Heroism, Hubris, and Húrin’s Kin
Heroism, Hubris, and Húrin’s Kin
Review and Analysis "The Children of Húrin", by J.R.R. Tolkien
This week, I finished my first read-through of Tolkien’s posthumous story, The Children of Húrin. Man, oh man, did it pack a punch. Since I picked it up on the strong recommendation of several friends (and subscribers), I wanted to share my thoughts with the rest of you as well.
I really liked it, thought it entirely worthwhile, and yes, I would recommend this book to a friend.
However—noted Tolkien fanboy that I am—I wouldn’t even recommend The Lord of the Rings to anyone without a bit of caveat. There’s no point in recommending a book to someone unless you think they’d actually like it and I fully acknowledge that not every book (let alone every author) is for everyone.
To that end, I’m going to start with a spoiler-free summary and review so anyone unfamiliar with the story can decide for themselves whether to pick it up. Then, I’ll build on what I say with a spoiler-heavy analysis of the tale. I’ll note the switch below.
“The Curse of Morgoth”
The premise of the story is that Húrin, a Man and Lord of Dor-lómin, defies Morgoth, the original Dark Lord (aka, Melkor, aka Satan incarnate). If you know a bit of Tolkien and want a sense of scale, Sauron was only ever one of Morgoth’s underlings. Anyway, after one of Morgoth’s great victories against a huge alliance of Elves and Men, Morgoth captures Húrin and demands secret information out of him. Húrin defies the dark lord and laughs in his face.
As punishment, Morgoth lays a curse on Húrin and his kin. Then Húrin is chained to a high place in Morgoth’s citadel, and given the power to witness the curse from afar as it unfolds.
The principal story then, follows Húrin’s two children, Túrin and Niënor, as they live their lives under this curse (not even understanding it themselves), and in a world that is falling further and further under the control of this Dark Lord.
The vast majority of the narrative follows Túrin as he wanders about the land, tries to help take vengeance on Morgoth’s servants, and ultimately comes to the doom that he senses will come to him.
For this reason the story was originally going to be titled “The Curse of Morgoth,” and one wonders if that would have been a better descriptor in the end.
Silmarillion Similarities
It’s worth starting with what this story is, actually, and how it came to be. When J.R.R. Tolkien died in 1971, he left his greatest legendarium, The Silmarillion, unpublished. That project was swiftly taken up by his son, Christopher, who tirelessly worked to carry on his father’s work and bring the wider mythology of Middle-Earth to the world. The Silmarillion was duly published in 1972. Nearly a generation later, Christopher Tolkien oversaw the eventual publication of three “Great Tales” that were initially told within The Silmarillion: The Children of Húrin, Beren and Lúthien, and The Fall of Gondolin, published in 2007, 2017, and 2018 respectively.
This ultimately means that …
Children is a wider retelling of a preexisting story, “Of Túrin Turambar,” and that
It was stitched together by a later editor (Christopher Tolkien) from fragmentary drafts that the author (J.R.R. Tolkien) had penned over the course of more than five decades, from “the late 1910s” until the time of his death in ‘71.
… and both of those realities are readily apparent in this work.
The Tone & Takeaways
The book moves at a breakneck pace. There’s a two-chapter sequence where Túrin passes through mortal danger, suffers the death of his best friend, comes to a totally new setting, meets entirely new characters, falls into a love-triangle, makes his way into a place of societal prominence, and then makes decisions that lead to the destruction of that kingdom, all over the course of about seven years. Two chapters.
You can tell that it could have easily been a much longer story, with the same events but told with a slower, fuller narrative.
I knew that going in, so I took my time with it. I’m glad I did. The horror of the tale best hits home when you don’t read too quickly. It’s worth pausing between chapters.
As for the “preexisting story” part of it, I’m one of those folks who bounced off the Silmarillion a thousand times. I think I’ve read all of it, but never at all once, and often out of order. The heart of the story, the wars over the Silmarils, I remember fairly well, but the rest? Never stuck with me.
This basically meant that when I picked up Children I didn’t remember Túrin’s story at all. The tragedy unfolded for me in a way that was both surprising and inevitable. I knew only what the tone of the story told me: that this was a tragedy, and it wasn’t going to end happily.
I will also say1 that the story is much expanded from The Silmarillion. Now having read Children, I’ve gone back to the Silmarillian’s chapter “Of Turin Turambar” and found that it reads more like an encyclopedia entry than a chapter in a book, despite Children’s own sparse prose. I think Silmarillion afficionados will still find this book worthwhile.
A Tragedy In Every Sense
With all that in mind, The Children of Húrin is a fascinating and layered tale of tragic characters enduring unthinkable hardship.
I keep saying it, but this tale is bleak. It is a tragedy in every sense. And despite it’s rough edges, I found it to be a well-executed and thought-provoking story, rich in feeling, deliberate in all its actions, and full of heart-wrenching catharsis.
I was once told2 that this book represents a certain era of Tolkien’s own life: his time in the trenches of World War I and his lonely life afterward.
By 1918 all but one of my close friends were dead
—J.R.R. Tolkien, in the preface to LOTR’s Second Edition
Since this story was first created before 1920, it reflects that horrendous trauma: a war-torn young man, stuck in fire-blasted forests and deep fens of rock and mud, deprived of home and parents, doomed to witness the death of friends and to die a lonely, pitiful death.3
‘Have you seen Húrin son of Galdor, the warrior of Dor-lómin?’ said Túrin.
‘I have not seen him,’ said Gwindor. ‘But the rumour runs through Angband that he still defies Morgoth; and Morgoth has laid a curse upon him and all his kin.’
‘That I do believe,’ said Túrin.
—Children of Húrin (p.158)
The story is like a Greek tragedy, and Túrin son of Húrin is its doomed hero. His flaw is his pride, and becomes his undoing several times over. His fall from grace is slow and poisonous, and then at the end, it is sudden and explosive. Like a Greek play, there’s a chorus of characters who warn him against his choices, or else note that “there is some shadow upon him,” or they worry aloud that he might come to a bad end. Again, like a tragedy, it often looks as though Túrin might claw his way out of it, if only this effort of his might succeed, if only he can be just slightly lucky.
But Tolkien himself summarized the whole story at the start, in the very words of Morgoth’s curse upon Hurin:
‘But upon all whom you love my thought shall weigh as a cloud of Doom, and it shall bring them down into darkness and despair. Wherever they go, evil shall arise. Whenever they speak, their words shall bring ill counsel. Whatsoever they do shall turn against them. They shall die without hope, cursing both life and death.’
—Morgoth’s Curse upon Húrin and his kin
Doomed Strength
[From this point on, I have very specific spoilers and plot summaries]
Túrin is at once sympathetic and infuriating. Several times he could avoid great evil if he simply humbled himself, but he fails to do so, trying instead to live up to the reputation of his father Húrin, and strike against Morgoth with mortal strength.
But as Morgoth said, Túrin gives counsel which often seems wise to the reader and to the characters, yet always goes astray. Friends warn him against his intentions, but he’s never able to see them for right. He constantly strives for safety and freedom and to bring security to others against the servants of evil; nonetheless, his actions bring suffering to himself and his loved ones in ways that he himself could never have predicted.
Many times he comes inches away from tangible victory; he has many triumphs and accomplishes many great things, but again and again things turn sour. Misunderstandings give way to full malice. Bad luck festers and overthrows hard work. Such is the curse of Morgoth.
It starts in Doriath, the Elf-Kingdom where Túrin is raised after his homeland, Dor-lómin, falls under Morgoth’s sway. Túrin at first endures with patience the constant abuse of Saeros, an elf who was envious of him. Eventually, though, Saeros tries to kill Túrin and mocks Túrin’s mother, Túrin’s pride takes over and he snaps. He overpowers Saeros, strips him naked, and chases him with whip and blade. Then Saeros leaps from a cliff to escape, and dies.
On first glance, it seems like Túrin has killed a man with whom he quarreled. Túrin assumes he will be an outlaw and flees. Even once his friends advocate for him and earn the king’s pardon, Túrin refuses to humble himself before the court. “I did nothing wrong,” he reasons, “so there is no need for judgment.” He refuses to accept the king’s authority, even when the king would only show him mercy.
And so he ends up among outlaws: thieves, murderers, rapists. He eventually begins to trust these men as friends, after spurning better company. Then Túrin and his “company” coerce Mîm the Dwarf to surrender his cave-fortress, killing Mîm’s son in the process.
But, heroically, Túrin leads this company to create a huge petty-kingdom that defies the encroaching power of Morgoth. He and his friend Beleg carve out a modicum of safety and hope for the people of Beleriand. I was cheering so hard for them to succeed!
But, tragically, their ‘kingdom’ was build on evil foundations. Mîm takes his vengeance by betraying them, and in a single night their power is overthrown, and Túrin is captured by Morgoth’s servants.
It’s that constand whiplash between “hero” and “hubris” that makes this story work. There’s glimmers of hope there. Túrin isn’t an idiot. He’s not incompetent. He’s just not strong enough to undo the enemy’s power.
The Long Fall
Things go very dark from here on out. Beleg manages to rescue Túrin, but in one of the saddest passages of the book, a half-conscious Túrin mistakes Beleg for a foe and slays his friend, even as he is freed by him.
Túrin tries again at redemption by helping the kingdom of Nargothrond resist Morgoth. Again, friends advise their king, Orodreth, to have a strategy of stealth over strength. Túrin advocates open warfare. Túrin becomes Orodreth’s right-hand, but after years and years of victory, Morgoth unleashes Glaurung the Dragon at a huge battle and Orodreth is slain, along with all the might of Nargothrond. The whole kingdom evaporates in a day.
It’s crazy how this is in so many ways opposite to the conflicts of Lord of the Rings, at least when it comes to the War of the Ring. There, the heroes always fail when they wait, they stand to lose if they choose the path of least resistance instead of facing Sauron head-on. Though at the same time, I suppose their ultimate hope lies not in raw strength but in the little heartiness of the hobbits. Perhaps it would be better to not draw contrast but comparison: in both cases, an all-out open brawl against the greatest evil is in fact a trap and a loser’s gambit. In both stories, true strength lies in humility and hope.
Anyway, I’ll skip a bit of Túrin’s narrative to when he comes to the forest-towns of Brethil. There, he assumes a new name: “Turambar” as a way to hide from his doom.
Even this is an act of hubris, as the name means “Master of Doom.” On one hand Túrin is giving up, deciding to lay down the hope of avenging his father. On the other, he is declaring himself a victor, claiming that he has escaped his doom. And it is in this act that he sows his worst fate.
Interconnected Fates
Enter Niënor. She was so absent from the story I began to wonder why on earth this story was called Children of Húrin. Most of the story is only “Grown-up Single Child of Húrin.”
Niënor follows her mother out of their ancestral homeland, Dor-lómin, and follows Túrin’s original route to Doriath. Túrin, at this point, is long gone, having fled the king’s justice mercy. It’s made very clear that they only had the ability to flee Dor-lómin because Túrin had made the road safe by his open resistance to Morgoth’s Orcs. This seems like a victory. By Túrin’s resistance, he has helped his mother and sister flee their ruined homeland and come to a place free of Morgoth’s sway.
But years later, rumor eventually comes of Túrin in Nargothrond. Both mother and daughter eventually leave the safety of Doriath to find what word they can of Túrin, despite knowing of Nargothrond’s ruin. And like Túrin, they go only over the clear objections (and prophesied doom) of well-meaning, wiser friends.
Instead of their son and brother, they find Glaurung the Dragon, who scatters them and their guards and casts a spell on Niënor.
The spell leaves her without memory and propels her to Brethil. There she meets a man named Turambar. Túrin, for his part, never knew Niënor except as a name, since she was born after Húrin had been captured and after Túrin had fled Dor-lómin as a boy.4
At this point, I could see what was coming, and while I was already plenty aggrieved on behalf of Morgoth’s victims I could not believe that Tolkien was gonna go there…
Sure enough, the witless Niënor (now called Niniel) falls in love with this Turambar. Túrin Turambar, hoping for something resembling redemption and a future, gives his heart back to her. The ignorant siblings wed. They conceive a child.
The story goes from sad and mournful to downright depressing. (I mean this in a good way. Again, a tragedy. It’s supposed to be horrific).
Then—and this is so brilliant in its sorrow—Túrin resolves to continue opposing Morgoth, because he now hopes for the future on behalf of his wife and child. The errors of Nargothrond play out again; the lord of Brethil advocates patience and secrecy, but Túrin wins the hearts of the people and trusts in raw might. This rouses the wrath of Glaurung the Dragon, who comes to destroy Brethil.
In a great showdown, Túrin manages to slay Glaurung, but is wounded in the effort and falls unconscious. Then, in scenes straight from a Shakespearean tragedy, Niënor comes to him in tears, thinking him dead. Glaurung, not quite expired himself, sees her, and lifts his memory-spell from her, so she can see now who she is and what she has done.
‘Hail, Niënor, daughter of Húrin. We meet again ere we end. I give you joy that you have found your brother at last. And now you shall know him: a stabber in the dark, treacherous to foes, faithless to friends, and a curse unto his kin, Túrin son of Húrin! But the worst of all his deeds you shall feel in yourself.’
—Glaurng the Dragon, p.243
From this point on, there’s nothing left but to watch the doom unfold. Niënor’s subsequent despair and suicide is easily the darkest moment. But it continues in its misery. Túrin awakens and learns the truth. Glaurung is dead, but Túrin human rival, the lord of Brethil, saw the whole thing unfold. When he tells Túrin the news, Túrin slays him for a liar. Then messengers arrive from Doriath and reveal, unwittingly, the truth of “Niniel’s” identity as the daughter of Húrin.
Túrin goes the way of all great tragic heroes: to suicide. Even his sword curses him in the end; the object, which had never “spoken” before, now tells him that it will slay him in order “to forget the blood” of the innocents he had slain.
Túrin, and many of the people around him, dies “without hope, cursing both life and death.” There is nothing at the end but bitterness and division. There is nothing there but the heart of Morgoth. The greatest piece of the curse is that it changed the son of a hero into something re-made in the image of the Evil One.
Niënor’s final words serve as a rightful epithet for Túrin.
‘Farewell, O twice beloved! A Túrin Turambar turún’ ambartamen: master of doom by doom mastered! O happy to be dead!’
These characters are by and large total victims of Morgoth. And yet they participated in their own undoing. So often Túrin spurns the words of the wise. Niënor too ignores the advice of friends, counteracts his own mother, and plunges headlong into pride. Their hubris and their hastiness brought them together, and together, to their doom.
But so much of that doom was unavoidable, for these humans. If Túrin hadn’t opposed Morgoth so openly, Niënor could never have left Dor-lómin (not that either of them ever understood it). If Niënor hadn’t sought tidings of her brother, she never would have had her memory clouded by Glaurung. Glaurung never would have been there in the first place if Túrin had listened to wiser words when he was in Nargothrond. So much of the story seems like disconnected myths, but then it turns out they are all different Chekov’s guns placed everywhere to drive these characters to the worst possible end.
And of course, though the text doesn’t harken back to it except in an epilogue,5 the horror of all these things is made worse because you know that Húrin is cursed to watch it all unfold.
Conclusion
All in all, I have never read or watched a tragedy that has hit me harder than The Children of Húrin. Despite the sparse prose, the distant narrative, the at-times fragmented story, this was just brutal and effective in all the right ways. I thought I got a handle on the sort of loss and sorrow that was coming to Túrin, but the last few chapters just turned it all up to the maximum.
For that, I consider it a masterpiece. It deserves to be counted among Tolkien’s best, and I give credit not just to the father, but also the son, Christopher Tolkien. This is as much his work as his father’s, and I’m glad he brought it to life.
☙──❧
Question for you all: What should I read next?
I have Guy Gavriel Kay’s The Lions of Al-Rassan on the bookshelf, but after this I’m thinking of getting one of Tolkien & Tolkien’s other “Great Tales,” namely the Fall of Gondolin. But maybe I’ll be too depressed. Looking for recommendations. Reach out, tell me what other works you want me to write about.
And lastly: I’m sending this later than usual, on Saturday, because it’s been a busy week in the Falden Household (it’s next door to the Forge). I might have to revaluate my publication cadence, so be on the lookout for a general update next week about this newsletter, and my plans for the future.
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I don't know how true it is, but it makes sense, and I trust the guy who told me this. Even if he refuses to join substack like a real writer. You know who you are…
I know I said no spoilers in this section, but the chapter titles in the beginning tell you that Turin will die in the last chapter. Sorry not sorry.
There’s even a few lines later on that suggest Túrin mis-remembers his childhood. Túrin had another sister with black hair, Lalaith, but this girl dies as a child. Niënor, however, has golden hair. At the finale, when Túrin cannot believe his own actions, he protests that Niënor had dark hair like his, not golden like “Niniels,” but he is corrected by Mablung, and then Túrin realizes reality. It made me wonder if Túrin is supposed to have misremembered his two sisters—the one who died and the younger one he never met.
This epilogue isn't named as such, but is rather an excerpt from the Silmarillion that details Hurin's departure from his torment and his eventual reunion with his wife at the grave of their children.
Thanks Eric for the much more exhaustive response here. I recall picking up CoH right after finishing Silmarillion. I think at the time I was disappointed because I was wanting more tales, but was sad to discover it was only a fleshed out version of things I already knew. If I were to re-read Silmarillion, I would insert these three books in place of those Silmarillion chapters.
Have you seen Atlas of Middle Earth by Karen Fonstad?
Really enjoyed your review and analysis here, Eric. I’ve never read the full version of this story, but based on your essay, it sounds quite different from Tolkien’s other work. I’m really wanting to read it now!