This is a true story that sounds made up. When Ian McEwan’s latest novel, Lessons, was published, I interviewed him at a live event in London, during which the conversation ranged from the fall of the Berlin Wall to Brexit. Afterwards, I went for dinner with a friend and, because many of the capital’s roads were closed in preparation for the Queen’s funeral, we ran a little late. Apologising profusely, my pal explained what I had been doing to the cheerful and accommodating young woman bringing us our drinks. The effect was galvanic. “No!” she exclaimed. “Not really! That’s just amazing!” It was indeed, I agreed; I’d had a terrific night. “I mean,” she continued, “Gandalf!”
I have since relayed these events to McEwan, who was both amused and delightfully sanguine about being confused with Ian McKellen. As we know, even the most famous and distinguished writer cannot compete with the celebrity conferred by Hollywood.
Or, it seems, by the inhabitants of Middle-earth. As Robert Halfon, MP for Harlow and former deputy chairman of the Conservative party, took his leave of Westminster, he wrote touchingly to the chair of his local association of the comfort afforded him by JRR Tolkien. And, specifically, Tolkien’s benign yet powerful wizard, whose words of farewell – “My time is over: it is no longer my task to set things to rights, nor to help folk to do so” – he quoted. When Halfon added, still in Gandalf mode, that those he left behind would have no need of his help and that he harboured no fears for any of them, the analogy began to strain.
Gandalf’s words were meant as comfort to Frodo Baggins after the defeat of Sauron, and it may be noted that the Tories find themselves in a somewhat different position; but never mind. Tolkien’s work has long floated free of its original cultural context, and is well used to being co-opted by enthusiasts from very diverse quarters.
Hippies loved the drug stuff and the psychedelia of the Shire; a clutch of Led Zeppelin songs quote directly from The Lord of the Rings; the Norse death metal bands can’t get enough of it. And then there is the Italian prime minister, Giorgia Meloni, who in her youth loved nothing better than to dress up as a hobbit and who last year proudly opened an exhibition of all things Tolkien in Rome. In other words, whether you’re looking for peace and love among the talking trees or ethno-nationalism against the backdrop of an almighty fight between good and evil, you will find what you’re looking for. Pity the poor author that his lifelong researches into the legends and languages of the world should be so easily absorbed by his readers’ personal hobbyhorses.
As for Halfon, perhaps he’s simply looking forward to spending less time with the likes of Galadriel (charismatic and outwardly reassuring, yet secretly lusting for power), the sycophant Grima Wormtongue and the treacherous Gollum. Do feel free to join the dots yourselves.
And on behalf of those of us who spend our lives toiling at the coalface of literature – for which you may read lolling on a chaise longue admiring our Penguin Modern Classics and contemplating the power of metaphor – I beseech politicians and thought leaders everywhere: for the love of God, read another book.
Alex Clark is an Observer columnist
When an outgoing Tory minister like Robert Halfon channels Gandalf, the magic of Tolkien begins to pall
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30.03.2024
This is a true story that sounds made up. When Ian McEwan’s latest novel, Lessons, was published, I interviewed him at a live event in London, during which the conversation ranged from the fall of the Berlin Wall to Brexit. Afterwards, I went for dinner with a friend and, because many of the capital’s roads were closed in preparation for the Queen’s funeral, we ran a little late. Apologising profusely, my pal explained what I had been doing to the cheerful and accommodating young woman bringing us our drinks. The effect was galvanic. “No!” she exclaimed. “Not really! That’s just amazing!” It was indeed, I agreed; I’d had a terrific night. “I mean,” she continued, “Gandalf!”
I have since relayed these events to McEwan, who was both amused and delightfully sanguine about being confused with Ian........
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