favourite stick from the stand; then he whistled. Three dwarves came out of different rooms where they had been busy.
"Is everything ready?" asked Bilbo. "Everything packed and labelled?"
"Everything," they answered.
"Well, let's start then!" He stepped out of the front door.
It was a fine night, and the black sky was dotted with stars... "Good-bye," he said, looking at his old home and bowing to the door, "Good-bye, Gandalf!"

Wait, what. Who the hell are these dwarves? Where did they come from? To our surprise, they were just hanging out and labelling crud while the wizard and hobbit were arguing about a magic ring. Earlier in the chapter, Tolkien mentioned that some dwarves helped Gandalf unload his firecrackers a few days before the party, but nowhere are we told whether these are the same dwarves, why they're here, or what their names are. Are they some of Bilbo's companions from The Hobbit? Traders? Hirelings? Adventurers? Your guess is as good as mine, because Tolkien never tells us in The Lord of the Rings.

With just a few throwaway lines, Tolkien is able to kindle all of these questions in the imagination of a curious reader. These are questions he was happy to raise, but felt no particular need to answer. Why not? I think because he trusted his readers and let them fill in some of their own particulars. This trust in his readers is part of his art. It gives his books their expansive feel. It's the opposite of that style of writing where every element in the story is stitched directly to the plot -- an approach summarized by the rule of Chekhov's Gun: only essential details have a place in the story.

Remove everything that has no relevance to the story. If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off. If it's not going to be fired, it shouldn't be hanging there. (Anton Chekkhov, quoted by S. Shchukin, Memoirs, 1911)

This rule has no bearing on Tolkien. The Lord of the Rings is filled with details, some vital to the plot, some colourful background and some (like Bilbo's dwarves) mere glimpses of a larger world that vanish almost as soon as they appear. Instead of Chekhov's gun, Tolkien gives us the Frameless Picture. This term comes from a letter he wrote in 1971 to one of his fans, and it encapsulates his approach to The Lord of the Rings to a tee:

Of course the book was written to please myself (at different levels), and as an experiment in the arts of long narrative, and of inducing 'Secondary Belief'. It was written slowly and with great care for detail, & finally emerged as a Frameless Picture: a searchlight, as it were, on a brief episode in History, and on a small part of our Middle-earth, surrounded by the glimmer of limitless extensions in time and space.

The overall effect of Tolkien's approach is a living, three-dimensional world. The half-explained details give Middle-earth a sense of depth by offering us shadow as well as light.

In fact, there is more shadow than light. The Lord of the Rings will take us to just a few places on his vast map of Middle-earth. As Tolkien says in his letter, on the edges of the story are "limitless extensions in time and space" -- lands that his books never visit, characters mentioned in passing, deeds that come to us just as rumours or guesswork. But it is precisely this shadowplay that makes Middle-earth so engrossing. By holding information back, Tolkien gives us the fabulous luxury of deciding for ourselves who those dwarves really were and why them came to Bag End.

Incidentally, I think the Frameless Picture also explains the success of another grand fantasy world that I often write about: the Star Wars universe. In the original trilogy of movies, Lucas and his team were also able to create the sense that they were merely shining a seachlight on a brief episode in a much larger history. As a result, just like in The Lord of the Rings, by leaving many things unexplained, they induced their fans to invest themselves into that world. What were the Clone Wars? How did the Jedi fail? Who's Boba Fett? These were the questions that kept me dreaming when I was a child. (The tragedy of Episodes I, II and III, of course, is that they patiently explained all these mysteries, and sterilized that world from further intrusions of the imagination).

[Top image from The Art of the Hobbit, J.R.R. Tolkien, 2012]

In Chapter 2 of The Fellowship of the Ring, we encounter two shadows of the past. Gandalf tells Frodo that Sauron "has arisen again" to menace Middle-earth. And Tolkien reveals to us that he is haunted by the shade of Richard Wagner (1813-1883), composer of the opera Der Ring des Nibelungen (better known in English as "The Ring Cycle").

Jean de Reszke (1850-1925) in Der Ring des Nibelungen

The influence of the Ring Cycle on The Lord of the Rings is so obvious that it barely needs to be stated. Both works are closely linked to Norse and German myths, but much of the Ring Cycle is wholly Wagner's. The opera revolves around a magic ring that grants its wearer the power to enslave minds and rule the world. Importantly, this ring is accompanied by a magic helm (the "Tarnhelm") that makes its wearer invisible. The ring was first forged by the evil Dwarf Alberich from enchanted gold he stole from the Rhine river. But when the ring is stolen from Alberich, he places a heavy curse on it:

Whoever possesses it shall be consumed with care,
and whoever has it not shall be gnawed with envy!
Each shall itch to possess it,
but none in it shall find pleasure!
Its owner shall guard it profitlessly,
for through it he shall meet his executioner!
Forfeit to death,
faint with fear shall he be fettered;
for the length of his life
he shall long to die,
the ring's master
to the ring a slave!

This death-curse is so central to the plot that it even has its own recurring musical theme. For the rest of the Ring Cycle, we see how this curse ensnares all the characters in a tragic cycle of hubris and betrayal. It is inexorable. The giant Fafner clubs his brother to death so he can claim the ring. In turn, Seigfried kills Fafner and seizes it. Finally, Seigfried is treacherously stabbed in the back by the villain Hagen, who himself drowns (in a Gollum-like scene) when trying to grasp the ring as it is reclaimed by the flooding river Rhine.

There are, of course, many other parallels between the Ring Cycle and The Lord of the Rings, including a sword that was broken, and a heroine that relinquishes the world of the gods for the love or a mortal man. But the central similarity is key: ultimate power (in the form of a ring) warps the hearts of all who would possess it, leading to an evil cycle where each owner is killed by his successor.

And in The Shadow of the Past, Gandalf gives us Tolkien's version of this story: how Isildur cut the Ring from Sauron's hand but drowned in the Anduin River; how Smeagol killed Deagol; and how Bilbo stole the Ring from Gollum. Throughout it all, Gandalf makes it clear that the Ring has its own kind of curse:

"A mortal, Frodo, who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues, until at last every minute is a weariness. And if he often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades... Yes, sooner or later - later if he is strong or well-meaning to begin with, but neither strength nor good purpose will last - sooner or later the dark power will devour him."

Just as Albrich sang, "for the length of his life, he shall long to die." Although Gandalf doesn't say that one of the Ring's owners will always be killed by the next, his brief history of Isildur and Gollum make it clear that possession of the Ring is a kind of death sentence.

Now I wrote up above that the similarities between the Ring Cycle and The Lord of the Rings are so obvious that they don't need much elaboration. Just so. What interests me most is not the parallels between these works but the areas where Tolkien parts company from Wagner -- for it is the dissimilarities that are most revealing.

Most importantly, in Chapters 1 and 2 of The Fellowship of the Ring, we see that, unlike in Wagner, the curse of the ring can be interrupted. It is interrupted by Hobbits. A hobbit is a sort of anti-hero (certainly an anti-Wagnerian hero). Instead of beefy, ill-fated and oath-bound warriors like Seigfried and company, they are (in Gandalf's phrase) "soft as butter", but "full of surprises". The first rupture in the curse of the Ring occurred when Bilbo forbore from stabbing Gollum in the back during the events narrated in The Hobbit, and revisited at length in The Shadow of the Past. Here Gandalf makes it clear that Bilbo's decision to spare Gollum ultimately saved Bilbo from the curse:

"It was Pity that stayed his hand. Pity, and Mercy: not to strike without need. And he has been well rewarded, Frodo. Be sure that he took so little hurt from the evil, and escaped in the end, because he began his ownership of the Ring so. With Pity."

The second time that the curse was foiled is in Chapter 1, when Bilbo voluntarily gave up the Ring (60 years after his encounter with Gollum). It's easy to overlook the drama in this scene because it is so underwritten. But by my lights, it is one of the climaxes of the book (albeit a climax in the first chapter) -- and an example of Tolkien's writing at its finest. JRRT excels at portraying how characters struggle unconsciously against evil influence, from the dragon-greed in The Hobbit, to the voice of Saruman in The Two Towers. The understatement in Chapter 1 is delightful:

"Very well," said Bilbo, "it goes to Frodo with all the rest." He drew a deep breath.

"And now I really must be starting, or somebody else will catch me. I have said good-bye, and I couldn't bear to do it all over again." He picked up his bag and moved to the door.

"You have still got the ring in your pocket," said the wizard.

"Well, so I have!" cried Bilbo.

After a long fight, Bilbo is finally able to let it go. It is this triumph that sets the rest of the plot in motion. But how did he do it? Tolkien doesn't quite tell us. His writing, as I say, is too understated to provide obvious answers. What we do know, however, is that Tolkien is infinitely more optimistic than Wagner. For Wagner, the tragedy of the ring is inescapable . But from the very beginning of his trilogy, Tolkien signals that there is something that can resist the death-curse of power. Something subtle and easy to miss. For the rest of The Lord of the Rings, we will discover more about what that something is.

As I feared, Fantasy Flight Games is releasing miniatures at a glacial pace for Imperial Assault, their Star Wars skirmish game. I am not by nature a patient man - just ask Mrs. Oldenhammer in Toronto as the cocktail hour approaches. And so I've decided to take matters into my own hands and create some new miniatures of my own.

I'm not much of a sculptor, so this was an adventure for me. I started with a unit of two Rebel Saboteurs. I chose them because after a few weeks of competitive play, it's become clear that they are the best troops in the Rebel's roster. Screw the Force: if you're going to stop Darth Vader, you need the withering firepower of these commandoes. In fact, the only time I've seen Darth go down, it was because my opponent fielded 8 Rebel Saboteurs who swarmed the Sith Lord like a plague of locusts on the coasts of Egypt. So my plan is to use these conversions as the heart of my own Rebel strike-force.

The Original Saboteurs

Rebel Troopers

Out of the box, the Rebel Saboteurs are bald Duros aliens. I decided to re-create them as Mon Calamari (the least felicitously named race in the Star Wars universe). Slicing the Duros heads off was the work of a moment. Then I replaced them with the heads of two Admiral Akbar figures from Wizards of the Coast's old Star Wars range (these soft plastic figurines sell for just a couple dollars each on eBay - they often go by the name WotC Star Wars. There are so many miniatures in the range that they provide a nearly endless source of conversions.)

Next, I wanted to replicate the distinctive hands (fins?) of the Mon Calamari. So I shaped a little Greenstuff into their swollen, rubbery fore-arms and garnished them with tiny polyps. Finally, I refashioned the Durosian hands into claws. Presto! A new miniature.

I painted the Mon Calamari with the same colour scheme as my other Rebel forces - a buff, blue and black uniform based on the troopers aboard the Tantive IV at the beginning of A New Hope. The Mon Calamari skin is Terracotta, highlighted with ruddy fleshtones and capped with some dark brown spots, like port-wine stains.

Mon Calamari in their native environment

I've ordered a heap more Wizards of the Coast figurines, so I'm looking forward to more conversions in the future: Quarren, Aqualish and Ithorians... oh my!

Imperial Assault Rebel Saboteur, Mon Calamari Conversion

Fish heads, fish heads, rolly polly fish heads...

Imperial Assault Rebel Saboteur, Mon Calamari Conversion (rear)

Thanks for looking! If you've made any Star Wars conversions of your own, please let me know in the comments and I'll happily update my post with the link!

In Chapter 3 of TheFellowship of the Ring, Frodo finally sets out on his quest. But in this Chapter and beyond, Tolkien shows us that this is not just a journey through space. It is also a journey through time... and more specifically, a journey back in time. The fuzzy nature of time is an aspect of The Lord of the Rings that is not often discussed.

This realization about time travel dawned on me when I read the following passage from Chapter 3, in which Gandalf and Frodo discuss escaping the Shire:

"As for where I am going," said Frodo, "it would be difficult to give that away, for I have no clear idea myself yet."
"Don't be absurd," said Gandalf, "I am not warning you against leaving an address at the post-office! But you are leaving the Shire--and that should not be known, until you are far away."

The word that arrested my attention here is "post-office". Post-office? Think of what it means to have a post-office (and especially a post-office that offers a mail-forwarding service). It means that there is a high degree of literacy in the Shire (something, in fact, we already know from Chapter 1, where Tolkien mentioned that Bilbo sent out hundreds of invitations and received written replies like Thank you, I shall certainly come.) What does literacy mean? Education. What does education mean? Schools. Schools require prosperity. And prosperity generally requires trade and government.

There are a thousand ways that Tolkien tells us that the Shire is not merely an enclave of subsistence farmers. Rather, it is a civilized, educated and materially complex society, with luxuries that would be unheard of in a medieval setting. Look back again at Chapter 1, at Bilbo's going-away presents to friends and family. These gifts include an umbrella, a set of silver spoons, and a waste-paper basket. Before the Early Modern period, few people owned cutlery, let alone silverware. All Bilbo's presents require sophisticated craftsmanship, but the waste-paper basket is especially remarkable. Until the 19th century, paper, parchment and vellum were rare and expensive commodities in Europe -- so precious that they were reused compulsively. Before the advent of steam-powered paper mills, a waste-paper basket would be like a waste-money basket: a contradiction in terms.

Among the parting gifts, there's also a reference to "a strong red wine from the Southfarthing, and now quite mature, as it had been laid down by Bilbo’s father." This means the bottle in question was at least 75 years old by the time of Bilbo's party, because Bungo Baggins died in 2926. (Incidentally, did you know that Bungo had a brother named Bingo?). In a previous life, I was a wine-critic. So I found Tolkien's throw-away line about this vintage fascinating. Making wine is really hard. For most of the middle ages, wine couldn't keep for more than a few months. Creating a wine that can age for almost a century demands tremendous agricultural know-how, investment and planning. In other words, it's the act of an advanced society.

Perhaps you think I'm taking these details too seriously. Perhaps. But if Middle-Earth has so much linguistic, mythological and historical integrity (and it does), it should also have integrity in the sphere of culture and economics. Tolkien certainly thought it did. In one of his letters, he writes about "the game of inventing a country" and states:

I am more conscious of my sketchiness in the archaeology and realien [German, technical facts] than in the economics: clothes, agricultural implements, metal-working, pottery, architecture and the like. Not to mention music and its apparatus. I am not incapable of or unaware of economic thought; and I think as far as 'mortals' go, Men, Hobbits and Dwarfs, that the situations are so devised the economic likelihood is there and could be worked out... (Letter 154, Sept. 25, 1954)

So when Tolkien inserts post-offices and silverware into the Shire, he's doing it with great care.

Put this all together, and what do you have? The Shire begins to resemble a district of England during its mercantile heyday in the 18th and 19th centuries. Of course, you don't have to take my word for it. In another one of his letters, Tolkien observed to his publishers that the Shire "is in fact more or less a Warwickshire village of about the period of the Diamond Jubilee" (Letter 178, Dec. 12, 1958). Queen Victoria's Diamond Jubilee was in 1897.

1897?! That makes the Shire closer to steampunk than to classical fantasy. But if the book starts out in an advanced time period, it certainly doesn't stay there. And that's why I say that Frodo's journey is a trip through time as well as through space. One of his first stops, Bree, seems more like a medieval village than a Victorian countryside. And after that, Frodo enters into the unpopulated wilderness belonging to the Dark Ages.

I'm not trying pin the world of Middle-earth to a specific period (or periods!) of real-world history -- that was clearly never Tolkien's intent; he wanted Middle-earth to stand as its own independent creation (or, as he would call it, a subcreation.) However, I do think it's important to appreciate that the world of The Lord of the Rings is not as homogeneous as we might think (or as homogeneous as its portrayed in movies and role-playing games). Rather, Tolkien had a playful and elusive sense of time and technological advancement. The Shire is Victorian, Rohan is Beowulfian, and Isengard is industrial. The beauty of Tolkien's vision is that these disparate settings cohere into a single mosaic.

There's also an important story-telling function to these shifts through time. By starting his story in a semi-modern setting, Tolkien was making it easier for his readers to identify with the Hobbits (an important technique that I've written about before). Along with Frodo and company, we venture out of our own comfortable home into a strange and perilous world -- a different time and a different place. That journey begins in Chapter 3. For me, there's no better moment to see this shift take place as when (in this chapter), Frodo, Sam and Pippin meet the company of Elves led by Gildor. The Hobbits hear the elves sing a song about the great Valar queen Varda:

O stars that in the Sunless year
With shining hand by her were sown,
In windy fields now bright and clear
We see your silver blossom blown!

What struck me here was the line about the stars being created in "the Sunless year". Anyone who's read The Silmarillionwill recognize this as a reference to the ancient period thousands of years before the War of the Ring -- a period predating even the creation of the sun and the moon. This is not just a poetic image: Varda literally placed the stars in the sky to help the fight against the dark lord Morgoth. With this song, Tolkien tells Frodo (and us!) that we too are leaving familiar things behind and stepping into a mythic age.

[Image credit: The Brothers Hildebrandt"The One Ring" Acrylic on Board.]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 2 here.

Chapter 4 of The Fellowship of the Ring

Delay is one of the great themes in The Lord of the Rings. The forces of good are constantly struggling against the consequences of their own procrastination. This idea first comes to the fore in A Short Cut to Mushrooms, as the hobbits race to avoid the Black Riders chasing them across the Shire. After 17 years of delay (in between Chapter 1 and 2), followed by months of further dithering by Gandalf and then Frodo (in Chapter 2 and 3), the hobbits now find they don't have a moment to spare:

When they had struggled to the bottom of the bank, they found a stream running down from the hills behind in a deeply dug bank with steep slippery sides overhung with brambles...
Sam Gamgee looked back. Through an opening in the trees he caught a glimpse of the top of the green bank from which they had climbed down.
‘Look!’ he said, clutching Frodo by the arm. They all looked, and on the edge high above them they saw against the sky a horse standing. Beside it stooped a black figure.

This breathless chase just highlights the foolishness and waste of Frodo's delay throughout the long summer. But he, of course, is not the only one: throughout the book, we will learn that Gondor, Rohan, the Elves and the Ents have all squandered much needed hours and opportunities. The fact that at least some of their peril was avoidable lends to the entire trilogy a sense of tragedy. Although I generally like to avoid overly historical interpretations of Tolkien, I can't help but think that the high cost of delay would be particularly vivid for anyone who lived through the 1930's, when Britain wasted many chances in the lead up and initial stages of World War II.

In any case, I think the theme of delay is a powerful one because it's something that everyone can identify with. Not all of us have been chased by Black Riders, but we've all experienced the awful feeling of rushing to catch up after fruitless procrastination. In other words, this theme is another way that Tolkien bridges the gap between his world of high fantasy and the reader.

There's another aspect of Chapter 4 that I have to comment on: the remarkable character of Farmer Maggot. Just as this chapter introduces the theme of delay, it also introduces a pattern about how the Fellowship will acquire allies -- allies starting with Farmer Maggot. Such allies first appear hostile or at least dangerous (Maggot, for example, used to "beat" a young Frodo Baggins) until they are won over with diplomacy and goodwill. Once befriended, of course, these allies prove invaluable, usually ushering the heroes through their territory and on to the next adventure.

Maggot is one of my favourite characters because Tolkien merely hints at his hidden depths, leaving much to the reader's imagination:

‘Old Maggot is a shrewd fellow,’ said Merry. ‘A lot goes on behind his round face that does not come out in his talk. I’ve heard that he used to go into the Old Forest at one time, and he has the reputation of knowing a good many strange things...’

The best illustration of Maggot's strength of will is the fact that he's the only character in The Lord of the Rings who carries on anything like an actual conversation with a Ringwraith. And not just conversation -- Maggot virtually sasses Sauron's agent of terror when it comes looking for Frodo. The passage (as narrated by Maggot himself) is so rich, I can't help but quote it at length:

‘‘Good-day to you!’’ I says, going out to him. ‘‘This lane don’t lead anywhere, and wherever you may be going, your quickest way will be back to the road.’’ ... The black fellow sat quite still.

‘ ‘‘I come from yonder,’’ he said, slow and stiff-like, pointing back west, over my fields, if you please. ‘‘Have you seen Baggins?’’ he asked in a queer voice, and bent down towards me. I could not see any face, for his hood fell down so low; and I felt a sort of shiver down my back. But I did not see why he should come riding over my land so bold.

‘ ‘‘Be off!’’ I said. ‘‘There are no Bagginses here. You’re in the wrong part of the Shire. You had better go back west to Hobbiton – but you can go by road this time.’’ ‘ ‘‘Baggins has left,’’ he answered in a whisper. ‘‘He is coming. He is not far away. I wish to find him. If he passes will you tell me? I will come back with gold.’’

‘ ‘‘No you won’t,’’ I said. ‘‘You’ll go back where you belong, double quick. I give you one minute before I call all my dogs.’’

‘He gave a sort of hiss. It might have been laughing, and it might not. Then he spurred his great horse right at me, and I jumped out of the way only just in time. I called the dogs, but he swung off, and rode through the gate and up the lane towards the causeway like a bolt of thunder. What do you think of that?’

Well, I think pretty highly of it myself, Farmer Maggot. It sounds like you might be the bravest character in the whole trilogy.

[Image credit: The Brothers Hildebrandt"Farmer Maggot's Hospitality" Acrylic on Board (1978).]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 3 here.

Behold! I just finished painting the complete set of Talisman Timescape miniatures, beautifully sculpted by Trish Morrison and released by Citadel in 1988.

Talisman is a strange board game -- especially the classic version released by Games Workshop in the 1980's (aka the 1st and 2nd editions of Talisman). I don't think I properly understood Talisman until I read an essay written by Umberto Eco (the author of The Name of the Rose) about the movie Casablanca (the 1942 film with Humphrey Bogart). Random? Probably. But stay with me and I promise to post most more pictures of miniatures.

The essay is in Eco's book How to Travel with a Salmon (1995) and is itself titled "Casablanca, or, The Clichés Are Having a Ball". In it, Eco meditates on the incredible success of Casablanca. He writes that this success is surprising since the movie is riddled with hundreds of clichés: the faithful servant, the doomed lover, the redeemed drunkard, the hooker with a heart of gold... Normally, one or two clichés are enough to turn a good work of art into a bad one. But the beauty of Casablanca is that it boasts so many clichés that they reach a critical mass that pushes the movie beyond mere badness, transforming it into something immortal. As Eco writes:

Two cliches make us laugh. A hundred cliches move us. For we sense dimly that the cliches are talking among themselves, and celebrating a reunion. Just as the height of pain may encounter sensual pleasure... so too the height of banality allows us to catch a glimpse of the sublime.

By piling on all these clichés culled from other stories and other movies, Casablanca allows us to relive all these prior experiences at once -- in one delightful, headlong rush.

And this is exactly what Talisman does. The beauty of the game is that it takes every single cliché, trope and archetype from the world of fantasy and crams it into one box. A princess? Check! Gaming against Death? Check! The Black Knight guarding a bridge? A life stealing rune sword? The Holy Grail? A dungeon crawl? A torture chamber? A bare chested barbarian? Check! Check! Check! The end result is a game that exists in every fantasy world at the same time: partly Tolkien, partly Warhammer, partly historical, partly Moorcock, partly Robert E. Howard and partly the Bros. Grimm. Adding just one or two of these elements would make the game seem a little goofy. But throwing them all together? Well that's an act of genius.

And what I love about Timescapeis that the lads at Games Workshop found a way to crank this bastard up to 11. After all, there's no reason to limit oneself to the realm of fantasy. Using the thin premise of an inter-dimensional portal bridging the world of Talisman with the future, Timescape opens up a universe of new possibilities. Why not throw in as many figures from science fiction as possible? Predators, Dune worms, Time-lords, Terminators all appear in thinly disguised forms. Add to them Warhammer 40K characters (Space Marines, Astropaths), generic sci-fi figures from central casting (The Scientist! The Space Pirate!) and (like a maraschino cherry on top) Indiana Jones.

The end result is a hot frothy mess of goodness. The fact that the game is hilariously unbalanced barely matters. Who doesn't want to send a Space Marine rampaging across the fields and woods of a fantasy world, armed with the Holy Lance and accompanied by a Poltergeist? Why not give your Samurai a jet pack and a power glove? Why not give the Chainsaw Warrior one last shot at glory?

H.R. Giger, H.G. Wells and Frank Herbert rock out.

I've certainly enjoyed the latest edition of Talisman published by Fantasy Flight Games. But after playing both the old Talisman and the new a number of times, I've realized that I prefer the original -- mainly because Fantasy Flight's version attempts to unify the look and feel of the game, adding game balance and smoothing out the rough edges so that it presents a somewhat cohesive world. This seems sensible. But screw sensibility with a spoon. It's precisely the chaotic mish-mash that makes Talisman so much fun, especially with the delirium of Timescape in the mix. As Eco would say, all the clichés are having a ball.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy the pics!

Talisman Timescape Archaeologist

Talisman Timescape Astronaut

Talisman Timescape Astropath

Talisman Timescape Chainsaw Warrior

Talisman Timescape Cyborg

Talisman Timescape Scientist

Talisman Timescape Space Marine

Talisman Timescape Space Pirate

Thanks for looking!

Chapter 5 of The Fellowship of the Ring

In A Conspiracy Unmasked Tolkien reveals that Frodo's friends have been watching his strange doings with the wizard Gandalf. Merry, Pippin, Fredgar and Samwise, realizing that Frodo is burdened with a dangerous task, have decided that he will not face it alone. As Merry tells Frodo:

'You can trust us to stick to you through thick and thin -- to the bitter end. And you can trust us to keep any secret of yours --closer than you keep it yourself. But you cannot trust us to let you face trouble alone, and go off without a word. We are your friends, Frodo. Anyway: there it is. We know most of what Gandalf has told you. We know a good deal about the Ring. We are horribly afraid -- but we are coming with you: or following you like hounds.'

Here lies the emotional core of the first book of the trilogy, if not the entire trilogy itself: the forging of a fellowship in bonds of trust and mutual help. The first book is well named; as a reader, I care more about this fellowship than I do about any individual member of it. Frodo, Sam (and eventually Gandalf or Aragorn) are all sympathetic, but none of them are as important as the relationship that binds them. The fellowship holds a promise to both characters and readers alike: the notion that friendships can last, that even the worst troubles are best shared, and that we don't need to face the dark alone.

The tragedy, of course, revealed to any reader who bothers to scan the table of contents, is that the last chapter in this book is called The Breaking of the Fellowship. This bond of friendship will snap, and it will do so in ways precisely foretold in Chapter 5. Just as Frodo is depressed now at the thought of deceiving his friends and escaping the Shire alone, at the end of the book, he will make the gloomy decision that he must slip away by himself, as the rest of the fellowship founders around him. The remainder of the trilogy is as much a story about the ultimate reunion of the four hobbit friends as it is about the destruction of the One Ring. But I'm getting ahead of myself...

Before leaving Chapter 5, I'd like to take a closer look at the odd man out in the fellowship of hobbit friends: Samwise Gamgee. Many commentators on The Lord of the Rings, including Tolkien himself, suggest that Sam will become the central character in the trilogy -- the character who best exemplifies Tolkien's recurrent theme:

The place in 'world-politics' of the unforeseen and unforeseeable acts of will, and deeds of virtue of the apparently small, ungreat, forgotten in the places of the Wise and Great (good as well as evil)... without the simple and ordinary the noble and heroic is meaningless. (Letter #131 to Milton Waldman, 1951)

And of course Sam's loyalty to Frodo is the one fragment of the fellowship that will remain intact throughout the whole War of the Ring. But at this point in the story, it's important to understand Sam's status. He is not Frodo's friend -- he is Frodo's servant.

Sam and his father "tend garden" for Frodo, and we're told that when Frodo pretended to move to Crickhollow, the pretense was that Sam was going too so that he could "do for Mr. Frodo and look after his bit of garden". It's easy to view Sam as naturally humble, long-suffering and faithful -- but it's important to realize that these traits are not unique to Sam. They are the typical qualities expected of a servant in the heyday of the English class system.

Samwise by Citadel Miniatures

In the wake of Downton Abbey and its ilk, there has been an uptick in interest in the culture of the servant class. Most of my knowledge on this topic derives from P.G. Wodehouse (his 1915 novel Something Freshis surprisingly good at explaining the social hierarchy among the servants in a big house). For the purposes of The Lord of the Rings, one of the most revealing things to keep in mind is that servants were not permitted to offer their opinions to their betters. Servants (like Victorian children) were to be seen and not heard.

Understanding this fact throws a new light on Sam. In the early stages of the hobbits' voyage, Sam's voice is heard only in its absence. This silence is easy to miss if you're not looking for it. Whereas Pippin or Merry are happy to complain, tease and chat with Frodo, Sam is usually silent. He doesn't sing in the bath, or scrap over another serving of mushrooms. If he does speak, he prefaces it with "begging your pardon". But this diffidence isn't inherent to Sam; after all, we know his speech changes entirely when speaking to men of his own class (like Sandyman and co. at The Green Dragon) where Sam is opinionated and voluble.

All of this is to say, as the story progresses, we'll have to watch how Sam grows out of being more than a servant. What does he become?

[Image credit: Animation Still by Ralph Bakshi from The Lord of the Rings, 1978]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 4 here.

It's amazing what you can do with an X-Acto Knife and an unshakable faith in the Dark Side of the Force. Here's my most recent miniature conversion for Imperial Assault, the Star Wars skirmish game from Fantasy Flight: Darth Vader without his helmet.

If there's anything scarier than Darth Vader in his mask, it's Darth Vader with the top down: the bruised eyes, the long unhealed wounds, and the skin pale as a moonscape. There is no better subject if you want a miniature as a portrait of a person in pain.

Darth Vader's wounds

The conversion was dead simple: I sliced off Darth's helmet just above the base of his triangular mouthpiece, and then lightly sanded the surface until it was even. Then I hunted around for a replacement head, eventually settling on a Warhammer 40K Space Marine Terminator Lord. This Terminator was appropriately bald and scowley. I cut off the bottom of the head so that when it was in place, it would give the impression of Vader's head sunk into the high collar of his suit.

The fun part was the painting. Vader's ruined face gave me a lot of room to mess around, especially all his vivid scars. I'm pleased with the way it turned out, insofar that his expression seems to change depending on his facing. Sometimes he looks evil and sullen, sometimes he looks evil and crafty, and sometimes he just looks plain evil.

Well, Fantasy Flight just released Twin Shadows, a new expansion for Imperial Assault featuring a Boba Fett. So stay tuned for more painted Star Wars action soon...

I hope you join the Dark Side soon.

Chapter 6 of The Fellowship of the Ring

In this Chapter, the intrepid hobbits wander into the magical Old Forest and find themselves bewildered, enchanted and entrapped. I don't so much have a commentary on this chapter as I do a question: Why is there so much overlap between The Lord of the Rings and its predecessor, The Hobbit?

There are many parallels between the two books, including a journey through a menacing, sentient forest. Consider these two passages:

They picked a way among the trees, and their ponies plodded along carefully avoiding the many writhing and interlacing roots... and as they went forward it seemed that the trees became taller, darker, and thicker. There was no sound, except an occasional drip of moisture falling through the still leaves. For the moment there was no whispering or movement among the branches; but they all got an uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched with disapproval, deepening to dislike and even enmity.

And this...

They walked in single file. The entrance to the path was like a sort of arch leading into a gloomy tunnel made by two great trees that leant together, too old and strangled with ivy and hung with lichen to bear more than a few blackened leaves. The path itself was narrow and wound in and out among the trunks. Soon... the quiet was so deep that their feet seemed to thump along while all the trees leaned over them and listened.

The first excerpt is from the chapter under consideration and describes the Old Forest. The second is a description of Mirkwood from chapter 8 of The Hobbit, "Spiders and Flies".
But of course the similarities between the Old Forest and Mirkwood are only the tip of the iceberg. In no particular order, here are some of the other parallels between The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings:

Both books have a Baggins for the (unlikely) hero.
Both involve a party of adventurers led by Gandalf.
In both books, Gandalf disappears and then rejoins the companions.
Both books bring us to Rivendell to consult with the wise Elrond.
Both involve a failed crossing through a pass in the Misty Mountains.
Both take us to the orc-infested tunnels beneath the Misty Mountains.
In both books, giant Eagles provide a timely rescue (or two!).
Spiders are an "intermediate" villain in both books.
Ultimately, both books require the hobbit to sneak into the domain of a vastly powerful and evil being.
In both books, we meet a scion of kings who has now fallen on hard times. However, by the end of both books, both Bard and Aragorn will return to kingship.
Both books climax in a grand, set-piece battle in which the hobbit plays little role.
In the widest sense, both works conclude the epic quest with the journey back home -- which return helps the reader appreciate how much the hobbit has been changed by his adventure.

The overlap is so pervasive that if the two books were written by different authors, you would call The Lord of the Rings a work of plagiarism.

For me, the question is why did Tolkien tread twice over the same ground? It's not like he needed to repeat himself. Works like The Silmarillion and The Children of Hurin show us that he's more than capable of different types of heroes and different settings. His conception of Middle-earth is so vast, it's almost perverse that he had Frodo follow in Bilbo's footsteps from the Shire to Rivendell to the Misty Mountains and beyond. I mean, why not have Frodo go due south from the Shire? Or strike out West and head to the Grey Havens, there to take a ship to the environs of Mordor? Why did Tolkien repeat himself?

I'd truly love to hear what other people think of this. For my own part, I think that The Lord of the Rings started out as a sequel to The Hobbit, but "as the tale grew in the telling" (to borrow Tolkien's own description of his creative process), something unforeseen happened: The Lord of the Rings became not a sequel, but a revision of The Hobbit. Tolkien was still haunted by the same images of Middle-earth, and so arranged them in a different key. The journey under the mountains and across a magical landscape changed from a light and playful children's story into a dark and Germanic epic. It's the same story, told two very different ways.

Where does this leave us as readers? When we come upon areas where Tolkien repeated himself (like the magical forest in this chapter of The Fellowship of the Ring) we know that we've hit upon an image or an event that was so powerful, Tolkien needed two kicks at the can. These are the images that lie at the heart of his imagination.

[Image credit: The Brothers Hildebrandt"Old Man Willow" Acrylic on Board (1978).]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 5 here.

Chapter 7 of The Fellowship of the Ring

After being chased by Black Riders, lost in the Old Forest and molested by a malignant tree, the hobbits take a break. They spend this chapter singing, bathing and catching up on their sleep. At the centre of it all is the enigmatic figure of Tom Bombadil, undoubtedly the most controversial figure in The Lord of the Rings. Tom has a polarizing effect on people. He seems to be especially hated by screenwriters. As Peter Jackson said of his decision to give Bombadil the shove:

The main reason is not just time or pace, but one of simple narrative focus ... the Bombadil sequence has so little to do with Sauron or the Ring, it is difficult to justify the screen time. It simply doesn't give us any vital new information. A very simplest rule of thumb that I use in movie storytelling is to try and further the story with each new scene.

Perhaps it's true that Tom doesn't advance the narrow story of the destruction of the Ring. But if that's all there is to The Lord of the Rings, then you have a pretty impoverished view of the trilogy. I mean to say, once they're captured by the Uruk-hai, Merry and Pippin don't advance this storyline either, but no one goes around slicing their detour through Fangorn and Isengard out of the frame. So why does Tom take it in the neck?

I think that one of the reasons that people don't like Bombadil is because he is a deeply ambiguous figure, and people (in general) don't like ambiguity. Ambiguity is especially bad in a screenplay, where it tends to confuse the Members of the Academy. However, it is precisely this ambiguity that makes Tom such an important element in The Lord of the Rings. Tom may not be important to the plot narrowly construed, but he casts a fascinating light on the larger, richer story of Middle-earth.

There are a lot of theories about who Tom Bombadil actually is. A lot of theories. Is he a Maiar -- that is to say, a semi-divine being (like Gandalf)? Is he the physical embodiment of the song of the gods? Is he God himself? Some fans look for clues in Tolkien's letters, where the author describes him (somewhat awkwardly) as "an exemplar, a particular embodying of pure (real) natural science." (Letter 153, Sept. 1954). In my view, trying to slot Tom Bombadil into a tidy map of Tolkien's mythology is approaching the issue precisely backwards. The question isn't how we use Tolkien's other writings to understand Tom, but how does Tom help us understand Tolkien's mythology.

First off, I think the best way to encounter Tom Bombadil is the same way that the hobbits encounter him: as a living being who comes "charging through the grass and rushes like a cow going down to drink." Like us, the hobbits also want to understand exactly who and what Tom is. But Tom resists their interpretations as stoutly as he does theirs. In response to Frodo's inquiries, Goldberry says, "He is, as you have seen him." The next day, when Frodo asks Tom directly, he replies, "Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer. Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless?"

That last answer reminds me of the Zen koan, "What was your original face before you were born?" And indeed there's something of the stench of Zen hanging around Tom. Like in Zen, his immunity to interpretation isn't an accident -- it is his essential quality (Indeed, in the letter quoted above, Tolkien says "I don't think Tom needs philosophizing about, and is not improved by it.") All that we, or the hobbits, can know about Tom is that we don't know about Tom. Even his immunity to the Ring of Power shows that he seems to exist outside the established order of things (As one astute commentator has noted, Tom literally "looks through" the Ring).

So what does this zero add up to? Anyone with an interest in Tolkien and an internet connection knows that there are thousands of fans who seek to understand the "Legendarium" of Middle-earth. Tolkien himself invites this practice, by carefully constructing in The Silmarillion and other words a complex but cohesive mythology -- so internally consistent that it seems to come alive. As one of my favourite commentators on this site, Zhu, has pointed out, part of Tolkien's mythology is a hierarchical Chain of Being, with the creator god Iluvatar at the top and Valar, Maiar, Elves etc. cascading on down. Thus, there is a strong temptation for readers and fans to want to systematize every character and element in The Lord of the Rings -- to understand where it comes from and how it fits into the Chain of Being.

The only problem with this approach is that a truly systematized world is a dead world. Real world mythologies are always populated with the irrational and inexplicable: How come Zeus transforms into a swan to have sex? Why do the Norse gods keep listening to Loki's advice? Where do Cain and Abel's wives come from? I think Tolkien grasped this point. Although he clearly had a powerful impulse to organize his own world, he also understood that there must be enough room for the mysterious, the irrational and the unknowable to let the whole thing breathe.

Tom plays that part. He lets us know that Middle-earth will always defy our full understanding. Nor is he the only one in Tolkien's writings. I would argue that in The Silmarillion, Ungoliant takes a similar role. Consider: after a carefully laid out cosmology which seems to explain the origins of absolutely everything ("The Music of the Ainur"), Tolkien abruptly presents this giant, malevolent void-spider. Ungoliant tears into the story. She has no origin, no place on the Chain of Being and seemingly no death. She literally comes out of nowhere. Just like Tom.

In sum, Tom Bombadil teaches us something vital about Tolkien's mythology: that it can never be fully comprehended. His ambiguous and mysterious nature let us know that ambiguity and mystery are at the heart of The Lord of the Rings.

[Image credit: The Brothers Hildebrandt "Tom Bombadil" Acrylic on Board (1976).]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 6 here.

Here's the full set of Citadel's toad miniatures for Talisman (1st/2nd edition).

Talisman Toads, Citadel (sculpted by Aly Morrison, 1986-1987)

Of all the cliches that populate Talisman, my favourite is being zapped into a toad. Getting turned into an amphibian is an an old saw that starts with the fairly tale of the Frog Prince and reaches into every story where magic plays a role, from The Lord of the Rings to Monty Python and the Holy Grail ("Well, I got better.") But as far as I know, Talisman is the only board game where getting toadifacted is a regular and oddly satisfying occurrence.

The pick of the litter, at least as far as I'm concerned, is the Pirate Toad. It's not just because he's an especially grotesque figure, but because he represents the only occasion where I've made money on my miniature collecting habit/obsession.

About two years ago, for reasons that are still not clear to me, I set out to collect and paint the entire range of Citadel's Talisman miniatures. I thought I already had a good start, having painted a couple dozen of the most common minis. Little did I fathom the magnitude of my self-appointed task. Did you realize that there are 70 Citadel Talisman miniatures, including expansions, alternates and amphibians? I sure didn't. That's because I'm A Idiot. 70 is a lot of lead. A lot of very expensive lead.

Talisman Pirate Toad, Citadel (sculpted by Aly Morrison, 1987)

Well, after blowing a fortune, I had finally gathered 69 of the miniatures. Only one lost sheep eluded me: the Pirate Toad. He couldn't be got for love or money. For painful months eBay was quiet. The Oldhammer Forum was silent. I wandered through the internet, looking for a Pirate Toad, but no Pirate Toad was to be found. Like every loony collector, I became convinced that this one last piece would never be found.

And then the PT surfaced on an eBay auction! There was only one catch. He was included in the collection of some other poor madman who had collected the entire range of Talisman miniatures. He was bundled with 71 of Talisman miniatures, as well as a complete set of the game and most of the expansions. It was a massive and very valuable lot. I was terrified this auction could easily run into the hundreds or thousands of dollars. But, one of the odder laws of eBay is that large collections often sell for a fraction of their true value -- even though individual Talisman minis often sell for between $20-40, this whole auction eventually topped out at only $200. That is to say, it sold to me for $200.

After unwrapping the Pirate Toad and laying him on my shoulders, I was left with only one dilemma. What to do with the extra 6 dozen Talisman miniatures that accidentally came with him? I hate selling stuff on eBay, especially piecemeal. So I asked around at the Oldhammer foum about selling in bulk and made some discrete inquiries of ads in the back of certain magazines ("turn your lead into gold"). I finally settled on Noble Knight Games. To my amazement, they offered me over $400 for the minis. (Not only did they give me a fair price, but they were a pleasure to deal with -- so I highly recommend them if you too are selling a bulk lot). I got to keep my toad, plus a nearly mint version of Talisman 2nd edition, Talisman Expansion, Talisman Adventure, Talisman Dungeon and Timescape.

Thanks for staying with me for the whole, long story. When a man finds his lost Pirate Toad, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my Pirate Toad which was lost.

Talisman Pirate, Citadel (sculpted by Aly Morrison, 1987)

"Well, I got better."

If I had a reason for living past the age of 40, I think that it's so that I could paint a miniature of Boba Fett. Surely I've been preparing my whole life for this moment. And well, now that the moment has come, it feels good.

Boba Fett, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

Mr. Fett is part of Twin Shadows, the new expansion of for Star Wars - Imperial Assault. Over the past month (including a lovely week by the seaside in Nova Scotia), I've been painting up the full complement of miniatures, including Sand People, Sandtroopers, and (my personal favourite) R2-D2 & C-3PO.

C-3PO and R2-D2, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

At the very beginning of TheAnalects, Confucius observes, "Isn't it a pleasure to study new things and practice what you have learned?" I wonder if Confucius painted miniatures. Seems likely because I know just how he feels. For the first time, I've been seriously studying how to apply dirt and battle damage, and trying out the various techniques on these Star Wars miniatures. Although I'm just beginning to learn this tricky business, it's been a blast.

As I've written before, my initial impulse with Star Wars has been to keep the miniatures clean. I've had enough of the sooty aesthetic of Warhammer -- instead I wanted to emulate the hygienic gleam of the Stormtroopers who first burst on to the Tantive IV. Be that as it may, I realized that painting Boba Fett without chipped paint is like painting the Last Supper and leaving out Judas.

After playing around with various chipping techniques, the one I settled on was very simple: outline the place to be chipped with the lightest shade of the surrounding area's highlight colour. Then dab black, black/brown or terracotta spots into that highlighted area. This creates the effect of light reflecting off the inner angle of the chip, with the dark metal or rust peeking through at the bottom. (You can see an example on the right). For extra-deep chips, a prick of silver in the midst of the dab of dark paint gives an impression of scraped metal. It's an easy technique but yields nice results. Sometimes, the simplest approach is best. (That's probably another saying patented by Confucius.)

Tusken Raiders, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

And if I'm going to present a distressed Boba Fett, I decided that I'd also make the Heavy Stormtroopers look like the poor, dirty grunts on Tatooine. Dirtiness is a tricky thing to paint using regular acrylics. I find that acrylic washes pool in ugly and unrealistic ways. Dry-brushing can emulate the spray of dried mud, but it's not particularly effective at showing the smeared dirt that gets into cracks and joints. I used some powders (Sienna and Umber) to soil the robes of the Tusken Raiders, in an effort to replicate the dust of the desert -- however the results didn't stun me.

Heavy Stormtroopers, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

So when it came to the Heavy Stormtroopers, I turned to oil paints.

I've got to say, I love oils. Despite my preconceived notions, they are remarkably easy to use -- and they create a lovely muddy effect without too much effort. You just dab some paint around, and then use a white spirit to thin it, blend it and (when necessary) erase it. The best part of oils, of course, is that (unlike an acrylic wash) they have a very realistic staining effect when you thin out the edges with white spirit. And they blend like magic. I enjoyed using oils so much that I also employed them to dirty-up Boba Fett's pants. Somehow I have trouble believing that Mrs. Fett is scrupulous about doing the big man's laundry.

Saska Teft and Biv Bodhrik, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

In general, I continue to be impressed by the sculptures of Benjamin Maillet and his team. C-3PO and R2-D2 capture the intricate details of the droids. Boba Fett is full of movement and drama, as are the Tusken Warriors. Other miniatures in the Twin Shadows box include two new Rebel heroes: Biv Bodhrik and Saska Teft. Neither are positively overwhelming sculpts -- although I do like the fact that Biv appears to be wearing some salvaged Stormtrooper armour.

Kayn Somos, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

The final member of the Twin Shadows suite is the Stormtrooper Captain, Kayn Somos, who comes (like Boba and the droids) in an associated figure pack that you have to buy for extra. His is a simple design befitting the fascist anonymity of the Stormtroopers. I like that he wears the striking orange pauldron that denotes a squad leader.

Here's one final pic of Boba Fett... what a wonderful miniature he was to paint: so much colour and so many details.

Thanks for looking!

I'm adding a new feature to Oldenhammer in Toronto: the Oldenhammer Galleries. These are permanent pages (accessed through a sidebar) that set out a complete collection of fully painted miniatures. My hope is that these galleries will be useful for other miniature painters who are looking for inspiration or a reference.

Talisman Hobgoblin, Barbarian and Amazon, Citadel (1986, sculpted by Aly Morrison)

The Hobgoblin, Barbarian and Amazon from Talisman Expansion (1986)

My first 2 sets of galleries are:

(1) The complete collection of Citadel's 1st and 2nd edition Talisman Miniatures -- organized by set (Talisman Basic Set, Talisman Expansion, Talisman Adventure, Talisman Dungeon, Talisman Timescape, Talismans Toads and Alternate Miniatures). This collection is inspired by the wonderful collection at Talisman Island.

(2) The complete collection of Fantasy Flight Game's Star Wars Imperial Assault Miniatures -- organized by faction (Rebels, Imperials and Mercenaries).

Royal Guard Captain, Imperial Assault FFG (2015, sculpted by Benjamin Maillet)

Royal Guard Champion from Imperial Assault (2014)

I hope to add other galleries soon!

Thanks for looking - sharing these pictures brings me a lot of joy.

Goldberry, acrylic on board, Brothers Hildebrandt (1977)

Chapter 7 of The Fellowship of the Ring

In this chapter, Frodo and the hobbits leave the hospitality of Tom Bombadil and Goldberry. Almost immediately, they get lost in the hills east of the Old Forest. In a dream-like sequence, they are trapped by wraiths and entombed in one of the burial mounds, where Tom rescues them in one last timely intervention.

The line in this chapter that struck me hardest comes near the chapter's opening, as the hobbits depart from Tom's house and turn for one final look at Goldberry:

There on the hill-brow she stood beckoning to them: her hair was flying loose, and as it caught the sun it shone and shimmered. A light like the glint of water on dewy grass flashed from under her feet as she danced.

Think about that last word: danced. Danced? Goldberry isn't waving goodbye, or blowing kisses. She is dancing so that the grass "flashes" under her feet. Is she tap-dancing? Pirouetting? Cakewalking? Well, your guess is as good as mine. In any case, it's an extraordinary image. But it's not an outlier. This one word made me realize how much song and dance play a role in the chapter and the book as a whole.

Consider: So far, the book has been liberally salted with songs/poems (Eight by my count, plus numerous musical numbers delivered by Tom). Hobbits frequently dance, like when Frodo's companions dance for joy when he decides to take them on his journey or when Tom dances at the beginning of the present chapter. And, most significantly, in the first paragraph of this chapter, Tolkien tells us that Frodo "heard a sweet singing running in his mind" as he lay dreaming. This beautiful music seems to give Frodo a connection with the higher powers.

But it isn't merely the forces of good that sing. As Frodo lies in the barrow, even the wraiths break out into song:

Suddenly a song began: a cold murmur, rising and falling. The voice seemed far away and immeasurably dreary, sometimes high in the air and thin, sometimes like a low moan from the ground. Out of the formless stream of sad but horrible sounds, strings of words would now and and again shape themselves: grim, hard, cold words, heartless and miserable.

Music is equally essential to the rescue of the hobbits in this chapter. Frodo summons Tom with a song that Tom taught him. And Tom triumphs by entering the tomb and out-singing the wraiths:

Tom stooped, removed his hat, and came into the dark chamber, singing:

Get out, you old Wight! Vanish in the sunlight! Shrivel like the cold mist, like the winds go wailing,Out into the barren lands far beyond the mountains!

The barrows are alive with the sound of music!

I have a suspicion that most readers politely blot most of this singing and dancing out of their minds as they read. Certainly, this is the route taken by filmmakers like Peter Jackson, in whose films the music is kept on a short tether. After all, if you take all the music and dance at face value, The Lord of the Rings becomes a cross between a novel and a musical. Like in a musical, characters dance and (especially) sing in order to express strong emotions.

From the Lord of the Rings musical

Now I know that song is central to Tolkien's mythology -- after all, his creation story in The Silmarillion is a vast piece of music. It's clear that Tolkien saw music as intrinsic to both magic and holiness. But today I'm not so much interested in Tolkien's myths, as I am in taking a step back and looking at the structure of his book, laced as it is with musical interludes.

It's easy to forget how unusual all this poetry really is. I was recently at a book launch for Giles Blunt, the thriller writer. One of the characters in his new book is a poet, and he included several of her poems in the book. At the launch, he especially thanked his editor at Random House for keeping these poems in the text, since most publishers have a strict "no poetry policy" (in his words) for all novels. Now of course, Tolkien wasn't writing a thriller -- but it's fair to ask, what sort of book does include so many characters who are ready to sing when they walk, bathe, or suck the life out of hobbits?

I have trouble finding clear precedents in literature. Greece and Rome bequeathed to us a a sharp division between poetry and prose; something was either a poem (like The Aeneid) or it was prose (like The Annals) -- so classical epic isn't much of a precedent. Similarly, chivalric epics (which were a big influence on Tolkien) were sometimes written in prose and sometimes in verse, but they don't mix the two. Norse Sagas, of course, have poetry interspersed in the text -- but I'm not sure that this poetry was actually sung by the characters, as much as it was composed and then recited. And certainly, there's not a lot of dancing in the Icelandic Sagas.

The Hebrew Bible is the only book I can think of where song and dance are often incorporated into the text as the natural behaviour of the characters. For instance, look at these passages from Exodus:

Then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto the Lord, and spake, saying,
I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously:
the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.
(Exodus 15:1)

And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances. (Exodus 15:20)

Also famous is King David, whose singing and harp-playing a central to the story of his life. Think of his haunting lament at the death of Saul and Jonathan:

The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places: how are the mighty fallen!
Tell it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Askelon; lest the daughters of the Philistines rejoice, lest the daughters of the uncircumcised triumph. (2 Samuel 1:19-20)

But even in the Bible, this mix of song and prose narrative is primarily a result of the way the Bible was written: many hands over time stitched together folk tales, folk songs, courtly histories, and hymns into a patchwork quilt. As a result, you will often get songs jumbled together with stories. The Lord of the Rings, on the other hand, was written by one man as one coherent work.

Where does this leave us? Well, my main point is a simple one: don't let familiarity mask how unusual The Lord of the Rings actually is. The characters often sing and dance in ways that are highly unrealistic. This is not normal for a novel, and certainly not a fantasy novel. It's an approach to portraying reality that resembles a musical more than an epic.

Why? Musicals are such a popular genre of performance because song and dance can deliver a powerful emotional punch -- a punch which is much harder to deliver with nothing but the spoken word. Although breaking into song isn't true to life, audiences in a theatre leave this aside because the music delights them and heightens their experiences. I think it is this heightened world that Tolkien wanted to create with his own songs. He envisioned a hyper-real world, where the colours were more vivid and the landscape throbbed with strange life. In this fantasy world, wizards cast spells and elves live forever -- and people sing to express their feelings. It's all part of the same magical and fantastic world.

[Image credit: The Brothers Hildebrandt "Goldberry" Acrylic on Board (1976).]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 7 here.

General Krapfang eyed the sea with a sour expression. "Gorblymee," he observed, "It shur looks wet."

He stood on a low promontory, overlooking a long and desolate beach. Behind him, the remnants of his orc army were bivouacked among the dunes. The pursuing Skaven horde was only a day behind. The ratmen had chased Krapfang and his troops for almost fifty leagues, apparently with the design of pushing them right off the edge of the Black Peninsula and into the sea. The wet, wet sea.

Man O'War Orc Hulks

"Git dat fire blazen, boyz," said Krapfang. There were no trees on this awful spit, so he had ordered the Man-Mangler to be broken up with axes for fuel. The engineers had protested, so he ordered them broken up with axes too. "Da Mangler can't 'elp urse where's weez gota go." Krapfant knew that his only hope lay in kindling a signal fire big enough to attract the great orc pirate, Commodore Stonker Flegmaticus.

Orcs do not take naturally to the sea. The naval historians of Marienburg have theorized that the first orc ship was in fact a poorly constructed wooden keep that was swept into the Sea of Claws by a flash flood. Indeed, the orcs seemed to have walked backwards into several important naval innovations.

So, for example, their use of boiler engines arose from the simple fact that orcs enjoy burning coal because the fumes and soot relax them. It was left to a dwarven prisoner aboard one vessel to point out to his orc captors that the coal furnace was not merely a recreational device, but could be used as a form of propulsion.

Man O'War Orc Drillakilla squadron

A true passion for the sea was only lit in the orcs once they noticed that every time they built a ship, some officious elf or human would try to sink it. With surprise and delight, orcs realized that naval combat is significantly more violent than land battles; loud noises, lots of war-machines and ramming are the order of the day. Boarding involved claustrophobic melees, "like a knife-fight in a barrel" (to quote one early orc admiral). And once a boarding action was joined, there was nowhere for anyone to run. In a theological sense, this is the orcish definition of paradise.

Amid the various orc sea-masters who have terrorized the Old World, none are as feared as Commodore Stonker Flegmaticus. He has rampaged from Erengrad to Araby, raiding ports, seizing slaves and sinking fleets. His tactical genius is a byword. He was the first to note that, in a pinch, a drunk dwarf can be fired from a catapult as an incendiary missile. And at the Battle of Bilbali, it was Flegmaticus who sank the Estalian flagship by ordering grapples to be thrown at the top of its mast, allowing an orc Hulk to tip the vessel over in a hideous tug of war.

Man O'War Orc Bigchukka squadron

Krapfang's wizard, Grogeye, had advised him that Flegmaticus was pirating around the Black Gulf. A naval evacuation was now Krapfang's only hope. Surely the Commodore would be looking for a few good marines. And surely he would have heard of Krapfang's exploits... that is to say, his successful exploits. They would meet as peers. Surely. Maybe it would all work out... after all, could it get worse?

Man O'War Orc Wyvern Riders

Thanks for looking!

The flagship of Commodore Stonker Flegmaticus, "The Grunder"

Chapter 9 of The Fellowship of the Ring

On an intercity bus ride a few nights ago, I woke from a sleep to overhear two strangers chatting in the dark about fantasy novels. I gathered one was a theology student, and the other had worked for a church. They seemed super-humanly earnest. They discussed C.S. Lewis ("wonderful!") and J.R.R. Tolkien (not so wonderful), both agreeing that The Lord of the Rings was "hard going" and "like history".

CS Lewis: Theologian approved.

The whole scene reminded me of this week's chapter: a nocturnal journey, a hushed conversation, a hidden eavesdropper. In At the Sign of the Prancing Pony, the hobbits arrive in the town of Bree and try to evade the pursuit of the Black Riders. But before the action begins, Tolkien administers a heavy dose of background information: the architecture of Bree, race-relations in Bree and ancient migration patterns. No wonder some readers find this "hard going" and "like history".

Other readers (like myself) eat this stuff up with a spoon. De gustibus something something something, as dear old dad likes to remind me. But the strangers' conversation pointed me to a larger question. The Lord of the Rings contains so much lore -- but what is it missing?

It is missing a lot. We can see this from the description of Bree in the present chapter: "In those days no other Men had settled dwellings so far west, or within a hundred leagues of the Shire." The lands are empty.

More specifically, there are three main things surprisingly absent from Middle-earth: people, government and religion. Let me take each one in turn:

There are no people. Middle-earth generally, and especially the northwest, is severely depopulated. Bree and the Shire (which only have a few thousand people between them) appear to be the only settlements between Rivendell and the Grey Havens, a distance of about 500 miles (or the distance between Paris and Berlin). Indeed, we're told in the first sentence of this chapter that the lands are "empty" -- and this dominating wilderness is a huge theme in The Lord of the Rings.
But this depopulation not very plausible, whatever the cause. It's not how humans work: we fill up spaces, especially nice temperate spaces like north-west Middle-earth. For example, even after the Black Death carried off 25%-33% of the population of Europe, recovery was swift, with "prompt" economic, agricultural and political recovery. And although the population took a long time to fully bounce back, Europe did not become a wasteland.
There is no government. Bree and the Shire appear to exist in a state of anarchy (in the original sense of that word - "without leaders"). We're told that the Shire has a mayor but that he's really more of a toastmaster:

"The only real official in the Shire at this date was the Mayor of Michel Delving (or of the Shire), who was elected every seven years at the Free Fair on the White Downs at the Lithe, that is at Midsummer. As mayor almost his only duty was to preside at banquets, given on the Shire-holidays, which occurred at frequent intervals." (FotR, Prologue)

So, on the one hand, we have a complex society (a postal network, inns and trade) but no way of resolving disputes, no authority figure, not even a local warlord (until Sharkey comes along). Frankly, this is freakish. In the world as we know it, prosperous villages can't spend hundreds of years in harmonious anarchy. Although there were some self-governing communities in the medieval world, they were not stable or long lasting (even Iceland had its chieftains and a complex system of government). The absence of any state in northwest Middle-earth is not plausible.
There is no church. The topic of religion in Tolkien is fascinating, and probably deserves its own post. Here I'll simply say that devotion, ceremony and even faith are absent from The Lord of the Rings. There are no houses of worship, no clergy not scriptures. Nothing in the Shire, and nothing here in Bree. So far, the closest we've gotten to the Supreme Being is when Merry cries out "Lawks" (i.e. "Lord!") in Chapter 5 as he sees what a mess Pippin is making with his bath.

This is a huge rupture with the way that humans generally behave. Before modern times, no human society existed without some form of spiritual belief. And the Middle Ages were especially bananas for religion. At the heart of every medieval village and town was a church with its steeple rising into the sky. This was an age "drenched in mysticism", with religious belief impregnating every aspect of life.

I don't mean any of this as a critique. After all, Tolkien was writing a fantasy novel. He's entitled to bend reality as much as he pleases. And by leaving out these elements, Tolkien is able to focus on things he really cares about: the Edenic existence of hobbits in the Shire or the vastness of the wilderness (to give two examples).

I just want to point out how fantastic Middle-earth really is. It's nothing like our world as we know it, and certainly nothing like medieval Europe. To conceive of a temperate continent without a thriving population, without a state, and without any religion is an act of pure imagination, more audacious than giving us elves, dragons and magic swords.

Indeed, it's a mental leap that many Tolkien fans have trouble making. You see this especially in role-playing or computer games set in Middle-earth. In an effort to make the game more digestible, the lands fill up with little cities and local potentates, or characters take on classes like priests and animists. I can understand this from a game-play perspective, but sometimes these extraneous works distract us from Tolkien's unique vision. Middle-earth is a strange place with strange absences that make it nothing "like history."

[Image credit with kind permission: Ted Nasmith "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony" Gouache on illustration board (1990).]

You can find my commentary on Chapter 8 here.

Squeaking in at the last minute is a final Orctober offering: three Giant Black Orcs by Bob Olley. Yes, that's right... they're not just Orcs, they're not just Giant Orcs... they're Giant Black Orcs. That phrase should strike fear into your heart. It's like hearing your doctor say, it's not just herpes, it's not just antibiotic-resistant herpes... it's antibiotic-resistant genital herpes.

One of my arsenal of personality defects is that I am an obsessive completionist. Once I start collecting something, I have to collect it all. So last year, I was proud of myself when I finished collecting and painting all 12 of Bob Olley's Iron Claw Black Orcs (sculpted in 1988). I was proud of myself. I stopped being proud when someone on the Oldhammer Forum helpfully/unhelpfully pointed out that Olley sculpted three more Black Orcs in 1989. These three additions were grouped with the Iron Claw originals in the 1991 Catalogue as "Giant Black Orcs".

An Iron Claw Black Orc

Hearing this triggered my mania. Sleepless nights. Bitten nails. Long, solitary walks. However, the goddess eBay eventually smiled on me, and a few months ago I was able to pick up all three in one fell swoop.

I've written before about how much I love Olley's sculpting style. The original Iron Claw Black Orcs are like no other orc: hairy, big-lipped and wrinkled. Sadly, these three later specimens are not so odd. They replicate the conventional features of orcs in the age of Kev Adams: lots of muscles, a comic under-bite and a bald, triangular skull with deep-set eyes. That being said, these are quality models with strong dynamic poses. As with all Olley miniatures, the faces are full of character.

To mark the end of another Orctober, I'm adding a new Miniature Gallery to those gathered on the right of this page: the complete Bob Olley Giant Black Orcs. At least, I hope it's complete...

Giant Black Orc Axe 2, Citadel (sculpted by Bob Olley, 1990)

Citadel "Giant Black Orc Axe 2"

Giant Black Orc Mace 2, Citadel (sculpted by Bob Olley, 1990)

Citadel "Giant Black Orc Mace 2"

Giant Black Orc Axe 1, Citadel (sculpted by Bob Olley, 1990)

Citadel "Giant Black Orc Axe 1"

Happy Orctober!

Consider the Rodian. An alien in the classic form: green skin, pointed ears, antenna like sausage rolls. Maybe they are slow on the draw. Maybe they are not. In any case, I am glad that they are here. Fantasy Flight Games continues to produce miniatures for Star Wars: Imperial Assault at a stately pace, and I paint them as fast as I can get my hands on them.

The latest is a an odd assortment. But my favourite are the Rodian "Hired Guns". Mrs. Oldenhammer-in-Toronto often accuses me of favouring "dreary" colours when I paint. And so, for these space thugs, I decided to use the pinkiest pink I could contrive. Who knows, perhaps to a Rodian bubble-gum pink with red accents is an attractive combination.

My favourite part of these miniatures is the rules that go along with them. The FFG does a top-notch job of capturing the flavour of Star Wars, and this is a homage to Greedo, the hapless bounty hunter. The Hired Guns are expendable by design -- they're at their best when used as cannon-fodder, because before they die, they have can take a parting shot at the hero who zapped them first. Watch out, Han.

Also in this new release is an alternate Stormtrooper model. It's not the most radical redesign, but it's an improvement on the earlier model, which always looked to me like the trooper had a gamy leg. In any case, I'm just glad to see FFG expand the Stare Wars range with variant models since it adds vibrancy to the game. I hope they keep it up.

Stormtrooper Variant Pose, Imperial Assault FFG (sculpted by Benjamin Maillet, 2015)

New Stormtrooper in Variant Pose

Stormtrooper, Imperial Assault FFG (sculpted by Benjamin Maillet, 2014)

Stormtrooper in Original Pose (note the gamy leg)

And finally, there are the Wookie Warriors. These ones give me concern. The models are uninspired, with clunky weapons and an uninteresting, symmetrical pose. There's something about their expression that suggests that they're about to tackle a spaghetti eating contest rather than a squadron of Stormtroopers. But the sculpting is not the worst part.

I won't belabour the rules-talk those who don't play Imperial Assault as a skirmish game, but suffice it to say that these hairy killers have instantly become best value on the table: durable as a Soviet tank and fierce as a grizzly bear. Single-handedly, they make the Rebels the most powerful faction in the game. I have trouble imagining why in tournament play, a competitor wouldn't simply field a force with as many of these Wookies as possible. They'd tear Darth Vader to ribbons.

To put it another way, the Wookie Warriors are the first sign in Imperial Assault of "rules inflation", where players are encouraged to buy new supplements and models because they're slightly more powerful than last year's offerings. This sort of rules inflation is all too familiar to Warhammer players. Indeed, I think it's one of the reasons that Oldhammer is so popular... it's a return to the pristine currency of a bygone age. Well, that's a topic for another day...

Wookie Warrior, Imperial Assault FFG (sculpted by Benjamin Maillet, 2015)

Does he look angry? Or merely a little hungry?

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: the Foreword

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: the Prologue

Reading along with The Lord of the Rings: A Long-Expected Party

Reading along with The Lord of the Rings: The Shadow of the Past

Mon Calamari Saboteurs: Conversions for Imperial Assault

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: Three is Company

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: A Short Cut to Mushrooms

Painted Talisman Timescape Miniatures

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: A Conspiracy Unmasked

Painting Pain: Darth Vader without the helmet

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: The Old Forest

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: In the House of Tom Bombadil

You are now a slimy, little TOAD

Painted Miniatures for Star Wars - Twin Shadows

The Complete Set of Talisman Miniatures

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: Fog on the Barrow-Downs

Orctober 2015: Man O'War Orc Fleet

Reading along with the Lord of the Rings: At the Sign of the Prancing Pony

Orctober: Bob Olley's (later) Giant Black Orcs

Star Wars: Hired Guns, Wookie Warriors and Stormtroopers, oh my!