Echoes of Tolkien in Dalemark

In her Dalemark series, Diana Wynne Jones takes up ideas from J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series (1954–55) and makes them her own.

The conceit of The Spellcoats’ (1979) main text being an historical artifact that has required translation by antiquarians, the secondary world that has depth, with its own linguistics, history, and cultures that change over time, and the examination of the concept of destined king are all common to both works. 

So what is Jones doing that is different from Tolkien?

Her linguistics is much, much simpler. While she has definitely put time into the constructed languages of Dalemark, she has not created fully fleshed languages. In The Spellcoats it is more as though she is aware that her readers enjoy linguistic puzzles, so she is kindly providing a few, and that the types of academic who would be the antiquarians ‘translating’ her works would include this type of detail, so she is doing so. In Drowned Ammet (1977), she uses the naming conventions she created for Cart and Cwidder (1975) primarily to spell out the point that virtually anyone can be divine, or become a divinely appointed king — there is no special skillset required other than being in the right place at the right time. Half of South Dalemark is called one version or another of the divine name Alhammitt, and any of them could have been in Mitt’s place. This playing with linguistics is delightful, but has none of the depth Tolkien’s languages go to — the language notes for Dalemark are well thought out, linguistically well informed, but not a sign that the author has created two full dialects of a language in any detail.

The historical details, however, while spanning a much shorter period and a smaller geographical area, have a huge difference in realism. In Middle Earth, there is never any real sign of major technological progress. Firearms do not exist. Stirrups appear to have always existed. Weaving similarly has always existed (and knitting has yet to be invented, it seems). Only the corrupt wizard Saruman seems to understand that machines might support some types of creativity or economic activity, but we are very definitely meant to understand this as an expression of his corruption rather than a development of anything useful or that might change society rather than just destroying nature. The waterwheel exists, but not apparently the windmill. The recorded history is fully thousands of years, with writing available to at least the aristocracy for this entire period. 

In Dalemark, there is much more of a sense of society changing as technologies develop. Tanaqui, in The Spellcoats, is in a semiliterate society, with writing being used only as a form of magic — in fact, she is the character who seems to make the leap into using it for purposes beyond labelling and spellcasting. A thousand years later in Drowned Ammet, it is clear that writing is a regular part of everyday life for people from many social classes, with personal letters and writing common. Two hundred years later, there are information technologies similar to those of our own world in the 1980s. Similarly, in Tanaqui’s society, people fight with spears and knives, while the early-industrial books talk about the invention of the rifle and have people working in factories as well as on the land.

It almost feels as though Jones has taken Tolkien’s ideas about linguistics and the use of fictional found artifacts as ‘sources’ for his work, but she has tried to improve on this by increasing the realism of both what has been found (damaged artifacts that present significant translation challenges, rather then carefully preserved codices in a perfect state of preservation, with no apparent linguistic puzzles) and the cultural changes between the time of the artifacts’ creation and the present day.

In addition, Jones places key parts of her plot in the interstices between the found-object narrative and the fictional academic commentaries on those objects. We never hear directly in The Spellcoats that Tanaqui has succeeded in her mission; instead we see its effects in the academic commentary, which makes it clear that she has not only freed her mother and the One, but also has taken their place as a deity — losing her own flexibility and freedom to change.  

Another way in which Jones seems to be working to improve on, or extend Tolkien’s work is around the concept of the divinely appointed king.

In Lord of the Rings, Tolkien plays with this idea, with his character Aragorn, who is the descendent of the kings of old, has magical king-related healing powers, and leads the armies of the free world before taking up his ancestor’s throne and crown. It is important to note that Tolkien is not just using this trope, though. He is subverting it. Aragorn is dealing with a lot of politics, and it is by no means certain he will become king at all. He does not claim the throne until he has saved the world, and it is very clear he is not completely sure he even can. Despite his healing powers, it takes the voice of the people assenting to his coronation before he is able to take on the role. And crucially, Aragorn’s army does not defeat the dark lord. They are no more than a distraction, while the real heroes are running a desperate ring-destruction mission through enemy territory. He is heroically brave, but he does not win the war with his battles. This is a more nuanced story than the destined hero arriving to save the day and take the throne. 

Jones takes this nuance and pushes it a lot further. Hern has a lot in common with Aragorn — naturally talented at leadership, charismatic, trained by mystical beings in statecraft, and so on. And he just happens to be the heir to all the kingdoms anyone knows about in the book. Truly, he’s been divinely chosen, yes? But this is where she stops.

Hern’s kingship depends completely on the people believing or accepting his propaganda. He is not actually the legal heir to the Riverlands kingdom at all — the marriage it relies on was a sham. And his claim to be Kars Adon’s heir rests entirely on the Adon’s force accepting a deathbed statement by Kars Adon as sufficient. He is a teenager who has two shaky claims, in the middle of a war that both sides are no longer invested in. There is a third force that threatens both, and they suddenly have common interests.

So is Hern the destined king, or simply the guy who was in the right place, at the right time, like Mitt? 

In the fourth book, written decades after the first three, Jones shows divine forces appointing Mitt as the next king. However, it is very clear, these gods would have chosen anyone who met the requirements for kingship, just as any guy called Alhammitt arriving in the Holy Islands in Drowned Ammet could have been the chosen one.

Virtually everyone present at the time of the god’s decision seems to have the option of claiming kingship. The new king simply needs to be from Dalemark (and the previous books have made it clear just about all of Dalemark are descended from the One in some way), and they need to choose to be king.

The gods — the forces of history — will provide mystical legitimacy to anyone who meets the criteria of being in the right place at the right time and taking on the role.

Jones’s statement on divinely appointed kingship is clear: anyone can be a divinely appointed king, if they have the support of enough people, and a thin rationale.