In his essay, “On Fairy Stories,” J.R.R. Tolkien likens the collection of stories told throughout history to a soup, all simmering together in a huge pot. He says that “the Pot of Soup, the Cauldron of Story, has always been boiling, and to it have continually been added new bits, dainty and undainty.” This metaphor explains in part why there are so many versions of different fairy tales, such as Little Red Riding Hood or Cinderella. Each of the different storytellers, as Tolkien’s line of thinking goes, sampled the soup and added to it. That’s why Red’s granny sometimes dies, and Cindy’s step-sisters sometimes live.

I would like to use this metaphor for the first habit needed to become a good storyteller. Simply put, one needs to fill-up on the cauldron and taste as many stories as possible. Let’s see how this lines up with our two premier storytellers: C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien.

When I read Lewis’s Letters to Children, I eagerly underlined every book recommendation he made and soon realized I would never be able to get through them all—and those were just the ones he put down for kids! I had the same daunting realization when I read his fuller collection of letters, most of which were addressed to his brother, father, and scholarly peers, never mind culling through all the citations in his essays. Perhaps the most telling source of information on Lewis’s reading is Surprised by Joy. There he references countless stories that shaped his early life. Taken as a whole and much simplified, I think of his reading as fitting into the following categories: epics, narrative poetry, myths (especially Norse ones), romances (think Jane Austen), fairy tales, legends, fables, and Bible stories (though approached later in life).

Clearly, Lewis consumed the “cauldron of story” so fully that he was able to draw from it (however intentionally or unintentionally we will never know) in his own storytelling. Consider, for a moment, The Chronicles of Narnia. Aslan, a talking lion, is a direct representation of Christ (the Lion of Judah), yet he would fit just as easily into any one of Aesop’s fables. His great villain, Jadis (aka the White Witch), could stand up to the wickedest witch any fairy tale could dish up. What’s more, her physical characteristics line up very closely with Hans Christian Anderson’s Snow Queen. Then there are the children in his stories, all of whom have been disenfranchised in some way, much like many a famous child in the world of faerie (Hansel and Gretel, to name just two). Of course, there are overlaps with mythology as well, as seen through his many fauns and centaurs and talking animals. It’s no wonder that Lewis was a master storyteller. He hadn’t just filled up on the soup; he stuffed himself full of it over and over again.

Likewise, Tolkien had a voracious appetite for the “cauldron of story.” In the aforementioned essay, he indicates a preference for the taste of “faerie” above all else. But by his own account, that was not a dominant taste in his early life and only awakened as he got older. Nevertheless, the number of fairy tales he mentions in his essay is great. He gives the impression of having read all twelve of Andrew Lang’s fairy book collections, in addition to a good many more by the Brothers Grimm and innumerable others. He also makes casual references to countless myths and fables before closing out his essay with nuanced connections between the world of “faerie” and the Bible. He had eaten so much of the “soup” that it was oozing out of him not only in his essay, but in all his stories as well.

For example, Tolkien uses countless elements commonly found in these core materials in The Lord of the Rings, though with such a distinct flavor of his own that his recipe is wholly original. His elves are certainly not of the shoemaker type, and his dwarfs would hardly encase a dead maiden in a glass coffin (unless she had a precious stone inside of her). Tolkien’s hobbits and orcs feel altogether unique, even if one senses that some flavor, long forgotten, was conjured from the pot in their creation. Then there are human characters like Aragorn whose heroism has vague echoes of the likes of Beowulf and King Arthur but with a style all his own. There is no doubt that Tolkien filled up on the “cauldron of story” over and over again, and ultimately added many of his own “dainty bits” to it.

From Lewis and Tolkien we learn that filling up on the “cauldron of story” is an irreplaceable habit for becoming a good storyteller. Make plenty of room for epics, narrative poetry, the Bible, legends, myths, fairy tales, and fables as they provide the stock of most stories. If you eat enough of it, your own pot will soon begin to simmer.

First Image Credit: Boy Eating Soup (Enfant mangeant sa soupe), by Francois Bonvin (1861)

Second Image Credit: Soup, by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1865)

Classical educators commonly hold up “the story” as its principal teaching tool. If you want to lead a student to learn Wisdom and Virtue, then read a great story together. The lessons in them are manifold, and their ability to catch even the most dispassionate student is well known. Similarly, if you want a student to demonstrate Wisdom and Virtue, then have him write a story.

Monsters or dragons? Hunstmen or knights? Damsels or shieldmaidens? The shape of a student’s story reveals far more than his likes or dislikes within a particular genre. It reveals the very drama of his imagination, which is the playground of the soul.

Yet, teachers often find it easier to help a student receive a story than to write one. Even the most gifted need a lot of help thinking about the sound and structure of a story, let alone developing an interesting plot. Classical educators have a few strategies that greatly aid in this area.

The first and, perhaps, most important strategy comes from the tradition of imitatio, which means “imitation” in Latin. Classical educators hold that imitation is the chief mode of learning. If you want to become good at something, then find a model of that something to replicate. It follows, then, that a student who wants to write a good story should find a good story to imitate. Better still, find a good storyteller, and imitate his or her habits.

Two of the best and most commonly read among my students are C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien, so I recently dove into their writings to see what they had to say about telling stories. With any luck, they would have some kind of “recipe” or “formula” all laid out for aspiring storytellers. Although that did not turn out to be the case, they had many tidbits of advice and lots of habits in common in their approach to storytelling, namely: reading, playing, and drawing.

In the next three posts, I will explain the importance of these habits for aspiring storytellers, be they in the classroom or at home, and show how Lewis and Tolkien both made use of them. Here are the names of the posts and brief summaries.

Fill-up on the Cauldron (aka Read): In this post, I rely on Tolkien’s image of the “cauldron of story” to show the importance of reading and listening to great stories in the formation of a storyteller.

Boxen the Story (aka Play): In this post, I focus on Lewis’s imaginary play world of Boxen as a metaphor for the role of play in forming the imagination of a storyteller.

Start with a Picture (aka Draw): In this post, I bring together examples of how Lewis and Tolkien both used pictures to inform their writing.

Once this series is through, the next one will apply these habits to the classroom, and I will share some of the exercises that have been the most fruitful and enjoyable for my students.

I do want to offer two disclaimers. First, I am an amateur on Lewis and much more so on Tolkien. Though an immense fan of both, I have hardly tapped the well of their writings. Second, while Lewis and Tolkien possessed the habits I am highlighting, I am in no way saying they followed them as a rule or regimen. It is the teacher in me that likes to synthesize and organize and has therefore extrapolated something concrete for children and their families. But the writer in me also knows that habits, like good stories, form little by little and rarely in the order we intend. Creation, which is at the heart of telling stories, is an open door that one can walk through however one pleases.

Image Credit: The Story Book by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1877)