Subtle Magic

One of the marvelous things about Tolkien is his ability to invent and describe subtle forms of magic – forces that are reminiscent of the real world, yet delicately strange.  The trees of Lothlórien provide a good example.  In the chapter of that name, Legolas says, “There are no trees like the trees of this land.  For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold.  Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the wood is golden, and golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for the bark of the trees is smooth and grey.”
 

 

 

Perhaps my favorite example of this “subtle magic,” though, is the description of the Mirrormere outside Moria:

“They stooped over the dark water.  At first they could see nothing.  Then slowly they saw the forms of the encircling mountains mirrored in a profound blue, and the peaks were like plumes of white flame above them; beyond there was a space of sky.  There like jewels sunk in the deep shone glinting stars, though sunlight was in the sky above.  Of their own stooping forms no shadow could be seen.” 

After reading Tolkien, the nature of our own world seems more magical, the forests more luminous, the stars more haunting.  Maybe it is just a dream.  Or maybe it is an ancient song, an unbroken memory, a kind of subtle magic.