Túrin's "tide of ill" in The Book of Lost Tales (LT II.87)

In The Book of Lost Tales the narrator of Túrin's story says of his choosing to pursue the orcs who had taken Failivrin (Finduilas) captive says that his life could have turned out differently if he had done so. As the last clause of sentence indicates, the dragon, Glomund (Glaurung), was of the same opinion and refused to let that happen.

Maybe in that desperate venture [Túrin] had found* a kindly and swift death or perchance an ill one, and maybe he had rescued* [Finduilas] and found* happiness, yet not thus was he fated to earn the name he had taken anew, and the drake reading his mind suffered him not thus lightly to escape his tide of ill. 

(LT II.87)

That last phrase--“to escape his tide of ill”--is quite lovely, but as enigmatic as it is evocative. Does tide here allude to the unstoppable tides of the ocean, or does it mean time or season as in yuletide? The latter meaning is older by far. Old English tid** appears in the Old English version of Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England, in the gospel of Matthew in the Lindisfarne Gospels, and in Beowulf (147). The former is not found before the 14^th Century. 

In The Book of Lost Tales Tolkien uses tide in both senses, but mostly in reference to the sea. The context, however, normally contains one or more other words that establish the connection to the natural phenomenon. 

So, for example:

"but the Ainur put it into [Tuor's] heart to climb from the gully when he did, or had he been whelmed in the incoming tide" (LT II.151).

"The went the Man of the Sea out when the tide began to creep in slow and shallow over the long flats" (LT II.317)

"When that tide again forsook the Hungry Sands..." (LT II.318).

But there are examples where it refers to time. Thus, high-tide*** in the first example below refers not to the sea but to a high-time, that is, a time of celebration or festival, like Christmas. And day-tide**** in the second means simply daytime.

"this year you will celebrate the death of Karkaras with a high-tide greater than even before, O King" (LT II.231).

Of this converse of Eriol and Vairë upon the lawn that fair day-tide came it that Eriol set out not many days thereafter (LT I.95).

Some of the poetry from the war years, which Christopher Tolkien includes in The Book of Lost Tales, also signifies time by tid:

Still their old heart unmoved nor weeps nor grieves, 
Uncomprehending of this evil tide, 
Today’s great sadness, or Tomorrow’s fear 

(LT II.296)

So, again, which meaning of tide is Tolkien using here? While it could be a figurative use of tide to suggest the overpowering, irresistible force of evil, as it is at LT II.232--"valiantly they warded the palace of the king until the tide of numbers bore them back"--the "tide of ill" which the dragon has in mind is the calamitous life of woe and sorrow to which Melkor had cursed Túrin and his family. As the narrator indicates earlier in the sentence by saying that Túrin and Finduilas might have "found happiness," he is thinking about a span of time, not being swept away by the force of a moment.

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*In less archaic English we would say "would have found" for "had found," and "would have rescued" for "had rescued" and "would have ... found" for "had ... found."

** “Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, December 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/5003698957.

*** “Day Tide, N., Sense 1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/9829095802.

**** “High Tide, N., Sense I.1.” Oxford English Dictionary, Oxford UP, September 2025, https://doi.org/10.1093/OED/1021614943.

Once Upon A Time at City Hall

About 20 years ago a friend invited me to attend her wedding ceremony at down at the Municipal Building down at City Hall in Manhattan. When we arrived, there were people lined up all down the corridor waiting their turn. No party was larger than five or six people. Space is limited of course. 

As I stood looking down the hallway, I saw people of every color, every race, speaking dozens of different languages and wearing the traditional wedding attire of at least as many ethnic and religious groups. Nor was everyone wearing the traditional dress of their own group. My friend, who was of the whitest of white wasp DAR stock, wore a beautiful red silk qipao (Chinese wedding dress) she had custom made. After the ceremony we went to have dim sum in Chinatown. Quite a few Chinese women came over to ask my friend about her dress and compliment her on it. 

I think about that day a lot. We were all different but all the same. We all just let each other be whatever else we were besides New Yorkers or Americans. I don't think I was ever as proud of being an American, because what I saw was the dream America dreams of itself, even if the waking reality has rarely measured up to the dream for a lot of people, even if it's becoming more and more of a nightmare for those who aren't white and those who believe in that dream. 

The Digital Tolkien Project -- How it Helps My Work

The Digital Tolkien Project, founded by my friend, James Tauber, and brought to life by James with the help of so many dedicated and talented fans and scholars, is perhaps the most significant Tolkien related project since The History of Middle-earth was published in the 1980s and 1990s. Yes, I have just compared James to Christopher Tolkien. But I would argue that the compliment is well-deserved and so not flattery. 

I consult The Digital Tolkien Project pretty much every day. Sometimes just out of idle curiosity about Tolkien's use of a word, but more often my purpose is driven by a desire to consult it about something I am working on, either for this blog or for publication. I am currently over 200 pages into what I hope will be my next book, which will study how the Great Tales and (what I call) the Great Themes, such as Fate and Free Will, Divine Justice and the Problem of Evil, Death and Immortality, shape the legendarium in the years 1916-1937, that is, before Tolkien set aside the Silmarillion to write The Lord of the Rings. (I hope there will be a subsequent volume later on in which treat the same subjects after he returned to the Silmarillion.)

Today I want to provide an example of how The Digital Tolkien Project helps me in my studies. Below I have added an excerpt from the first of my chapters on Túrin in the early legendarium, here specifically in "Turambar and the Foalókë," the very first telling of his story, published in The Book of Lost Tales. So here's a single paragraph of my draft chapter, which I will no doubt rewrite quite a few times before I am done with it. But all those stats on the words drake, worm, dragon, Túrin, and Turambar, whose use by Tolkien suggests so much, come from The Digital Tolkien Project. Yes, I could have counted them all myself, but not so easily or accurately, or without having to separate out all the times Christopher himself uses these words in his notes and commentary.

The final words of the prophecy in “Turambar and the Foalókë” are also the final words of the tale: “and Melko and his drakes shall curse the sword of Mormakil” (LT I.116). A drake is of course a dragon, and in The Book of Lost Tales it is Tolkien’s preferred word for such creatures, appearing 23% more often than worm and 59% more often than dragon.[1] Turambar, the other word in the title, occurs 101 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë”: 99 of these 101 instances come after Túrin names himself Turambar in his first meeting with the dragon (LT II.86).[2] By contrast, Túrin appears 116 times in “Turambar and the Foalókë:” 83 of these 116 instances occur in the first sixteen pages of the text (69-86); the remaining 33 come in the last thirty pages of the text, that is, after Túrin renames himself (86-116). All or nearly all of these uses are the direct speech or reported direct speech or thought of Morwen, Nienor, Húrin, Thingol, Airin, Brandir, Glaurung, and Túrin himself. It is not simply the narrator speaking of Túrin in the normal course of narrating his actions. 24 of these 33 instances of Túrin occur in the portion of the tale devoted to the search for him undertaken by Morwen and Nienor (91-99). Turambar never appears in this section. In a tale whose title may be translated as “The Conqueror of Fate and the Drake” Tolkien’s use of words like drake, Túrin, and Turambar here disclose their essential significance to the story. Once Túrin proclaims himself the “Conqueror of Fate,” the narrator unironically accepts this declaration because he knows something the reader does not. He knows and believes the prophecy about Túrin’s return. Even when explaining the meaning of the title at the beginning of his tale, he follows up by emphasizing the connection in Men’s minds between this tale and the evils they suffered from Melkor and his drakes, a statement echoed by the prophecy in the tale’s final words (69-70, 116). It will not do to leave a Conqueror of Fate and drakes out of our calculations.

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[1] In “Turambar” Tolkien uses drake 27 times; worm 22 times; dragon 17 times; and serpent 3 times. Tolkien’s seeming avoidance of serpent might indicate a desire not to recall the serpent of Genesis 3.

[2] Eltas twice employs Turumart, which he glosses as Gnomish for Turambar, once when giving the title of the tale and once when explaining the meaning of the name Turambar (LT II.70, 86).

My Life in Middle-earth, or was that Kenya?

If you've ever seen the wonderful British show "As Time Goes By," you probably remember one of the running gags early on. (If you've never seen the show, it's romantic, charming, and funny. Plus it has Jud Dench.) The male lead in the show, played by Geoffrey Palmer, had spent decades living in Kenya. Upon his retirement, he published a memoir which he called My Life in Kenya. Whenever he talked to a stranger about his book, they would ask him what it was called. He would reply "My life in Kenya." Then they would ask "What's it about?" And he would reply "My Life in Kenya," with a look on his face that was equal parts incredulity and exasperation. 

Today I was at a funeral and someone I knew a little bit in the dim past said to me: "I hear you've written a book about Tolkien. What's it called?" 

"Pity, Power, and Tolkien's Ring," I replied.

"What's it about?" he asked.

"Pity, Power, and Tolkien's Ring," I replied with a look on my face that was equal parts incredulity and exasperation.

The Last Word of Tolkien's Teacher, Joseph Wright

Joseph Wright was a remarkable man, especially for his day. He was born in a time when the children of poor families only rarely learned to read and write, let alone rise to be the Professor of Comparative Philology at Oxford University. As if that weren't enough, his crowning achievement was his English Dialect Dictionary, which held 80,000 entries in its six massive volumes. His was the life Jude Fawley wanted to live, Jude the Obscure with a happy ending. Almost.

Many fans of Tolkien will know that Wright taught Tolkien philology in his years at Oxford. When Wright died, his wife, Elizabeth Mary Wright, wrote a two volume biography of him. She describes his death and their relationship, both personal and professional, on p. 682 of the second volume:

There was only one thing more which had to be done, a last message to leave behind on the last day of all: and so he gathered up his strength in the midst of a long stretch of silence, and framed his lips to say to me quite clearly the one word ‘Dictionary’. It was, in essence, a humble echo of the words of One greater than he, when the hour had come : ‘I have glorified thee on the earth; I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do.’ At the time I thought all he wanted to say was to remind me of his wish to be ‘remembered by’ that one literary achievement. Later, when I came to re-read his letters which had lain in an old red morocco case for over thirty-four years, I saw in that one word a message and a reminder of deeper significance. Might it not be that he was thinking of the Dictionary as the seal and token of that priceless and imperishable gift he had given me long years ago, which had sustained every moment of our life together, the love which is stronger than death ? He wrote of the Dictionary : ‘It is a work that is a most sacred task to me. . . . Had it not been for you, nothing in the world could have induced me to undertake what seemed an impossibility to everybody else. But deep genuine love can overcome impossibilities’ ; and also —as I have already quoted among the extracts from these letters: ‘It would be premature to enlighten the world at present, but someday it will all be made known what a man’s deep love for a woman can inspire him to do.’

He died in the evening of February 27, 1930.

Really, what more is there to say? 

Joseph and Elizabeth Wright with their children, ca. 1907.
Photographer unknown. Public Domain.