by Adam Roberts
But to their aid came Eärwiggi of the Mighty Fib; and being half-elven and half-mannish he was unaffected by Sharon’s magic, and he completed the boat on their behalf. And they thanked him and bade him farewell, and sailed away to the west.
The voyage lasted many weeks, through storms and over calm seas, under glassy skies and under cloud that drooped low enough to envelop them. Beneath the keel of their boat the unsatisfied surge sucked with importunate lip, and threatened several times to swallow them whole; but they stayed true of heart, and steered the Darned Traitor west, always west. ‘And at the end,’ said Túrin Againdikwittingdn, ‘we shall arrive at the coast of Westersupanesse, the paradise of Asdar.’
But he was unaware that Emu, annoyed by previous evil incursions, had rerouted the route that led over the surface of the sea through an inter-dimensional gate to another place.
And after long voyaging, the mariners thought they saw the end of the ocean; and the horizon of the sea glimmered with a strange light, green and pink. And the sky greyed, and storm clouds collided above them with great crumpling crashing noises. Lightning twigged flickeringly across the darkness. Rain filled the air all around with plummeting water; and everything was soaked; and the waves began to tip and heave. And as Túrin called his crew to the deck a twisting tunnel of black wind engulfed the ship.
They were wrenched, as it seemed, full out of the sea and thrown high in the air; and yet, at the same time, they felt motionless and the wind and rain fell away. A strange quiet was all around them. Túrin, gasping, his wet clothes steaming in the newly dry air and his hair standing strangely on end, stood on the deck and looked at what had become of the world around them. It seemed as though they were in a long tunnel formed by the twisting arcing lines of a whirlwind; yet it was perfectly still and perfectly quiet. So close did the walls of this tunnel seem to be that Túrin thought he could reach out and touch them; but when he did they crackled and snarled with shards of light, and he felt a jarring jolt up his arm that left his limb numb for many minutes.
But then the tunnel fell away from them on all sides, and the Darned Traitor found itself floating again in water; and on either side were green fields; and soon they drifted underneath a stone bridge. And they found themselves in a populous city, with houses and shops of stone, and many people crowding the stone-set paths, and curious carts that moved without horses.
And they docked, and wandered the strange city. ‘Are we in Westersupanesse?’ asked the Coward Elves.
‘We must be,’ said Túrin. ‘This must be paradise.’
And they were surprised, frankly, that paradise had quite so many bicycles. To say nothing of the buses. But it doesn’t do to query the inscrutable designs of providence, or risk the wrath of Emu, so the Coward Elves wandered around for a while. And when they returned to their ship it had been impounded by the municipal authorities for non-payment of moorage charges.
And over many years in paradise the Coward Elves eventually settled down and Túrin Againdikwittingdn opened a small tobacconist’s just off Saint Giles, and lived there with Queen Lüthwoman; and the other Coward Elves lived in various places, some in the university, some in other towns. And of their various lives, nothing more is told in this tale.
Part 3
The History of the
War of the ThingTM
[Editor’s note. My grand-uncle’s notes towards Lowered Off the Rings, his gymnasium-set allegory for the great War of the ThingTM, indicate the extent to which his publisher and himself were keen to introduce the mythology of Upper Middle Earth to as many people as possible, or as George-Ann Allen Nonwin put it, ‘to milk every last purple cent outta this baby.’ He and my grand-uncle experimented with recasting the material in various forms, and various media; some of which are illustrated below.]
Letters between A. R. R. R. Roberts
and George-Ann Allen Nonwin.
Lowered Off the Rings takes shape.
My grand-uncle had been working on tales set in his Fantasy world for many decades without ever interesting a publisher. He regularly sent out portions of the MS to all the publishers he could think of, and regularly received rejection letters, usually by return of post. Indeed, his breakfast was ruined unless he had one or two really good rejection letters to ponder over his Sultana Bran. ‘I find a rejection letter to be better than the best commercially produced laxative available on the market,’ he once told me.
But all that changed when my father met the publisher George-Ann Allen Nonwin. ‘A curious fellow,’ A R R R R wrote to a friend shortly after he first met the publisher for lunch. ‘It seems that his parents had been unable to reconcile a certain argument over whether “George” or “Ann” was the better name for a child.’ Nonwin accepted the manuscript of The Soddit for publication, and commissioned Dunglewis Carroll to illustrate it. The book was, of course, enormously successful, and spent no fewer than two weeks in the ‘Hardback Illustrated Fiction for Children Published by a London Publisher in Red Covers Top Ten Bestselling Books’ Bestseller List, at No 9 and No 10 respectively.
Nonwin, naturally, wanted my grand-uncle to pen a sequel to this successful book, and suggested an adventure narrative concerning the Ultimate Battle of Good Versus Evil, with the Awful Sharon battling the forces of Men and Elves. With some soddits in it. But my grand-uncle, used to the specialised demands of academic scholarship, found it hard to adjust to the requirements of commercial publishing. In the early stages he was compelled to ask George-Ann for assistance. If this galled his sense of pride to a certain extent, then matters were not helped by Nonwin’s sometimes brusque tone.
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Tuesday 19th. Morning. About eleven o’clock. Well, eleven-
oh-four if you want me to be – eleven-oh-five, it just flipped
over as I was writing that last bit.
Dear A R R R R,
Re: the Big Fantasy Sequel. You tell me you are having some trouble with the conceptual framework of this. Come, my dear fellow, it’s child’s play.
It must be a thousand-page epic spanning a whole continent with a dramatis personae including many scores of characters. The narrative must concern the very biggest topics, the battle of Good against ultimate Evil, the importance of free will, the seductive power of wickedness and so on. Naturally, in framing such a story, you will need to consider not only individual items of personal jewellery but personal accessories and adornment in general. I advise you to build the story around a single magic item of gold frippery.
Sincerely,
George-Ann
Dear George-Ann
Thank you for your very helpful suggestions.
A R R R R
My grand-uncle followed his publisher’s advice, and attempted to recast his mythic material around some fictional component. After several weeks racking his brains he lighted on the conception of a magic ring that renders its owner invisible. Nonwin, however, queried the logic of this conception.
My dear A, Of course (it is, after all, self-evident) any thousand-page heroic Fighting Fantasy trilogy dramatising the bloodsoaked ultimate battle of Good against Evil, must be constructed around an item of jewellery. So far so good. But why, old boy, have you lighted upon a ring that renders its wearer invisible to others? I’m afraid I just don’t see the logic. Why should a finger-ring render you invisible? A magic golden monocle, maybe – The Monocle of Sorrow, perhaps? Spectacles at a pinch.
G
In the event, A R R R R worked on the monocle idea for seven anguished months, before finally and reluctantly abandoning it. It crops up in many early drafts of the first volume; but after much labour he decided that it was artistically unsustainable.
Dear G-A-A,
I confess I’ve had, finally, to abandon The Monocle of Sorrow. And, of course, it would be absurd to revert to the ‘Magic Finger-ring of Invisibility’. Might I prevail upon you for an opinion as to which of the following looks most promising?
The Earrings
of Doom!
The Bellybutton Stud of Evil!
The Wristwatch of Terror!
The Brooch of Disaster!
The Tiny Gold Dolphin On An Eighteen-Carat Chain of Misery!
The Medallion of Ultimate Evil!
I have also been rethinking the choice of titles for the three constituent books. I feel that, to be in keeping with our democratic age, I should downplay the heroic kingliness of the original titles, and choose something with which citizens of a modern democracy will identify. Please notify the printers to reset all proofs with the following titles:
1. The Fellowship of the Single Transferable Vote
2. The Two Funding Authorities
3. The Return of the Democratically Elected Upper Chamber
The overall title should be Lord of Bling.
Best wishes for Easter, A
Nonwin pressed for the Brooch of Disaster, but A R R R R found that the notion of a single evil earring had seized his imagination. He rewrote chapter seven ‘Eighteen Carats of Catastrophe’ with a brooch, but didn’t like the result. As he explained himself to Nonwin:
After much consideration I’ve had to abandon the brooch. I have to say I feel that my Earrings of Inaudibility are a much stronger artistic conceit. Let me pick, for example, one moment from many from my thousands of pages of manuscript, to illustrate how dramatic and exciting this piece of personal adornment could be.
The Fell Walkers of Fell Darkness were upon them, their great black coats and black boots crunching upon the dead pine needles. Freudo stumbled backwards, and before he knew what he was doing he had slipped the Earrings of Doom upon his earlobes. With horror he saw the King of the Fell Walkers stride close and closer to Sham’s sleeping form. ‘Sham!’ he cried, ‘Sham! Look out! Rouse yourself, Sham, and flee! Fly! Flee!’ But, of course, the Earrings had rendered him wholly inaudible.
You see? To rewrite that scene with a brooch would be to lose all dramatic excitement. I do hope you agree.
Sincerely,
A R R R R
A week later my grand-uncle wrote the following note, which demonstrates how strained relations with his publisher had become.
George-Ann,
I called your office several times yesterday by telephone, only to be told that you were ‘out at lunch’. Do you really expect me to believe that a publisher could be out at lunch from eleven-twenty in the morning until nearly three in the afternoon? Pah – pah I say. No conceivable lunch, in any profession, could take so long. Clearly you were avoiding me. I will confess that I am hurt and distressed by your evasion.
A.
PS: I hear on the grapevine that the Baroness Orczy is presently working on a three thousand page Heroic Fantasy based on a magical Naked-Lady-Tattoo of Power, drawn in the biceps of the central character. If she can get away with that notion, I really don’t see how my Earrings of Doom can be denied me.
As late as March, A R R R R was still battling Nonwin over the precise shape his central Decorative Golden Adornment of Catastrophe should take. A series of letters from June of the same year illustrate how passionate each man was on the subject.
The ‘Snug’, Covent Garden,
Thursday afternoon
My dear R,
Go for the brooch. Earring is plain silly.
With very warmest and best wishes,
George-Ann
Suburbia, Friday
Dear G-A,
No it isn’t.
Sincerest wishes,
A R R R Roberts
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Tuesday
Dear R,
Thank you for your communication of the 17th inst. Yes it is.
Sincerely,
George-Ann
Suburbia,
Thursday
Dear George,
No, it isn’t.
With warmest regards, and best wishes for yourself and your family,
ARRRR
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Monday
Dear R,
Yes it is.
Sincerely,
George-Ann
Suburbia,
Thursday 30th
Dear George,
No, it isn’t.
best, A
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Friday 31st
Dear R,
Yes it is, and before you reply, let me add: yes it is. You’re a stubborn, brick-headed idiotic twit of a man. You smell. I find myself compelled to utter impolite speculations concerning your mother. You kissed a dog once. You enjoyed it. You’ve never kissed a girl. You’re stupid and you smell. You run like a midget. You bite your nails.
With heartfelt regards,
George-Ann Allen Nonwin
Suburbia,
Wednesday 3rd
Dear George,
Listen to me: No, It Isn’t.
best, A
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Saturday morning
Dear R,
I’m sorry to say that I was unable to read your last communication, because after opening the letter I was forced to put my hands over my eyes and go wa!-wa!-wa!-wa!-wa! at the top of my voice. I must therefore conclude, without evidence to the contrary, that you concur in my judgment that, yes, it is.
George-A
Suburbia,
Monday 8th
Dear George,
You’re a child.
sincerely, A
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Tuesday 9th
Dear R,
You are, you mean.
George-Ann
Suburbia,
Wednesday 10th
Dear George,
I know you are, but what am I?
sincerely, A
George-Ann Allen Nonwin Publishers,
Thursday 11th
Dear Sir,
George-Ann Nonwin is out of the office today, and will deal with your enquiry on his return.
Sincerely,
Jill Philips, pp. G-A Nonwin
A postal strike terminated the correspondence at this point.
Farmer Greenegs of Ham
[Editor’s note: this manuscript, an early draft of my grand-uncle’s Lowered Off the Rings work, has recently been discovered in the Ballsiol archives. Instructed to provide a sequel for his children’s book The Soddit, A. R. R. R. Roberts initially pitched his sequel at an even younger demographic. The manuscript is illustrated with preliminary sketches by Dr Douglas Zeus]
p.1
‘I do not like this Magic Ring
I do not like it, Sam-old-thing.’
p.2
‘Would you like it in the Shire?’
‘I would not, could not in the Shire,
I do not like its words of fire.
I do not like this Magic Ring,
I do not like it, Sam-old-thing.’
p.3
‘Say—
In the dark?
Here in the dark?
Would you, could you, in the dark?’
‘Sam, I’ll tell you this in actual fact—
I hate this magic artefact;
I do not like it in the dark
I will not treat it as a lark
Not in a field, not in a barrow
Not in a mountain pass that’s narrow
Not in a broader mountain pass
I’d sooner kiss your hairy
p.4
Toes
I do not like this Magic Ring
I do not like it, Sam-old-thing.’
p.5
‘Here
At Mount Doom?
Here, up Old Doom?
Will you be wearing it any time soon?’
‘I do not like this ring of power
I do not like it any hour.
I do not like it here, or there,
It is not something I will wear.’
p.6
‘Here in the third volume?
&n
bsp; Now! In the third volume—
Could you, would you? Can it be
That you’ll give way in volume 3?’
‘I did not like it in volume one.
Nor in the volume that’s just gone.
I do not like it in this volume.
Any more than being chased by Golume.
Not with Departure nor Return of King
I do not like this Magic Ring.’
p.7
‘You say it’s what you can’t abide.
Try it – try it – then decide.
Try, before committing ringicide.’
p.8
‘Say!’
p.9
‘I like this Evil Ring.
I do! I like the awful thing!
And I will wear it on my finger!
And I will be apocalypse-bringer!