I bought this book with mixed emotions, knowing full well what I was getting into. I’d read the short version in the Silmarillion. I’d read the somewhat longer version in Unfinished Tales. So I knew that it’s a tragedy, that bad things happen to (mostly) good people, that there’s no happy ending in it, and that it’s all terribly, horribly dramatic. From page one it’s clear that Turin Turambar has no chance of settled happiness; and in the end he dies badly.

I hope that didn’t spoil anything for anyone; but I suspect that most of the potential readers of this book are as familiar with the outlines of the tale as I am.

I bought it mostly for completeness’ sake, and out of respect for Tolkien himself, whose other work I love, who himself clearly loved this tale and lavished his attention on it. Oh, would he had spent as much time on the tale of Beren and Luthien, or that of Tuor and Idril and the fall of Gondolin, or on that of their son, Earendil the Mariner, any of which I’d rather spend time with than proud, doomed, Turin Turambar.

(Sigh.)

Still, Christopher Tolkien did a good job editing his father’s material; it flows smoothly and seamlessly. And it’s certainly the most human-scale treatment of any of the tales of the Elder Days that I can recall.

(Sigh.)