I have often wondered what is the worth of building worlds in the eye of one's mind, structures of imagination that are so intangible, and diaphanous at best, and what would be the purpose of such an effort. As time goes by, and the less of it we have, time becomes a precious commodity. How not to worry about spending it with these imaginary colossi?
But, recently I've read a biography of Tolkien, and somehow now things make better sense then before. The point of building worlds in fiction is the same as any other piece of work in all kinds of art: ultimately, all art is ephemerous. So, why worry if it exists only in the imagination? Solid, physical substances are fated to perish with time, or most of them, at least. And they are not valued less because of that, this is for certain. If we are to dedicate time to worldbuilding, we are bound to create things made from even sturdier substance, equal to none in the sensible world: words, for words have a strength that can bypass time entirely, and in some cases even grow with it. So, how can I question the worth of worldbuilding when I see how Tolkien lived for it, and almost literally at that, and how it shaped and took roots in the minds of so many?
If that is not true power, then I don't know what it is. And to have a shot at that power, that is an end I can work with.
(While we have the time, that is)
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