The Mysterious Musti, Part 2

Tolkien, then, takes up an undeveloped character from the original Kalevala and allows his imagination soar to create the magical, mysterious Musti of The Story of Kullervo. Why does he do this? Tolkien obviously sees an opportunity to enhance the plot and characterization of his version of the tale. First off, Musti, as Tolkien presents him, clarifies some vexing plot questions that are left unanswered in the Kalevala. How, for instance, does Kullervo learn his magic? According to Tolkien, the wise Musti teaches him (10). How does the young Kullervo survive three attempts on his life? Musti provides three magical hairs that somehow protect Kullervo and prevent his death (11). How does Kullervo escape the enraged smith Āsemo? Musti's magic surrounds Kullervo so that no one can follow him (32). 

Further, Tolkien uses Musti to introduce a depth of characterization to his narrative. Musti is a mystery, and readers wonder who or what Musti really is. Is he merely a dog that just happens to be magical? Or he is something else that just happens to be in the form of a dog? Where did Musti get his powers? How does he know how to exercise them? How does he communicate with Kullervo? These tantalizing questions tickle readers' minds and engage them with the character of Musti and the story itself. Moreover, Musti's demise adds an additional element of character-driven tragedy to Tolkien's story. When Kullervo falls over the dead body of the hound, most readers' hearts probably skip a beat or two. How can the powerful, magical Musti die? Was he killed by Kullervo? What will Kullervo do without him? With his last companion gone and no guidance or further protection (even from himself), Kullervo meets his death and follows Musti to his tragic end. 

In Musti, Tolkien recognizes a prime opportunity to exercise his vivid imagination and make the story of Kullervo his own. Musti, who receives the barest mention in the original Kalevala, becomes an intriguing central character in Tolkien's version of the tale. The hound enhances the plot and characterization of The Story of Kullervo and also offers a choice example of how Tolkien embraces tradition but also adds to it and shapes it to meet his own narrative needs and imaginative inclinations.

The Mysterious Musti, Part 1

Although the mysterious Musti weaves his way enticingly through J.R.R. Tolkien's The Story of Kullervo, the black hound appears only sparingly in the original Kalevala. Clearly, Musti and all his potential sparked Tolkien's imagination, for Tolkien makes the dog a character in his own right and, in doing so, enhances the plot and characterization of the original tale. 

In the Kalevala, Musti turns up only at the very end of the story. Kullervo has just come home from taking his revenge on Untamo, and he finds an empty house. His parents and siblings have all died in his absence, but his mother has one last message for him from beyond the grave. She tells him to take the black dog Musti as a companion and go into the forest to seek the help and favor of the Blue Maids (Runo XXXVI). Kullervo and the dog enter the forest, but there Musti's role ends. Readers hear no more of him as Kullervo falls on his sword and ends his life although presumably Musti witnesses his death. 

Tolkien, in contrast, makes Musti a character in his own right, developing him into a magical, mysterious hound who serves not only as a companion but also a guardian and teacher to Kullervo and his sister Wanona. In The Story of Kullervo, Musti makes his first appearance as an ally to Kalervo in his feud with Untamo. The dog devours the cattle Untamo sets loose in Kalervo's fields (6). The hound, however, is not present when Untamo raids Kalervo's homestead, kills Kalervo, and carries off the captives (8). Musti follows his family and later befriends Kalervo's children, teaching them about their father and about “things darker and dimmer and farther back even perhaps before their magic days...” (10). 

Here Tolkien drops a few tantalizing hints about Musti's true nature. Musti, he explains, is “the wisest of hounds” (10). No one knows exactly where he came from or when he was born, but he is a powerful dog “of fell might and strength and of great knowledge” (10). He understands the secrets of wild creatures, but even more extraordinary is Musti's magic. He can shift his shape to take on the image of wolves or bears or cattle and perform “much other magic besides,” as he would soon demonstrate (10). After warning Kullervo of Untamo's violent designs, Musti gives the young man three of his black hairs, which protect Kullervo from death by drowning, fire, and hanging (11). 

Musti remains a powerful companion to Kullervo even after the young man is sold into slavery. The dog follows him and wanders with him in the wilderness, teaching him to interact with wild animals (20). After Kullervo uses that knowledge, with a bit of magic of his own, to kill Āsemo's wife, he flees with Musti by his side (32). The hound's magic wraps around Kullervo, protecting him from harm and preventing anyone from following him. 

The black dog disappears from the tale as Kullervo meets and enters into an incestuous relationship with his sister. Was Musti present during this time, or was he off on errands of his own? Tolkien leaves readers to draw their own conclusions. Musti returns only in the unfinished notes at the end of the story when Tolkien mentions that Kullervo trips over the dead body of Musti after the raid on Untamo (40). The magical dog has finally met his end, and readers wonder if he had been killed by the one to whom he had been such a loyal companion.

Better Out than In: Healthy and Unhealthy Desires in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part 4

The climax of healthy, other-focused desires in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone takes place far below Hogwarts when Harry, on Voldemort's orders, once again stands before the Mirror of Erised. Harry has just been thinking, “What I want more than anything else in the world at the moment...is to find the Stone before Quirrell does. So if I look in the mirror, I should see myself finding it – which means I'll see where it's hidden!” (362). 

Harry does not want to use the Stone either to make gold or extend his life. He does not want to give the Stone to anyone else for reward or fame or power. He merely wants to find the Stone to protect the whole wizarding world from a reinvigorated Voldemort. There could hardly be a more unselfish, healthy desire than that, and because Harry is thinking far more about others than about himself, when he looks into the Mirror, his desire is fulfilled. The Stone lands in his pocket (363). 

Throughout Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling reflects on the nature and value of human desire. By presenting the desires of various characters, Rowling shows that unhealthy desires are those that turn a person inward and hinder or even break relationships while healthy desires focus outward and strengthen bonds between people. It may be difficult at first to determine whether a given desire is healthy or unhealthy, but its true character is ultimately revealed by how much the desire in question considers the well-being of other people. Perhaps, in the end, Rowling is inviting her readers to examine the deepest desires of their own hearts and to consider what they would see if they peered into the Mirror of Erised.

Better Out than In: Healthy and Unhealthy Desires in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part 3

While unhealthy desires tend to turn a person inward and strain or even break relationships with others, healthy desires, Rowling suggests, do the opposite: they draw a person out of himself and focus his attention on other people. Harry and Ron face conflicting desires on Halloween night when they realize that Hermione is locked in the bathroom with a twelve-foot mountain troll. On the one hand, they want nothing more than to run the other direction as fast as they possibly can (217). On the other, they realize that Hermione is in grave danger and that they have a responsibility to try to save her if they can. Their healthy desire to help Hermione turns out to be stronger than their fear, and they end up knocking out the troll, much to the surprise of their teachers and, even more, of themselves (219).

Sometimes a character's healthy desires are much more difficult to distinguish. Snape is a prime example. Until the very end of the story, Harry, Ron, and Hermione believe that Snape is the one trying to steal the Philosopher's Stone, and they are positive that the professor is out to kill Harry. They attribute all the worst desires to Snape, but in the end, they are dead wrong. Snape, for all his sarcasm and nastiness, actually desires to prevent the Stone from falling into the wrong hands and to save Harry's life (359). In spite of appearances to the contrary, Snape's desires are focused almost entirely on other people rather than on himself. Readers do not learn the reason for Snape's commitment to protecting Harry until much later in the series, but they do, at least, begin to discover that there is much more to Snape and his deepest longings than meets the eye. 

Neville is also a much more complex character than he first appears, and his desires, too, often prove to be other-centered and therefore healthy. Although Neville struggles as the victim of bullying, he truly cares about and desires the well-being of his friends and of Gryffindor, and he is not afraid to speak up when he thinks something is amiss. When Harry, Ron, and Hermione are getting ready to leave the Gryffindor common room to try to prevent Voldemort from absconding with the Stone, Neville steps up and insists that they stop right where they are (339). “You can't go out,” he proclaims, “you'll be caught again. Gryffindor will be in even more trouble....I don't think you should be breaking any more rules!” 

It would have been much easier for Neville to stand back and stay quiet, but instead he is determined to protect his friends and his house even if that means being misunderstood and, in this case, frozen in a full Body-Bind (340). Of course, Neville is, in the end, well rewarded for his courage in carrying out his healthy desires: his ten points push Gryffindor over the top for the House Cup, and he is finally lauded as the hero he turns out to be (381).

Better Out than In: Healthy and Unhealthy Desires in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part 2

An unhealthy desire of Rubeus Hagrid might have had significantly more dramatic consequences. Hagrid, as he tells Harry, has always wanted a dragon (81). He gets the chance when he wins a dragon egg in a game of cards and hatches a Norwegian Ridgeback he names Norbert (289, 293). In the midst of his intense longing to be “mommy” to Norbert, Hagrid disregards his own safety and that of his friends (292). Although Hermione pointedly reminds the gamekeeper that he lives in a wooden house, Hagrid ignores the danger (290). 

When Norbert bites Ron with his poisonous little fangs, Hagrid tells Ron off for frightening the baby dragon (294). Hagrid, distraught over having to say goodbye to his “baby,” even allows Harry and Hermione to take the extreme risk of carrying Norbert to the top of the astronomy tower to smuggle the illegal dragon out of the country with Charlie Weasley's friends (298). Clearly Hagrid's dragon desire has clouded his judgment, turned his attention solidly onto himself, and nearly spelled disaster for the people closest to him.

Finally, the desires of Professor Quirinus Quirrell may be the most unhealthy of all. For most of the story, Quirrell appears to be working on the side of goodness, protecting the mysterious hidden object, resisting the threats of Snape. At the end, however, Quirrell shows his true colors and his true allegiance. “There is no good and evil,” he tells Harry, “there is only power, and those too weak to seek it” (361). 

Quirrell desires power, the kind of power he thinks he will obtain by serving Voldemort. Quirrell thinks of himself alone as he looks in the Mirror; he sees himself giving the Stone to Voldemort and thereby gaining the power he so desires (360). He cares about nothing but what he wants, and he is only too willing to kill Harry in the process. In the end, though, his desire proves more than merely unhealthy; it proves deadly as Voldemort abandons his unsuccessful servant and Quirrell's thirst for power melts in his burning body (367).

Better Out than In: Healthy and Unhealthy Desires in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Part 1

Albus Dumbledore sits on the floor with Harry Potter before the Mirror of Erised and, as usual, teaches an important lesson. The Mirror, he explains, “shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts....However, this mirror will give us neither knowledge or truth....It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live...” (265). Dumbledore knows that desire is part of the human experience. Every human heart is always longing for something that looms just out of reach like an elusive Golden Snitch. 

In Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling explores the nature and value of human desire. As her characters confront their deepest desires, Rowling invites readers to perceive that unhealthy desires turn a person inward and have negative effects on relationships while healthy desires turn a person outward and stimulate connections with others although the difference between the two may not be initially apparent.

The theme of desire emerges in the very first chapters of the book with the Dursley family. The Dursleys have all sorts of unhealthy desires that focus their attention on themselves and hinder their relationships with others. Vernon concentrates on success and power in his job and spends a lot of time yelling at his coworkers to emphasis his superiority (4). Petunia is a first rate snoop who wants to know everyone else's business but only in order to pass on juicy bits of gossip rather than to help anyone (1, 7). Dudley, even from his babyhood days, wants exactly what he wants exactly when he wants it. Spoiled by his parents, Dudley grows up learning that his desires are law, and he is quick to throw selfish tantrums when he does not get his way (16, 28). 

The Dursleys have one desire that is greater than all the others: they want nothing to do with magic (2). This desire keeps them far away from Pentunia's sister, Lily Potter, and her family until the day one-year-old Harry literally shows up on the Dursleys' doorstep. From that point on, the Dursleys try their best to stamp the magic right out of Harry (45). They seem to feel if they oppress him enough, he will somehow grow up “normal.” Of course, their desire backfires and leads to more conflict with the wizarding world than they could ever have imagined, even if they approved of imagination. 

Another example of unhealthy desire appears in the Mirror of Erised. When Harry discovers the mirror, he encounters his deepest desire: to know his family (259). At first, this desire seems normal and even healthy. The orphaned Harry would naturally want to see his family often and learn more about them. Harry, however, soon becomes obsessed with the Mirror and its images. At breakfast the day after he first looks into the Mirror, Harry cannot eat. He stops caring about discovering Nicholas Flamel or figuring out what the three-headed dog is guarding. “What did it matter if Snape stole it really?” he wonders (260). 

Harry turns even more inward after his second visit to the Mirror. He does not care to play chess with Ron or visit Hagrid. He gets irritated with Ron when the latter expresses his concern about the Mirror and tells Harry not to go out again at night (263). All Harry can think about is his desire to see his family again. If he had not met Dumbledore on his third visit to the Mirror, Harry might have become one of the people who “have wasted away” in front of the Mirror, “entranced by” the vision of their desires but dismissing the real world and real people in the process (265).

Tolkien and Sigurd “The World's Chosen,” Part 3

At this point, readers may be wondering what has happened to all the gold Sigurd won from Fafnir, especially Andvari's cursed ring. Again, the original sources do not clearly account for the ring's continued presence or influence, but Tolkien fills in gaps and answers questions in his Lay. The ring is still very much in Sigurd's possession, and for some unknown reason, when he woos Brynhild in Gunnar's form, he slips it onto her finger as she sleeps, thereby, perhaps, passing on its curse to the woman he has forgotten that he loves (152). 

The ring, however, comes back to haunt him not long after. Gudrún, seeing it on Brynhild's hand and recognizing it for what it is, taunts Brynhild that Gunnar could not have been the man who put it there. “[D]did Gunnar get it on Gnitaheiði?” she asks (156). There could only be one right answer. No, only the World's chosen, only Sigurd could have had that ring in his possession. Brynhild suddenly knows the horrible truth, and the doom of the World's chosen is set on its final path to Valhöll and the hope of the world.

Tolkien, then, embraced the story of Sigurd, made it his own, ordered it according to his vision, and, by incorporating the theme of Sigurd as the World's chosen, answered many of the questions the original sources left in readers' minds. In doing all of this, Tolkien also added a deeper, richer meaning to the story of Sigurd that the original tales lack. Tolkien suggests that fate is not all powerful and all encompassing. Human beings can make a difference, can influence their own futures and even change the destiny of history. 

In Old Norse mythology, Ragnarök was to bring devastation to the whole world, but in Tolkien's account, there was a way out, an alternative. If one descendent of Ódin heroically slayed a dragon and arrived in Valhöll with honor, then “not all shall end, nor Earth perish” (180). Because of the actions of this one warrior, the monsters will suffer defeat and the rebuilt world will enjoy blissful peace. Tolkien believed in the power and value of the human person, and he incorporates that belief into his retelling of Sigurd's story, thereby infusing the past with meaning, the present with hope, and the future with promise. 

Works Cited 

Bellows, Henry Adams, translator. The Poetic Edda: The Heroic Poems. Mineola, NY: Dover Publications, Inc., 2015. 

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Legend of Sigurd & Gudrún. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2009.

Tolkien and Sigurd “The World's Chosen,” Part 2

With the addition of this theme, then, Tolkien creates an orderly, unified plot around an orderly, unified character, and in doing so, he provides answers to more of the vexing questions left by the original sources. First off, how does Sigurd end up tied into the stories of Fafnir and Regin in the first place? The World's chosen must be a dragon slayer, so he has to find a dragon to slay, and Regin's desire for revenge against the shape-shifting Fafnir (currently in dragon form) offers the perfect opportunity. By this point in Tolkien's Lay, readers already know the history of Sigurd's family and that he is a descendant of Ódin, so the timing is just right for the young hero to head off to slay his dragon. 

Second, Tolkien's portrayal of Sigurd as the World's chosen helps him solve the problem of the two Brynhilds and answer the question of how and why Sigurd and Brynhild end up as an engaged couple. Basically, Tolkien ignores half of the Brynhild tradition; he makes his Brynhild a Valkyrie. This is fitting, for the World's chosen ought to have a bride who is more than royalty and even more than human. Brynhild thinks so, too. In fact, before Ódin put her to sleep, she swore an oath to marry only the World's chosen (121). When Sigurd wakes her, Brynhild's first thought is to make sure he is the right man. The World's chosen has found his bride, or so it seems. 

If Sigurd and Brynhild are perfectly matched as the World's chosen and the Valkyrie bride, why then do they part? The original sources do not supply an answer, but Tolkien does. Brynhild is not quite satisfied with Sigurd just yet, for she is not just a Valkyrie but also a queen. Therefore, her husband-to-be must be a king before she will deign to marry him (125). So Brynhild sends Sigurd off to win a lordship, warning him to beware of trickery and the beauty of other women (123). 

Seeking his kingdom, Sigurd rides into the land of Gjúki and his family (130). He soon proves himself a worthy, useful, and entertaining ally as he fights beside Gunnar and Högni and sings of his dragon-slaying exploits and of Brynhild (132). Realizing who is in their midst, the World's chosen himself, Gjúki's wife, Grímhild, decides that Sigurd would be the perfect husband for her daughter, Gudrún (133). Sigurd, however, is clearly in love with Brynhild and intends to return to her as soon as he completes his quest, so Grímhild must come up with a plan. To gain the World's chosen for Gudrún, Grímhild must use her magic on him. She concocts a potion that makes Sigurd forget all about Brynhild and fall in love with the next woman he sees, Gudrún, of course (140). Sigurd's character and honor remain unsullied, for he has been tricked.

Tolkien and Sigurd, “The World's Chosen,” Part 1

What happens when a creative genius like J.R.R. Tolkien encounters an old story filled with frustrating gaps and unanswered questions? He makes the story his own. He expands it, plugs its holes, answers its questions, and gives it a deeper, richer meaning. This is exactly what happened when Tolkien met the legend of Sigurd; he embraced the story and imposed order and meaning on it by introducing a new narrative theme: Sigurd as the World's chosen.

The original story of Sigurd developed over centuries and in various places throughout Europe. The sources of the legend that have passed down to modern readers are primarily poems and sagas written in Old Norse or German, and they were composed by mostly unknown authors who collected them from generations of oral poets and storytellers. As the tales traveled along this circuitous path, they experienced many changes in details great and small. Various interpreters added or deleted sections as they saw fit, and scribes and editors contributed their own opinions about what should and should not be included. A large portion of the story as told in the Poetic Edda was even lost to history when part of the Edda's manuscript was pilfered at some point (Bellows 85-88; Tolkien 38-39). 

As a result, the texts that exist today are replete with gaps, inconsistencies, and contradictions, and they leave unanswered questions in readers' minds. How does Sigurd end up tied into the stories of Fafnir and Regin? Why is he the one who has to slay the dragon? Why are there two different Brynhilds, the Valkyrie and the human princess? How and why do Sigurd and Brynhild end up an engaged couple? Why do Sigurd and Brynhild part, and why does Sigurd break his faith (and his character), forget Brynhild, and marry Gudrún? How does the curse of Andvari's ring affect Sigurd and his fate? Is there any hope at all for a world seemingly destined for the destruction of Ragnarök? 

The original sources fail to address these questions, and all the loose ends must have irritated Tolkien because he sets about fixing them in his own version of the Sigurd story, The Lay of the Völsungs. He does so by tying the tale of Sigurd together with a brand new narrative theme: Sigurd as the World's chosen. Tolkien introduces the theme in the first section of the Lay, which retells the Eddaic creation story. The seer speaks of Ragnarök, the “day of Doom,” just as she does in the original poem, but in Tolkien's version, she adds a contingent element (63). 

If in day of Doom

one deathless stands,

who death hath tasted

and dies no more,

the serpent-slayer,

seed of Ódin,

then all shall not end,

nor Earth perish. (63)

Already Tolkien has cleared up one unanswered question: Is there any hope at all for a world seemingly destined for the destruction of Ragnarök? He responds with a resounding “Yes!” If a person arrives who is descended from Ódin, has slain a serpent, and has died but will die no more, then there is hope for the world. This one Tolkien calls “the World's chosen,” and readers soon discover that this long-awaited, much-expected figure is Sigurd himself (65).

J.R.R. Tolkien and “Luxuriant Animism,” Part 2

As Tolkien interacted with the Kalevala and especially with the story of Kullervo, he adopted them, adapted them, and made them his own, including their “luxuriant animism.” In fact, Tolkien actually intensifies the portrayal of a sentient, intelligent natural and material world in his The Story of Kullervo. In Tolkien's version, Kullervo calls his ax “dearest brother” and invites it to go cut down birch trees with him (13). Further, he is even closer to his knife than in the original story. Here, the knife is named Sikki, and when it breaks, Kullervo addresses it directly as “O my Sikki O my comrade...Nought I had to love in sorrow / But my knife the picture graver” (29). Clearly, Sikki was more than a tool to Kullervo; it was alive in its own right, a friend and companion for a lonely boy surrounded by contempt and abuse.

As in the original story, the main perpetrator of this abuse in Tolkien's tale is the smith's wife. Again, she is far more concerned about the well-being of her cattle than she is about Kullervo, and Tolkien retains many of the charms she sings for protection over them (22-23). The vivid sense of pervasive life remains as the smith's wife implores the trees and the spirits of nature to care for her animals. In Tolkien's version, the smith's wife even gets chatty to the stone she bakes into Kullervo's bread. “Break thou the teeth of Sāri O flint,” she commands, “rend thou the tongue of Kampa's son that speaketh always harshness and knows of no respect to those above him” (21). The stone becomes a servant to the smith's wife in her nasty plan to take Kullervo down a few pegs.

Finally, Kullervo's animal companions in Tolkien's adaptation are more active and interesting than in the original tale. The magic dog, Musti, for instance, becomes a protector and teacher to Kullervo and his twin sister Wanōna (10). Musti's magical hairs prevent Kullervo's death three times, and the powerful and mysterious hound follows Kullervo when the boy is sold into slavery, helping him survive in the wild and even enhancing the child's own magical abilities (20). Through Musti, Kullervo learns to speak with other animals, including wolves and bears, who become his comrades and allies in revenge.

Obviously, Tolkien was highly attracted to the “luxuriant animism” of the Kalevala, so much so that he enhanced it in his own version of the Kullervo tale. As a budding mythmaker, he saw the appeal and the usefulness of such abundant life. First, it provides a fresh perspective on nature and the material world. Talking crows, demanding ale, and protective trees allow readers a view from the inside rather than a mere observation from the outside. Moreover, this new angle offers an appealing strangeness that sets a modern audience a little on edge, perhaps shocks us out of our complacency and allows us to get in touch with some deeply buried part of ourselves that still delights in the outrageous and the weird. Finally, Tolkien explains that this “luxuriant animism” is part of the “undergrowth” of the Kalevala, the part of the story that is not cleared away and neatened up by artists using literary techniques (103). This is the matter of a people so close to nature that for them it lives and breathes on its own. This is what most modern readers are missing in their lives. This is what mythmakers like Tolkien embrace as their task: to give back to the world a sense of “luxuriant animism.”

Works Cited

“Animism.” Dictionary.com, http://www.dictionary.com/browse/animism?s=t. Accessed 23 Sep. 2016.

Kirby, W.F. Kalevala: The Land of Heros. Vols. 1 and 2. London: J.M. Dent & Co., 1907.

“Luxuriant.” Dictionary.com, http://www.dictionary.com/browse/luxuriant?s=t. Accessed 23 Sep. 2016.

Tolkien, J.R.R. The Story of Kullervo. Edited by Verlyn Flieger. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2016.

J.R.R. Tolkien and “Luxuriant Animism,” Part 1

J.R.R. Tolkien always had a way with words. Even as an undergraduate at Oxford, he had already developed a means of expression that was both clear and vibrant. In his essays on the Kalevala, for example, he exulted in the Kalevala's “luxuriant animism” (80, 119). In this essay, we will take a close look at this turn of phrase. We will explore exactly what Tolkien means by it, examine examples of it in the Kalevala, consider Tolkien's own use of it in The Story of Kullervo, and reflect on the value of “luxuriant animism” to Tolkien as a mythmaker.

Let's begin by examining the meaning of “luxuriant animism.” The word “luxuriant” is rather luxuriant in itself. It suggests a certain profusion, abundance, or richness, a density or fruitfulness that bountifully overflows (“Luxuriant”). What is so flourishing here? Animism. Animism, as commonly defined, is a belief that the natural world is somehow alive and infused with spirit, intentionality, and sentience (“Animism”). The phrase “luxuriant animism,” then, denotes an abundant life, an exuberant spirit, and even an intense consciousness in nature and in what we would normally think of as inanimate objects. Tolkien sums up “luxuriant animism” quite nicely when he says, “This means that in the Kalevala every stock and every stone, every tree, the birds, waves, hills, air, the tables, the swords, and even the beer have well-defined personalities, which it is often the quaint merit of these poems to bring out with singular skill and aptness in numerous speeches in part” (119).

Indeed, the Kalevala is filled with examples of such “luxuriant animism.” Tolkien himself cites one such instance that especially appeals to him. In Runo XX, ale is given a voice, and it calls for some worthy person to drink it and sing its praises lest it burst its barrel and trickle out among the dust (120). We cannot help but chuckle just a bit at this threat, as Tolkien must have done, but the idea of ale speaking also prods us to look at this drink in new and interesting ways.

The Kalevala's Kullervo sequence also exhibits “luxuriant animism.” When Ilmarinen's wife, not trusting Kullervo as a herdsman, seeks further protection for her cattle, she calls upon the trees and implores them to act as the animals' guardians: the willow to herd them, the alder to watch, the mountain ash to protect, and the cherry to lead them home (Runo XXXII). If the trees refuse this request, Ilmarinen's wife will turn to the nature spirits to care for her beasts, feed them, and enrich them with milk. She names and speaks to each of the spirits in turn as if she knows them personally; flatters them lavishly (as to Tellervo with with the words “Little daughter of of the forest / Clad in soft and beauteous garments / With thy yellow hair so lovely”); and presents her desires with confidence. She even appeals to Otso the bear, “O my darling / Handsome one, with paws of honey,” and coaxes him to make a deal with her and leave her precious cattle alone. Nature is very much alive to Ilmarinen's wife, and she interacts with it and with its governing spirits as though they were truly present, intelligent, and at her service.

Kullervo himself participates in the “luxuriant animism” of the tale. His closest companion is a knife, an heirloom inherited from the father he thinks is dead (Runo XXXIII), and when it shatters against the stone Ilmarinen's wife bakes into Kullervo's bread, he laments for it and vows revenge. He does not, however, know how to exact this revenge until a crow caws a suggestion from a nearby tree and tells him to feed the cattle to the wolves and bears and then magically change those wolves and bears into cattle and drive them home to devour Ilmarinen's wife. Kullervo, of course, takes the crow's advice. Nature has spoken, and he listens.

As we follow Kullervo and watch his story unfold, we see him meet with the mysterious Blue-robed Lady of the Forest, who seems to be some kind of nature spirit (Runo XXXIV). She informs him that his family is still alive, gives him detailed directions about how to find them, and essentially sets his life on a different course that ends up a path to disaster. At the end of Kullervo's tragic narrative, we see one more example of “luxuriant animism.” Kullervo, overcome by despair, asks his sword if it would be willing to kill him (Runo XXXVI). The sword understands and responds affirmatively. It is quite satisfied to kill the evil Kullervo who has made it drink up so much innocent blood.

The Horizon of Expectation and the Wizarding World, Part 3

Of course, in the wizarding world, pictures move, but now readers can experience even this through the Kindle in Motion version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. When readers open the ebook for the first time, they immediately see steam swirling up from the Hogwarts Express as Harry stands in awe, watching an owl flapping above him. As readers scroll through the book, they discover the cat version of Professor McGonagall twitching her tail as she reads a map; Hagrid revving up Sirius Black's motorcycle and flying across the night sky; Hogwarts letters slipping through the Dursleys' nailed up mail slot and flying around the room; Harry and Hagrid in a rocking rowboat with waves splashing around them and seagulls flapping above; and a Goblin examining a large ruby (ch. 1, 3, 5). Professor Dumbledore cocks his head affably in his portrait as he reaches into his bag of sherbet lemons, but Professor Snape is much more menacing as he glares out at readers who are quick to notice slithering snakes, misting potions, and bubbling jars behind him (ch. 6, 8).

Ghosts of all kinds dash before readers' eyes, making them as startled as the Hogwarts first-years, and the Sorting Hat moves as it speaks to Harry (ch. 7). Harry himself moves as he races the Slytherin Seeker to catch the Golden Snitch, and Draco shows off his own flying abilities as he swoops in to catch Neville's Remembrall (ch. 11, 9). In Harry's final adventure beneath the school, readers watch as he falls through the trapdoor (ch. 16). Then they see the flying keys darting across the page and finally Voldemort himself as he peaks out from beneath Quirrell's turban (ch. 16, 17). Indeed, the magic of technology meets the magical world to enable readers to expand their horizons once again and delve ever deeper into the story of Harry Potter's first year at Hogwarts, becoming magical insiders who feel at home in the wizarding universe.

What happens, then, when readers finally return to the original American edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone? Since their horizons of expectation have been greatly expanded, they view the familiar text in new and interesting ways, and they are now more deeply immersed in the wizarding world than ever before. British words may now repeat in their minds as they see “sneakers” and think “trainers” or read “off his rocker” and remember “barking.” Images, too, float through their minds as they read about Diagon Alley and remember Jim Kay's detailed drawings, recall Ron Weasley's slightly miffed expression, or envision Harry standing before the Mirror of Erised. Some of these images even move, just like real wizarding world pictures, and readers may well think of Snape's glare or Voldemort's red eyes appearing as Quirrell unwraps his turban. The original text, that first version of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, is no longer the same for readers. They now expect more, and they imagine more as they read. Their horizons of expectation have grown and changed as they encountered new versions of the text and moved from outsiders to insiders in the magical universe through words, images, and magical motion.

Works Cited

Boboltz, Sara. “Why 'Philosopher' Became 'Sorcerer' in the 'Harry Potter' Books.” Huffpost, 26 June 2017, www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/why-philosophers-stone-became-sorcerers-stone_us_ 59514346e4b05c37bb78466e.

Bressler, Charles E. Literary Criticism: An Introduction to Theory and Practice, 2nd ed., Prentice Hall, 1999.

Olson, Edward, et al. “Differences between British and US Versions of PS.” The Harry Potter Lexicon, 25 Aug. 2001, https://www.hp-lexicon.org/2001/08/25/differences-between-british-and-us- versions-of-ps/.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Illustrated by Jim Kay, Scholastic, 2015.

Rowling, J.K. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. Illustrated by Jim Kay, Kindle in Motion edition, Scholastic, 2017.

The Horizon of Expectation and the Wizarding World, Part 2

Most American readers actually experience the novel's British incarnation for the first time in the illustrated edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone released in 2015. Through Jim Kay's creative artwork, the magical world comes to life in full color, and readers' horizons expand as they see their favorite characters, envision events, and notice details in places and things as they may never have done before. Kay's illustrations, for example, present the mysterious and somewhat sensorily overwhelming Diagon Alley in vivid detail (60-63). Close examination of the drawings reveal Tangle & Noils wig shop right next door to the magical creature shop (complete with several escaped cats frolicking across the roof and upper stories of the crooked row house).

Just down the street, Bufo's offers “Batrachian Bargains!” in frogs and toads, but the umbrella store upstairs seems to have trouble holding onto its wares, for multiple (magical?) umbrellas float here and there above the stores of Diagon Alley. Readers discover that the bookstore Flourish & Blots features a dragon, a manuscript, and a quill pen as its emblem as well as heraldic symbols on its windows, owls on its roof, and Belcher's Bottled Beers in its basement. A few doors down, magical shoppers (and readers) discover the Galloglass mirror shop (not mentioned in the text) for all their needs in enchanted and haunted mirrors; Twinkle's Telescopes (also offering lunar ticks); and Pettichap's clothier (specializing in “Shirts for Squirts”). Diagon Alley with all its delightful and whimsical quirks comes to life before readers' eyes, as they encounter it afresh, and like as not, they will never picture this wizarding marketplace as they did before.

The magical world's characters also appear intensely real in Kay's illustrations. Draco Malfoy, for instance, stands in Madam Malkin's robe shop, hands raised and tape measure floating around him, as he stares at the reader with cold eyes and an unwelcoming (to say the least) expression (66). Rubeus Hagrid appears too big for his page, but his bright eyes and red nose shine out in the midst of his shaggy black beard and hair (39). His cravat features a skull and crossbones motif, and readers can just make out his metal buttons and (could it be?) a smiling monkey watch fob. Ron Weasley stares straight at readers, his brilliant red hair contrasting abruptly with a green jumper (160). His expression seems to be a cross between annoyance and sheepishness, for he has just been told off by Snape for nearly fighting with Draco Malfoy.

Kay depicts magical events just as vividly as he does magical places, objects, and people. As Harry stands before the Mirror of Erised, readers see a lonely boy in striped pajamas and a red robe leaning into the glass with his hands and forehead touching it as he tries to reach through (170). Only his reflection appears in the mirror, for only he can see his family staring back at him. The image appears on the far left side of the page, with the rest of the space taken up by a pile of dimly lit old chairs that accentuate the bleakness of the scene and Harry's experience. Again, readers who look closely at this and other illustrations will never again see the magical world in the same way; their imaginations cannot help but return to these fanciful images even when they read an unillustrated text.

The Horizon of Expectation and the Wizarding World, Part 1

American readers typically enter J.K. Rowling's magical universe through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, the American edition of the novel that first appeared in the US in 1998. Avid readers, however, are not satisfied to limit themselves to this version alone, so they access other editions of the text and are drawn deeper and deeper into the wizarding world as they progress through the British version, into the illustrated edition, and through the Kindle-in-Motion adaptation.

As they progress, readers move from outsiders to insiders of the magical world as each edition expands their perspectives through unfamiliar words, creative illustrations, and images brought to life through motion. When they finally do return to the original American edition of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, they may discover that their horizons of expectation, what they anticipate from another reading, will have significantly changed due to their immersion in the various enhanced portrayals of J.K. Rowling's Harry Potter universe.

Reception theory and reader response critics often speak of a reader's horizon of expectation. Some, following Hans Robert Jaus, use the term to refer to the reception of a text in a particular era (Bressler 72). Using this definition, Harry Potter scholars might examine how readers' horizons of expectation have changed over the past twenty years or how the films have affected interpretations of the texts. Others critics, like Wolfgang Iser, shift the meaning of horizon of expectation to describe a reader's predictions of what will happen in a text based on what has come before (73). In this case, scholars studying Harry Potter might look at the evolution of readers' horizons of expectation as they read through Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for the first time, noting perhaps that some readers easily follow Harry in suspecting Severus Snape of nefarious deeds while others are not quite so quick to fall for Rowling's red herrings. This essay, however, will expand Iser's definition to include multiple versions of the text and will examine how readers' horizons of expectation grow and change through their expanded experiences.

Readers' experiences certainly widen when they encounter the British version of the first Harry Potter novel: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Unfamiliar words and meanings abound, pulling readers deeper into Harry's world and into British culture. The encounter begins at the front cover when readers notice the book's original title. In preparation for the novel's US debut, publisher Arthur A. Levine questioned the British title and told Rowling that it needed more magic, so she suggested replacing “Philosopher's Stone” with “Sorcerer's Stone,” and a new title was born (Boboltz). The change, however, was not without sacrifice, for “Philosopher's Stone” carries with it a depth of history, indeed a whole magical and alchemical tradition, not present in “Sorcerer's Stone.” Readers discovering the original title for the first time are drawn into a world in which magic is associated with wisdom and challenged to expand their perhaps limited ideas of philosophy and the wonders of knowledge.

Enrichment continues as readers come across other unexpected British words and usages for everyday items, activities, and expressions. Hogwarts students wear “trainers” (rather than “sneakers”) and “jumpers” (“sweaters”) while they carry around their “set books” (“course books”) and “revision timetables” (“study schedules”) and look for the “packet of crisps” (“bag of chips”) that Peeves swiped from them. Professor Dumbledore enjoys “sherbet lemons” (“lemon drops”). The Dursleys use a “cooker” rather than a “stove” and British “sellotape” (which actually corresponds much better with the magical spellotape) rather than American “scotch tape.” Other characters go “holidaying” rather than “vacationing”, play “football” and “rounders” instead of “soccer” and “baseball,” take “a tea of” something delicious rather than make “a meal of” it, and probably do not enjoy “queuing” or “lining up.” Ron announces that a person is “mad” and “barking' when he is “crazy” and “off his rocker,” and Hermione “came top of the year” (“had the best grades”) because, of course, she memorized all her set books “off by heart” (Olson, et al.). 

American readers who encounter these British expressions may be rather bewildered at first, but they soon discover that they are looking at the everyday world in new ways (yes, revision is a good way to study since one must look at material again, and rounders does indeed accurately describe baseball). Normal objects often taken for granted are not quite so ordinary any longer. Readers' horizons broaden as they immerse themselves in a strange new world not only magical but also British.

A Fascinating Blend: The Familiar and the Fantastic in The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Part 3

As these two themes of home and meals have shown, Tolkien and Lewis both have a talent for combining the familiar and the fantastic in their secondary worlds, but they are not exactly alike in their storytelling choices, and therein lie some points of contrast between the two authors. First, the framework of their tales is different. Lewis begins The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in the primary world. The Pevansie children are non-magical human beings who happen, seemingly by accident, to enter a magical, secondary world.

Tolkien, on the other hand, sets The Hobbit firmly in the secondary world from the beginning. The fantastic, therefore, is part of Bilbo's normal world in a way that it could never be for the Pevansie children. Bilbo, although he may not like to think about it too often, lives in a world of Dwarves, Elves, and wizards. The Pevansies do not, so their encounters with the fantastic stand out in even sharper relief than Bilbo's, and readers share their astonishment.

Further, Lewis, significantly more than Tolkien, focuses on his characters' responses to the fantastic elements of the new world in which they find themselves. Although Bilbo is often surprised, frightened, horrified, and/or perplexed by the strangeness he encounters, he is never really skeptical or unbelieving. The Pevansies, on the other hand, exhibit a larger range of responses. Peter and Susan, for instance, do not believe Lucy's account of Narnia. They think she is merely joking or making up a story for play (121). When Lucy refuses to recant her tale and insists that she has visited Narnia a second time, Peter and Susan become more concerned, wondering if their younger sister is turning into a liar or even going crazy (130).

Edmund's reaction is different. He sneers at Lucy's story and spitefully taunts her (121). Even after he has actually visited Narnia himself, he selfishly denies the truth and claims that Lucy made up the whole thing, hurting his sister deeply in the process (129). When all the children finally enter Narnia, Peter and Susan are quick to apologize to Lucy, but Edmund remains sulky, distrustful, and untruthful (134-135). While readers can certainly identify with Bilbo's responses to his adventures, they are likely to relate even better to those of the Pevansie children as they examine their own ideas about the fantastic as well as the reactions of the people around them.

The question remains, then, as to why Tolkien and Lewis blend the familiar and the fantastic. The familiar, of course, draws readers into a story and gives them a sense of belonging and ease. They begin to feel at home in the secondary world, like they, too, might enjoy a satisfying supper with the characters. A fantasy story, however, is designed to do much more than make readers comfortable. As Lewis indicates in “On Stories,” the best tales present an “idea of otherness,” an “abiding strangeness,” a particular atmosphere or essence that draws readers out of themselves and into the secondary world (13, 12). Fantastic elements contribute to and develop that sense of strange wonder.

Tolkien agrees. Fantasy, he explains in “On Fairy-stories,” offers an “arresting strangeness” that, when raised to the heights of Art with its “inner consistency of reality,” becomes Sub-creation, the purest and most powerful form of story (60). Sub-creation with all its fantastic elements, Tolkien continues, allows readers to experience recovery, escape, and consolation. By entering into the fantastic, readers recover a renewed vision of the wonder and beauty of the primary world, escape their doldrums and fears, and discover the consolation, the joy, of a truly happy ending (67, 73, 75).

Indeed, in The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Tolkien and Lewis invite readers to do just that. By blending the familiar with the fantastic, even with contrasting storytelling choices, the two authors draw their readers into their secondary worlds but also draw them out of themselves and their commonplace attitudes that they may engage with the primary world in new and meaningful ways.

A Fascinating Blend: The Familiar and the Fantastic in The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Part 2

For Tolkien and Lewis, and for many of their characters, home is closely associated with food. Meals in The Hobbit and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe are often moments of celebration, community, repose, and refreshment just as they are in the primary world. When Lucy Pevansie takes tea with Tumnus, all her favorite foods are on the menu: boiled eggs, sardines on toast, and sugared cake (116). Lucy feels happy and satisfied with the meal as she relaxes in Tumnus' cozy cave with its pictures and books and its glowing hearth.

Not all things, however, are as familiar as they seem. The post-tea conversation, for instance, takes a fantastic turn as Tumnus launches into a description of Narnia's residents and their activities: the Dryads and Nymphs who dance at midnight; the Red Dwarfs who seeks their treasures; Silenus and Bacchus who visit occasionally; and the white stag who grants wishes when he is caught (117). All of these tales are commonplace to Tumnus but quite unusual, even bizarre, to Lucy, who must also adjust to the unsettling fact that her teatime host is an umbrella-carrying faun.

Bilbo may have felt a similar unsettling sensation during his first meal at Beorn's house. The supper itself is nourishing and refreshing to Bilbo, Gandalf, and the Dwarves, all of whom are exceptionally hungry after their many adventures. The food Beorn offers, however, might seem a bit odd. Beorn, who does not eat meat, likely serves them his usual fare of cream, honey, nuts, dried fruit, cakes, and mead (115, 131). Although none of these foods is particularly peculiar, Bilbo would be accustomed to something a bit more “substantial,” at least in his mind, bacon and eggs, perhaps, or a nice ham.

Even stranger than the food, though, is the way in which the meal is presented. Beorn's servants are efficient in setting the tables and providing every comfort to the tired guests, but those servants are none other than four white ponies and several gray dogs who are quite adept at walking on their hind legs (124). Bilbo's host, too, is unlike anyone he has ever met before. Gandalf has already explained that Beorn is a skin-changer who transforms into a great black bear, and Bilbo, while fascinated by Beorn's supper table tales, cannot help but be a little nervous in the presence of the extraordinary man at the head of the table.