“Here are beauties which pierce like swords or burn like cold iron.”— C. S. Lewis
Words fail me whenever I try portraying the comprehensiveness of Tolkien’s imagination as even I sometimes find it hard to believe that a single person somehow created this myth of epic proportions. Millions of people have lived in the high-fantasy world of Middle-earth for the past 70 years, which without a doubt, is the most discursive one known to human imagination.
Consequentially, it amazes and grieves me at the same time that the last material written by Tolkien is going to be published next month. Tolkien started writing the book, named ‘The Children of Hurin’, in 1918. The work never saw the light of day during its author’s life. After Tolkien’s death, his youngest son Christopher began work on completing the unpublished writings of his father for posthumous publishing. The last book would mark conclusion of the colossal fantasy nine decades after it was first conceived by Tolkien.
Nevertheless, the scenario of someone ever running out of material while pursuing the universe of Ea is still very dubious …
“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.”