I need to live another twenty years purely to see what kind of bullshit the Tolkien estate gets up to with respect to The Silmarillion in 2044.
Context for non-dweebs: Unlike Tolkien’s other well known works, The Silmarillion was published posthumously; Tolkien died in 1973, and The Silmarillion first saw print in 1977.
Though Tolkien had shown drafts of The Silmarillion to publishers during his lifetime, there are substantial differences between those drafts and the book that was actually published. It’s been a matter of great interest – read: nerd drama – in the Tolkien fandom exactly how much of the published Silmarillion is really the work of J R R Tolkien, and how much of it is original authorship by his son Christopher.
The Tolkien estate has historically maintained that The Silmarllion is all J R R Tolkien, and that Christopher merely acted as an editor, because “by J R R Tolkien (edited by Christopher Tolkien)” is going to sell better than “by Christopher Tolkien (based on the work of J R R Tolkien)”.
If The Silmarillion really is 100% J R R Tolkien’s work, and Christopher Tolkien was merely an editor, then – since J R R Tolkien died in 1973 – the whole thing will enter the public domain on January 1st, 2044 in all life-plus-70 jurisdictions (i.e., most of the big ones, including the US).
If, however, any major part of the published Silmarillion constitutes original authorship by Christopher Tolkien, then the term of copyright would instead be calculated based on his date of death in 2020, pushing its earliest possible entry into the public domain in life-plus-70 jurisdictions back to January 1st, 2091.
Thus, there exists the possibility that the Tolkien estate might be able to preserve their ownership of The Silmarillion by arguing that they’ve been lying the whole time about Christopher Tolkien not contributing any original authorship to the published work.
Would it work? Probably not – but it’d be fun to see them try!
I’ve always disliked the “I Am No Man” moment in Peter Jackson’s Return of the King because it fails to capture the fact that when the Witch King threatens Eowyn with horrific unimaginable torment, she responds by making him soil his ghostly britches.
You better watch out, buddy – I have extremely unusual life experiences which I mistakenly believe are universal, and I’m about to misinterpret your post in ways you can’t even imagine.
this is such a rude and obviously targeted thing to make me, a man with a problem, read
come on, everybody still counts on their fingers to add and substract smaller numbers, right? And then for bigger numbers everyone has to look it up or just die basically, yeah?
this is me
Dyscalculia is still one of the most misunderstood conditions. It’s often swept together with Dyslexia, despite being very different.
Dyscalculia isn’t really ‘being bad at maths’. It’s being unable to rote memorise the times table, or any other tables that can be used as cribs by neurotypical people to do maths quicker. This is because, despite the name, the actual condition is a memory problem. Specifically, a problem with our symbolic memory tables.
This is why people with dyscalculia also tend to have the following problems too:
Can’t quickly or reliably memorise long strings of numbers, such as phone numbers, even their own ones.
Can’t remember people’s names on first meeting them, or second meeting them, or third meeting them…
Problems with non-phonetic spelling, inability to ever remember the right time to use an apostrophe.
And anything else that neurotypical people have an innate ability to just stick them into their symbolic memory tables.
The funniest version of this is when you work in a haunted house
I was super bored one night bc we were really slow, and the animatronic that served as my cue had broken without my knowing, so I didn’t get an alert that someone was coming.
I was in the hallway singing “Peanut Butter Jelly Time” at the top of my lungs and jumping up and down in the hallway. The guy in the next hallway over was singing it with me. I don’t know what he was doing but knowing him, it was equally goofy.
So imagine being a teenager girl and her teenage boyfriend, coming down a dark and spooky hallway filled with fog, and finding a small demonic-looking thing jumping like a madman, shouting “PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME” at the top of its lungs with the voice of a twelve year old boy, and hearing a deep, booming voice repeating it back.
That sounds scarier than most things I’ve experienced in a haunted house to be totally honest