The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien Summary
A number-one New York Times bestseller when it was originally published, THE SILMARILLION is the core of J.R.R. Tolkien's imaginative writing, a work whose origins stretch back to a time long before THE HOBBIT. Tolkien considered THE SILMARILLION his most important work, and, though it was published last and posthumously, this great collection of tales and legends clearly sets the stage for all his other writing. The story of the creation of the world and of the the First Age, this is the ancient drama to which the characters in THE LORD OF THE RINGS look back and in whose events some of them, such as Elrond and Galadriel, took part. The three Silmarils were jewels created by Feanor, most gifted of the Elves. Within them was imprisoned the Light of the Two Trees of Valinor before the Trees themselves were destroyed by Morgoth, the first Dark Lord. Thereafter, the unsullied Light of Valinor lived on only in the Silmarils, but they were seized by Morgoth and set in his crown, which was guarded in the impenetrable fortress of Angband in the north of Middle-earth. THE SILMARILLION is the history of the rebellion of Feanor and his kindred against the gods, their exile from Valinor and return to Middle-earth, and their war, hopeless despite all their heroism, against the great Enemy. This second edition features a letter written by J.R.R. Tolkien describing his intentions for the book, which serves as a brilliant exposition of his conception of the earlier Ages of Middle-earth.
I’ve been contemplating whether or not to tackle the challenge of actually reviewing this masterpiece for quite some time now. In the end, after having finished reading it for the second time, I realised that I should at least throw out my thoughts on it. So here we go…
This is in my eyes the most impressive book ever written.
Notice how I did not say “best”. That was completely intentional. I do not believe it is the best book ever written, even though I know others think so, and I understand their opinions. I also know people who have given up on reading this book, or been baffled by the thought of even attempting it. And I understand them too. This is not the most exciting fantasy book you’ll find. But I stand by it being the most impressive one.
After almost reluctantly publishing The Hobbit and very reluctantly writing and publishing its sequel The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien could finally concentrate on what he actually wanted to do: to complete his collection of tales on the mythology and origins of Arda, often just referred to as Middle-Earth. The result, though published after the great man himself had passed away, became The Silmarillion
On the back of my little blue timeworn paperback, which is almost twice as old as I am, I read a little quote from the Guardian review of the original release. It says “How, given little over half a century of work, did one man become the creative equivalent of a people?” And the question more or less summarises my own feelings on this book and Tolkien’s other works. These three hundred pages have given life to the most impressive achievement of human creativity ever. No fantasy author has ever done anything matching this, and it is my firm belief that no one ever will. The only book The Silmarillion can be compared to is the Bible and (I hope I do not offend anyone by saying this) even it does not come close to this.
The creation of the World by the songs of the Ainur… the schemes of Morgoth Bauglir for dominion over the world… the making of the wondrous Silmarils… the breeding of great Dragons in the firepits of Angband… the story of Beren and Lúthien… tales of war and betrayal and love and loss and joy and grief and everything you could possibly imagine in a tale of fantasy. All of it can be found within the pages of this little book.
This book is not for everyone. In fact, I would only recommend it to those who have read and loved both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. But I wouldn’t hesitate to call it the greatest masterpiece of worldbuilding the fantasy genre has ever had.
All that remains is to refer you to my little collection of quotes and artwork from the most important scenes of the book. Most of you have already seen it, but for those who haven’t, please have a look:
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When the Valar entered into Eä they were at first astounded and at a loss, for it was as if naught was yet made which they had seen in vision, and all was but on point to begin and yet unshaped, and it was dark. For the Great Music had been but the growth and flowering of thought in the Timeless Halls, and the Vision only a foreshowing; but now they had entered in at the beginning of Time, and the Valar perceived that the World had been but foreshadowed and foresung, and they must achieve it. So began their great labours in wastes unmeasured and unexplored, and in ages uncounted and forgotten, until in the Deeps of Time and in the midst of the vast halls of Eä there came to be that hour and that place where was made the habitation of the Children of Ilúvatar.
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Dark now fell the shadow on Beleriand, as is told hereafter, but in Angband Morgoth forged for himself a great crown of iron, and he called himself King of the World. In token of this he set the Silmarils in his crown. His hands were burned black by the touch of those hallowed jewels, and black they remained ever after; nor was he ever free from the pain of the burning, and the anger of the pain.
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The one had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining as silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling, and the earth beneath was dappled with the shadows of his fluttering leaves. The other bore leaves of a young green like the new-opened beech; their edges were of glittering gold. Flowers swung upon her branches in clusters of yellow flame, formed each to a glowing horn that spilled a golden rain upon the ground; and from the blossom of that tree there came forth warmth and a great light.
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So in that place which was called Losgar at the outlet of the Firth of Drengist ended the fairest vessels that ever sailed the sea, in a great burning, bright and terrible. And Fingolfin and his people saw the light afar off, red beneath the clouds; and they knew that they were betrayed.
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In the front of that fire came Glaurung the golden, father of dragons, in his full might; and in his train were Balrogs, and behind them came the black armies of the Orcs in multitudes such as the Noldor had never seen or imagined.
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He passed over Dor-nu-Fauglith like a wind amid the dust, and all that beheld his onset fled in amaze, thinking that Oromë himself was come: for a great madness of rage was upon him, so that his eyes shone like the eyes of the Valar. Thus he came alone to Angband’s gates, and he sounded his horn, and smote once more upon the brazen doors, and challenged Morgoth to come forth to single combat. And Morgoth came.
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Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the starlit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight. As the light upon the leaves of trees, as the voice of clear waters, as the stars above the mists of the world, such was her glory and her loveliness; and in her face was a shining light.
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Before the rising of the sun Earendil slew Ancalagon the Black, the mightiest of the dragon-host, and cast him from the sky; and he fell upon the towers of Thangorodrim, and they were broken in his ruin.
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And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters.
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Ever they dwindled with the years, until their glory passed, leaving only green mounds in the grass. At length naught was left of them but a strange people wandering secretly in the wild, and other men knew not their homes nor the purpose of their journeys, and save in Imladris, in the house of Elrond, their ancestry was forgotten.
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Then the name of the forest was changed and Mirkwood it was called, for the nightshade lay deep there, and few dared to pass through, save only in the north where Thranduil's people still held the evil at bay.
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In the twilight of autumn it sailed out of Mithlond, until the seas of of the Bent World fell away beneath it, and the winds of the round sky troubled it no more, and borne upon the high airs above the mists of the world it passed into the Ancient West, and an end was come for the Eldar of story and of song.