In recent weeks, Caranthir’s characterization in The Silmarillion has come up a couple of times and led me to rant about how Caranthir’s description in The Silmarillion is inconsistent with how we actually see his character behaving. This would indicate bias on the part of the narrator.

If you’re not familiar with my theory on historical bias in The Silmarillion, here’s a quick primer before I dive into how the narrator expresses bias against Caranthir and why. Tolkien always imagined his stories as being told or authored by an in-universe character. In the case of The Silmarillion,for decades he assigned the authorship of much of it–including the Beleriand chapters of the Quenta–to a loremaster of Gondolin named Pengolodh; references to Pengolodh were stricken from the published text by Christopher Tolkien. However, the evidence of that narrator remains in the form of bias: who is discussed in the text and the kind of treatment they receive. I’ve compiled and looked at data around mentions of characters, descriptions of realms, death scenes, and accounts of battles, and in each instance, the data shows a strong bias toward people and groups that would have been favored by someone from Gondolin. (Some of my data can be found in my article Attainable Vistas; I am working now on putting the rest together to hopefully have it published also at some point.)

Looking at individual characters and the disparity between how they are described and what they actually do in the story also reveals bias. This is particularly egregious in the case of Caranthir.

Caranthir the Dark

The Silmarillion says very little about Caranthir. He is mentioned only 24 times (not counting mentions in the “Index of Names”), the least of any of the sons of Fëanor except Amrod and Amras. Yet the first time we see him act independently of his brothers, Pengolodh immediately applies a damning label to him:

But Caranthir, who loved not the sons of Finarfin, and was the harshest of the brothers and the most quick to anger, cried aloud … (“Of the Return of the Noldor,” emphasis mine)

The Fëanorians are not exactly sweetness and gentleness in The Silmarillion. To be named the harshest of this particular brood is notable.

Additionally, Caranthir is given the epithet “the dark,” a seeming corroboration of Pengolodh’s observation of his temper. According to The Shibboleth of Fëanor, this epithet derives from his father-name Morifinwë (dark Finwë), and we know from Tolkien that the root mor- and being described as “dark” is not generally a compliment. In this case, though, the epithet is not a comment on his temperament; rather, according to Shibboleth, it is because “he was black-haired as his grandfather” (HoMe XII, p. 353). His mother-name Carnistir, meaning “red-face,” also could be construed as a comment on his temper … except that it also remarks on his resemblance to a relative, in this case “the ruddy complexion of his mother” (p. 353). But because none of the etymology of his name is explained in The Silmarillion and he’s just stuck with the unqualified epithet “the dark,” his epithet suggests that there is a consensus that he has a tempestuous, difficult personality.

What’s interesting, though, is that even though we’re told this about Caranthir, it never particularly bears out in the story. Yes, in this scene, we see him rashly rebuke Angrod for what he sees as an overreach. (Pengolodh dwells overlong on the reaction to Caranthir’s outburst, just in case you missed the message that what he said was completely inappropriate and just plain wrong.) But this also seems to be a one-off instance. We don’t see him behave this way again.

Caranthir the … Cosmopolitan?

In fact, we see him behave in the opposite manner, over and over again, although Pengolodh’s bias toward him sometimes twists those instances to deemphasize their positivity. Take his first encounter with the Dwarves:

And thus it was that Caranthir’s people came upon the Dwarves, who after the onslaught of Morgoth and the coming of the Noldor had ceased their traffic into Beleriand. But though either people loved skill and were eager to learn, no great love was there between them; for the Dwarves were secret and quick to resentment, and Caranthir was haughty and scarce concealed his scorn for the unloveliness of the Naugrim, and his people followed their lord. Nevertheless since both peoples feared and hated Morgoth they made alliance, and had of it great profit; for the Naugrim learned many secrets of craft in those days, so that the smiths and masons of Nogrod and Belegost became renowned among their kin, and when the Dwarves began again to journey into Beleriand all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him. (“Of the Return of the Noldor,” emphasis mine)

Here is what happens in this passage: The Dwarves have stopped trafficking into Beleriand and resume, presumably in part at least due to the defenses offered by Caranthir. They form a military allegiance in the interest of their mutual defense. They form an economic partnership that enriches both parties. Stepping back to consider the big picture, this is a remarkably good relationship between Elves and Dwarves, whose long enmity forms a plot arc that extends over the entirety of the legendarium. Of the Eldar in Beleriand, only Maeglin and Finrod Felagund have comparably good relationships with the Dwarves and some (lookin’ at you, Elu Thingol) have disastrously bad.

But it’s important to also notice how Pengolodh undermines that relationship. While acquiescing that, yeah, the Dwarves’ difficult temperaments make allegiance difficult, he follows up with what amounts to, “But Caranthir called them ugly!” (The level of maturity in this accusation reminds me of how my middle-school students might handle such a situation.) Pengolodh is also quick to point out that “no great love was there between them,” as though there are any examples, aside from Maeglin and Finrod Felagund, of Eldarin Elves who form a relationship with Dwarves that might be characterized with a word like love. There isn’t, but that doesn’t stop Pengolodh from holding Caranthir to a higher standard than he holds his own king–who holds no relationship, loving or otherwise, with the Dwarves–much less someone like Elu Thingol, who receives very little scrutiny for his role in sparking the ages-long, disastrous conflict between Elves and Dwarves.

The parting remark about how “all the traffic of the dwarf-mines passed first through the hands of Caranthir, and thus great riches came to him” always feels negative to me, but that is admittedly my own bias around the hoarding of wealth. From a loremaster of Gondolin–the most unapologetic example in Beleriand of the use of resources for pure opulence–the connotation of riches might well have been very different. Nonetheless, there is a sense in this sentence, in the rather passive-feeling phrase “passed through the hands,” that Caranthir’s riches weren’t exactly earned so much as a matter of geographical convenience.

The next time we see Caranthir in action is again in relation to a group of non-Elves: the mortal Haladin:

First came the Haladin; but meeting the unfriendship of the Green-elves they turned north and dwelt in Thargelion, in the country of Caranthir son of Fëanor; there for a time they had peace, and the people of Caranthir paid little heed to them.

. . .

Therefore [Melkor] sent out an Orc-raid, and passing east it escaped the leaguer, and came in stealth back over Ered Lindon by the passes of the Dwarf-road, and fell upon the Haladin in the southern woods of the land of Caranthir.

. . .

But seven days later, as the Orcs made their last assault and had already broken through the stockade [of the Haladin], there came suddenly a music of trumpets, and Caranthir with his host came down from the northand drove the Orcs into the rivers.

Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour; and he offered her recompense for her father and brother. And seeing, over late, what valour there was in the Edain, he said to her: ‘If you will remove and dwell further north, there you shall have the friendship and protection of the Eldar, and free lands of your own.’ (“Of the Coming of Men into the West,” emphasis mine)

It is hard even for Pengolodh to spin this one negatively. Caranthir acts with remarkable heroism and magnanimity in this scene, not only defending a beleaguered people against their shared enemy (although I can’t resist pointing out that other rulers among the Eldar are not similarly generous with their aid) but offering lands, protection, and most remarkably to me, what amounts to weregild for her slain relatives.

Pengolodh does try to spin it, though. The fact that initially the “people of Caranthir paid little heed to them” sets up a scenario where Caranthir’s offer can be read more as a shoring up of his defenses once he realizes his new neighbors are actually useful than a gesture of friendship and admiration. Of course, Pengolodh can’t resist adding the dig that Caranthir sees the Haladin’s valor “over late”; again, few of the Eldar–and Finrod Felagund is again the notable exception–are willing to enter into relationships with groups of Mortals without the potential for gain for themselves. We also don’t know what it means that Caranthir “did Haleth great honour,” although I suspect that if it had been Turgon or Thingol or Finrod standing in Caranthir’s place, we would have received this information is lavish, congratulatory detail.

I also can’t overlook the fact that Pengolodh’s critique of Caranthir for not paying adequate attention to the Haladin before the Orc-raid comes immediately on the heels of admitting that another group of Elves, the Green-elves of Ossiriand, had unceremoniously driven these same Haladin from their lands. The Avari are also subjected to the bias of Tolkien’s narrators; however, Pengolodh’s word choice here turns Caranthir’s decision to leave the Haladin alone into a negative when it’s very possible that both parties felt this was the ideal course. Certainly Haleth’s response to Caranthir’s later offer doesn’t suggest that she took umbrage. (Lake Helevorn where Caranthir lived and the southern extent of his realm where the Haladin settled were also about 150 miles/240 km apart, according to Fonstad’s Atlas of Middle-earth,so he would have had to roll the welcome wagon pretty far.) In any case, Pengolodh’s initial assessment of Caranthir as the “harshest of the brothers” is in no way reflected in how he treated the Haladin at any point during their occupancy of his land. A harsh character, most likely, would have driven them off that land or offered his aid only with significant strings attached.

(Interestingly, when Haleth moves her people west to Brethil, Thingol tries to do just that: first, drive them from the land and then only allowing them to stay with strings attached. This information, while reported, isn’t subject to the same negativity as Caranthir’s at-worst-benign actions were. Also important to note, the character who convinces Thingol to allow the Haladin to remain in Brethil is none other than Finrod Felagund.)

Since I’ve brought up that “harshest of the brothers” accusation again, it might be a good time to pause, in light of what we’ve seen of Caranthir so far, and consider him beside some of the brothers of whom he is reputed to be the harshest. Like Celegorm and Curufin, who send off their beloved cousin Finrod to die in Sauron’s dungeons, plan the kidnapping and captivity of Lúthien, and generally stoke fear and bloodthirstiness in people. Curufin is repudiated by his son; Celegorm is repudiated by his dog, for goodness sake, and we’re supposed to buy that Caranthir is harsher and quicker to anger than those two? (This is not to say that there isn’t bias against Celegorm and Curufin in The Silmarillion as well, but their reputations are better justified by their deeds than in the case of Caranthir.)

Two more instances in the life of Caranthir deserve mention. After the Battle of Sudden Flame,

Caranthir fled and joined the remnant of his people to the scattered folk of the hunters, Amrod and Amras, and they retreated and passed Ramdal in the south. Upon Amon Ereb they maintained a watch and some strength of war, and they had aid of the Green-elves … (“Of the Ruin of Beleriand”)

These are the same Green-elves who, a few chapters earlier, were unwilling to tolerate the homeless Haladin in their lands, who are described as wary and secretive (“Of the Sindar”), and who insist they “desire no strangers in this land to break the peace in which we live” (“Of the Coming of Men into the West”) … these are the Green-elves now lending aid to Caranthir. One has to wonder what in his harsh, angry personality convinced them to do that.

(By the way, who is the only other Noldo described as forging a successful friendship with the Green-elves before this point? Finrod Felagund …)

Next, Caranthir forges another non-Eldarin alliance with Ulfang the Black and his sons. Unfortunately, this alliance does not turn out well, as he is betrayed by them. Nonetheless, stepping back again to consider the big picture reveals a character who forms a remarkably diverse array of alliances, most of them productive (and when they aren’t, not through fault of his), with Dwarves, Mortals–both Edain and Easterling–and Avarin Elves. This is unusual. While the Eldar as a whole form allegiances with these various peoples, it is uncommon for one individual to do so.

The Finrod Connection

Uncommon but not unheard of. There is one character who does form friendships with all of these people: Finrod Felagund. Finrod is one of Pengolodh’s favorite people. He is mentioned 96 times–exactly four times as often as Caranthir–and is the ninth most-mentioned character in The Silmarillion. Finrod seems to have earned this regard: In every sense of the word, he is an extraordinary person whose life is devoted to forging friendships and peace between disparate people and whose actions are guided by kindness and wisdom. He’s the sort of person who can be Turgon’s best friend and still hang out with Maedhros and Maglor and make that seem like it’s not weird at all.

Pengolodh devotes a lot of energy toward depicting Finrod as the cosmopolitan of the House of Finwë. Caranthir, in many ways, is set up as a foil to Finrod. Where Finrod is golden, Caranthir is dark. Where Finrod is benevolent, Caranthir is described as harsh and haughty. Both have a love for treasure and beautiful things, but Finrod is a consummate craftsman whereas we know nothing of Caranthir’s profession or talents. Their realms even face each other from opposite sides of Beleriand.

But both could rightfully be considered the most cosmopolitan of the Eldar in Beleriand, and comparing how Pengolodh treats the alliances and friendships they build is an interesting case study in how bias manifests in The Silmarillion. (A productive third angle could be taken in looking at Elu Thingol, who also forges a lot of relationships with different peoples but is spectacularly bad at it and yet receives almost no criticism from Pengolodh, i.e., his treatment of the Haladin discussed above.) It also suggests a motive for Pengolodh’s depiction of Caranthir, which seems, ironically, rather harsh when one considers the attested details of Caranthir’s life. Aside from yelling that one time at Angrod, Caranthir does pretty well at staying out of the way of his cousins. He’s not a warmonger and doesn’t betray anyone. He does participate in the kinslayings–but so do Maedhros and Maglor, and Pengolodh musters some sympathy for them. Furthermore, it would have been unlikely that Pengolodh even met him since he went to Gondolin so young and Turgon and the Fëanorians weren’t on the best of terms at this time. (So it’s not likely Caranthir offended him personally, like the time my sister bore a long grudge against Smokey the Bear because a person wearing that costume stuck out their tongue in my sister’s general direction. She was also about three when this happened, for the record.) It’s hard to imagine where his animosity towards Caranthir, of all people, comes from.

Pengolodh’s treatment of Caranthir begins to make sense, though, when we remember that Finrod was Turgon’s best friend, and Turgon is Pengolodh’s king. There may have been a degree of protectiveness of Finrod’s reputation as the cosmopolitan of the House of Finwë: the person who singlehandedly did The Most to unite the Free Peoples of Beleriand in the First Age. Pointing out that someone like Caranthir, when Caranthir is part of the problematic House of Fëanor, is also capable of forging diverse alliances and friendships diminishes Finrod’s accomplishments in this area. Therefore, Pengolodh–while acknowledging the unavoidable historical facts–emphasizes the negative aspects of Caranthir’s relationships with other groups.

Now the question will arise: Do I really think that Tolkien thought about all of this? This question is always in the back of my mind as I dive into my historical bias research, especially as a fanfiction writer as well as scholar, accustomed to diving into rabbit holes in my fic and seeing what lies at the bottom. I hesitate always to assign intent where it isn’t abundantly clear, and this is no exception. However, my research has shown again and again that the biases one would expect of Pengolodh, the most enduring narrator of The Silmarillion, bear out in both the data and case studies of the text. I do think that this was broadly intended, as in I think that Tolkien deliberately wrote the majority of the Quenta Silmarillion in mind with Pengolodh as the narrator, shaping the story based on what Pengolodh would have known and, yes, his biases. So while I can’t and won’t state that Tolkien sat down to write one day with the thought in mind that Pengolodh was going to utterly slander the reputation of Caranthir because of his king’s bromance with Finrod, I do think that being steeped in ancient and medieval historical writings as Tolkien was and seeking to write in that mode, he did intentionally bring along a pseudohistorical narrator, biases and all.