Final essay written for the course “The Fantastic History of the 20th Century” at the University of Glasgow. Please note all formatting, spelling, and punctuation is in accordance with U.K. requirements.

Promoting the Gentle Man: Representations of Masculinity in J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and Angela Carter’s ‘The Bloody Chamber’

The Lord of the Rings trilogy (1954-55) by J.R.R. Tolkien is renowned as one of the greatest examples of fantasy literature, serving as a template for many fantastic works that have followed it. However, Tolkien’s novels are often critiqued for their lack of female characters. Contrastingly, Angela Carter’s feminist reimagining of fairy tales in short stories such as ‘The Bloody Chamber’ from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories (1979) utilizes almost exclusively female perspectives to explore themes of sexuality, femininity, and patriarchy. Though these works were written decades apart, in dissimilar styles, and are different kinds of fantasy works, they each explore subversions of masculinity.

Notable works of scholarship examine representations of gender in each of these works individually, such as Beatriz Ruiz’s ‘J.R.R. Tolkien’s Construction of Multiple Masculinities in The Lord of the Rings’ and Caleb Sivyer’s ‘A Scopophiliac Fairy Tale: Deconstructing Normative Gender in Angela Carter’s “The Bloody Chamber”’. However, this essay appears to be the first to discuss how fantasy affords particular ways of constructing masculinity by comparing these two texts. Employing definitions and conventions of the fantasy genre from Rosemary Jackson’s Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion (1981) and Farah Mendlesohn’s Rhetorics of Fantasy (2008), this essay will first discuss the different categories of fantasy individually associated with The Lord of the Rings and ‘The Bloody Chamber’, and how they affect their approaches of examining gender. Then, it will assess how they each undermine ideas of Western traditional masculinity to promote a vision of a gentler, more humble man, with Tolkien’s rooted in ideals of love as power, and Carter’s as an upheaval of dominant patriarchy to a figure who offers support and companionship, rather than control.

The different subgenres of fantasy of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings and Carter’s ‘The Bloody Chamber’ allow them to examine masculinity through their own unique methods. Tolkien’s Middle Earth saga falls into what Rosemary Jackson describes as the ‘marvellous’ in her book Fantasy: The Literature of Subversion. Jackson explains that ‘a marvellous realm’, such as Middle Earth, ‘transports the reader […] into an absolutely different, alternative world, a “secondary” universe’ (Jackson 1981: 25). She goes on to explain that ‘This [secondary universe] is relatively autonomous, relating to the “real” through metaphorical reflection and never, or rarely, intruding [into it]’ (Jackson 1981: 25). This definition of the ‘marvellous’ expresses that the fantastic world of Middle Earth only has minor, if any, relations to our reality, or the ‘real’ world. Operating as a separate universe, it allows readers to reconsider aspects of their own society through disassociation. In other words, immersion in Tolkien’s Middle Earth allows us to reflect on our own society and its norms in a new light. As Brian Attebery explains, Tolkien ‘thought fantasy could restore [familiar objects] to the vividness with which we first saw them’ (Attebery 1992: 16). Therefore, ‘familiar’ conventions, such as gender, are viewed by readers with a new perspective when presented with Tolkien’s ideas of masculinity through the characters of Middle Earth.

Moreover, The Lord of the Rings’s status as a quest fantasy further encourages readers to observe the world and its norms through an original and unfamiliar position. Farah Mendlesohn categorizes Tolkien’s series as a ‘portal-quest fantasy’, meaning that ‘a character leaves [their] familiar surroundings and passes through a portal to an unknown place’ (2008: 1). In the case of The Lord of the Rings, Frodo and the other hobbits leave the safety of the Shire and travel across the vast land of Middle Earth. Readers of the novels are associated with the hobbits, as both have never journeyed beyond the peaceful valley of the Shire introduced at the start of the series. This reflects Mendlesohn’s explanation that in portal-quest fantasies ‘[t]he position of the reader [...] is one of companion-audience, tied to the protagonist, and dependent upon the protagonist for explanation’ (Mendlesohn 1). Readers, like Frodo, do not know what to expect of the peoples and lands that lie outside the Shire, designated on Frodo’s maps as the ‘mostly white spaces beyond its borders’ (Tolkien 2020: 43). Everything Frodo and his companions encounter in Middle Earth is new and strange to them. Thus, when readers are introduced to male characters along their journey, it is through the voyeurism of meeting these entities for the first time, prompting them to engage with perspectives and ideas of gender exhibited by cultures that are unfamiliar to hobbits, and thus to human readers by proxy.

Angela Carter’s ‘The Bloody Chamber’ similarly disassociates readers from preconceived notions of masculinity, but through the use of a fairy tale retelling with grotesque and fantastic elements. The short story has been categorized as ‘dark fantasy’, or a fantasy ‘which incorporates a sense of horror’ and in which ‘protagonists believe themselves to inhabit a world of consensual mundane reality and learn otherwise [...] [living] with new knowledge’ (Kaveney 2012: 214, 218). This definition fits Carter’s ‘The Bloody Chamber’, a reimagining of the Bluebeard fairy-tale, wherein the newlywed narrator discovers her husband, the wealthy Marquis, has murdered his previous three wives. Carter’s use of the grotesque throughout the short story also reflects many aspects of horror. The scene where the narrator finds the bodies of her husband’s former wives evokes vivid and terrifying imagery of bodily trauma. For example, the narrator describes that one of the wives has been reduced to ‘a skull, so utterly denuded, now, of flesh, that it scarcely seemed possible the stark bone had once been richly upholstered with life [...] strung up by a system of unseen cords, so that it appeared to hang disembodied’ (Carter 1993: 16, 17).

The story also exemplifies Jackson’s definition of the ‘fantastic’. As Jackson explains:

Fantastic narratives confound elements of both the marvellous and the mimetic. They assert that what they are telling is real—relying upon all the conventions of realistic fiction […] then they […] break that assumption of realism by introducing what […] is manifestly unreal. (Jackson 1981: 20)

Carter’s tale utilizes this blend of ‘the marvellous and the memetic’, or fantasy and realism, as the story is written in a realistic style, and set in the early twentieth century. While the majority of the story takes place in the Marquis’s castle, there are also cars, electricity, running water, and telephones. Fused with this familiar technology are ‘unreal’ elements that make the story a fantastic narrative. Two examples of the ‘marvellous’ are associated with the bloody key, which reveals to the Marquis that the narrator has entered the deadly chamber she promised him she would avoid. The gory evidence will not wash away: ‘The bloody token stuck [...] the more I scrubbed the key, the more vivid grew the stain’ (Carter 1993: 20). Moreover, after her husband presses the key to her forehead, the mark remains there forever, as ‘No paint nor powder […] can mask that red mark’ (Carter 1993: 26). These ‘unreal’ elements, combined with the horror and Carter’s grotesque descriptions, serve to ‘pull the reader from the apparent familiarity and security of the known and everyday world’ (Jackson 1981: 20). Though it does not take place in a separate fantasy land, Carter still creates a sense of disassociation from reality, prompting readers to reassess constructions and ideals of masculinity within her story of marital murder and abuse.

One of the ways in which both The Lord of the Rings and ‘The Bloody Chamber’ re-evaluate traditional masculinity is by presenting its severe and fundamental flaws, then subverting it in favour of more sympathetic male figures. Tolkien clearly esteems characters such as the hobbit Samwise Gamgee over conventional warrior-figures such as Boromir. Beatriz Ruiz writes that there is a pattern of characters in Tolkien’s series that encompasses ‘a traditional dominant hegemonic masculinity’ (2017: 26) based on hypermasculinity, which is in part defined by viewing ‘violence as manly, and danger as exciting’ (Mosher and Sirkin 1984: 151). Boromir meets these standards, as he is established throughout The Fellowship of the Ring by his prowess and pride as a fighter. When the Ring tempts Boromir to take it from Frodo, it gives him a vision of might and victory in battle: ‘The Ring would give me power of Command. How I would drive the hosts of Mordor, and all men would flock to my banner!’ (Tolkien 2020: 398). Boromir’s masculinity is therefore based in his strength and ability to fight and lead, and while it is rooted in offering protection, it also becomes his greatest weakness, as ‘[t]he Ring [...] [plays] on his wish to save his country and on his desire for personal glory” (Hammond and Scull 2005: 349). Characteristics of physical strength and pride, normally thought of in Western culture as admirable masculine qualities, instead become Boromir’s undoing, reflecting Tolkien’s belief that a new kind of masculinity needed to take its place.

This new, better masculinity is defined by characters such as Sam. As Brian Attebery writes, ‘the genre of fantasy has become a space for cultural negotiation,’ allowing Tolkien to confront ideas of traditional masculinity by presenting male characters like Sam as the greatest heroes in Middle Earth (2014: 21). Jane Chance writes that ‘[h]umility in Tolkien is always ultimately successful’ (2001: 41), and Ruiz explains that figures like Sam are defined by ‘their will to preserve life and their peaceful attitudes’ (2017: 30). This emphasis on humility, peace, and conservation contrasts with typical male bravado in fighting and killing. Without Sam and his devotion to Frodo, Frodo might not have been able to destroy the Ring. He carries Frodo the last stretch up Mount Doom, exclaiming, ‘“I can't carry [the Ring] for you, but I can carry you!”’ (Tolkien 2012: 940). Moreover, when Sam is tempted by the Ring, he, unlike Boromir, is able to resist its visions: ‘In that hour of trial it was his love of his master that helped most to hold him firm; but also deep down in him lived still unconquered his plain hobbit-sense’ (Tolkien 2012: 901). Desires for glory and power, though they exist in Sam, cannot conquer his greatest qualities: his love and common sense. Due to his caring and humility, Sam is able to save Middle Earth, and live a prosperous life in the Shire with a wife and children. Before he leaves Middle Earth, Frodo tells Sam, ‘[y]our hands and your wits will be needed everywhere. You will be the Mayor, of course, as long as you want to be, and the most famous gardener in history’ (Tolkien 2012: 1029). Sam’s intelligence is viewed as vital to the Shire, but also his care and ability to foster new growth, and therefore new beginnings, as a gardener.

This view on masculinity is directly influenced by Tolkien’s experiences in both World War I and II. The subversion of ‘warrior men’ reflects Tolkien’s service in World War I as a young man, and he knew from personal experience that there was no glory in war or battle. As Benvenuto remarks, ‘although not a “pacifist” in modern terms, Tolkien grew to detest [war], as he knew firsthand the pain and misery it wreaked on people’ (2006: 50). By the end of World War II, Britain had ‘suffered 264,433 military and 60,595 civilian deaths’ and ‘[o]ne in three houses had been destroyed by bombing’ (BBC 2020: 5 and 6 of 11 paras). In this post-war world, there was not a need for men seeking further aggression, but those like Sam, who would bring restoration and life back into a ravaged and weary Britain. As Mendlesohn explains, ‘The Lord of the Rings is not a quest for power, but a journey to destroy power’, in the traditional understanding of it as dominion over others (2008: 4). The one ‘good choice’ of power in the series is ‘the Christ-like power of love, healing, and gentleness’ (Enright 2007: 26 of 26 paras), therefore moving away from a masculinity that seeks domination and violence, in favour of a masculinity that instead values altruism and peacemakers. Mendlesohn explains that ‘Fantasy relies on a moral universe’ making it a ‘sermon on the way things should be’ (2008: 5). By presenting love and humility as the qualities of the greatest heroes and admired characters to those exploring Middle Earth, Tolkien grants readers a new outlook on what traits should be valued and upheld in all men.

In a similar manner to Tolkien, Carter’s contrast between the Marquis, or ‘Bluebeard’, and the piano tuner, Jean-Yves, favours the figure of a kind man over one of overt sexual and violent masculinity. Like Boromir, the Marquis follows the definition of ‘hypermasculinity’ in that he relishes violence, but he also fulfils its third aspect, as he possesses ‘[callous] sex attitudes toward women’ (Mosher and Sirkin 1984: 151). He not only owns a collection of pornographic books, but the way he gazes at the narrator constantly makes her feel both vulnerable and hypersexualized. As Caleb Sivyer remarks, the ‘Marquis represents the dominant scopic position within patriarchal society: the active, gazing position’ (2013: 48). The narrator explains ‘I saw him watching me […] with the assessing eye of a connoisseur inspecting horseflesh’, and she is shocked by the ‘sheer carnal avarice of [his gaze]’ (Carter 1993: 5). The Marquis dehumanizes the narrator simply by his look, transforming her from a woman into mere flesh, an object of consumption for his sexual desire. But the Marquis’s sexual appetite is also linked to his masculine love of violence, as he tells the narrator he will kill her by ‘“Decapitation,” he whispered, almost voluptuously’ (Carter 1993: 22). He takes a sadomasochistic pleasure from murder, exemplifying how the fantastic pulls the reader from the ‘security and known of the everyday’ to experience the narrator’s fear and disgust at the Marquis’s traditional masculinity (Jackson 1981: 20).

However, the Marquis’s violent masculinity brings him a violent death at the hands of the narrator’s mother, who arrives just in time to save her daughter. The mother is presented as a fantastic figure: ‘You never saw such a wild thing as my mother, her hat seized by the winds and blown out to sea so that her hair was her white mane, [...] one hand on the reins of the rearing horse while the other clasped my father's service revolver’ (Carter 1993: 25). This description of the mother makes her an otherworldly being, ferocious and unafraid to defend her daughter. The Marquis ‘[wields an] honourable sword as if it were a matter of death or glory’ (Carter 1993: 25) as he tries to attack, but the narrator’s mother ‘[raises her] father’s gun, took aim and put a single, irreproachable bullet through [his] head’ (Carter 1993: 25, 26). While demonstrating a mother’s love, the fantastic death of the Marquis also symbolizes a revolt against the patriarchal oppression of traditional masculinity, which not only promotes brutality but sexual exploitation.

Contrastingly, Jean-Yves, like Tolkien’s Sam, is a humble soul, characterized by his tender nature. A blind man, the narrator introduces him as ‘young, with a gentle mouth and grey eyes’ (Carter 1993: 12). Sivyer writes that Jean-Yves’s blindness ‘can be read as offering an alternative to the economy of the violent male gaze, as represented by the husband’ (2013: 47). His blindness also ‘forces his hearing to become more proficient [...] encouraging qualities of receptiveness and attentiveness’ (Sivyer 2013: 59). As opposed to the Marquis, the narrator says, ‘his eyes were singularly sweet’ (Carter 1993: 18). He does not value the narrator’s physical appearance or body, but rather her musical ability. But more than an admirer of her talent, he displays self-sacrificing bravery and loyalty. When the narrator is summoned by her husband to be killed, Jean-Yves chooses to accompany her, saying, ‘“I can be of some comfort to you [...] Though not much use.”’ (Carter 1993: 23). While the Marquis declares he will kill Jean-Yves as well, Jean-Yves does not allow the narrator to face the Marquis alone. But through his love for the narrator, Jean-Yves becomes her lover, and helps the narrator run a music school. This addition of Jean-Yves to the story demonstrates further favour of his courage and humble qualities, as he is not featured in the original Bluebeard narrative. Yet in this iteration, he comforts the narrator, offering an alternative love and masculinity based in kindness and personal value which is rewarded, rather than one of dominance and fear that has to be destroyed.

This stark contrast between Jean-Yves’s gentleness and the Marquis’s pornographic violence subverts traditional masculinity, presenting Jean-Yves as the desirable model of manhood for a world of social equality. As Jackson explains, ‘It is no accident that so many [women] writers [...] have all employed the fantastic to subvert patriarchal society—the symbolic order of modern culture’ (Jackson 1981: 61). In Carter’s case, the fantastic destroys the patriarchal through the appearance of the narrator’s mother, who senses through ‘the maternal telepathy’ that something was wrong, and kills the Marquis (Carter 1993: 26). Revolt against such patriarchy, as represented by traditional masculinity, was a key feature of second-wave feminism, which sought ‘social equality regardless of sex’ during the period of Carter’s writing (Rampton 2008: 5 of 20 paras). To create this world of social equality therefore requires men like Jean-Yves who offer kindness and companionship to women, instead of those who murder and repress like the Marquis.

Thus, Tolkien and Carter challenge norms of masculinity through their fantasy works. Though Tolkien’s Middle Earth is a separate fantasy realm, while Carter’s story is a fantastic narrative of real and magical elements, the two similarly challenge norms of traditional masculinity. Tolkien highlights the weaknesses of aggressive warriors like Boromir, and Carter displays the violence and horrific sexual obsession of the Marquis. The evils of such masculinity are contrasted with the ideal of a better man, whose characteristics of humility and gentleness are displayed in the characters of Samwise Gamgee and Jean-Yves. Though appearing vastly different, both texts prove how fantasy continues to challenge conventions such as gender, no matter through what mode or subgenre.

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