Was There Only One World After All

I'm With The Grimms On This: Stories For Young And Old. You Can't Characterize Them Any Better Than That.

When He'd Sworn At Her And Been Sworn At In Return, They Became Great Friends.

The Sight Filled The Northern Sky; The Immensity Of It Was Scarcely Conceivable. As If From Heaven Itself, Great Curtains Of Delicate Light Hung And Trembled. Pale Green And Rose-pink, And As Transparent As The Most Fragile Fabric, And At The Bottom Edge A Profound Fiery Crimson Like The Fires Of Hell, They Swung And Shimmered Loosely With More Grace Than The Most Skillful Dancer.

On A Cold, Fretful Afternoon In Early October, 1872, A Hansom Cab Drew Up Outside The Offices Of Lockhart And Selby, Shipping Agents, In The Financial Heart Of London, And A Young Girl Got Out And Paid The Driver. She Was A Person Of Sixteen Or So--alone, And Uncommonly Pretty. She Was Slender And Pale, And Dressed In Mourning, With A Black Bonnet Under Which She Tucked Back A Straying Twist Of Blond Hair That The Wind Had Teased Loose. She Had Unusually Dark Brown Eyes For One So Fair. Her Name Was Sally Lockhart; And Within Fifteen Minutes, She Was Going To Kill A Man.

Tolkien Seems To Me Reactionary, Conservative, Fearful Of A Modern World. Fearful Of Anything That Isn't Sanctioned By The Passage Of Long Eons Of Time. I Think What I'm Doing In His Dark Materials Is Politically The Reverse Of That.