Text: Carol Marhsall Peirce, “ ‘In the Perilous Realm’: The Fantastic Geographies of Tolkien and Poe,” Poe and Our Times: Influences and Affinities, Baltimore: The Edgar Allan Poe Society, 1986, pp. 124-136 (This material is protected by copyright)


[page 124:]



In his critical study of fantasy and fairy tale, “On Fairy-stories,” J. R. R. Tolkien identifies most such stories as “about the adventures of men in the Perilous Realm or upon its shadowy marches.” He also writes: “To the elvish craft, Enchantment, Fantasy aspires, and when it is successful of all forms of human art most nearly approaches.” At another point he adds that fantasy must combine Imagination with unreality, have “a quality of strangeness and wonder in the Expression” — an “arresting strangeness” — and possess an “inner consistency.” It demands, says Tolkien, “a special skill, a kind of elvish craft.” “Few,” he adds, “attempt such difficult tasks.”(1)

One of those few who did attempt the craft was Edgar Allan Poe. In his poetry and tales one not only enters the Perilous Realm, one feels the very air that blows from that far countree. Indeed, in “Journey to the End of the Night,” a chapter in his book, The Power of Darkness, Harry Levin speaks of Poe’s “unique absorption in atmosphere” and concludes, “If he was at home anywhere, perhaps it was in his ‘Dreamland’.”(2) Like Tolkien, Poe had the “enchanter’s power” (to use Tolkien’s words) to “put a deadly green upon a man’s face and produce a horror,” to “make the rare and terrible blue moon to shine,” and to “cause woods to spring with silver leaves and rams to wear fleeces of gold.”(3)

Of course, Poe and Tolkien differ in many major ways. Although each wrote poetry, and criticism, Poe is best known for his short stories and mood essays or “mindscapes,” undertaking only two longer works, the unfinished Pym and the philosophic probe of the universe, Eureka. Tolkien, on the other hand, did write a few short tales but concentrated his major publication on The Hobbit and the long three-volume Lord of the Rings. Meanwhile, he bore in his heart of hearts The Silmarillion, the constantly rewritten, never totally consolidated epic of the earliest ages of Middle-earth. The Silmarillion materials also encompassed his studies of language and related to them, for it was from the creation of the Eldarin languages that Tolkien turned to write the Ring trilogy. Here, too, is another difference from Poe (but, paradoxically, in some ways a likeness too), for whereas languages (the reconstruction of certain ancient languages and the creation of new ones) enthralled Tolkien most, Poe loved ratiocination, as he called his involvement with reasoning out mysteries — he was equally intrigued with solving real ones and with creating new ones himself for others to solve. Just as Tolkien invented languages, so Poe invented the modern detective story. [page 125:]

Poe’s characters, too, differ from Tolkien’s. Although in both men’s works the characters are generally other-worldly, not of this time or place, Poe’s greatest creations — his Ligeias, his Berenices, his Roderick Ushers, and even his omnipresent narrators — are often in their depths psychological studies in passionate abnormality or even madness. Tolkien’s, however, are mythic in their deepest being and seem to emerge from fairy lore and legend: “‘And now the songs have come down among us out of strange places, and walk visible under the Sun,’” says Théoden.(4)

Finally, in their culminating visions — in their mythic and mystic journeys — they ride toward different ends. For Poe (except in his detective fiction which does not pertain here) forever moves out of light into darkness, despair, and tragedy: there exists always the hope of beauty but the threat of oblivion. Tolkien, facing a world of darkness and of terror, a Götterdammerung, strives on toward light and toward the Eucatastrophe, as he calls it, the fairy-story opposite. In “On Fairy-stories,” he writes:

In its fairy-tale — or other world-setting, it [the Eucatastrophe] is a sudden and miraculous grace: never robe counted onto recur. It does not deny the existence of dyscatastrophe, of sorrow and failure . . . it denies (in the face of much evidence, if you will) universal final defeat. . . Giving a fleeting glimpse of joy, joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.(5)

Though some of the realms Poe and Tolkien inhabit are not the same, however, others reveal a profound affinity. Both authors are mythmakers who open windows on the world of the creative imagination. Fascinatingly, some of the windows reveal the same landscape of fantasy. Surely there are archetypal worlds, as well as archetypal gods, that still call us home. Some of these primordial lands, then, exist in the geographies of both Tolkien and Poe, especially the dark world of horror and the bright world of Faërie.

To begin, each author sets his characters a-questing, riding down the Road of Trials on the journey inward to illumination.(6) Like Frodo and Gandolf and Aragorn in Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, Poe’s hero persona sets out in “Eldorado”:

Gaily bedight,

A gallant knight,

In sunshine and in shadow,

Had journeyed long,

Singing a song,

in search of Eldorado. [page 126:]

And just as in Tolkien’s definition in “On Fairy-stories” and in the plot of The Lord of the Rings, he sojourns long and penetrates deep into its shadows and perils:

“Shadow,” said he

“Where can it be —

This land of Eldorado?”


“Over the Mountains

Of the Moon,

Down the Valley of the Shadow,

Ride, boldly ride,”

The shade replied, —

“If you seek for Eldorado!”(7)

The world that most of Poe’s knight-errants reach, however, like the world of his poems, “Dream-land” and “Ulalume,” seems in its fantastic natural features and its horror most to resemble Tolkien’s Mordor and the lands lying near it. Both are terrible worlds ruled by princes of Darkness and inhabited by Orcs in Tolkien and Ghouls in Poe. Tolkien writes: “Sauron the Great, the Dark Lord. . . .has indeed arisen again and left his hold in Mirkwood and returned to his ancient fastness in the Dark Tower of Mordor . . . .like a shadow on the borders of old stories.”(8) Frodo and Sam must travel a long and deadly road into Sauron’s kingdom in their quest to destroy the ring of power in the fires of Mount Doom. Poe, too, has his own dark king described in the poem, “Dream-land”:

By a route obscure and lonely,

Haunted by ill angels only,

Where an Eidolon, named Night,

On a black throne reigns upright,

I have reached these lands but newly. . .

He writes of his realm, “. . .a wild weird clime that lieth, sublime, / Out of Space — out of Time.”(9) Tolkien, similarly, lists, as one of man’s archetypal desires, this very ability “to survey the depths of space and time.”(10)

Again, Poe’s journeyer in “Dream-land” must go through “Bottomless vales and boundless floods, / And chasms, and caves, and Titan woods.”(11) So too, the quest of Tolkien’s Fellowship leads to the crest of a great flood just outside the Elven valley of Rivendell: “At that moment there came a roaring and a rushing: a noise of loud waters rolling many stones. Dimly Frodo saw the river below him rise, and down along its course there came a plumed cavalry of waves.”(12) It leads, also, to the fight of Gandalf with the Balrog at [page 127:] the Bridge of Kazad-Dam. Defeated by the wintry mountains, the company enters the caverns of Moria beneath them. Pursued by “the certainty of evil ahead and of evil following,” the doom, doom of the orcic drum, “Suddenly Frodo saw before him a black chasm. At the end of the hall the floor vanished and fell to an unknown depth.”(13) Later, as they approach the Elven city of green towers, Caras Galadon of Lothlorien, they look back at the “Titan woods” behind them: “‘There lies the fastness of Southern Mirkwood,’” said Haldir. “‘It is clad in a forest of dark fir, where the trees strive one against another and their branches rot and wither.’”(14) One feels one has almost here in Tolkien explored Poe’s vales and floods and caves and woods, especially when one finds in “Silence — A Fable,” this description:

“. . .there is a boundary to their realm-the boundary of the dark, horrible, lofty forest. There . . . the low underwood is agitated continually . . . . And the tall primeval trees rock eternally hither and thither with a crashing and mighty sound.”

. . . .

“The waters of the river have a saffron and sickly hue; and they flow not onward to the sea, but palpitate forever and forever beneath the red eye of the sun with a tumultuous and convulsive motion . . . . in that solitude. “(15)

This last could almost be a sentence from Tolkien’s description of the riveting eye of Sauron, gazing down on Middle-earth: “The Eye was rimmed with fire, but was itself glazed, yellow as a cat’s, watchful and intent, and the black slit of its pupil opened on a pit, a window into nothing.”(16)

Indeed, with every step, Tolkien’s Fellowship is approaching Mordor. As Frodo and Sam leave the company and press closer alone, they must pass the Dead Marshes:

“Who are they? What are they?” asked Sam shuddering, turning to Frodo, who was now behind him.

“ I don’t know,” said Frodo in a dreamlike voice. “But I have seen them too. In the pools when the candles were lit. They lie in all the pools, pale faces, deep deep under the dark water. I saw them: grim faces and evil, and noble faces and sad. Many faces proud and fair, and weeds in their silver hair. But all foul, all rotting, all dead. A fell light is in them.” Frodo hid his eyes in his hands. “I know not who they are; but I thought I saw there Men and Elves, and Orcs beside them.”(17)

Poe, still wandering in “Dream-land,” sees something like the same horror: [page 128:]

By the grey woods, — by the swamp

Where the toad and the newt encamp,

By the dismal tarns and pools

Where dwell the Ghouls,

. . . .

There the traveller meets aghast,

Sheeted Memories of the Past —

Shrouded forms that start and sigh

As they pass the wanderer by —

White-robed forms of friends long given,

In agony, to the Earth-and Heaven.(18)

Such is the character of Poe’s “Dream-land” and of the marches of Tolkien’s Mordor.

In an even more mysterious poem, “Ulalume,” “down by the dank tarn of Auber, An the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir,” Poe, in progress of a last terrible journey, in depthsof agony, sees a star, a star that seems to”point us the path to the skies.” His soul warns him, but he does not heed: “Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sibyllic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night.” But the star (“Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?”) misleads him and he comes in the end to the grave of his lost love, Ulalume:

These were days when my heart was volcanic

As the scoriae rivers that roll —

As the lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanck,

In the ultimate climes of the Pole.(19)

So in The Lord of the Rings Sam, with Frodo, striving along the final road to the volcanic mountain, looks up:

There, peeping among the (loud-wrack above the dark for high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, (lean and cold, the thought piciced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty forever beyond its reach.(20)

Sam takes new heart, and the star, unlike that in Poe, has not deceived him. He and Frodo come in the end to witness and participate in the destruction of evil for their time. [page 129:]

Another fascinating parallel lies in Tolkien’s description of the last moments of Mount Doom and the Dark Tower, Sauron’s inner citadel of power, with Poe’s description of “The City in the Sea.” Tolkien writes:

A brief vision he had of swirling cloud, and in the midst of it towers and battlements, tall as hills, founded upon a mighty mountain-throne above immeasurable pits; great courts and dungeons, eyeless prisons sheer as cliffs, and gaping gates of steel and adamant: and then all passed. Towers fell and mountains slid; walls crumbled and melted, crashing down; vast spires of smoke and spouting steams went billowing up, up, until they toppled like an overwhelming wave, and its wild crest curled and came foaming down upon the land.(21)

The flood is a metaphor here and a symbolic repetition of the “devouring wave” that “rolled over the land” and toppled Númenor, “Land of the West,” in Tolkien’s Silmarillion.(22) This mythic theme, like the medieval Celtic stories of drowned cities, like the ancient storyof Atlantis,(23) also forms the thematic basis for Poe’s poem, “The City in the Sea”:

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne

In a strange city lying alone

Far down within the dim West,

. . . .

No rays from the holy heaven come down

On the long night-time of that town;

But light from out the lurid sea

Streams up the turrets silently —

Gleams up the pinnacles far and free

Up domes — up spires — up kingly halls —

Up fanes — up Babylon-like walls —

. . . .

Resignedly beneath the sky

The melancholy waters lie.

So blend the turrets and shadows there

That all seem pendulous in air,

While from a proud tower in the town

Death looks gigantically down.(24)

Thus Poe and Tolkien cross some of the same shadowy lands of Darkness [page 130:] and see some of the same green iridescence of Death. But they share happier and more poignant moments and visions too, as they pause in their quests to linger awhile in Faerie, breathe its sweet airs, and rest in its riddle of beauty and loss. They both linger in the silver woods and sleep beneath the blue moon. In fact the most striking correspondences of all occur in their ideas of Fairyland.

Poe describes that evanescent world especially in his poems, “Fairy-land” and “The Valley of Unrest,” and in his stories, “Eleonora” and “The Island of the Fay.” “Fairy-land,” an early poem, is filled with marvelous moonlight:

Huge moons there wax and wane

. . . .

Forever changing places

And they put out the star-light

With the breath from their pale faces.”

The moon bathes in its light strange woods and spirits on the wing-and “every drowsy thing.” Butterflies rise forever toward it, as well, bringing back its light on their wings. This is a simpler work than some of his others on the fairy world, and one thinks instinctively of Tolkien’s earlier children’s story, The Hobbit. There “hundreds of butterflies” flutter high in the woodelves’ trees.(26) And there one visits Elrond’s Last Homely House in the fair “secret valley of Rivendell,” where the air is always warm, the water running, and the evening filled with the scent of flowers and pine-trees, making one “drowsy”: “‘H mmm! it smells like elves!’ thought Bilbo, and he looked up at the stars. They were burning bright and blue. Just then there came a burst of song like laughter in the trees.”(27) Here, too, Elrond discovers the moonletters on Bilbo’s map: “They can only be seen when the moon shines behind them . . . . . . (28) Of such “filmy,” “mooney” correspondences are these fairylands created. In The Lord of the Rings, however, Tolkien sees an end coming to his Elven race. With the fourth age — of men — the Elf people will gradually fade from the earth and all their lands be left mourning. So, it is, too, in Poe’s poem, “The Valley of Unrest,” which seems like nothing so much as the Vale of Rivendell after the Elves’ departure to the West:

Once it smiled a silent dell

Where the people did not dwell;

They had gone unto the wars,

Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,

Nightly, from their azure towers,

To keep watch above the flowers. [page 131:]

Now, eternal dews fall from the “fragrant tops” of ever-stirring trees, “over the violets,” “over the lilies” that there still wave.(29) “‘And many fair things,’” said Tolkien’s Elrond, “‘will fade and be forgotten.’”(30)

Most beautiful of all the realms of Tolkien is Lothlórien “fair and perilous,” and it has its parallels too in Poe: “Frodo stood awhile still lost in wonder. It seemed to him that he had stepped through a high window that looked on a vanished world. A light was upon it for which his language had no name.” Aragorn explained it simply: “‘Here is the heart of Elvendom on earth,’ he said, ‘and here my heart dwells ever, unless there be a light beyond the dark roads that we still must tread, you and I.’”(31) Lóthlorien too must slowly vanish and its elf queen, Galadriel, diminish and pass: “‘Lóthlorien will fade, and the tides of Time will sweep it away. We must depart into the West, or dwindle to a rustic folk of dell and cave, slowly to forget and to be forgotten.’”(32)

This conception of Lothlórien compares on many levels with that of Poe in his stories, “Eleonora” and “The Island of the Fay.” Their geographies, and not only their geographies, are remarkably similar to Tolkien’s. To begin with, even their place-names relate. Early in “Eleonora” Poe explains, “We had always dwelled together . . . in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.”(33) Tolkien writes that Lóthlorien is only a shorter version of the old Elven name, Laurelindórenan — “Land of the Valley of Singing Gold, that was it, once upon a time.”(34) Tolkien tells us further that the Fellowship of travellers, arriving, pass the source of the swift river, the Silverlode, which rushes over “shining pebbles” as it branches into many small streams, “leaping down to the trough of the valley, and then running on and away into the lower lands, until it [is] lost in a golden haze.” Of the woods and its leaves he writes: “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 woods is golden, and golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for the balk of the trees is smooth and gray.”(35) Finally in the very center, “the heart of the ancient realm”:

. . . Frodo looked up and caught his breath. They were standing in an open space. To the left stood a great mound, covered with a sward of grass as green as Spring-time in the Elder days. Upon it, as a double crown, grew two circles of trees: the outer had bark of snowy white, and were leafless but beautiful in their shapely nakedness; the inner were mallorn-treesof great height, still arrayed in pale gold . . . . At the feet of the trees, and all about the green hillsides the grass was studded with small golden flowers shaped like stars. Among them, nodding on slender stalks, were other flowers, white and palest green: they glimmered as a mist amid the rich hue of the grass. Over all the sky was blue, and the sun of afternoon [page 132:] glowed upon the hill and cast long green shadows beneath the trees.(36)

In “Eleonora,” likewise, Poe writes of the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass:

From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it had issued. . . . No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wandered along that the pearly pebbles upon which we loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old station, shining on gloriously forever.

The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling rivulets that glided, through devious ways, into its channel, as well as the spaces that extended from the margins away down into the depths of the streams until they reached the bed of pebbles at the bottom, — these spots, not less than the whole surface of the valley, from the river to the mountains that girdled it in, were carpeted all by a soft green grass, thick, short, perfectly even, and vanilla-perfumed, but so besprinkled throughout with the yellow buttercup, the white daisy, the purple violet, and the ruby-red asphodel, that its exceeding beauty spoke to our hearts. . .

And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like wildernesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose tall slender stems stood not upright, but slanted gracefully toward the light that peered at noon-day into the centre of the valley. Their bark was speckled with the vivid alternate splendor of ebony and silver, and was smoother than all the cheeks of Eleonora.(37)

Much the same scene is set in “The Island of the Fay.” Through mountain locked in Mountain “I”, the searcher (unlike the narrator of “Eleonora” who lived in the valley and saw it fade away), comes to find a river, with the green forest surrounding it and in the center a small circular island. The western side glows with sunlight and flowers and grass interspersed with asphodel. The trees are tall and slender, and butterflies move in their “gentle sweepings” of joy. The east, though, is dark, shrouded in shade, cypress, and death.

“If ever island were enchanted,” said I to myself, “this is it. This is the haunt of the few gentle Fays who remain from the wreck of the race. Are these green tombs theirs? — or do they yield up their sweet lives as mankind yield up their own? In dying, do they not rather waste away mournfully; rendering unto God little by little their existence, as these [page 133:] trees render up shadow after shadow, exhausting their substance unto dissolution?”

It then appears to him that he sees one of the Fays in a “singularly fragile canoe” circling the island. Each time she circles she grows fainter and fainter until at last he loses her fragile sight in the darkness.(38)

So, too, as Frodo and the Company leave Lothlorien, Galadriel appears a last time in a Swan-ship: “She seemed no longer perilous or terrible, nor filled with hidden power. Already she seemed to him, as by men of later days Elves still at times are seen: present and yet remote, a living vision of that which has already been left far behind by the flowing streams of Time.”(39)

Finally, to conclude and also to touch on two last particularly illuminating parallels, it should be noted that Tolkien sees fantasy and fairy-stories as having “three faces.” These include the “Magical” that they turn “towards Nature,” “the Mystical towards the Supernatural,” and “the Mirror of scorn and pity towards Man.”(40) Both writers have looked on all three faces, and the correspondences again are fascinating in their varied nuances.

The Magical face that Faërie turns to Nature appears in central passages of both writers. Poe, for example, in “To Helen,” is drawn back to imagine beauty so haunting that “On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home . . . .” (41) In The Lord of the Rings Tolkien describes the music of Elven voices: “Almost it seemed that the words took shape, and visions of far lands and bright things that he had never yet imagined opened out before him; and the firelit hall became like a golden mist above seas of foam that sighed upon the margins of the world.”(42) Not only do these writers discover seas in their visions of Nature but seas described with adjectives that evoke the very magic of Fairyland. As Keats put it earlier:

The voice I hear this passing night was heard

In ancient days by emperor and clown:

Perhaps. . .

The same that oft-times hath

Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam

Of perilous seas, in fairy lands forlorn.(43)

Second, the face of the mystical toward the supernatural can be seen in two powerful images that seem each to reveal in its own epiphany the different vision but mystic likeness of Tolkien and Poe. Toward the final battle for Middle-earth, Gandalf, the Grey Wizard, seemingly destroyed by the Balrog at the Bridge of Kazed-Dûm, after passing in travail through fire, [page 134:] earth, water, and air, returns to the green earth to lead the Quest again. But now he has become the “White Rider.” Aragorn, who, like Arthur, again shall be king, rises to meet him:

The others gazed at them in silence as they stood there facing one another. the grey figure of the Man, Aragorn son of Arathorn, was tall, and stern as stone, his hand upon the hilt of his sword; he looked as if some king out of the mists of the sea had stepped upon the shores of lesser men. Before him stooped the old figure, white, shining now as if with some light kindled within, bent, laden with years, but holding a power beyond the strength of kings.(44)

A gleam of sun through fleeting clouds fell on his hands, which lay now upturned on his lap: they seemed to be filled with light as a cup is with water. At last he looked up and gazed straight at the Sun.(45)

Merlin? One of the mythic Northern Gods? Gandalf has returned from beyond this world, an angel figure who would save Man, Tolkien suggests.

In comparison, one thinks immediately of Poe’s symbolic figure at the end of Pym. At the farthest point Poe’s voyager had journeyed toward the Southern Pole in darkness visible, “relieved only by the glare of the water thrown back from the white curtain before us,” his boat still hurried “on to the southward under the influence of a powerful current”:

“And now we rushed into the embraces of the cataract, where a chasm threw itself open to receive us. But there arose in our pathway a shrouded human figure, rely far larger in its proportions than any dweller among men. And the hue of the skin of the figure was of the perfect whiteness of the snow.”(46)

Whiteness incarnate? Some primitive White God or Goddess? Here again is the face of the Mystical towards the Supernatural. And now here too in Poe — as seen again and again in Tolkien, from the ever changing vision Galadriel may grunt to the powerful voice and spirit of Gandalf — is the very Mirror of scorn and pity that Faërie turns toward Man. Indeed, what strangely different yet what hauntingly similar conceptions exist in the works of Tolkien and Poe. For all these versions of fantasy have a profound affinity of archetypal heritage, of visions held deep in our unconscious, of other worlds existing on the shores of other seas.

[page 134, continued:]


1.  The Tolkien Reader (New York, 1966), pp. 9. 53, 17-19. [page 135:]

2.  Harry Levin, The Power of Darkness: Hawthorne, Poe, Melville (New York, 1958), pp. 102, 108.

3.  Reader, p. 22.

4.  The Two Towers: being the second part of The Lord of the Rings, 2nd ed. (Boston, 1966), p. 155.

5.  Reader, p 68.

6.  Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces, 2nd ed. [Bollingen Series XV11] (Princeton, 1968), pp. 97 ff.

7.  M. 1:463.

8.  The Fellowship of the Ring: being the first part of The Lord of the Rings, 2nd ed. (Boston, 1966), p. 60.

9.  M. 1:343-344.

10.  Reader, p. 13.

11.  M. 1:344.

12.  Fellowship, p. 227.

13.  Fellowship, pp. 825, 337-846, 843 (quotation).

14.  Fellowship, p. 366.

15.  M. 2:195.

16.  Fellowship, p. 379.

17.  Two Towers, p. 235.

18.  M. 1:344.

19.  M. 1:415-418.

20.  The Return of the King: being the third part of The Lord of the Rings, 2nd ed. (Boston, 1966), p. 199.

21.  Return, p 224.

22  The Silmarillion, ed. Christopher Tolkien (London, 1977), pp. 279-280.

23.  Ruth S. Noel, The Mythology of Middle-earth (London, 1977), pp 48-49.

24.  M. 1:201-202.

25.  M. 1:140-141. [page 136:]

26.  The Hobbit: or There and Back Again (Boston, 1958), p. 159.

27.  The Hobbit, pp. 58-59. Cf. Fellowship, p. 238.

28.  The Hobbit, p. 64.

29.  M. 1:195-196.

30.  Fellowship, p. 282.

31.  Fellowship, pp. 365, 367

32.  Fellowship, p. 380.

33.  M. 2:639.

34.  Two Towers, p. 70.

35.  Fellowship, p. 349.

36.  Fellowship, pp. 364-865.

37.  M. 2:639-640.

38.  M. 2:603-604.

39.  Fellowship, p. 389.

40.  Reader, p. 26.

41.  M. 1:166.

42.  Fellowship, p. 245.

43.  John Keats, Complete Poems and Selected Letters, ed. Clarence DeWitt Thorpe (New York, 1935), p. 351.

44.  Two Towers, p. 104.

45.  Two Towers, p. 103.

46.  Edgar Allan Poe, The Complete Tales and Poems (New York, 1938), pp. 881-882.





[S:0 - PAOT, 1986] - Edgar Allan Poe Society of Baltimore - Lectures - Poe and Our Times - In the Perilous Realm: The Fantastic Geographies of Tolkien and Poe (Carol Marhsall Peirce, 1986)