Reading "The Children of Húrin: Chapters 1-3"
The first several chapters of this posthumous volume introduce us to the tragic figure of Húrin and his even more tragic son, Túrin.
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Welcome to Tolkien Tuesdays, where I talk about various things that I love about the lore and writings of Tolkien, whether in a chapter reading or a character study or an essay. I hope you enjoy reading these ruminations as much as I enjoy writing them and, if you have a moment, I’d love it if you’d subscribe to this newsletter. It’s free, but there are paid options, as well, if you’re of a mind to support a struggling writer. Either way, thank you for joining me!
Having finished my analysis of The Lord of the Rings, I decided that it was time to start making my way through The Children of Húrin, which I think is one of the best and most haunting of the works posthumously published by Christopher Tolkien. I read it for the first time a few years ago, and I remember being struck by just how exquisitely tragic the whole thing was. After all, if you’re a regular reader of this newsletter you know how very much I relish a good tragic story.
For this first installment of my reading, I’m focusing on the first three chapters of the book, which do a great deal to introduce us to both the characters and the period of Middle-earth history in which this tragic tale takes place. In addition, these chapters also allow us to understand just what kind of person the young Túrin is and how his father’s status as an ally of the Elves shapes, and will continue to shape, his life, his outlook, and his destiny.
When The Children of Húrin begins, Men and Elves have been battling with Morgoth for many years. One of the most notable warriors among Men is Húrin who, along with his wife Morwen, is the father of Túrin and Urwen, the latter of whom dies tragically young. Húrin fights alongside the Elves in the devastating Battle of Unnumbered Tears, after which he is taken prisoner by Morgoth. Wielding his typical malice, the fallen Vala promises that his foe–who continues to resist him and to essentially spit in his face–will bear witness to his family’s destruction and be powerless to do anything to stop it or to help them.
One of the most heartbreaking moments in this early part of the book revolves around the death of Urwen, which forces young Túrin to grapple with the gift (or the curse, depending on how one looks at it), of mortality, the most important thing that sunders Men and Elves and determines how each views the other and themselves. It’s clear that mortality and death are things that the young man struggles to come to terms with, and it’s likewise clear that the manservant who attempts to educate him struggles to find the best way to tell him about these essential facts of what it means to be a mortal in a world in which other beings exist that look so human but never weaken or die. Moreover, to lose someone that young, even in a world as clearly troubled and uncertain as the First Age, would still be a deeply scarring experience for a young man.
Despite this, however, Túrin demonstrates that he still has it in him to be a kind and generous person, for all that he was raised by a father who was almost never present and by a mother who was was more inclined to keep her own counsel rather than offer anything remotely resembling warmth to her children. (Though, to be fair, one can hardly blame her for that. The world in which they live is not one that is conducive to people developing tender feelings of any kind. It’s hard to embrace beauty and grace in the world when your life, and those of everyone you love, are always threatened with oblivion by a being more powerful than anything else around you). Túrin might have a temper, and he might have endured grief, but he is still willing to give his knife–a costly gift from his father–to Sador, despite the fact that doing so brings his mother’s disapproval down upon his head. That he is willing to do so, and that he is also one of the few who is willing to speak to Sador as an equal rather than as someone to be looked down upon or simply pitied, says a great deal about his character and how he looks at others in the world.
Looming over Húrin, his wife, and his children is the dreadful shadow of Morgoth. Anyone who has ever read The Silmarillion knows that Morgoth is one of the most powerful and terrifying beings that ever emerged out of Tolkien’s fertile imagination. It’s safe to say that he is a titanic force in Middle-earth at the time that the story takes place, capable of inflicting damage and death far beyond the reaches of his own domain. And, as the Battle of Unnumbered Tears makes abundantly clear, there’s very little that any group, not even the combined might of the Elves, can actually do to stop him from inflicting his will on others. This includes Húrin, who ends up finding himself taken captive by the Dark Lord and tormented.
One can’t help but admire Húrin’s courage and fortitude when facing down a being of Morgoth’s terrible majesty. After all, it’s not as if he is just some demon or spirit; he is the mightiest of the Valar, the one who dared to resist Eru and has repeatedly attempted to bend every living thing in Middle-earth to his will. Húrin, however, is not willing to just roll over and let the Dark Lord have his way. Instead, he’s going to resist him and, more perilously, assert that he isn’t quite the master of his domain that he would like to think himself. There are few things more likely to inflame the rage of this particular member of the Valar than to suggest that he isn’t as powerful as he believes. Húrin is either very brave or very foolish to find one of Morgoth’s weaknesses and exploit it to the fullest.
Even though the Elves are only supporting characters in this story, it’s still clear that they have played a key role in the lives of Húrin and his children. Unlike some of the other tribes of Men, Húrin and his folk have long allied themselves with their immortal brethren, forming common cause against the enemy that would gladly see them both either subdued or destroyed altogether. As so often in the history of Middle-earth, however, an alliance with the Elves tends to be a bit of a double-edged sword, bringing as much sadness and defeat as joy and victory.
Stylistically, The Children of Húrin has the rather stilted and formal cadence that one associates more with The Silmarillion than with The Lord of the Rings (let alone The Hobbit). This might be enough to scare off casual Tolkien fans, but for me this is precisely what gives this book its particular texture. Reading it, one almost feels as if one has been transported back into the misty time of the Elder Days, when Men and Elves fought with one another in an attempt to rid their world of a scourge that would gladly have seen all of them turned into nothing more than slaves. It might not be to everyone’s taste, but for me it’s more accessible than The Silmarillion while more elevated than The Lord of the Rings.
It probably goes without saying, but the book also features some truly stunning artwork by Alan Lee. I was particularly struck by the illustration of Húrin chained by Morgoth and forced to watch the tragedy unfolding in the broader world. The phenomenally talented Lee manages to capture the agony and the terror that Húrin must have felt, for all that he was still willing to put on a brave face toward his tormentor.
All in all, I am already loving spending time with this book again, and I look forward to sharing my further thoughts with all of you!