Here lies our willful ignorance. Underneath it is the belief that we can—must—have the best of both worlds when giving our favorite writers a second life: the authentic, unaltered voice of the writer and a clean resulting work, no matter its state at the time of their death.
One life is all you get - likewise, any given body of work. The virtual mummy of Tolkein's work is too often propped up, new face painted on, and another fantasy series is born. None ever equal the original - how could they?