Inside a Song

Following Imagination

He turned and saw that Sam was now standing beside him, looking round with a puzzled expression, and rubbing his eyes as if he was not sure that he was awake. “It’s sunlight and bright day, right enough,” he said. “I thought that the Elves were all for moon and stars; but this is more elvish than anything I ever heard tell of. I feel as if I was inside a song, if you take my meaning.”

Haldir looked at them, and seemed to take the meaning of both thought and word. “You feel the power of the Lady of the Galadhrim,” he said.

J.R.R. Tolkien The Fellowship of the Ring Book II Ch VI Lothlorien

That Sam felt that he was inside a song as he entered the forest of Lothlorien is explained as being an aspect of the power of Galadriel. But it is a metaphor as well – a metaphor for the secondary world.

The secondary world and its creation was developed by Tolkien in his Andrew Lang Lecture “On Fairy Stories” given at the University of St Andrews on 8 March 1939.

The lecture (which has since been printed and is available in J.R.R. Tolkien The Monsters and the Critics and other essays) offers a foundational analysis of the fairy-story genre and its essential elements. He redefined how critics, writers, and readers understood fantasy literature, elevating it from mere child’s entertainment to a serious literary form with profound cultural and philosophical significance.

Tolkien argues that fairy stories serve deep human desires—to explore imaginary worlds and connect with beings outside our normal experience. He criticizes simplistic definitions, insisting that not all tales with fantastical elements qualify as fairy stories. For Tolkien, the essence lies in the creation of a “Secondary World” so internally consistent that readers are able to suspend disbelief and experience it as real while reading.

Tolkien distinguished the Primary World (reality) from the Secondary World (imaginative creation). A Secondary World is constructed so thoroughly and believably that, while the reader is engaged with the story, they can experience “Secondary Belief”—a genuine sense that the events and rules of the fictional world are true as long as the narrative remains consistent. When the world’s internal logic fails, disbelief breaks the spell, and the art fails.

Very importantly Tolkien introduces the concept of “sub-creation,” where the author acts as a “maker,” crafting worlds with their own internal rules and logic. Through language, detail, and coherence, the author invites the reader’s mind to enter this world and accept its truth on its own terms. This elevates fairy-story writing to a high art, positioning it as a means of human creativity that mirrors divine creation, capable of giving profound meaning and truth to readers.

Tolkien argued that a Secondary World should allow a reader to suspend disbelief entirely and participate emotionally and intellectually in the story’s events as if they are real. This experience provides both enchantment and insight into universal themes, using an invented context to explore deeply human concerns.

Tolkien’s notion of the Secondary World has profoundly influenced the fantasy genre, with writers creating complex universes that stand on their own terms, such as Middle-earth. This has become standard practice in modern fantasy literature.

He lists four essential qualities for the secondary world – Fantasy or the imaginative creation distinct from the real world, enabling genuine enchantment.

Recovery which is a renewal of the reader’s perception, allowing them to experience familiar things with fresh wonder.​ The recognizable is an important part of secondary worlds creation

Escape - A legitimate desire to gain respite from the “prison” of daily life—not an act of cowardice but of imaginative liberation.​ Some call it escapism but in truth it is the liberation of the imagination

Finally consolation -Tolkien emphasizes the importance of the “eucatastrophe,” or joyous happy ending, which provides emotional satisfaction and deep hope, reflecting the ultimate Christian story of redemption and resurrection.

So why should adults bother. Tolkien insists fairy stories are not just for children. He defends their value and purpose for adults, arguing that their effects—such as joy, wonder, and consolation—are universal human needs.

Importantly “On Fairy Stories” shaped later fantasy literature and provided a philosophical basis for works like The Lord of the Rings. Its emphasis on imaginative freedom, narrative structure, and profound emotional effect continues to influence writers, scholars, and readers of the genre.

So when Sam talks about being inside a song the term is a metaphor for the reader entering the secondary world. For me the mark of a good fiction writer is how quickly one can enter that secondary world. Perhaps that ease of transition in my reading experience has been no better than with The Lord of the Rings. But it must be remembered that the books have a number of different layers.

The first and most simplistic layer is seen in the early chapters which take place in the Shire and deal primarily with hobbits and especially Frodo Baggins. But although the tale starts with a boisterous birthday party it is not long before the tale takes on a sinister element as little by little the true nature of the Ring that Bilbo found in the caves of the Misty Mountains in The Hobbit is revealed as the One Ring of Power, made and lost by the Dark Lord Sauron and which he desires above all else.

The peaceful existence of the hobbits is over as they are pursued by the Nine Black Riders – servants of the Dark Lord. The tale falls deeper and deeper into mystery and terror lightened by tales told of earlier times.

And it is these tales that begin to reveal to us that the world we have entered is immensely old and woven with tales and legends that go back to the creation and the coming of Light itself. Aragorn retells the story of Beren and Luthien and the quest for one of the Silmarils of Feanor. Sam recites the verses about Gil-Galad, the Elven King who led the forces of the West against Sauron at the end of the Second Age. Bilbo chants the tale of Earendil the Mariner who, with a Silmaril in his grasp, sailed the heavens as a star.

But on him mighty doom was laid

Till Moon should fade, an orbed star

To pass and tarry never more

On Hither Shores where mortals are;

For even still a herald on

An errand that should never rest

To bear his shining lamp afar

The Flammifer of Westernesse

And it is the chapter following the tale of Earendil that the story, and Tolkien’s secondary world becomes vast and deep and we realise that this is no ordinary fantasy tale but a deep carefully contrived world of immense age and complexity. The chapter in question “The Council of Elrond” constituted a frightful literary risk. Up until the chapter the story has clipped along, well paced. The chapter – depending on the edition – covers about 35 pages and is pure narrative, explaining the backstory of the Ring and settling what is to happen next.

The chapter departs from typical structural norms by extensively employing exposition and dialogue instead of action. It introduces a large number of characters—many of them new—and presents complex backstories, political histories, and mythological exposition, all largely through characters speaking at length around a council table. For readers used to fast-paced narrative or direct action, this sudden shift can be challenging and even disengaging. But that said it is essential to an understanding of Tolkien’s secondary world of Middle-earth.

The density of names, places, and past events makes the chapter heavy to process, especially for readers encountering Middle-earth’s lore for the first time. The narrative pauses to consolidate much of the legendarium and clarify the stakes, which is essential for the plot but risks overwhelming or losing less attentive readers.

Unlike surrounding chapters filled with suspense and action (such as the flight to Rivendell), “The Council of Elrond” is slower; the dramatic tension is largely intellectual or moral, rather than physical.

Critically, the chapter is necessary—it sets up the quest’s stakes, defines the central problem, and provides crucial character developments. However, by dedicating such a lengthy section to discussion rather than advancing the plot through events, Tolkien risks testing the reader’s patience and engagement.

Despite these risks, the chapter is often praised for successfully consolidating wide-ranging narrative threads, establishing character motivations, and providing thematic depth, all while using a dialogue-driven format that maintains the grandeur and solemnity of the story’s stakes. Its successful execution demonstrates Tolkien’s narrative ambition but also highlights the literary dangers of densely packed exposition.

But the chapter has another purpose as well. It transforms the world which the reader has inhabited to date into the realm of heroic epic. Whereas the tale up until “The Council of Elrond” may be equated with the fantasy writing of Lord Dunsany or William Morris, the chapter transforms the tale to a Middle-earth that is of Homeric proportions and likewise the tale becomes such.

But by that time – as a reader – I am an inhabitant of Middle-earth, enveloped by the Secondary World – Inside the Song.

Phillip Pullman has a different approach to the Secondary World or worlds in the case of the “His Dark Materials” Trilogy. That trilogy posits – among other things – multiple worlds existing in layers, accessibly by tears in the fabric of each. The tears are enabled by a knife – “The Subtle Knife” is one of the books in the series – the other two are “Northern Lights” and “The Amber Spyglass”. Pullman didn’t leave his worlds to one trilogy and followed “His Dark Materials” with “The Book of Dust” trilogy comprising “La Belle Sauvage” “The Secret Commonwealth” and the long awaiting final volume “The Rose Field”.

Pullman has a common theme with Tolkien – the real and the imaginary world although he focusses on imagination and indeed imagination is the main theme in the third volume.

“The Rose Field” centers on the profound, life-giving role of imagination. Although deceptively simple in its narrative—a child walking through a field of roses—the story is a meditation on creativity, perception, and the human capacity to see beyond the ordinary. Pullman uses the rose field as a metaphor for the mind’s imaginative landscape, emphasising that imagination is not mere fancy but a fundamental way of understanding the world.

Like Tolkien, Pullman suggests that imagination is not an escape from reality but goes further and suggests that it is a mode of perception that reveals deeper truths. The roses are not just flowers but portals into beauty, possibility, and meaning. The child’s engagement with the field exemplifies how imagination enhances, rather than distorts, reality—allowing us to perceive layers of significance invisible to a purely factual mind.

This aligns with Pullman’s broader literary philosophy: that stories, symbols, and inventions of the mind are part of how humans apprehend truth.

The protagonist’s childlike wonder is crucial. In Pullman’s work, children often embody the fullest capacity for imagination (Lyra in His Dark Materials is the quintessential example).

In “The Rose Field”, imagination is presented as something naturally abundant in childhood, prior to the constraints imposed by adulthood, authority, or institutional thinking.

Thus, imagination is not simply a creative tool—it is a form of freedom, unbounded by obedience or convention.

A recurring motif in Pullman’s fiction is resistance to authoritarian thinking, embodied in His Dark Materials by the Magisterium. The Rose Field participates in this theme by celebrating the expansive, individual imagination over institutional control or reductive explanations.

To value imagination is, implicitly, to push back against dogma, rigidity, and fear of ambiguity. Imagination opens space for interpretation, questioning, and the assertion of personal meaning.

The Rose Field itself functions as a symbol of imaginative potential—lush, diverse, unlimited. Pullman’s imagery implies that imagination is like a landscape one can traverse again and again, always discovering something new.

Finally, the story is a meta-reflection on storytelling itself. Pullman positions imagination as the wellspring from which narratives arise. The text becomes an enactment of its own thesis: just as the child wanders in the rose field, the reader wanders in the imaginative world Pullman creates.

The fascinating thing about Pullman is that entry into his realm of imagination and storytelling is subtle and gentle. You are “in the song” without actually realizing that you actually got there. And that is a fascinating aspect of Pullman’s writing and one of the reasons why I enjoy his writing as much as I do