It’s time to compare two stories that everyone seems to want to compare, even though they’re nothing alike: Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings.
The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien needs no introduction. It’s the story that created a new genre of fantasy novels, bearing little resemblance to the pulp-fantasy that predated it. You’d be hard-pressed to find a recent fantasy work that doesn’t bear signs of Tolkien’s influence.
A Song of Ice and Fire by George R.R. Martin is a piece of commercial fiction that was written with the intent to write a bestseller. In this it was successful, and A Song of Ice and Fire soon spawned an HBO soap opera called Game of Thrones.
Prose in Game of Thrones and in The Lord of the Rings
Since Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings are both books first and foremost—wait… Actually, Game of Thrones was originally meant to be a television series, wasn’t it? Well, that explains why George R.R. Martin’s prose reads like stage directions.
To be fair, Martin’s writing may not be competent, but it certainly is confident. There is a real feeling of confidence that oozes from every aspect of George R.R. Martin’s writing. I can absolutely see how people might find this compelling. Confident writing has the power to pull you along.
The Great Professor
Tolkien, on the other hand, was an Oxford professor of English language and literature, and his way with words was beyond that of normal humans. The complex grammar and archaic style make it a difficult read for the inexperienced reader, but some of Tolkien’s sentences have a truly massive amount of meaning hidden in plain sight.
Just read this. I think it speaks for itself:
Gandalf did not move. And in that very moment, away behind some courtyard of the City, a cock crowed. Shrill and clear he crowed, recking nothing of wizardry or war, welcoming only the morning that in the sky far above the shadows of death was coming with the dawn.
The Lord of the Rings (Book Ⅴ, Chapter Ⅳ)
Characters in Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings
If there’s one thing that can be said for both Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings, it’s that both have characters who capture the hearts of many. This often borders on obsession, with Game of Thrones fans naming their daughters after Martin’s dragon queen, and there are adults now who are named after some of Tolkien’s characters!
The characters in The Lord of the Rings range from minor characters with one or two traits like Beregond or Háma to flawed, layered, relatable heroes like Samwise Gamgee. Characters contrast one another, bringing many strengths and flaws into sharp focus.
Although Game of Thrones practically secretes political intrigue, the characters tend to feel a tad formulaic—even hollow—in the way they’re constructed. Worse, most of them are quite inconsistent, becoming whatever the plot needs them to be in any given moment.
World-Building in Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings
As with many fantasy stories, Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings take place in their own worlds, each imagined by its author. They’re both aesthetically Medieval, yet with some cultures reminiscent of those in the author’s own time. This gives them a great potential for relevance to the modern world.
Arda
The many cultures that populate Arda—specifically the continent of Middle-earth—are contrasted with one another throughout the story. The hobbits of the Shire bear many similarities to the English during Tolkien’s childhood in the Victorian Era, and yet they exist in a world filled with cultures that resemble those of the Early Middle Ages.
The Rohirrim, a pre-literate society built around the breeding and trading of horses, are heavily contrasted with the more advanced and learned Gondorians. Interestingly, the culture of the Rohirrim is often shown to be preferable. And Tolkien’s linguistic prowess shows in the names of every character and place.
Aside from the cultures of Middle-earth, the world itself is lavishly detailed. In The Lord of the Rings, we see much of it through the eyes of four hobbits, who can be said to stand in for modern people. This allowed Tolkien to make the story relatable without resorting to portal fantasy.
Westeros
Game of Thrones’ stated goal of portraying a realistic Medieval world falls apart somewhat, as George R.R. Martin’s world falls somewhere between his own American culture and various myths that later centuries concocted about the Middle Ages.
It doesn’t help that Martin’s narration and dialogue are both written in plain American English, with a few archaisms haphazardly tossed in. You can call them “Westerosi” as many times as you want, but they’re as American as the Hobbits are British. And while many character names look cool on paper, they rarely sound so good when you actually say them.
The Plots of Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings
As much as he talks of mimicking real life, George R.R. Martin kills off popular characters not in service to themes, plot, or even realism, but as a sort of publicity stunt. It’s no different from when superhero comic-books put out the “Death of <insert superhero here>” issue. This is no surprise, given that such works are his greatest influences.
Whereas Game of Thrones is structured like your average soap opera and generally easy to understand, the plot structure of The Lord of the Rings is rather unusual. In a way, it would make more sense to compare it with something by James Joyce. We experience plot threads in a very specific order that keeps us guessing.
The Lord of the Rings isn’t a book that holds your hand, and many elements of the story are hidden beneath the surface. Much of The Lord of the Rings is plotted down to the hour, and many times it would be confusing were it not for Tolkien’s ingenious storytelling.
The Ending: Game of Thrones Versus The Lord of the Rings
George R.R. Martin was certainly right about one thing: an ending can make or break a story. So how do the endings of Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings compare? Let’s find out…
The Scouring of the Shire
After the One Ring is destroyed as result of Samwise showing Gollum mercy, the four hobbits return to their home to find that the evil wizard Saruman has taken over. This forces our heroes to fight a final battle practically on the doorstep of Bag End. And it’s at the doorstep of Bag End that the fight for the Shire culminates.
Several years later, Sam has married Rose Cotton and they now have a daughter named Elanor. But the wound Frodo received at Amon Sûl has still not healed, forcing him to leave Middle-earth with the elves. After seeing Frodo off, Samwise returns to his family:
And Rose drew him in, and set him in his chair, and put little Elanor upon his lap.
He drew a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m back,” he said.
The Lord of the Rings (Book Ⅵ, Chapter Ⅸ)
The Ending of Game of Thrones
George R.R. Martin really wanted to give Game of Thrones an ending like the Scouring of the Shire, but when defying the audience’s expectations, it’s important to make sure your ending isn’t the stupidest thing ever. Ideally, it should be better than what they were expecting, not worse.
Note that “better” in this context does not necessarily mean “happier” or “better from the characters’ perspective,” but narratively better. Usually this describes an ending that’s more resonant—both emotionally and thematically—or more satisfying. What exactly this means depends on the individual needs of the story, which varies greatly from work to work.
Jon Snow, the true heir to the throne, has just assassinated his incestuous lover: the tyrannical Daenerys. And since a dragon has conveniently flown off with all evidence against him, you’d think Jon would have no choice but to take his rightful place as king. But that would make too much sense, so he’s exiled for regicide.
Tyrion, who’s already imprisoned for treason, is immediately set free and allowed to choose the new president: an emotionless robot with super powers. The text of the show treats this as a good thing, so that’s troubling. Also, Tyrion makes a speech, and I can just hear the American national anthem in the background.
Well, that was a disaster of an ending.
Analogies Comparing Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings
I once heard a Game of Thrones fan compare Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings thusly:
Tolkien was Bo Diddley; Martin is the Beatles.
Some anonymous Game of Thrones Fan on the Internet
I have to say, I don’t see it. I think it would be more appropriate to call Robert E. Howard the Bo Diddley in this analogy. But even that’s a stretch, as it implies Tolkien took inspiration from Howard, which seems unlikely.
Tolkien would no doubt hate the following analogy, but it would almost make more sense to say, in terms of storytelling prowess and ignoring moral considerations, that the anonymous author of Beowulf was Bo Diddley, Tolkien was the Beatles, and George R.R. Martin is Coldplay—at best.
And then there are those aforementioned moral considerations…
Themes in Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings
Everything up to this point has been leading up to this section. If there’s one thing in which Game of Thrones and The Lord of the Rings are polar opposites, its in their treatment of themes in the narrative: specifically the nature of morality.
The Nature of Evil in The Lord of the Rings
Tolkien’s portrayal of evil in The Lord of the Rings is deceptively complex, with much of it centring on the idea that all power corrupts—something horribly relevant to the period during which Tolkien wrote much of the story. Indeed, this theme is just as relevant today. The One Ring will corrupt anyone, no matter how good.
Through the portrayal of characters like Gollum and Denethor, we see—as Professor Tom Shippey put it—“Pure evil growing out of mere ordinary human weakness and selfishness.”
By the way, if you’re interested in having some of Tolkien’s themes explained to you by someone who understands them, I recommend you buy Professor Shippey’s book J.R.R. Tolkien: Author of the Century.
Occasionally while reading The Lord of the Rings, you’ll come upon something that marks it as a story written in the 1940s. There are only a few women in the story, for example. Usually, though, these tells are small, often barely noticeable if you’re not looking for them.
Masculinity in Game of Thrones
By contrast, A Song of Ice and Fire was written in the ’90s through the 2010s, and by the standards of its own time, it’s blatantly rich/white/male-supremacist. Although Martin gives us numerous female characters, glorifying toxic masculinity is practically the story’s mission statement.
From very early on in the story, Martin establishes some traits as masculine and others as feminine. Time and time again, over the course of the series, Martin presents the “masculine” traits as superior and the “feminine” traits as inferior.
The narrative framing makes it clear that a female character’s worth depends on how well she can embody what Martin sees as “masculinity.” Femininity—or rather the traits Martin associates with femininity—is always proven a flaw and a liability.
This is especially true at the end, where Daenerys—being a woman—becomes hysterical. Needless to say, the one who must assassinate her is a man, as is the president who replaces her. The subtext is that women are too emotional to be trusted with power. The only exception is if she’s been raped enough times to build character.
A Writer’s Worldview
George R.R. Martin rejects the fact that a writer’s body of work forms a picture of their worldview. Martin’s belief is that what he writes is not representative of his own subjective view of the world. In his mind, his own worldview is objective.
Ayn Rand had a similar belief, which led her to support right-wing totalitarianism and eventually to start her own cult. In Martin’s case, this has led to a story where characters are either good or evil based not on their actions, but on inherent qualities. Sandor is a good person because he’s good. Ramsay is evil because he’s evil.
Lúthien Tinúviel
I feel it’s worth mentioning that although Tolkien didn’t have many female characters, the way they’re portrayed is often far ahead of Tolkien’s contemporaries.
In The Tale of Beren and Lúthien, for example, Beren agrees to undertake an impossible quest to steal a jewel from the Dark Lord Melkor and prove himself worthy to marry the Elven princess Lúthien.
Lúthien’s father King Thingol imprisons her in a treehouse so she can’t go after Beren. When Beren is captured by the Enemy, the princess devises a clever plan, escapes her imprisonment, rescues Beren, and helps to steal a Silmaril from Melkor’s crown.
Game of Thrones and Toxic Masculinity
A “strong” woman, according to the text of Game of Thrones, is one who can commit acts of similar brutality to those of the male characters. Just look at Sansa, Catelyn, Arya, and Brienne—among others.
At the beginning of the story, Sansa Stark is shown to be naïve, gullible, vain, and snotty—all of which the text frames as a direct result of her liking things that George R.R. Martin deems “girly.” She’s a particularly misogynistic form of the Mean Girl archetype.
The more Sansa is abused, the more we’re expected to empathize with her. Over the course of the story, being raped is not only shown to “toughen her up,” but also molds her into what Martin thinks is a “strong leader.” In Game of Thrones, this means she’s no longer tied down by weak, female emotion.
The relentless abuse Sansa suffers—being raped by Ramsay Bolton, in particular—is something the text frames as an overall positive, as it motivates her to shrug off what Martin sees as feminine weakness.
The women whom the text of Game of Thrones approves of are always those who can suppress “female” emotions in order to make the “hard decisions,” and who reject those interests that George R.R. Martin considers unmanly. In context, this means she must embrace what is rightly called toxic masculinity.
The Nice Guy
Game of Thrones also frequently employs the trope of the Nice Guy™. The moment a female character sees that a male character is a Nice Guy™, she falls madly in love with him.
The story frames even the merest act of basic human decency as a sure sign that he’ll be better for her than the alternative. The alternative is always shown to be worse than the Nice Guy™, which supposedly means anything the Nice Guy™ does is excusable.
Jaime Lannister is a child murderer and arguably a rapist, and Brienne knows that he crippled her friend’s son, but the moment Jaime saves Brienne from a gang-rape, she realizes what a Nice Guy™ he is and falls madly in love with him.
Jaime is framed as an alternative to the brutish psychopaths that surround him. It’s a scenario manufactured so we’ll see him, together with his atrocities, as desirable.
The Straw Feminism of Cersei Lannister
Of all the many women in Game of Thrones who suffer as a result of patriarchy, the only character who outright opposes this state of affairs is the villain: Cersei. Several of the men who rape Cersei over the course of the tale, by contrast, are either framed as essentially good or become heroic figures by the end.
Cersei seizes power, only to be killed and usurped by fellow woman Daenerys, whom Game of Thrones frames as unstable (read “hysterical”) and dangerous. The day is saved when Jon Snow—a man—assassinates the hysterical queen, prompting the new republic’s founders to elect a level-headed man as their leader.
Rape Eroticized
There’s a reason rape always comes up when I discuss the immoral nature of Game of Thrones. It’s because—unlike murder, theft, treason, and most other crimes—rape is unjustifiable.
It’s not too hard to imagine at least some far-fetched scenario where you might have to kill someone. A starving family is a pretty good reason to steal, just as a corrupt government can make treason a necessary evil. But there is no realistic situation in which rape is justified.
This makes it particularly odious when an author goes out of his way to excuse, trivialize, and eroticize acts of rape at every opportunity.
Entertainment
Game of Thrones fans will invariably respond that there’s nothing wrong with portraying rape and murder without judgement, as rape and murder occur in reality. Some go further, insisting outright that there’s no objective basis for condemning actions such as rape at all.
Even the most moderate Game of Thrones fan is likely to make the case that Game of Thrones is fiction, that fiction is for entertainment, and that a piece of entertainment should be able to do whatever its creator wants.
The common thread in all these is the idea that entertainment should not be constrained by morality. Indeed, it is assumed by many that fiction can neither help nor harm. They argue that the entertainer must be free to tackle any subject in any way that strikes their fancy, and that anything less is a violation of free speech.
Also implicit is the assertion that Game of Thrones is somehow apolitical—devoid of political meaning and therefore not a valid target for criticism. This is, of course, ridiculous. Everything in human society exists in a political context, and a soap opera that eroticizes rape is no exception.
This favourite defence of Game of Thrones bears a strong resemblance to a favourite excuse of “Anti-SJW” YouTubers, who push alt-right narratives in deadly earnest. When confronted or even questioned about this, they turn around and say their videos are intended as entertainment.
Thus, they argue, there is nothing wrong with spreading the vile ideas of white-supremacists, so long as it’s in the name of entertainment. The result, however, is the same: radicalization of those most vulnerable to right-wing propaganda.
The Messages We Need
As I write this, a deadly plague is sweeping the world. A country just to the south of mine is having a particularly bad time of it due to the horrible leadership of a madman. In these uncertain, stressful, terrifying times, we don’t need the sort of message that Game of Thrones pushes. We need something better.
“I wish it need not have happened in my time,” said Frodo.
“So do I,” said Gandalf, “and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
The Lord of the Rings (Book Ⅰ, Chapter Ⅱ)
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