And so ends The Silmarillion, a very strange and interesting book. In the beginning, when Arda was being made, I was lost in the sea of names. As it came to form and the interpersonal dynamics began to develop, of Morgoth and the Valar, of the corruption of the world, of the hubris of Thingol and his cunning, of the tragedy of Túrin, I began to see what the die-hard fans loved. This was aided by Martin Shaw's lucid diction to help navigate the names.

I was pleasantly surprised to find how tragic some of these tales were, and how moving they were. In it, it has all of the messiness of personhood, in all of its self-interest and cowardice.

While I like Elves, I was disappointed in how little there were of Dwarves, especially considering how interesting they were made (by Aulë, in secret). Their tales aren't part of this book and much of Men's stories are omitted. I suppose in a way Martin's Fire and Blood are alike: the writers have a favoured race. There are benefits and deficits of such an approach but overall this was a wonderful achievement of imagination and narrative. Truly wonderful