Here Be Dragons

by Stefan Ekman

  Ultimately, as we saw, the challenge lies in returning. Without returning, the journey is for naught; nothing will have been saved. Vlad and Zerika both save the Empire through their return. Only by coming back from Faerie can Tristran learn of his inheritance. Only in Ancelstierre can Kerrigor (the antagonist from Sabriel) and the Destroyer be defeated. With the return comes the realization that despite the border, the two domains are parts of one world, not separated from each other. “[T]he two kingdoms are actually one,” claims Campbell, for whom this unity is the key to understanding myth and symbol.49 While it might not be the key to the literary constructions that are fantasy worlds, it is nevertheless a reminder of a central fact about these worlds. Life and death, Faerie and mundanity, magical and technological domains have borders because they belong together, not because they are separate and unconnected.

  THE GEOGRAPHY OF HISTORY: POLDERS IN TOLKIEN, HOLDSTOCK, AND PRATCHETT

  Not everyone is let in; but those who are will find that regardless of whether they have walked into a mysterious forest, descended into a hidden valley, or entered a curious house, the rules of the world have changed. Fantasy geography is sprinkled liberally with such places, of varying size and (to their respective stories) importance. They might be as small as a single building or as large as a country, and they are often larger on the inside than on the outside. Likening such enclosed domains to the Dutch lowland areas that are protected from the surrounding sea by dykes, Kaveney suggested the term polder for them.50 The term was further developed by Clute in The Encyclopedia of Fantasy, in which he defines polders as

  enclaves of toughened reality, demarcated by boundaries […] from the surrounding world. It is central to our definition of the polder that these boundaries are maintained; some significant figure within the tale almost certainly comprehends and has acted upon (in the backstory, or during the course of the ongoing plot) the need to maintain them. A polder, in other words, is an active microcosm, armed against the potential wrongness of that which surrounds it, an anachronism consciously opposed to wrong time.51

  The assertion that a polder is an anachronism opposed to wrong time deserves further comment. Clute claims that “[s]uccessful polders do not change. Polders change only when they are being devoured from without.”52 In other words, for a polder, the internal and external realities are set up as opposing forces, and as long as the polder is successfully maintained, it does not change. The world outside does, however, and its change widens the temporal gap between the two realities. The polder becomes a maintained anachronism—that is, an anachronism opposed to the time of the surrounding world, actively if not consciously (because it begs the question: whose consciousness?). The external time is, and must be, the wrong time, since, in a polder, any time but its own is wrong. Hence, a polder must not only be maintained but also defended from external influence. “Surrounding the polder,” Clute continues, “is a world whose effects may—all unconsciously—be inimical.”53

  With reference to Stardust, I discussed how a domain on one side of a border might be hostile to the domain on the other side—how mundanity threatens Faerie. Yet the other domain need not be hostile, as in the example from the Brust novels. For polders, danger from without is the rule rather than the exception. Although the surrounding wrongness is, according to Clute, only potential, I would like to add that it is also highly probable. Maintenance is required for a reason; without it, the polder boundary would collapse and the polder with it. The threat to the polder’s existence is present in one form or another. It might not be part of the plot, but it is always there, as can be seen from the examples that follow.

  Three of the genre’s multitude of polders have been chosen to illustrate different aspects of how polder boundaries are maintained and crossed. All three are geographical features in one way or another, and they also exemplify how the various realities are protected from their respective surroundings. Tolkien’s elven realm of Lothlórien (in The Lord of the Rings) is a typical polder. Clearly maintained by Lady Galadriel and her Ring of Power, the elven realm is an anachronism where the long-gone past still remains and where time flows differently from the way it does on the outside. Lothlórien is caught between the devil and the deep blue sea, either falling to the forces of Sauron or fading away once the One Ring is destroyed; its fate is thus inextricably bound to the plot of the novel. Robert Holdstock’s Ryhope Wood (in the Mythago Wood cycle [1984–2009]) is also an anachronism, a rather small clump of wildwood that has managed to remain in place since the last Ice Age. As with the elven polder, the past opens up in the forest; but here, time and space are connected: the farther in one ventures, the deeper into the past one ends up. The polder differs from Lothlórien by lacking a clearly identifiable character who maintains it. Instead, it is maintained and defended by the life force of the woodlands. This forest is at the center of the story, not a place to pass through, and characters are attracted to and into it. The plots of the novels have little to do with what danger the surrounding countryside presents, although the obvious threat, the felling of trees, is occasionally alluded to. The final example, Pratchett’s Egyptian parody Djelibeybi (in Pyramids [1989]), demonstrates how a polder can be maintained by forces less personal than Galadriel and more human than the forest life force. Like the previous examples, Djelibeybi is an anachronism, a place where nothing new happens. Here, the past, and thus the polder, is maintained through a combination of the literal destruction of new time and fierce upholding of traditions. The plot is focused on how influences from the surrounding world are brought into conflict with the traditions and with the high priest who maintains them. These three examples demonstrate some of the various ways in which the core features of a polder, an anachronism whose maintained boundaries separate it from the inimical surrounding world, can be employed.

  Damming the Tides of Time: Tolkien’s Lothlórien54

  Although the “Polder” entry in The Encyclopedia of Fantasy specifically mentions Tom Bombadil’s realm as an example of a polder in The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien’s most typical polder is the elven realm of Lothlórien, maintained by Galadriel and her Ring of Power. Lothlórien is like a piece of Faerie surrounded by mundanity, the High Elves’ last remaining kingdom and, as such, an anachronism preserving a piece of the Elder Days (which ended some six millennia before Frodo sets off with the Ring). Lothlórien is presented through its boundaries, whose gradual nature becomes evident as the Company enters the polder. The approach is, as Tom Shippey puts it, “an oddly complex one,”55 something he demonstrates by examining the Company’s crossings of the rivers Nimrodel and Silverlode. These are, however, only two of a number of stages required of the Company as it goes into the polder. The full five stages of the “oddly complex” approach are, I would argue, entering the mallorn forest; wading across the Nimrodel; meeting the guards; crossing the Silverlode; and finally walking blindfolded to Cerin Amroth. Only then does Frodo fully experience how extraordinary a place the elven realm is. Let us examine these stages in greater detail:

  The first stage, entering the mallorn forest, stresses the danger of the elven realm but also relates it to Faerie. When the Company arrives at Lothlórien’s northern border, the trees give a rather uninviting impression. This adds emphasis to the suggestion of an entrance to a magical place where they are all in danger. In the dim light of the stars, tall, gray trees spread their boughs over the road, and the Company hears a rustling of dry leaves in a chilly breeze. There is nothing magical about this part of what Legolas calls “the Golden Wood,” only unfamiliar trees, the description of which does not really match Legolas’s delight. Gimli’s doubt that any elves still live there is perfectly understandable, especially given his previous dismay at finding Moria in the hands of orcs. Despite the enthusiasm of Legolas and Aragorn, Boromir is hesitant, explaining that “of that perilous land we have heard in Gondor, and it is said that few come out who once go in” (FR, II, vi, 329). Although Aragorn rebukes him for thinking evil
of Lothlórien, Boromir insists that it is perilous. “Perilous indeed,” Aragorn agrees, “fair and perilous,” adding that “only evil need fear it, or those who bring some evil with them” (FR, II, vi, 329).

  Two details are worth noting in their exchange. First, there is the repeated use of the word perilous. Tolkien used the expression The Perilous Realm as a synonym for Faerie in “On Fairy-stories,”56 and the frequent occurrence of the adjective right at the entrance to the elven realm does more than draw attention to the possible dangers to be faced there. It also associates Lothlórien with Faerie, suggesting that the polder is a domain beyond the mundanity of Middle-earth. Second, Aragorn explains to Boromir how the Golden Wood is perilous to “those who bring some evil with them.” None of the hobbits has taken part in the discussion at this point, but Frodo is still present, carrying Sauron’s Ring around his neck. The Company is, in other words, bringing with it the most evil artifact in the world. On top of the inhospitable description of the forest and Boromir’s misgivings, Aragorn actually confirms that Lothlórien is a dangerous place for them. At the first stage, entering the forest thus becomes a question of overcoming fear and willingly walking into danger.

  Once in the forest, the second stage is the wading across the Nimrodel, which cleanses the Company in preparation for Lothlórien. According to Legolas, “the water is healing to the weary” and “the sound of the falling water may bring us sleep and forgetfulness of grief” (FR, II, vi, 330). This is plainly not just water, a point emphasized by Haldir’s vehemence at the thought of orcs wading across: “curse their foul feet in its clean water!” (FR, II, vi, 336). Indeed, when Frodo crosses the Nimrodel, the hobbit feels “that the stain of travel and all weariness was washed from his limbs” (FR, II, vi, 330). Stain is an important word here. Shippey observes that this might quite literally mean that “Frodo feels the grime of Moria being washed off, but,” he continues, “‘stain’ is a slightly odd word to use in this context.”57 Instead, Shippey relates it to two later descriptions of Lothlórien, in which stain is used to describe a quality of the elven land (cf. FR, II, iv, 341, and TT, III, vi, 503), suggesting that “the ‘stain’ of normal life is washed off by crossing the Nimrodel.”58 The passage across the stream thus prepares the Company for a land without a “stain” by removing their own “stains.” At the time of the crossing, however, the importance of this cleansing is mostly lost on the Company and the reader, because no one tries to stop them. Apart from Legolas’s explanation and Frodo’s experience, nothing suggests that the passage is in any way special. We only learn this later, through Haldir’s explanation: the guards had heard Legolas’s voice, and therefore had not prevented the Company from crossing (FR, II, vi, 333). Rather than facing the guards at the Nimrodel, the Company now faces them on the other side.

  Haldir and his two fellow guards constitute the third stage, and the first sign that this realm is actually defended against inimical surroundings. Not everyone is allowed to enter; in fact, it is only because of Aragorn’s previous reputation and because Legolas is also an elf that the Company is admitted. The basic rule is to hinder everyone from entering, because anyone could be a potential enemy. “We live now upon an island amid many perils,” Haldir says, justifying his lack of faith in the Company (FR, II, vi, 339); and although he only mentions Sauron’s forces, the elf’s words imply suspicion of all mortals. Haldir’s use of perils turns the perspective around. Rather than being a perilous realm, as Boromir and Aragorn agree, it is a place in peril. As in Stardust’s Faerie, the elves are very particular about whom they let into their land.

  The fourth stage takes the Company from the outside world into the polder’s distinctive reality. Having been allowed to enter, the Company crosses the Silverlode on a rope-bridge. According to Shippey, “there are continuing hints that the rivers which the Fellowship keeps crossing are leading them further and further out of the world.”59 Certainly, a distinct difference exists between the forests on either side of the river. Once Frodo sets foot on the other side of the Silverlode, “it seemed to him that he had stepped over a bridge of time into a corner of the Elder Days” (FR, II, vi, 340). I will return later to the bridge of time. More relevant for now is to observe that this feeling of Frodo’s “deepened as he walked on into the Naith [of Lothlórien]” (FR, II, vi, 340). It is not until the Company has crossed the Silverlode that its members have moved out of the normal world, and they move only gradually away from its influence.

  The final stage is the walk from the edge of the polder to where its distinct reality comes to full expression. The Company walks along blindfolded from the edge, and although Frodo experiences, more and more strongly, that the group has entered a different place—or rather, a different time—he has not yet fully experienced how much the heartland of Lothlórien differs from the world outside. At some indefinite point during the long walk, however, the Fellowship enters a forest where the power of the elves dominates completely. When Frodo removes his blindfold at Cerin Amroth, the place Aragorn calls “the heart of Elvendom on earth” (FR, II, vi, 343), his experience of the land is radically different from what he felt when they had crossed the river:

  It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name. All that he saw was shapely, but the shapes seemed at once clear-cut, as if they had been first conceived and drawn at the uncovering of his eyes, and ancient as if they had endured for ever. He saw no color but those he knew, gold and white and blue and green, but they were fresh and poignant, as if he had at that moment first perceived them and made for them names new and wonderful. In winter here no heart could mourn for summer or for spring. No blemish or sickness or deformity could be seen in anything that grew upon the earth. On the land of Lórien there was no stain. (FR, II, vi, 341)

  This impression is far stronger than when he first entered the forest, or even when he first set foot in the Naith. Although he has the time-bridge experience when he crosses the Silverlode, the breathtaking beauty of Cerin Amroth is clearly absent. Instead of being awed by their surroundings, the members of the Company bicker about whom to blindfold. Once the particular reality of the Golden Wood is revealed at Cerin Amroth, Frodo is lost in wonder. Here, he has finally arrived in the land without a stain that requires those who enter to have been cleansed.

  It is at Cerin Amroth that Frodo becomes aware of the force that protects the forest, and the reader understands that the polder is maintained by someone. Haldir first bids that Frodo look toward the capital: “Out of it, it seemed to [Frodo] that the power and light came that held all the land in sway” (FR, II, vi, 342), a power he later learns comes from the elven Ring of Power held by Galadriel. As he looks the other way, across the river, the light goes out; he sees “the world he knew” (an expression that brings to mind Dunsany’s “fields we know,” again suggesting the association between Lothlórien and Faerie), and, farther off, Mirkwood and the darkness surrounding Dol Goldur. Haldir tells him how the two opposing powers of Galadriel and Sauron “strive now in thought” (FR, II, vi, 342–43). While the borders have so far seemed to be defended by elven guards, a new kind of defense is thus revealed: the power of Galadriel and her Ring that maintains and protects Lothlórien from the hostile world beyond. As foretold by the Lady of Lothlórien, the land fades once the power of the Rings is broken; and when, after Aragorn’s death, Arwen returns to the empty land, she “dwelt there alone under the fading trees” (Appx A, I, 1038).

  A polder not only defends its inhabitants from attack or invasion, it also defends and maintains a reality that differs from its surroundings. In Lothlórien, two main aspects of reality need protecting: the physical environment and the temporal situation. Physically, the forest of Lothlórien is little more than a park. Treebeard’s assertion that the old woodlands that stretched from Fangorn Forest to the Mountains of Lune west of the Shire “were like the woods of Lothlórien, only thicker, stronger, younger” (TT, III
, iv, 458) comes across as somewhat peculiar. Fangorn Forest is clearly wildwood, tangled and dark. Looking at the lichenencrusted trees, Pippin succinctly summarizes his impression of the forest: “Untidy” (TT, III, iv, 450). Lothlórien, on the other hand, appears to consist of nothing but the mallorn trees, with their smooth, silver boles. The ground is level enough for the Company to wander freely without any fear of stubbing toes or falling over (FR, II, vi, 340). The old woodlands are, in fact, nothing like Lothlórien, because rather than being a forest, the Golden Wood is carefully maintained parkland, a monoculture as unnatural as any orchard or tree plantation. In “Taking the Part of Trees: Eco-Conflict in Middle-earth,” Verlyn Flieger discusses how Tolkien seems to come down in favor of both wildwood and carefully cultivated nature. Lothlórien, she suggests, is a vision of “nature transcended.” It is “a faery forest that is unlikely to be found in a natural state on earth,” “an enchanted and enchanting correlative of the Entwives and their ordered, tended gardens.”60 In her book on Tolkien’s treatment of time and time travel, A Question of Time, Flieger cites a letter from Tolkien in which he describes the elves as “embalmers” who wanted “to live in the mortal historical Middle-earth [and so] stop its growth, keep it as a pleasaunce.”61 Despite its enchantment, or perhaps because of it, Lothlórien is more pleasance (a magically created version of those ancient but well-tended parks found around some old country houses) than nature transcended. It is a perfect example of elven embalming.