Literature a la Tolkien

[Eothain Elfwine]

Recently I read an old thread that took The Lord of the Rings and translated it into the various styles of other literature. It occured to me that one could also do it the other way; take other literature and write it out in Tolkien-esque language. For example, the beginning of Goldilocks and the Three Bears might be rendered as follows:
The Sun rose that morning with the brilliance of her splendour chasing the shadows of the forest into hiding. Having risen early to greet the dawn with glad heart, the fair matriarch of the House of the Bear went to her homely kitchen and prepared simple yet savoury food for the breaking of her family's fast. Soon came her husband from his bed, he the great head and chieftain of that House, and upon his heels their small child, a son and the delight of his parents. Before sitting to their meal, the family stood and faced West for a moment in silent thanks. Then they fell to their food. But lo! there was a disparity in the porridge by reason of the dishing. That food contained within the great bowl of the patriarch was of surpassnig heat like unto the Great Fires of the Mountain, but that within the lesser bowl of the matriarch had taken deadly chill as through the Grinding Ice, and lo! the very small bowl of the son had neither sting of heat nor bite of cold but was all that could be desired of porridge. And in wroth the three bears rose and strode out into the Forest to take counsel as to this fate . . .
And so on and so forth. Choose any kind of literature you desire, though the originally funnier the better, and make it as Tolkien-like as you can!

[Sharkû]

I believe you have my Silmaril?


"Why, o people, why should I longer serve Bill? No longer do I care if indeed they banish me. Have I not told Bill that if my desk be moved but one more time, I shall renounce my fellowship and no longer dwell in the same office? And Dom also I have told such rede, for have they not hitherto moved my desk four times?

They would have me taken up the Boston stapler, but in my wisdom I kept the Swingline in secret. It may be that I can unlock my stapler, but never again shall I have its like; and if I must break it, I shall break my heart, and I will say, let the building burn!

I once was in the light, that the bosses begrudged to me, but now dark levels all in the realm of storage room B. Shall I mourn here forever, or return to my home, by the window, where I could behold the squirrels, and they were merry? And have I not lost my paycheck? And what else have I not lost, cooped here in a narrow cubicle between the garbage, which I do not appreciate?

Say farewell to your treasures! Longer still shall I be able to listen to the radio at a reasonable volume. When I have conquered and regained the Swingline, then I alone shall be lord of the margarita, unsullied by grains of salt!"

[The Barrow-Wight]

In a cupboard under the stairs there lived a Potter. Not a clean, tidy cupboard filled with rows of neatly stacked vegetable tins, nor yet a warm, friendly cupboard with a comfortable chair to sit on. It was a Dursley cupboard, and that means misery.

It had a perfectly square door, painted white, with a shiny silver lock in the exact middle. When opened by his uncle, the door allowed poor Harry onto an airy hallway : a very comfortable hallway (at least when compared to the cupboard) with panelled walls, and the floors plushly carpeted, and lots and lots of pictures of Dudley, Harry’s cousin. The Dursleys were fond of Dudley.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

The Lady Alícë was weary of sitting inside with her relative. ‘Shall I always be left behind when adventure comes?’ she thought bitterly. ‘May I not now spend my time as I will?’

Suddenly there appeared a great lord, bearing the shield of the White Rabbit, together with many mighty fighting men. She greeted them all and was glad of their coming, but on the White Rabbit most of all her eyes rested. They told of their great battles against the wicked Queen of Hearts, and she heard of all that had passed, and her eyes shone.

At last she said: ‘Lords, you are weary; I shall prepare a fair housing for you.’

But the Lord of the White Rabbit said, ‘Nay, lady, be not troubled, for I ride on an errand most urgent and dare not be late. For I must needs take the road that leads on from this place, to the Hole of the Wonderland.’

‘But this is madness,’ she said. ‘Is it then your errand to seek nonsense? For that is all that you will find on that road.’

‘It is not madness, lady,’ he answered; ‘for I go on a path appointed. But those who follow me do so of their free will. I shall enter the Hole, alone, if needs be.’

Then they said no more, but her eyes were upon the Lord of the White Rabbit, burning with curiosity. When he left, she watched, and perceiving where the Hole was, followed him without considering how she should return.

She found herself falling down, into the very depths of the earth. As she fell, she wondered what her fate would be. ‘I do not fear either pain or death,’ she thought.

‘What do you fear?’ a voice echoed back from the hollows of the tunnel.

‘A cage,’ she thought – or was she speaking aloud? ‘To stay in dull reality, where only the grass doth rustle in the wind, and the pool doth ripple to the waving of the reeds, until age and lack of usage cause my imagination to wither, and all chance of dreaming wild dreams is gone beyond recall or desire.’

And as she yet spake, she landed upon the ground, unharmed. Arising, she followed the Lord of the Rabbit down a great hallway, lit with many lamps. Great was her consternation when she tried to open the doors on both sides, finding them locked. Then Alícë stood still as a figure carven in stone, her hands clenched at her sides, but the lord was lost to her view. She turned, stumbling as one that is blind, and searched for the way back to her lodging.