Farmer Giles: Hero by Deed Only

J.R.R. Tolkien is a name that, for most of us, invokes thoughts of hobbits, wizards, and rings and their respective lords. For the rest, it means nothing aside from the sheer phonetic impact that any word has on its hearer. A few fanatic fans know that he happened to write a whole lot of stuff besides just his fantastic masterpieces. And it is one of these lesser-known works that we will soon examine at some length. Perhaps you've heard of it -- Farmer Giles of Ham by name, fairy tale by genre. No? Well, soon its mysteries shall be made known to you.

Mysterious is not a word to describe the setting of this story. It occurs not in some imaginary fantasy land, but in a very real historical locale, however vaguely in that history it is placed. In fact, it is the only of Tolkien's fairy tales (although Tolkien preferred to call them "fairy stories," thus we shall do him the courtesy of using his preferred terminology) which is set in a known region and a general time frame. First off, the place names are all real. Real close to Oxford. Some may be Latin forms of the real names (such as "Venodotia" for "Gwynedd") but they are all very much authentic places (Doughan in Xenite). Michael Martinez explains where, historically, Tolkien intended to place this fairy story: "Giles is a bit of forgotten English folklore celebrating that half-imagined, mostly-forgotten time after the Saxons came and before they drove the Celts into the mundane woods and hills. The Latin names and references make it clear that Giles is a Briton, a late generation remnant of the old empire after the decline of the western authority of the Romans."

Thus Giles is set up as real folklore, taking place on our real planet in real time, in the same vein as Robin Hood and King Arthur. Did Robin and Arthur really exist? Possibly, but certainly not as we know them. Farmer Giles is being explained in the same fashion, as a real tale, possibly based on a small seed of truth, or maybe not at all. It is an exercise in folklore and the oral tale, and probably a personal challenge to Tolkien, scholar of these things as he was, to actually create something which could be a real centuries-old story. His story, though created in 1949, could make itself out to be a real bit of folklore from a long bygone era.

Our story begins with the village of Ham. One particular resident so happens to be named -- surprise! -- Farmer Giles. He farms. He is a farmer. And his name is Giles. He lives in Ham. Now it is safe to presume the title of the book needs no further explanation.

Next, we have a giant. A colossally dimwitted, colossally colossal giant without terrifically great eyesight. This giant is a very real threat to anything alive and smaller than he is, which includes everything aside from other giants. He gets lost one day and in his misguided meanderings, quite literally stumbles upon the village of Ham. Naturally, the people of Ham are upset by this dire happening. Then the giant treads upon the crops and possessions of a farmer. A farmer named Giles.

Giles discovers the giant wreaking destruction on his property and, pragmatically, gets his blunderbuss. He fires repeatedly at the giant, who, unable to realize the true nature of the small stings he is receiving, turns and escapes what he believes to be a particularly pesky horsefly.

To the people of Ham, however, Giles was not a horsefly. Giles was a hero, and they exult and celebrate as people do when a giant has been rid from their village. Word even reaches the King (Augustus Bonifacius) away in his palace.

Now here is where we get to find out a bit about the King. We are predisposed as products of western civilization to like Kings; they are noble, romantic, and have all sorts of great positive connotations. So we walk into this story with empathy and, as loyal readers, support for the King. We soon meet a King who has spent all his money and can't really tax his subjects because they don't have too much left. What? Our predilection to favor the King wobbles significantly. But Augustus knows his role as a King, and a proper King must give rewards to courageous heroes who vanquish terrible threats to his own Kingdom. Thus he searches for a non-monetary reward to give to Giles. His choice is a magical, legendary sword by the name of Caudimordax, meaning Tailbiter. Our inclination stops wobbling, but remains unstable.

So the giant is gone and Giles has prestige and a pretty kickin' sword. All is well.

Or is it? The wayward giant finally returns to his native land, and spreads some rather tall tales to cover up his embarrassment at getting lost and fleeing from a fly. These tales told of lands devoid of knights, an old enemy of giants.

And a common enemy of dragons, as well. So when these tales reached the ears of a particular dragon by the name of Chrysophylax, the dragon decided to go and live well on this knightless land.

Here is a good point to discuss Tolkien's conception of the dragon. In fantasy there was a trend toward the friendly, harmless dragon, dragons without a real ability to terrorize. We have all seen countless depictions of "cute" dragons, dragons you would like to pat on the head and take home with you. Tolkien restored a respectful view of dragons as formidable beasts with not only very real physical capability for destruction, but a magical cunning wit and the ability to hypnotize their prey with words. Chrysophylax shares many qualities with Smaug from Lord of the Rings, for example the ability to cause death with little effort.

So the fearsome dragon begins to pillage and plunder and rend asunder. Once again, the people of Ham do their part well in being horror-stricken and basically appalled about the whole deal. In their horror and consternation, they look to the King to save them.

The King, displaying a commendable concern at the threat to his Kingdom, orders his knights to set forth on an historic quest and vanquish the murderous beast. But his knights are afraid and make excuses.

No help appears to be coming from the direction of the King, and so the eyes of many look to Giles. True, he's a farmer, but he's a farmer with a kickin' sword.

Finally, Giles sets forth. It is not long in the narrative before Giles encounters the scaly monster. The scaly monster is stayed from his initial plan to end Giles' life by a magic sword which of its own volition would like to end the dragon's life. Giles is not terribly bright when it comes to reasoning with the dragon, but fortunately the sword gives him an edge, and eventually the dragon offers to give Giles his treasure in exchange for his freedom. Giles eventually accepts this offer, and the dragon returns to his homeland.

Once again, Giles is a hero. The people of Ham exult and celebrate as people do when a dragon has been rid from their village. Word again reaches the King.

Treasure, hears the King. Treasure is coming. Hmmm, thinks the King, we want that. We will demand some. So he does. Here our predisposition to favor the King is given a sharp push, and it teeters precariously, then falls.

But the treasure is long in coming, for really, the dragon never had any intention of giving away even part of his treasure. Dragons, Tolkien explains, have no consciences, they can lie and be untrue to their word and not have a single pang of remorse.

The King, of course, will have none of that, and so he demands that his knights (and Giles) embark on another historic quest. (This would be where our falling favor actually shatters on the rocks below.) The knights fail at accomplishing anything, but Giles reaches the dragon, who is once again influenced by the sharp blade Giles bears. Giles, however, has learned a bit from his dealings and ends up making an alliance with the dragon, returning with only part of the treasure.

The King is kept from collecting anything by Giles and his new scaled partner, so he returns to his palace empty-handed and forlorn at the prospect of life as before, without money to exorbitantly spend. By this point we are openly admitting to our neighbors that we don't like the King. Tolkien, intentionally or not, is delivering social commentary via satiric narrative. The king is greedy and slothful, merely taking from his subjects to suit his own pleasures. This is presented in a comical rather than bitter light, but the attack is still there. Everyone knows that avarice in leadership is bad, and so we are delighted when at the end of the story, Giles and the dragon outwit and consternate the King, sending him away without the wealth he thought he would be taking, leaving Farmer Giles to be his own rich ruler.

The story of Farmer Giles is really a brilliant satire of dragon-slaying traditions. The knights, typically resplendent in shining armour, oustanding in courage and bravery, and unsurpassed in strength, are actually foppish dandies, more intent on talking about etiquette and such than actual knightly things and actually noticing the big dragon footprints on their quest. In the end it is the hapless, clueless farmer who is the hero who defeats the dragon -- again, not in a typical, cutting-off-the-dragon's-head-and-rescuing-the-damsel-in-distress type way, but he just outguns him and persuades him to do him some favors.

As far as the satiric side of things is concerned, this fairy story reminds me a lot of a similarly satirical tale by Kenneth Grahame, called The Reluctant Dragon. Though the dragon in that story is a friendly, amicable sort who warns a boy not to "bung stones," they both take the formulaic dragon vs. heroic knight idiom and have a bit of fun with it. In Grahame's story, the lazy dragon is discovered by a boy, and when the townspeople find out about him they panic and want to vanquish him, so they send off for a knight. The knight arrives and ends up having a conference with the boy and the dragon, wherein they decide to stage an elaborate fight scene, culminating in the victory of the knight but without the death of the dragon. All goes according to plan, the townspeople are satiated, and everyone lives happily ever after. In this story, the only need for a hero was in the eye of the deluded public.

In Farmer Giles, the need was real, but the hero was not. He was an ordinary farmer placed in extraordinary circumstances and acting as an ordinary farmer would in those circumstances. A giant tramples your crops, you shoot it. Perfectly natural, nothing heroic about it. Tolkien's story tells us a lot about heroes -- how they are made and where they come from. Heroes aren't just requested, something you can send off for, something you can order out of a mail order knight catalogue. They are demanded out of life at times, and ordinary people "who stand in the way of giants are bound to be made into heroes."

Tolkien always insisted that he wrote stories for the sheer purpose of the story itself. He did not write allegories. But intentional or otherwise, the lessons, the commentary, the satire -- it's all there. Although the lucidity of his prose is not always the best, his narrative rings true with many delightful life lessons and a bit of encouragement even. If a pragmatic, simple-minded farmer can save a Kingdom, then so can anyone. Anyone except a foppish knight.

Works Cited

"Xenite." The Fairy-Tales of J.R.R. Tolkien: Farmer Giles of Ham http://www.xenite.org/tolkien/farmergiles.htm

Tolkien, J.R.R. Smith of Wootton Major and Farmer Giles of Ham. New York: Ballantine Books, 1969.

"Forodrim." A Chronological Bibliography of the Writings of J.R.R. Tolkien http://www.forodrim.org/arda/tbchron.html