"At the Sign of the Prancing Pony" - Ben's Thoughts

We're finally back on track with "Prancing Pony." The tension is high, the stakes are raised and -- wait, this chapter really is much shorter than I remembered it being. I suppose in my mind, I always combined it with the next one ("Strider"), where we get the full introduction of Aragorn and more about Gandalf's whereabouts, as well as additional hints about the Black Riders. Here, the Riders are barely mentioned, but Tolkien still manages to convey the looming threat they cast over everything.

The main impression that I got from this chapter is that, boy, these Hobbits are out of their depth. While Frodo is suspicious right off the bat, what with his distrust of Harry the gatekeeper, his decisions just aren't all that sensible throughout this chapter. Let's review: first, only Frodo is traveling under an assumed name. The others are all going by their given names (Mr. Brandybuck, Mr. Took, and Sam Gamgee). This might as well be a bullhorn shouting to anyone searching for the four Hobbits that have recently disappeared from the Shire -- not least among them a Hobbit with, coincidentally, the same full name as Mr. Frodo's personal manservant! Sheesh, Frodo, you and your compadres need a better cover story.

Second, the Hobbits completely disregard common sense by 1) splitting up and 2) visiting the common room. I suppose their curiosity gets the better of them, but c'mon, my lads, you're trying to stay out of sight. As the book reminds us again and again, visitors from the Shire are rare but not unheard of; what if somebody happened to be there that knew Frodo or one of his cousins by sight? And that is quite apart from the possibility that the Riders have an agent of some sort checking out the inn, which seems the only place in the whole town where the Hobbits would want to stay for the night (and this, of course, turns out to be the case, what with Bill Ferny and possibly Saruman's squint-eyed lackey as well). Likewise, Merry goes out for a stroll -- at night -- in the town none of them know and all are unsure about. Not a good idea. Hasn't he read books like these before?

In any case, the obliviousness of the Hobbits is part of the fun. By the time Frodo is standing up on the table and drawing everyone's attention to him, the reader just knows something very bad is about to happen. Tolkien does a really good job of casting the Hobbits into the thick of things and showing that they are in way, way over their heads. Good thing Strider swoops down to save them.

The narrator tries to cast some suspicion upon Strider here at the beginning. He is the only person in the common room who is overtly watching the Hobbits, and we are told that the suggestion that Frodo put on the Ring comes from something in the common room itself. This is a bit odd, since we know that Aragorn wants nothing more than for Frodo to sit down and shut his stupid mouth. Who then is exerting this influence? I suppose you could say it is the Ring itself, as Jacob points out, since none of the other denizens of the Prancing Pony seem capable of sending these psychic signals. But if that were the case, wouldn't it have been easier to say so? Something I toyed with was the possibility that one of the Ringwraiths was actually present in the common room, just sans his physical black-clothed form. But I think that says too much about what the Riders knew at this point.

A quick note on the song: yes, Tolkien's occasional injections of songs and poems can be a bit jarring. I was talking to a friend the other night about the Tolkien and the Wheel of Time (the epic fantasy doorstopper series by Robert Jordan). He said that it was difficult to skim through the molasses-paced middle half of the Wheel of Time series, because one never knew what was important and what was just filler. But in LOTR, it's easy -- just skip over everything that's italicized!

I certainly see where he was coming from -- the cheeky little song about drunken cats and men in the moon is just a little too cutesy for me, and certainly far too long. I think Tolkien could have trimmed things down about 6 verses. But that was his prerogative, and I didn't find the little song too objectionable this time around. We'll revisit this theme, no doubt, as we get into the longer poems later in "Fellowship."

There are two other points that need to be addressed about this chapter. The first is, of course, Strider himself. Tolkien's introduction of him is delightful. The initial description of his clothing perfectly conveys the kind of life this man leads, right down to the leather on his boots. This description benefits even more, I think, from a lot of the material in the appendices, which reveals that Aragorn has lived a very long life to this point -- he is several hundred years old, if I recall correctly. He has served kings in both Rohan and Gondor, and has traveled much of the world many times over (Gandalf introduced him in "Shadow of the Past" as "the greatest traveler of the Age" or something like that). And yet, here this very important man is, in a backwater inn, waiting for and safeguarding four senseless Hobbits. Tells you something about the stock he puts in the quest (or at least in Gandalf's instructions).

I do note that Aragorn gets a bit of physical description when he dramatically lowers his hood for Frodo's benefit: "shaggy hair flecked with grey"; "pale stern face"; "a pair of keen grey eyes". (If Frodo was genre-savvy in the least, he wouldn't be worried about whether Aragorn is a bad guy or not; Tolkien -- and as a result generations of knock-off fantasy authors -- just love using gray eyes as a symbol of nobility. I guess because they're rarer than plain ol' blue ones?) I like that we do get a look at Aragorn, but would it have killed him to describe the Hobbits? I'm going to stop complaining about it, but it still bothers me.

The final note is the extreme burst of worldbuilding that takes place in this chapter. The Hobbits' world is suddenly a lot bigger. The brief history of Bree -- which feels much more at home placed here than the random "history of Brandybuck Hall" that we got at the beginning of "Conspiracy" (perhaps because Brandybuck Hall held only tangential importance to the main narrative) -- gives the reader a thorough overview of what to expect in this new locale (doubly important because Bree is only barely touched upon in the Foreward). Men that have dug in and lasted longer than those irresponsible Arnor folk! Non-Shire Hobbits! Heck, wandering tramp-Hobbits even get a mention! (That last brings to mind the possibility that Eriador is completely infested with lazy wandering Hobbits just itching to come across companies of Elves traveling to Lindon so they can mooch off of their free food and booze.)

Most interesting, and something that I was completely oblivious to on previous re-reads, is the looming threat of change to the community of Bree. The "squint-eyed Southron" makes it most explicit -- times are changing, and the people of Bree had best get used to new folk in town. Of course, the sociological importance of that assertion is undermined somewhat by the fact that this fellow is most likely a spy for Saruman looking for the Ring himself (or at the very least new people to enslave), but it makes sense that, in the wake of the War of the Ring, refugees from over the Misty Mountains, or from Rohan, or from wherever, would be showing up (or, dare I say it -- immigrating?) to northern Eriador and shaking things up in the process. Butterbur is insistent that the people of Bree don't like change, and don't like things that are out of the ordinary. Their insular attitude comes across as a bit off-putting. But I imagine those same sentiments were being echoed in Tolkien's day, and, indeed, are just as relevant today. A small thing in an epic story that brings it just a little bit closer to home.

"At The Sign of the Prancing Pony" - Jacob's Thoughts

Something I've noticed this read through is how innocuous most everyone's intro has been: Bilbo is reintroduced prepping adorably for his "eleventy-first birthday"; Frodo is casually introduced as the adopted nephew before being foregrounded as the protagonist; Sam is trimming the hedges, Pippin just sort of tags along, Merry just sort of invites himself; and now Strider, the heir apparent to the throne of man, the Messiah figure, the once and future King, perhaps the single most important character in this entire mythology next to only Frodo himself, is first introduced as but a cloaked figure brooding in a corner of an old inn with an old wooden pipe.

There actually feels something a touch realistic about these casual introductions: for people constantly pass in and out of each others' lives, casually, simply, without fanfare or ceremony, and then leave without leaving much of an impact or memory (we've already had a host of characters like that in the novel thus far).  Only much, much later do we realize who the most important people in our lives are, who will turn out to have the greatest impact, the largest influence--and there is no way to predict that ahead of time!

Serious, if you had asked me in, say, 2005, who my closest friends would still be nearly a decade later, and who wouldn't, I don't think I would have made a single correct guess.  People with whom I thought I'd be life-long friends have just kinda drifted away, while folks who made little impression on me when I first met them later turned out to be among the most important to me--and a far larger legion of them simply passed through my life like ships in the night, as I doubtless did with them, too.  So I guess all I'm saying is I appreciate and admire Tolkien's method of introducing characters without even hinting at their later importance; whether that was intentional or not matters less to me than the fact that it works.

But back to the chapter at hand!  After spending several chapters of trying to find different ways to say, "Man, none of this is really going anywhere, is it," it's frankly a relief to rejoin the main narrative.  The Black Riders are once again an immediate threat, there are dark agents of Sauron milling about, suspicion and paranoia abound, as troubling news from distant lands hint at major events soon to come.  The irony is that not a whole lot happens in this chapter either; but unlike the previous flight-from-the-Shire chapters, this chapter at least feels like there are actual stakes involved, that real tension is being built up.  There is finally a sense of forward momentum.

Perhaps the most enlightening moment in this chapter for me are the hints at the actual agency of the Ring, which seems to have slipped onto Frodo's finger almost against his will.  There was some scant discussion of the Ring's agency clear back in ch. 2, when Gandalf explained how the Ring abandoned its owners one at a time when it could make no further use of them; and now we get to see the Ring act in similar manner against Frodo!  The Ring is no longer a mere MacGuffin, a burden, a package to be delivered like in so many spy thrillers, no--the Ring is fully capable of and willing to participate in its own adventure, and to toy with and betray the Fellowship whenever it feels like it, making it all the more dangerous, powerful, and interesting.

Perhaps it would be helpful to remember that this series is not entitled The Hobbit Part 2, nor The Adventures of Frodo Baggins, but The LORD of the Rings.  This Ring really is the main character, the center of all the action, it is the one still exerting its lordship, exercising its power, still trying to call the shots, the antagonist that literally everyone else is reacting against, both for good and for evil.

This Ring really is the "LORD" of all others, and it will not share power willingly.  I will be curious to track how the Ring exerts its agency in the future.

"Fog on the Barrow-Downs" - Ben's Thoughts

This chapter concludes the "Tom Bombadil Trilogy." Like I said before, I think that these three chapters would make an excellent stand-alone short story about some unsuspecting Hobbits' trials and travails getting to Bree to visit family (or maybe a particularly adventurous Took searching for the Barrow-downs' treasure). But they don't serve a lot of narrative purpose in LOTR. I did think that Jacob's thought about how these chapters prepare the Hobbits, especially Frodo, for the horrors to come has some merit. I just don't think it's entirely worth derailing everything to get there.

This chapter, while probably the most interesting plot-wise of the three, is not without its own problems. I feel that the major ones are of tone. The chapter bounces back and forth between hokey silliness (both in terms of Tom and the quasi-horror vibe from inside the Barrow) to quite beautiful descriptions to ominous foreboding, often quick enough for the reader to feel whiplash. Let's get down to brass tacks.

The chapter opens with the Hobbits' farewell to Tom and Goldberry. Tom gets such a perfunctory goodbye that even the most casual reader surely must be alerted "we're going to see him again!", especially after all the muckety-mucking about how spoooooky the Barrow-downs are. I have to roll my eyes, however, with respect to Frodo's goodbye to Goldberry -- his distress at not seeing her before he leaves seems either pathetic (a la the best-friend-in-love-with-your-wife) or cribbed from the "chivalry files" of mid-20th century Britain, where the sight of the pure, pedestal-enshrined woman gives the weary wanderer such hope and fortitude for the coming journey that he cannot do without that final glimpse. My eye-roll might be less pronounced with respect to option 2 if Frodo ever gave Goldberry a second thought. Since he does not, I suppose we are forced to conclude that he just thought Goldberry was really hot. Plus -- she "danced"? What, was she really dancing up there?

Anyway. On a more positive note, the description of the landscape from the top of Goldberry's hill is really quite stunning. I remember many times in my life where I've looked out from a height and been flabbergasted by the enormity and beauty of the world around me, and Tolkien manages to capture this feeling rather well, in my opinion. I feel obligated to quote the passage in full:

"In [the West] the land rose in wooded ridges, green, yellow, russet under the sun, beyond which lay hidden the valley of the Brandywine. To the South, over the line of the Withywindle, there was a distant glint like pale glass where the Brandywine River made a great loop in the lowlands . . . . Northward beyond the dwindling downs the land ran away in flats and swellings of grey and green and pale earth-colours, until it faded into a featureless and shadowy distance. Eastward the Barrow-downs rose, ridge upon ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eyesight into a guess: it was no more than a guess of blue and a remote white glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to them, out of memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains."

Of course, away from Tom's rescuing presence, the Hobbits quickly find themselves out of their depth. At lunchtime, they quite stupidly take a nap near the standing stone, and for all of the description of how sinister that hollow is where they park for a break, there's no hint of foul magical play going on like there was with Old Man Willow. So basically they fell for the same trick twice, but this time nobody was exerting any kind of influence over them -- they were just dumb and fell asleep. That's not likely to endear a reader to the intelligence of Our Heroes, Professor Tolkien. Oh well.

From this point, the tone shifts into "foreboding" mode, with the gathering fog and the indistinct goals of the line of shrubs the Hobbits see in the distance. This middle section is (barring a description at the very end) the best part of the chapter, as Tolkien effectively ratchets up the tension, separates Frodo from his sidekicks, and finally punctuates everything with Frodo's miserable exclamation of "Where are you?" This line is followed by one of the best uses of a section break that I've seen in literature, as it adds a hefty punch to how alone Frodo is and how final that feeling is brought home to him.

But things have to get weird from here -- Frodo is captured by the Barrow-wight (what exactly the Wights are, as Jacob points out, is never really explained. Sauron's influence is somehow involved, because they started popping up (like daisies!) when his influence grows in Mirkwood, we learned from Gandalf in Chapter 2, but since they used to be Men of the West, that seems a little inconsistent) and we have the "dance of the creepy hand" and the unpleasant thought of the Wight de-robing Sam, Merry, and Pippin and playing dress-up with them so they can better resemble ritual sacrifice. (Don't pretend you weren't unnerved when Tom says later, "you won't find your clothes again.") Maybe creepy crawly hands were scarier back in the day, but I don't think I was ever unnerved by the green light and the hand, even when I read this for the first time when I was, like, 10 years old. And what is with the hand, anyway? The sense of space in the Barrow is not really conveyed well -- is it severed even before Frodo whacks it? Is the Barrow's arm stretching, like Mister Fantastic, as it creeps towards the sword? In any case, Frodo musters some courage (an admittedly nice bit of character development, shame the other Hobbits don't get any) and then summons Tom to save the day.

My writing on this chapter has proved a bit more snarky than I had originally envisioned, so I will end things on a high note. The vision the Hobbits share about the Men of Arnor when Tom gives them the swords is perhaps the first time in these books that Tolkien manages to convey (as he does so beautifully later on) the powerful weight of history, as well as the sadness and joy of existence, that accompanies the people of Middle-earth. I can't think of a better way to describe the Númenoreans that how it is handled here:

"As he spoke they had a vision as it were of a great expanse of years behind them, like a vast shadowy plain over which there strode shapes of Men, tall and grim with bright swords, and last came one with a star on his brow."

What better way to foreshadow the arrival of Aragorn, the "son of forgotten kings," as Tom puts it, than with this vision? These Men, Aragorn's ancestors, did not lead pleasant lives -- but they were unbowed and stalwart. And life is a lot like that, in my opinion (for LDS folks, this certainly recalls Lehi's dream to me). A shadowy field, that makes one grim at times, but the challenge is about presenting yourself unbowed before the things life slings at you. Kudos, Tolkien, for invoking these kinds of thoughts in me on the umpteenth re-read of this book. What you had to say really resonated with me.

"Fog on the Barrow-Downs" - Jacob's Thoughts

To borrow a line from the film: "I have no memory of this place."

Even as it's been ages since I last read Fellowship of the Ring, yet still its basic contours and plot beats have felt familiar to me throughout this re-reading--that is, right up til this chapter.  For whatever reason, I had just assumed that Frodo and company exited the Old Forest directly to the Prancing Pony, where we could then get on with the main narrative.  I had completely forgotten the Barrow-Downs episode.  Hence, this tangent with the Barrow-wights and the fog was all as disorienting and strange to me as it apparently was to the Hobbits. 

To pick up a thread from Eric, this sort of side adventure feels structurally out of place--fine in and of itself, and very expertly done in terms of tone and description and feel, but really doing very little to either develop the characters or move the plot forward.  To paraphrase an earlier comment by Ben, this is the sort of random episode that would fit in a novel like The Hobbit, not the sort epic that Tolkien himself perhaps did not yet realize he was actually making (I may have to rescind my earlier optimism that Tolkien had this series all planned out from the beginning).

Moreover, my impatience with Tom Bombadil increases here, because this chapter reveals his real value, how helpful he could actually be, his knack for arriving at their darkest moment, only for that help to literally never come up again!  The Wights, too, while genuinely chilling and threatening, likewise never return to trouble our heroes.  They are not apparent agents of Sauron, nor do they appear to have any motivations more profound than that of a common mugger.  The Wights aren't foreshadowing, no: they're just dry runs.

I suppose one could make the argument that dry runs is exactly what this chapter is supposed to be: our domestic little hobbits really have no idea what dangers await them, and they need this practice, and these guides, to help break them into the epic they must soon inhabit. They will face far worst than the Old Forest, and that alone, so first they must face the Forest, and that with a kind guide for now to help them out when they get stuck.  Tom Bombadil is the training wheels, so to speak. Also, the Wights are nowhere near as frightening as the Black Riders, but they are still pretty frightening, and so the hobbits must learn how to encounter them before they can level up to the Black Riders, in a manner of speaking.

I suppose, in this more charitable reading, "Fog on the Barrow-Downs" is more about Frodo learning something about himself, of the courage he is capable of, than it is about any of these seeming inconsequential side-quests.  Frodo had to learn something about Frodo, I suppose.  As Tolkien himself writes:

"There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow.  Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire.  He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him.  He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring; he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey" (pg. 194).

That passage clarified much about the hobbits--and especially Frodo--for me, particularly for why Gandalf seemed to place such implicit faith in them, and for that reason alone I am grateful for this chapter.  Perhaps all these sill side-quests out of the Shire were just an inadvertent training ground, to toughen up our little hobbits for the big adventure ahead of them. 

But now, as we at last approach the sign of the Prancing Pony, the training wheels come off.  There will be no more Tom Bombadil's to rescue the hobbits at the last second, and no more enemies that are merely mischievous but not actively malicious, like the Trees and the Wights.  Here's hoping that from here on out, we formally abandon the episodic-structure of The Hobbit, and that the stakes begin to feel real.

"In the House of Tom Bombadil" - Ben's Thoughts

Ah, Tom Bombadil. Perhaps the most-maligned character in Tolkien. The question I asked myself going into the chapter: Is that anger, hate, and derision deserved or not?

The answer: Yes, in the context of the narrative structure of LOTR. While Tom's presence lends itself to some interesting comments on the themes Tolkien will develop throughout the novel (and as an aside, this in and of itself is a problem, because those themes have not yet been developed or even introduced yet, thus rendering such nuances over the heads of first-time readers), he has no place in the book as far as plot or structure goes. Tom is just a blip on Our Heroes' radar, not to be mentioned again (save once or twice as throw-off references) in the entire rest of the books.

Tom would have been great in a book like The Hobbit (if not, perhaps, in The Hobbit itself), but LOTR is not The Hobbit. Side-quests and one-off episodes such as this have no place in the tale Tolkien will reveal himself to be telling. Interestingly enough, this might have made Tom more palatable to the first-time, 1940's reader rather than to the voracious 21st-century readers. Readers when the books first came out might have been expecting Hobbit-like side-quests rather than the streamlined narrative many readers today demand.

All right. Enough with the hate in terms of the overarching narrative of the books. Yes, Tolkien probably should have cut old Tom. But they didn't -- and here he is -- and so we must deal with him. So what did I think?

Interestingly enough, a lot of my thoughts this time were about Goldberry. In some ways, Tom has been talked about to death, and I'll be talking him to death some more, so let's spend some time on "the daughter of the river." Tolkien's women, unfortunately, have taken some perhaps well-deserved criticism over the years. Many of them (and I use "many" in the lightest of senses, because so few of them appear in the books at all) are subjected to the worst kind of pedestal-setting. Take Goldberry. Here we have a woman who appears, at first glance, to be the ultimate achievement in domesticity -- she is beautiful and dutiful, setting the table for Tom and the Hobbits and letting them gawk at her constantly. Goldberry is adored (in the "worshipped" sense of the word) by the Hobbits for her beauty and grace, her otherworldliness, and her abilities in the home. I'm afraid feminist critics would have a field day with the descriptions of Frodo and Co.'s worship of her:

"Goldberry busied herself about the table; and their eyes followed her, for the slender grace of her movement filled them with quiet delight."

I'm sure Tolkien meant this to come across in the "tender goddess" sort of way instead of the "creepy men come over to drool over their new friend's gorgeous wife," but that's how it comes across in a way. Goldberry begins with the beauty and grace and never gets past that stage. She is idolized, and is belittled as a result. The insinuation that Tom found her in a stream one day and took her home and claimed her doesn't help things much when we learn about her apparent origins later on.

The one thing that I did find interesting about Goldberry this time around was the insinuation that Goldberry literally was the rain that fell upon the house throughout the Hobbits' full day at Tom's. Goldberry is gone when they wake up and the rain has already begun, and while they hear her voice, they do not see her until that evening when the rain has stopped (and her clothes have changed to reflect the change in weather, as well). Goldberry is associated with rain and streams and rivers throughout, both in descriptions and Tom's overt story about how he met her.

That of course brings me to the big question a fan of the Tolkien legendarium must ask about Tom and Goldberry -- what in the heck ARE they? And, for that matter, what is "Old Man Willow", or "The Great Willow," as Tom calls him at one point? As far as the evil tree goes, it might be easy to say that the Willow is a Huron (a tree turned Ent-ish, as Treebeard will describe them in "Two Towers") or an Ent become "tree-ish." Except the kind of power that Old Man Willow wields seems beyond that of even an Ent or powerful Huron. Tom describes how the Willow has extended his influence throughout the entire Old Forest, and how it is still spreading and seeking to grow continually. The Hobbits' interactions with him don't really square with what we learn about Ents and Hurons in later books, as well.

So what are they? Well, the second obvious answer is "Maiar." In Tolkien's legendarium, the "Gods," or pre-mortal spirits that attended Eru in the creation, are divided into the Valar (greater gods) and Maiar (lesser gods). The Maiar pop up a lot in the Silmarillion; one of the principal Elf protagonists is married to Melian the Maia, who together are the parents of Lúthien (and thus is one of the ancestors of Aragorn). Gandalf and Saruman are Maia. The Balrog is a Maia spirit of fire. Heck, Sauron is a Maia. So basically everything that doesn't fall into one of the easy categories of Mortals (Men, Elves, Dwarves, Ents, Hobbits -- and their various evil offshoots like Orcs) can probably be considered a Maia of some form or fashion. It would make sense that the "Great Willow" is a lesser Maia spirit of some sort, inseparably connected to the Forest.

This doesn't entirely square with Tom's description of himself, however. He was here "before the Dark Lord came from Outside." What does that mean? Is he referring to when Sauron crept back into the World in the Second Age after Morgoth's defeat? Or is he talking about when Morgoth came to Arda in the first place, waaaay back before the First Age? He says that he witnessed when the Elves came West for the first time, and when the Stars were the only lights in the sky, so he must mean the latter -- he was in Arda even prior to Morgoth.

This tells me one of two things: He was a semi-rebellious Maia who was just that interested in the earth that he abandoned Eru and the other Ainur to visit far before it was authorized. Or he is unconnected to the Ainur at all, and was somehow created along with the Earth by the music of the creators. I think the first option is far more interesting. Here's why: in Tolkien's legendarium, the Maia have all kinds of mighty powers, but in order to interact with mortals upon the earth, they generally have to clothe themselves in some kind of physical form or another. Thus when the Istari (the wizards, like Gandalf and Saruman) came to Middle-Earth, they were cloaked in the forms of Men (except they didn't get old). Doing so allows Maia to access powers that would be unavailable to them in their spiritual forms. Likewise, Morgoth chose to assume the physical form of a towering giant, and eventually he became so tied to that physical form that he could not longer shed it at all -- he was stuck looking like that. Sauron poured his powers into the Ring, and after it was destroyed no longer had the ability to take physical form (hence he's a distant antagonist throughout the books).

So if Tom left his fellow Ainur to come to Arda even before Morgoth, it would make sense that he would want to take physical form in order to better experience the joys of the new earth. And it would also make sense that he would be so limited in the present time. Think about it -- he has absolute power over everything, really, including the Ring and its powers of invisibility, but is completely limited in that power to his own little kingdom from the Old Forest to the barrow-downs.

I mentioned above that I think this does add something interesting to the themes of LOTR. It adds an essentially neutral character to the mix, one to whom the powers of good and evil cannot understand, and who does not care to participate in any way in the war.  I find it interesting that the-powers-that-be like Gandalf spend their energy trying to bring about continent-wide changes, but Tom doesn't care about any of that. He's just trying to be happy in his own little kingdom. As Jacob noted, Goldberry states that no one has ever "caught" Tom, because he is Master. This makes perfect sense -- Tom has never been caught up in any of the climactic good vs. evil struggles because he just doesn't care. This raises the question of whether, if Sauron won, would he have power over Tom. I tend to think not, because Tom is above and apart from that kind of dominion.

One wonders if Tolkien is offering another way here -- that the binary between actively combating evil and seeking dominion over all others is a false one. Tom lives a pastoral, separate existence. Of course, I'm not really sure what Tolkien is trying to say, if that is the case. He certainly doesn't condemn Tom for his stance; far from it, his pastoral lifestyle is idealized. But since Tom doesn't enter into the story again, I can't think he's advocating it, either. I dunno.

But that's ultimately my conclusion about this chapter -- I dunno. Why is it here? Why did Tolkien see fit to include it? Like "the Old Forest," it contains some beautiful description, and it just feels completely packed with allegory and symbolism (like Tom and Goldberry's ever-changing colors of clothes). I'm just not qualified to pick it apart, I think. In the end, I'll stand by what I said before -- this would be an excellent short-story set in Middle-Earth, but probably not the best fit for an epic fantasy quest narrative like LOTR. Still, I found it far more enjoyable this time around than I have in the past.

"In the House of Tom Bombadil" - Jacob's Thoughts

I had totally spaced on the existence of Goldberry, which just goes to show how memorable this chapter was to me as a child.  I don't know what to do with her--but then, I don't know what to do with most everything in this chapter.

It's as though we've temporarily stepped into a different story, into a different genre, as we enter the house of Tom Bombadil, visiting midstream a totally different narrative before being returned to our own.  Part of me wonders aloud if that radical dislocation was perhaps intentional on the part of Tolkien: the Hobbits all feel apparently spell-bound by Tom's story-telling, such that they lose track of all time, as Tom tells tales of how he predates time himself; then there are the strange dreams they experience there too, as Frodo for example hears Dark Riders closing in on him, despite this being a safe place--they have lost all track of space in this house, too.  This is all to say, that the house of Tom Bombadil is this strange liminal area that exists outside of time, space, and even the main narrative. 

Tom Bombadil is "Master" according to Goldberry, though not apparently of her--or of anything else for that matter, for Tom is wholly Master of himself.  Time and Space do not affect him, evil does not seem to threaten him, and he can put on the ring without turning invisible or being seduced by its power.  When I was a child reading for the first time, I assumed this meant that Tom would maybe appear later to help carry the ring when Frodo couldn't anymore or something; but nope, this apparently ground-breaking superpower never comes up again, because apparently for Tom to be total master of himself means for him to not be subject to anything or anyone, not even to Tolkien's narrative.  He is not even subject to his own creator.  He stays free of the worst of the novel by staying out of the novel altogether.

Tom in a sense is the exact opposite of Sauron--the latter seeks to make himself master by subjecting all other possible rivals (even as he himself is still subject to the fate of the ring), while Tom by contrast knows that the only way to be truly free, to never be enslaved is, to never enslave others.  As G.B. Shaw once wrote, "When we learn to sing that Britons never will be masters we shall make an end to slavery."  Sauron sang that he would never be a slave, and thus made slaves of all others; but Tom I think knows better.

Of course, Tom, at the very least, could have given us a far more complete account of Sauron's origins (as he hints at this chapter), and this chapter could then have justified existence by serving as a helpful data dump instead of requiring readership of the Silmarillion--but no, Tom does not even give us that.   But then why would he?  He is as radically disinterested in our primary narrative as I was in his as a child.

Part of me still wants to just role my eyes at this once-off character that doesn't really do much besides exist, but perhaps part of the point of Tom Bombadil is to provide an alternative possibility for existence--Middle-Earth, after all, with its mutual xenophobia, strained race relations, paranoia, general distrust, greed, and corrupting desire for power that destroys all it touches, really isn't all that different from our own world, is it.  But Tom Bombadil is genuinely different.  If the world (both Tolkien's and ours) were filled with people like Tom, then this would be very different world indeed, where there would truly be nothing to fear in the dark under the stars.

In a sense, Tom doesn't participate more in the primary Lord of the Rings narrative because he can't, he is on a fundamentally different plane from the rest of us.  We and the Hobbits get only a brief glimpse of this alternative possibility, but no more, before being dropped back into this world, to carry on the best we can.  Tom may be free of all other influences, but we are still not.

I still don't know what to do with this chapter.

"The Old Forest" - Ben's Thoughts

I hated, hated hated the Old Forest chapters when reading LOTR as a child and teenager. I couldn't understand why these chapters were necessary, and only read them because of some (perhaps misguided) notion of loyalty towards the Professor -- the sense that I needed to read every word of the LOTR to get the full experience, even if I didn't think some particular words were worth too much.

So what was my impression this time around? I read "The Old Forest" and "In the House of Tom Bombadil" back-to-back this time around, because I missed my deadlines last week, and was somewhat pleased to find redeeming qualities in them. Now, don't get me wrong. In the greater context of The Lord of the Rings, I don't think that this segment (especially "The Old Forest" chapter, believe it or not above and beyond the coming "In the House" chapter), is necessary to the plot, themes, and forward movement of the book. As Jacob points out, this sort of nature vs. human progression commentary is done better down the line with Fangorn Forest and the Ents, and here it just seems like a test drive. But viewed separately, as its own pair (or perhaps really trio) of self-contained chapters -- a mini-short story, embedded in the text of Book 1 -- it is really quite lovely.

Because the prose in this chapter is quite beautiful. From the initial description of the trees, to the "swirling eddies" of Bonfire Glade, to the bare knob of a hilltop where the Hobbits eat lunch, to the shifting lights of the Withywindle, every description in this chapter is monstrously evocative. Despite my disinterest in reading this chapter as a kid, between those readings and this week's, I could tell you every step that the Hobbits took in the wood and how exactly they came to the riverside where they meet old Tom. Because Tolkien is just that good at conjuring up images inside our heads of what and where his characters are doing.

For example:

"As if through a gate they saw the sunlight before them. . . . A golden afternoon of late sunshine lay worm and drowsy upon the hidden land between. In the midst of it there wound lazily a dark river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows, blocked with fallen willows, and flecked with thousands of faded willow-leaves. The air was thick with them, fluttering yellow from the branches; for there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing softly in the valley, and the reeds were rustling, and the willow-boughs were creaking."

Don't tell me you don't have a picture in your mind of that river after that paragraph. If so, you are completely devoid of imagination.

Nevertheless, these descriptions do not entirely redeem this chapter. The paragraph above evokes emotions of calm and comfort and a lazy Sunday afternoon relaxing in a sunlit glade -- a far cry from the sinister feeling that I believe Tolkien wanted to evoke with the Hobbits' encounter with "Old Man Willow" towards the end of the chapter. The contrast is jarring and not very effective. Besides, what kind of a name is "Old Man Willow" for a villain? It's hard to be terrified by a wicked old tree, especially when he never speaks or directly interacts with Our Heroes beyond his sleep spell.

So all in all a very beautiful but a very flawed chapter -- and that's before it takes a steep right turn and veers off in an entirely different direction with the introduction of Tom Bombadil. I'll give Tom this -- he certainly knows how to make an entrance. His song is distinctive -- and quite annoying. I think the singing threw me off of the Tom fanwagon more than anything else. I'll talk more about Tom in my analysis of the next chapter. I will note that it is interesting that Tom's singing seems to have such power. It ties nicely back to the fact that in Tolkien's legendarium, the earth and cosmos were created via the singing of "God" (Eru) and his spirit creations (the Ainur). I guess Tom carries on the tradition here.

About the Hobbits -- they don't really seem to have thought this plan through very well. They're cutting through the Old Forest to -- wait for it -- join back up with the east road as soon as possible on the other side? I guess they just have no idea about the ability, number, or intelligence of the Riders. Either that or Frodo was just concerned with having no Hobbit learn that he was leaving the Shire more than anything else. I think the Hobbits' naivete is highlighted by Strider in Bree, so hopefully we'll get to that in a few chapters.

Merry retains his take-charge attitude for a few pages, but then abruptly becomes foolish and incompetent and easily overcome by the Willow's sleep-song. Tolkien just can't pin down these Hobbits' personalities. Still no physical descriptions. I've all but given up hope on that score. There is also a jarring shift in point of view -- from semi-omniscient third-person to limited third person (Frodo's POV) and then bouncing again, within the space of a page or two, over to Sam (still limited third-person). Surely Tolkien could have done better.

As a comment on Jacob's eco-criticism, it is interesting how the Hobbits' rural domesticity was so threatened by the encroaching wild. Of course, as Tolkien presents it, the trees' absolute wildness is wholly evil, or at least chaotically evil, and the Hobbits are presented in a positive light for retaliating and containing the otherness. There is a sense of nostalgia in the next chapter when Tom comments on how the Old Forest is but a remnant of far greater woods, but there's no conveyance of how the Hobbits' destruction of trees and pushing back the Forest is a bad thing. However, as Jacob pointed out, it was adding insult to injury for the Hobbits to burn the trees (at the Bonfire Glade) inside the Forest itself. Couldn't they have done it elsewhere? No wonder the trees haven't grown back into the Glade. The Hobbits were really quite violent in their response. I don't get the sense that Tolkien was all that fond of letting nature just grown wild -- he seems much more sympathetic to Tom's neatly cultivated and tended-to semi-wilderness between Forest and barrow-downs. The change in the river seems to give his game away: in the Forest, it is brown, slow-moving, stagnant; while by Tom's house it has become "swift and merry." Tolkien liked things that were light and high and clear, not quiet and drowsy (note again the stars -- Frodo's link to Elbereth and the Valar -- mentioned as hanging over Tom's house as the Hobbits arrive).

More on Tom and Goldberry tomorrow. While "The Old Forest" wasn't that fun to read, except for the beautiful descriptions, it was fun to write about.

"The Old Forest" - Eric's Thoughts

Wow. I have to agree with a post Ben made earlier about some of these middling chapters. This chapter makes chloroform taste like caffeine.

Fatty Bolger is an entirely pointless character. I started laughing out loud just thinking about how stupid Tolkien was to include Fatty in the journey to the hedge, only to watch Fatty Bolger halt and say, “Goodbye, Frodo!” “I wish you were not going into the Forest.” Perhaps we will see later what critical role Fatty plays later on, but I am skeptical about this pathetic attempt at a character.

Merry seems to be the most interesting character so far. He competently gets them through the hedge, and into the Old Forest, and maintains himself as the true leader in the group. But how easily he gets caught by the Old Man Willow undercuts this. So characterization seems shaky at this point for the characters, besides Pippin, who consistently plays the airhead by shouting at dangerous man-eating trees.

The tree subplot was kind of funny, I guess, but since the chapter was bogged down with serious pacing problems, I think it should have been a cut. For those of you who don’t remember, the tree subplot story reveals that the hobbits many years ago battle Old Forest frees, and burnt them with fire, until the Trees finally gave up attacking the hedgerow.

In terms of writing technique, one thing I noticed that I thought was really cool was how Tolkien puts the reader in the forest scene. Notice what Tolkien does is not describe the individual steps a character is taking, but the overall atmosphere of the place. Description, then feeling. Well done, Mr. Tolkien.

They picked a way among the trees, and their ponies plodded along, carefully avoiding the many writhing and interlacing roots. There was no undergrowth. The ground was rising steadily, and as they went forward it seemed that the trees became taller, darker, and thicker. There was no sound, except an occasional drip of moisture falling through the still leaves. For the moment there was no whispering or movement among the branches; but they all got an uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched with disapproval, deepening to dislike and even enmity. The feeling steadily grew, until they found themselves looking up quickly, or glancing back over their shoulders, as if they expected a sudden blow.

One quote brought me directly back to the Hobbit. “What a foul thing to happen!” cried Frodo wildly. “Why did we ever come into this dreadful Forest? I wish we were all back at Crickhollow!” This copy could be pasted directly from the Hobbit, if the name were changed to Bilbo: Oh me, oh my, I wish I had never left my hobbit hole!

Okay, finished reading. So, after reading this chapter as a whole, there wasn’t really any character development, and there wasn’t really any tension at all until the Old Man Willow shows up and tries to eat the hobbits. 

Now, perhaps this chapter might have carried more depth if it introduced us to a critical character in the story, i.e. Tom Bombadil. But the problem is, as I recall, Tom has nothing else to do with the story except for a quick mention in the Council of Elrond, when Elrond notes that the ring doesn’t affect Tom, but that he would probably lose it, or forget about it.

Overall, I found myself skimming this chapter, which is the first time I’d felt the inclination to do that. So I have to agree with Jacob on this one: this chapter should have been cut, or made significantly shorter. The writing wasn’t bad on a micro level—the descriptions and moods were compelling—but structurally the chapter was lacking in poignancy and purpose until the latter fourth of it. And since I already know that none of these scenes carry any weight later on in the story, I probably would have just had the hobbits take a backroad into Bree, instead of this elaborate (and not particularly interesting) subplot with no overarching purpose.

I’m intrigued by Tom at this point, because I don’t remember the character very well, but still I think this chapter should have been cut, and probably the next as well. We shall see.

Responses to Jacob and Ben:

Jacob: "There's a fine line between tension and tedium, and this chapter crosses it.  I suppose this chapter is performative, because whatever the Old Forest did to make the hobbits fall asleep put me to sleep, too."

Lol! I think Jacob nailed it with this zingy one liner. Plus Jacob likes some pretty deadly boring books (cough cough Ulysses), so if you're boring Jacob, you're probably doing something wrong.

Ben: "About the Hobbits -- they don't really seem to have thought this plan through very well. They're cutting through the Old Forest to -- wait for it -- join back up with the east road as soon as possible on the other side?"

Lol again. Anyway, I have to agree with Ben, and as I noted before I read the others' blog posts, the descriptions in this chapter can be quite good. So Tolkien is definitely stepping up his game after sparse descriptions of the Shire.

And "While "The Old Forest" wasn't that fun to read, except for the beautiful descriptions, it was fun to write about." This I have to agree with as well. Making fun of this sad excuse of a chapter was probably the most fun I've had yet blogging this stuff.

Descriptive Phrases:

• "The leaves of trees were glistening, and every twig was dripping; the grass was grey with cold dew."
• "The hobbits began to feel very hot. There were armies of flies of all kinds buzzing round their ears, and the afternoon sun burning their backs."
• "Frodo lifted his heavy eyes and saw leaning over him a huge will-tree, old and hoary. Enormous it looked, its sprawling branches going up like reaching arms with many long-fingered hands, its knotted and twisted trunk gaping in wide fissures that creaked faintly as the boughs moved. The leaves fluttering against the bright sky dazzled him, and he toppled over, lying where he fell upon the grass."
• "White mists began to rise and curl on the surface of the river and stray about the roots of the trees upon its borders."

"The Old Forest" - Jacob's Thoughts

So.

Fun Fact: After I first saw Fellowship of the Ring in the theater, a friend of mine who was reading the series for the first time asked me excitedly how the film portrayed Tom Bombadil, and was crestfallen to learn the movie had utterly cut him out.  Apparently Mr. Bombadil really is a favorite among some readers, go figure!  I'm sure we'll get much more into this anomalous, eminently-excisable character with next week's chapter, but for now it's worth noting that Tom seems to genuinely resonate with at least some people (just not me).

I suppose I should be warmer to the possibilities of this character, at least as he relates to my favorite theme of a light-shining-through-the-darkness in Lord of the Rings; for here, in the heart of the suffocating darkness of this hostile forest, where even the trees themselves mischievously alter your paths, disorient your direction, drug you to sleep, then try to entrap and murder you, this carefree man just wanders in like a ray of sunlight right when you need him most, to free your friends and lead you out of the Old Forest like it was his own backyard.  Again, the darkness is worst than you think, but nor is it ever as total.  It's a good theme to keep returning to.

Nevertheless, this chapter simply doesn't work for me. In contrast to my old friend, I personally was relieved to see that Peter Jackson had the good sense to trim this episode out of the film (though could you imagine what would have happened if Jackson had been allowed the same sprawling freedom for Fellowship as he was for The Hobbit?  One shudders...).  To borrow Ben's phrase, this chapter is the worst sort of "wheel-spinning," in how it artificially raises stakes, only to promptly deflate them without consequence or ever bring them up again.  It's like Tolkien had built up all this danger and menace surrounding the Old Forest, then forgot how to execute on it.

Moreover, this idea of menacing, conscious trees is executed much more effectively later on with the Ents, so here it just feels like a dull dry run.  There's a fine line between tension and tedium, and this chapter crosses it.  I suppose this chapter is performative, because whatever the Old Forest did to make the hobbits fall asleep put me to sleep, too.

It was at this point as a 10-year-old that I nearly gave up on Lord of the Rings for good.  Glad I didn't, but this particular chapter, even after finding so many other things to respect about the previous chapters this time around, and after a lifetime of experience and countless books read and earning degrees and graduate degrees in English, still bores me as much today as it did when I was 10.

I'm taking a graduate seminar on Eco-Criticism this semester, so I suppose I should find it interesting how the ecosystem here is literally imbued by Tolkien with consciousness and vitality and vibrant matter, and how the trees themselves develop hostility against us bipeds who violate and destabilize the ecosystem, as mother nature turns on us after we have turned on her, and etc (also, it is rather troubling to consider that when the hobbits chopped down the invading trees, they were in fact murdering sentient beings--which massacre is especially unconscionable when one considers how Tom Bombadil has apparently learned to co-exist easily with them); nevertheless, I cannot summon the theoretical interest to perform an Eco-Critical reading here.  This chapter will always be a chore to get through, and the quicker we get to the good stuff, the better.

"A Conspiracy Unmasked" - Ben's Thoughts

It's been interesting to read about everyone's differing perspectives on these introductory chapters. Eric found real value in "A Short Cut to Mushrooms," and Jacob tackled the wild encroaching on Hobbits' doorsteps in "Conspiracy." I have to admit that it was hard for me to do anything but skim this particular chapter, however. When I think of Tolkien and his long-lasting impact on fantasy fiction, I don't think of chapters such as this. I think of the harrowing journey from Bree to Rivendell (shocking that such suspense is packed into three short chapters!), or the Mines of Moria, or the battle of the Pellenor fields. This, to me, is chaff that must be sifted through to get to the real inspiring gems.

The chapter begins firmly in Sam's head, with his introspective thoughts regarding leaving home behind forever, as far as he knows. Perhaps this would have had more impact upon me as a first-time reader, but knowing the depths that the hobbits will get themselves into, crossing the Brandywine doesn't really pack that much of a punch. It was certainly nice that Sam got a moment, however. He is also the one to notice the Black Rider snuffling around on the far bank when the ferry reaches the east side of the river. His introspection and observant behavior really shines through. We've been in Sam's head more than any other character's to this point (barring Frodo). I do find Tolkien's shifts of point-of-view a bit jarring, but that's likely because I'm used to dedicated point-of-view chapters a la "The Wheel of Time" or "A Song of Ice and Fire." I'm going to have to keep a sharper eye out for narrative voice in the future. I know to this point it has been dominated by Frodo, with occasional shifts to Sam.

On the Rider: once again the difference between the movie-Riders and Tolkien's riders is striking. What are these Riders going to do when they catch Frodo? The image of the Rider as a rag or bundle snuffling around on the ferry landing plays with the corporeality of the Riders themselves -- is Sam seeing the wraith without its cloaked outer form? The sense of the unknown associated with the Riders is growing, also aided by their shrieking cries from "Short Cut." It's too bad that the tension is going to go down the tubes later in this chapter and into the following chapters, as Eric rightly points out. Going from the spooky, foggy ferry to a nice hot bath is a substanital misstep, in my opinion.

Thus on to the conspiracy. I'm not a fan. First and foremost in my mind, it makes Frodo look like an idiot. I'm all for the characterization given to Merry. As pointed out by Jacob, he's immediately a solid character, and assumes a secondary -- or even primary, at this point -- leadership role in the group. I will likewise be interested to see if these qualities fade into the background as the books progress and whether he will be rendered indistinguishable from Pippin. But my beef with this characterization is that it comes at Frodo's expense! Frodo is completely unaware that his closest friends have been essentially spying on him, or that they recruited his hired hand (Sam, before Gandalf caught him eavesdropping) to do further spying for them. The conspiracy knows everything from the Ring itself to Frodo's eventual destination. Tolkien even goes so far as to pre-empt Frodo's reveal that he is leaving the Shire. Merry doesn't even let the words get out of his mouth, which completely deflates the would-be hero of the story.

Why did Tolkien think this character assassination was really necessary?  I remain baffled. The fact that Frodo wasn't willing to take any of his cousins with him into "exile" certainly speaks to his nobility and self-sacrificial nature. But he is sooooo melodramatic about the whole thing! And in the end, caves far too easily. If he was really committed to leaving alone, he would have put more pressure on Merry and Pippin to stay, and would have been understandably outraged at their continual snooping for a period of over twenty years (since before Bilbo left town)! As it is, Frodo hardly tries to dissuade them from coming at all.

Another unfortunate product of this conspiracy is the character of Fatty Bolger. If Pippin seems like a cipher to this point (despite have spent the better part of three chapters with him), Fatty is completely opaque. Far from being an "archetype," as Eric terms the hobbits, Fatty is just a stick figure. His characteristics consist of being fat and cowardly. If Tolkien felt that he needed Fatty's unwillingness to come along in order to juxtapose Merry and Pippin's loyalty, he needn't have bothered. All Fatty serves to do is annoy me. We will check back in with the house at Crickhollow in a few chapters, to see how Fatty fares versus the Black Riders -- which I will tackle when we get there, but I remember as an unnecessary aside that could have been dealt with through alternative means.

A few final thoughts. It was nice of Merry to allow Sam to bathe with Frodo and Pippin. Judging by the way Pippin's treated him to this point, I was afraid they were going to make him wait until after the "gentlehobbits" had their turn. And Frodo's dream takes things in an interesting direction. I can't help but wonder if this is the wrong place in narrative for the dream. If I recall, it pops back up in the Tom Bombadil chapters but then, thematically, does not return until after the Ring is destroyed (and thus is long forgotten by a reader until they re-read Book 1). But it is intriguing nonetheless. Does Frodo's connection to the Sea, and thus to Valinor, tie in with Gandalf's references to a "higher power" that is guiding the hobbits in their quest? It certainly foreshadows Frodo's eventual destiny to cross the Sea as a shattered trauma survivor. In a way, the vision is altogether too hopeful to square with the bittersweet ending of the series. I will continue to look for similar elements linked with Frodo as the re-read continues.

"A Conspiracy Unmasked" - Eric's Thoughts

Well, unfortunately it looks like Tolkien won’t be hearing high praises from me in every chapter. In great contrast to the high praises I gave to the last chapter, this chapter struck me as weak for a couple of reasons.

First, smack in the middle of when the hobbits are crossing the Brandywine, Tolkien interjects a random history of the Brandybucks and Brandyland. What the heck?? This prose would have been much better suited for an appendix, or how about just cutting it entirely? Totally random, and totally unnecessary.

Then, the hobbits arrive at the very house Frodo purchased. I repeat—Frodo goes into the house where every Hobbit knew Frodo was supposed to go. And not only does he go inside, but he takes a bath, eats supper, and listens as Merry unfolds a conspiracy to help him leave the Shire.

All of this happens under the circumstances that a mysterious black rider had been seen on the other side of the river, watching him. Merry informs Frodo that its possible the horse might try to swim the river, and that it’s a mere 10 miles around to where the black rider might cross, if the black rider is disinclined to wade into the water.

Frodo also recognizes the possibility that there might even be more than two black riders, which means there might have been a black rider watching his house.

The hobbits don’t strike me as particularly dumb, so we can rule out that possibility. In fact, Merry in discovering the ring by deduction and Sherlock-Holmes sleuthing shows that they are inquisitive, nosy, and smart. Even Sam reveals that he was just putting on airs to spy on Frodo.

So how do we reconcile this with the fact that the hobbits are having a second dinner and bathing while being pursued by agents from Mordor? We know Frodo isn’t entirely ignorant of the danger—Gildor warned him.

Now, I wasn’t particularly bored or thought the prose itself was bad, but these macro concerns kept repeating in my head, making the read less enjoyable. Why is Frodo taking a bath? How can he be so relaxed when he knows he’s being pursued? Why would he be staying in such an obvious place? Yet Frodo decides to leave the next morning?

To me the whole chapter seemed to be a gaping plot hole, and one that wasn’t hard to fix. All you had to have Merry say is that he once saw a horse and rider drown in river that tried to cross—because the river has nasty undercurrents. That rules out that possibility. And second, you make it even longer to the crossing point—20 miles. Okay, 40 miles of buffer. Now spending the night makes sense.

But what if there’s a third rider? How about you have Frodo stay at Merry’s for the night? Since there wasn’t much description, that wouldn’t even require much from an editing standpoint. Okay, now that you’ve ruled out all three possibilities, then you can have the bath scene, and have them discuss the conspiracy.

Easy fixes. And Tolkien’s editor should have pointed them out. Oh well.

"A Conspiracy Unmasked" - Jacob's Thoughts

And now we arrive at Mos Eisly space port--I mean, Platform 9 3/4--I mean, the village of Buckland.  In terms of that Campbellian hero cycle, Buckland is (like its Star Wars and Harry Potter analogues) the threshold between the known world and the unknown, between the safety of the familiar against the hazards of the not.  There is no longer this gradual increase of danger as before, but an abrupt demarcation line, both literally and figuratively--Hobbits who don't know better claim that they would rather risk a run-in with the ever-nearing Dark Riders than venture into the Old Forest, and Buckland sits right at its frontier.  This is a place for both rest and preparation, with the implication that only those who are mentally prepared for greater dangers should proceed ahead.

As far as Campbellian threshold guardians go, I kinda like this one: Buckland hints at the hidden tenacity of Hobbits (which is what perhaps Gandalf always saw in them--and what Frodo et al. will need to call upon later), what with it being a final bastion of Hobbit domesticity butting right up against the ever-threatening darkness of the Old Forest; as Tolkien understatedly notes, this is the place where Hobbits begin to lock their doors at night.

Yet despite the danger, it is here in Buckland that Hobbits have still stubbornly set up a home, refusing to let the menace of the Old Forrest disturb their peace and tranquility.  Hobbits may be quotidian, but they are aggressively so--they do indeed possess the strength of character to preserve their world (and maybe the rest of the world, too).

However, what I find strangest about this chapter is not the implied threats to come, but Tolkien's choice to focus on the character development...of Merry, of all people!  Even while our ostensible protagonist Frodo remains rather nebulously defined, it is the minor character Merry who here takes center stage--and talk about contrasts between the film and the book!  In the Peter Jackson, Merry is but one part of some sort of Laurel & Hardy routine with Pippin, as indistinguishable as Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, there for occasional heroics but mostly just laughs; but here in the chapter, Merry is a veritable Sherlock Holmes, a brilliant investigator reclining back in his easy-chair to explain his expert deductions, keen observations, and clever conspiracies, in how he uncovered the mystery of the Ring and Frodo's journey.

Serious, it's like Tolkien stole a scene from Arthur Conan Doyle and re-enacted it here.  Suddenly Merry feels more like a genuine asset than a mere comic relief.  I'll be interested to see if that characterization holds consistent throughout the rest of the series.

But then, though the focus here is mostly on Merry, this chapter does provide a brief glimpse into the psyche of our man Frodo, and that in the most literal way possible--the final paragraph gives us his dream that night.  He hears oceans that he's never seen in waking life; he moves from the claustrophobia of the neighboring Old Forest to the agoraphobia of this tree-less dreamscape (though in my experience in the Midwest, claustrophobia and agoraphobia are not quite so separate as one might assume--the flat, empty views cause the horizons to close in on you, not expand them); he sees a white tower that he feels an overwhelming desire to climb, to see the sea at last (just as how Ben said he understands Frodo's yearning for the mountains, I, as an ocean-child myself, understand this desire for the sea); and it is not immediately clear whether this edifice represents the temptations of the Ring, teasing him towards the tower of Mordor and his unwitting destruction, or if it perhaps represents a place of safety and exaltation where Frodo can potentially see the West Havens beyond his approaching sea of trials.

Maybe both.

"A Shortcut to Mushrooms" - Eric's Thoughts

This chapter made clear that when Tolkien does bother to describe, he is quite skillful at it. Take a look at some highlights I’ve notated below. Now, in regard to criticism of this chapter, I went into the chapter hearing complaints from Ben and Jacob about these middling chapters. I make a point not to read other’s blog posts until I’m done writing, and then I’ll review what they say and add a response in my blog post at the end. The point being, I try not to let their readings influence my own.

I thought Shortcut to Mushrooms was the best chapter in the book thus far. 

It had the best characterizations of the book yet. Characters (though still not described) are becoming clear in their personalities. Frodo begins the chapter telling Pippin he needs to think, while Pippin comes across as a bull-hardy ditz. So Frodo is thoughtful and a natural leader, Pippin is airheaded, and Sam is loyal. Tolkien uses a classic author’s trick of archetypes to distinguish characters from one another. By using those archetypes, characters immediately begin to feel real, because are familiar with them.

The hobbits at this point are physically struggling through landmarks that have actual description (“. . . the bushes and brambles were reluctant to let them through . . .”) and meanwhile, they are being hunted by what is now made clear not to be one but at least two black riders (“. . . it was answered by another cry, fainter and further off, but no less chilling to the blood.”). Tolkien is just building the suspense and upping the ante after Gildor’s warning in the previous chapter. Even Farmer Maggot’s dogs are terrified of the black riders.

I particularly enjoyed the scene of Frodo coming to terms with his childhood fear of Farmer Maggot. While maybes not strictly necessary in terms of plot, the side plot serves a momentary break from wandering through fields together and being hunted. Generally, a chapter becomes boring when the same characters are interacting and a new character is not introduced (which generally leads to an event happening and change occurring, which propels the story forward). I believe the benefit to character outweighs any slowness in plot. Farmer Maggot deepened Frodo’s character by allowing him to feel a childhood fear, and resolution of that fear. Frodo realizes that things as a young hobbit are much different as an old, and he lost a good friend as a result of his childhood fear. Plus, the reader obviously loves to learn that Frodo was a little thief as a young hobbit who stole mushrooms. And the chapter ends the arc with Mrs. Maggot giving Frodo a basket from which “the scent of mushrooms was rising,” creating a perfect mini-character arc. No complaints here.

The chapter ends with a mysterious rider emerging from the fog, which obviously must be a black rider. Not so. Instead it turns out to be Merry. Again the new character raises new possibilities, and Tolkien was wise to delay the inevitable confrontation between the hobbits and black riders. The black riders are still an unknown evil, ominous, omnipresent. Wherever the hobbits go it seems the black riders have been there before, seeking Baggins. The character of Farmer Maggot helps develop this omnipresent mood. It also tells the reader that hobbits are braver than dogs, and are not afraid to tell black riders to “Get the !@## off my farm.”

As a final thought, still Gandalf is notably absent. Again, the lack of the old wizard raises the stakes. The reader knows, or can at least sense, that if the riders catch the hobbits they’re pretty much doomed. So this lets the hobbits really push and establish themselves as a force to be reckoned with.

I have to respectfully disagree with Ben, that Tolkien is spinning his wheels here. I think this chapter was really good, and the best one in the book as of yet.

           

Good Use of Descriptive Voice:

• “Going on was not altogether easy. They had packs to carry, and the bushes and brambles were reluctant to let them through. They were cut off from the wind by the ridge behind, and the air was still and stuffy. When they forced their way at last into more open ground, they were hot and tired and very scratched, and they were also no longer certain of the direction in which they were going. The banks of the stream sank, as it reached the levels and became broader and shallower, wandering off towards the Marish and the River.”
• “In the morning Frodo woke refreshed. He was lying in a bower made by a living tree with branches laced and drooping to the ground; his bed was of fern and grass, deep and soft and strangely fragrant. The sun was shining through the fluttering leaves, which were still green upon the tree. He jumped up and went out.
• “They stopped short suddenly. Frodo sprang to his feet. A long-drawn wail came down the wind, like the cry of some evil and lonely creature. It rose and fell, and ended on a high piercing note. Even as they sat and stood, as if suddenly frozen, it was answered by another cry, fainter and further off, but no less chilling to the blood. There was then a silence, broken only by the sound of the wind in the leaves.”
• “Maggot jumped down and stood holding the ponies' heads, and peering forward into the gloom.  Clip-clop, clip-clop came the approaching rider.  The fall of hoofs sounded loud in the still, foggy air.”
• “They watched the pale rings of light round his lanterns as they dwindled into the foggy night. Suddenly Frodo laughed: from the covered basket he held, the scent of mushrooms was rising.”