Epic Pooh-poohing

As an apt follow up to our last topic, this is but a brief but telling quote from Michael Moorcock concerning Professor Tolkien:

Like Chesterton, and other orthodox Christian writers who substituted Faith for artistic rigour he [Tolkien] sees the petit bourgeoisie, the honest artisans and peasants, as the bulwark against Chaos. These people are always sentimentalized in such fiction because, traditionally, they are always the last to complain about any deficiencies in the social status quo. They are a type familiar to anyone who ever watched an English film of the thirties and forties, particularly a war-film, where they are represented solid good sense opposed to a perverted intellectualism. — from Michael Moorcock, EPIC POOH

The paragraph come from an essay by Mr Moorcock, author of the Elric stories, where he attempt to prove, ah, pardon me, I misspoke, where he asserts without even making a token attempt at proving so as to buffalo the unwary, that Professor Tolkien’s popularity can be explained by saying the childish rhythm of Tolkien’s language lulls we admirers of Tolkien into sleep. Because we Tolkien fans are stupid and infantile fools, dontcha know.

The paragraph is exceptional in that it contains an error or two in every line. Let us  note them, line by line.

First, we orthodox Christian writers do not substitute faith for artistic rigor, whatever that means. The comment is merely a slander, or a sneer, meant to create the impression that Christianity (which can properly take credit for the novel, the cathedral, and polyphonic music) is naturally unartistic, and that antichristianity (which can properly take credit for absurdism, cubism, atonal music) is artistic.

If it is objected that Moorcock here means only that some orthodox Christians substitute faith for artistic rigor, and G.K. Chesterton and J.R.R. Tolkien are among those few, the comment is a slander or a sneer delivered against two men of letters of considerably more accomplishment than enjoyed by the author of SWORDS OF MARS.

To be fair, Mr Moorcock wrote considerably more books than this, or, to be precise, endless variations of the same book, all with the same main character, the Eternal Champion, and the same dreary plot, that life is a disappointing betrayal. The themes and plots are predigested. I know of no author in the fantasy field who exercises less artistic rigor.

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Originally published at John C. Wright's Journal. Please leave any comments there.