okay, this article is really good and I am all about the analysis of the way nk jemisin uses apocalypse in the fifth season but
Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and C.S. Lewis’s Narnia provide the blueprint; a just, magical realm is threatened with destruction by dark, corrupting forces, which must be beaten back by chosen hereditary rulers.
no, no, you’re wrong, because a) the force that defeats sauron is not a chosen hereditary ruler, and b) the really cool thing about tolkien’s cosmology is actually that he does this same thing where he uses apocalypse as both a destructive and creative force, the world has to be broken to be created, arda is created flawed and the promise of arda unmarred is a promise eternally deferred, peace in tolkien is fleeting and tends toward decay, I wrote an entire fucking thesis about this
when did I turn into a person who goes “tolkien’s universe is more morally complex than just ‘good vs. evil, chosen one defeats evil, the end’, fight me” because I’m not sure this is the person I want to be
The funniest part of that quote is that the main purpose and usefulness of lotr’s “chosen hereditary ruler” character is that…well, okay, this is a bit of a dubious rabbit hole, but even though Aragorn is not really a subversion of the destiny-driven heir-in-exile heroic trope, his big difference from other straight-played examples of it is that he knows that he’s really, really, not the protagonist of this particular story (not literally, but, like, functionally? When blocking out the in-universe factors that equate to narrative ones, which are abnormally self-aware here due to how meta LOTR is.) And further, he’s genre-savvy enough to realize that Sauron swears by the inevitability of predictable tropes in other people (because this has actually always worked for him – see: the Rings of Power, 2nd Age; Finrod Felagund, 1st Age) and therefore thinks Aragorn is the protagonist of this particular story.
And so, Aragorn’s main function is to take advantage of this misunderstanding by gathering up all the advantages of his chosen-one-hereditary-ruler-destined-hero-prophecy-fulfiller-ness – both personal (all his know-how and bamf-ery and connections acquired through the improbably cool past granted to him due to his membership in this archetype) and narrative (all the military resources and personal authority that are currently at his disposal due to plot events he was allowed to handle due to his membership in this archetype) – bundling it into a giant ball, and fastballing it at Sauron in the style of some kind of “Dark Lord vs Chosen One: which one can overwhelm the other one through superior might?” climactic battle as convincingly and distractingly as he can (not really expecting, but hoping, they will be of some help to Frodo and that Frodo will somehow save everyone). Which eggs on Sauron’s mistaken belief that he’s in a completely different story from the one LOTR actually is, thereby emptying Mordor of soldiers, focusing all the attention on the army outside the gate, and giving Frodo and Sam a clear path to Mount Doom. Weaponized protagonist-vibes used in the role of a supporting character, in order to serve the actual protagonist.
(yeah, ofc, big oversimplification of that B-plot’s many, many secondary meanings for the bigger scheme of things, but I mean, this is its primary meaning for the A-plot that everything else hangs on bc everything else is a lost cause otherwise.)
By “funniest” I mean…funny how so much lotr-inspired sci fi and fantasy tends to ape at face value the bullshit explanation of the plot that Aragorn fed Sauron/allowed Sauron to believe: “Yeah man, I’m totally the protagonist!! I mean, I’m the chosen one, and the heir of the guy who defeated you the first time, and everything, how could I not be the protagonist, and this attack is totally that big damn good vs evil battle that happens at the end of all the stories that’s against-all-odds for the dramatic tension, but which I expect to magically win due to being a protagonist, pay no attention to the hobbit behind the curtain, hahahahaha, hey, over here, keep your eyes on me, uh, remember this sword? Elendil!! Elendil!!”
civilization 5 barbarians: a small rapscallion of a skeleton. his heart is full of malice that his tiny body cannot accomplish, so he settles for smacking your beverages off of the coffee table when you aren’t looking. his shenanigans are tiresome
civilization 6 barbarians:
this fucking dude –
he is made of metal. his bones are covered in spikes and when he howls his terrible war howl, the sun goes dark and birds fall from the sky. you watch in terrified awe as he picks up your car and bites it in half. his name is written on his forehead in three-meter-tall flaming letters, and it is FUCKMOUNTAIN DEATHMONSTER. there can be no hope in a universe that contains the fuckmountain
Ashley when do you plan to write a full fantasy novel in this exact style because holy shit.
“the riders have returned from the east,” the messenger shouted as he ran into the throne room. “it’s true, the beast Fuckmountain walks again.”
“the beast walks,” said Harshsmell the dwarf emperor, stroking his expansive shield-beard.
“and the Fifth Age of this world comes to a bony end,” moaned Bibarel the elf, prancingly.
“that isn’t true,” said a shadow near the wall. a man stepped out of it. four swords glittered on his back, and a hood covered his face.
“who are you, and how the balls did you get into my throne room?!’ shrieked Harshsmell
“I have come to put an end to this giant skeleton bullshit”
“fool!” shouted Harshsmell beardily. “no mere man can kill Fuckmountain! he pisses fire! his teeth are made of diamonds, and inside his head are thoughts only of malice and fucking shit up. no heart lies in his chest, because he’s a FUCKING SKELETON. he’s literally made of bones, the least-stabbable organ. you can’t kill that, dipshit”
“I’m gonna.”
“he ate two castles,” Harshsmell continued, moaning. “at the same time. i was there.”
the man stood his ground. Harshsmell glared at him dwarfily. “GUARDS! this man distresses me. take him away”
the guards moved forward to seize the intruder, but he stood his ground. though his face was not visible, Bibarel studied him.
“friend, is that Skullantula the Up-Fucker that you carry?” he asked
“it is,” said the man. he unsheathed one of his swords. it was made of jagged blood, but inscribed on the side with ancient elfin magic was a skull. both of the skull’s eyes were eight-balls.
the guards stopped in their tracks. one of them gave the sword an appraising nod and a thumbs up
“and Stabslicer the Grim,” the man continued, “and the Killblade of the Metalzillas, and the Large Fucking Hellscalpel, the last sword forged by the hands of the fire wizards of Double Lava Mountain”
“the fire wizards,” rumbled Harshsmell, “have been dead for two hundred years”
“and I’m the one who killed them”
“holy shit. fuck.”
“yeah, I know, right?”
“who are you, that could do such great things? no one man should have all that power”
“i am no man,” said the intruder, and finally pulled back his hood to reveal his face. he was three wolves. “I am Three-Wolves. I am three wolves.”
—
excerpt from The Fight Saga of Three-Wolves Book 3: The Turbo Dragons of Castle Knifedick
Found this reddit post. This kinda makes me feel better. And it’s something I think about sometimes because I always feel like regardless of how hard I work on something I don’t get anywhere.
Aw Yiss 