Perhaps evil is just the removal of a person's free will. That certainly seems to be suggested by the Black Rider's dagger-inflicted wound that would put Frodo under the Black Rider's command. Tolkien describes that, after Glorfindel cries out for Frodo to "Ride forward! Ride!", Frodo does not "obey at once, for a strange reluctance seized him. Checking the horse to awalk, he turned and looked back. The Riders seemed to sit upon their great steeds like threatening statues upon a hill, dark and solid, while all the woods and land about them receded as if into a mist. Suddenly he knew in his heart that they were commanding him to wait. [. . .] Hatred stirred in him, but he had no longer the strength to refuse."
Unlike Lucas's trilogy, which I might add apparently is getting three more movies, it seems that in this story anger is channeled as a means to resist evil, rather than a source of temptation. (E.g. "Hatred stirred within him.") This goes against the classic archetype of anger and revenge being a pathway to evil. But here, anger at evil itself is a energy source to compel action even when the odds seem long. Frodo becomes angry at the Riders, and brandishes his sword. Anger plays an important role in Frodo's resistance. From the language of the text, it seems that Frodo, without anger, would not have been able to resist the pull of the Riders, and Middle Earth would have been doomed.
From a Darwinian perspective, every emotion serves a useful purpose. So maybe anger shouldn't be looked at as such a bad thing, but something that people have cultivated over thousands of years, and can help people resist black riders of their own. Perhaps the very nature of anger, like all things is merely how is directed. Is it wrong to be angry at one who has cheated you? No. Or who has hurt you? No. Or towards ideas you find to be wrong? No. Anger is the great motivator that spurs people to action and that facilitates change. Without anger, there would be no motivator to make things better.
That's what seems to be at stake in this chapter. Will Frodo succumb to evil? The riders themselves certainly seem to think so. That's why we can assume they withdrew in the previous chapter, because once Frodo is pierced with evil the Riders assume no living being can resist. Evil is a lot like that. When you perform an act that is wrong over time, it no longer stings the conscience, because your viewpoints about that very act have shifted. What once was wrong now seems right. The power of the Riders is to twist Frodo's mind so he obeys a force he previously did not wish to obey.
So again, what are these Black Riders? We have posed the question before. Well, we know they are creatures that lurk in the shadows. They run when hobbits shout at them (e.g. Nob). In multiple instances, they have leaped out, struck quickly, then quickly withdrew. They fly before light and fire and those with strong hearts and will. Even Nob was able to scare a few Riders when he showed courage before them. Indeed, strength in battle might be irrelevant when fighting the Riders, but rather strength of heart is the key to defeating them. Eowyn certainly shows this strength of heart later on when killing their leader.
The Riders are hoping Frodo will procure the means of his own doom by giving in to the dagger. Perhaps that is merely all the Riders are: like the ring, creatures that draw out the potential for evil that already exist within ourselves. We all fight our own daggers, in a way, chased by death. Perhaps Flight to the Ford can be viewed as something more than just a simple escape into the woods. We all seek the peace of Rivendell. The question is, can we resist the dagger long enough to get there?
Monday, May 26, 2014
Thursday, May 22, 2014
"The Council of Elrond" - Jacob's Thoughts
So last night I was watching the newer Ben Stiller "Walter Mitty" movie (and boy, did that ever take me back to college and watching the older Danny Kaye version with Eric and Ben), and it has one of those infuriating plot points that is super obvious to every last member of the audience except the protagonist, viz: the photo negative was in the wallet all along (it's a more convoluted plot than is worth elucidating here). As such, one spends most the film drumming one's fingers waiting for poor Walter to realize it as well. Yes, yes, "life is about the journey and not the destination" and other such facebook quote-wall claptrap, but when the denouement is so glaringly predictable, it kind of robs any of the intervening action of its tension and drive.
All of that was just a round about way of saying that when there's a rather inevitable plot arc in play, it can be difficult to stay invested; and that's the narrative danger in this chapter, as the titular Council of Elrond keeps circling through all of their possible options, working their way down a process of elimination (including what will hopefully be our last Tom Bombadil reference), only to arrive at last to where we all knew this would end--indeed, where this novel's title told us it would end--with the decision for Frodo et al to form a posse to carry the Ring to Mordor. Knock me over with a feather.
Nevertheless, this (unusually long) chapter still kinda works for me; part of it, I think, is the fact that Frodo and friends have been so largely incompetent throughout Book 1--and intentionally so on Tolkien's part, as underlined by Strider--that it will take some justification to keep our protagonist around for the next leg. Quite frankly, this Council could have justifiably said, "Look, Frodo, thanks for everything, but the professionals will take over now," sending Gandalf and Strider to Mordor without these hobbits to drag them down. Such a scene needn't have even come off as snide or condescending either, but as giving a thankful Frodo a much-needed break. I almost wonder if Tolkien briefly toyed with the idea himself, before quickly realizing that he couldn't just spend one whole Book investing in a protagonist that is then promptly sidelined in the next (he already did that with Bilbo, anyways).
So, the solution is to make it as justifiably clear as possible that Frodo must continue to Mordor, not merely for narrative convenience, nor even because the Campbellian Hero Cycle demands that this character arc be completed, but because narratively, it is in fact the soundest strategy, indeed, the only strategy. And given the length of this chapter, none need accuse Tolkien of not being thorough. (And given the creeping laziness in recent Hollywood films to lean on galaxy-sized plot holes--*cough Star Trek reboot cough*--I find Tolkien's old-fashioned thoroughness to be surprisingly refreshing).
Besides, as justifications go, I kinda like the rather simple elegance of Gandalf's reasoning for sending Frodo to Mordor: Sauron, great and wise and powerful though he may be, will never see it coming! And why not? Because it wouldn't ever even occur to Sauron that anyone would ever try to destroy the Ring! There's actually a sound bit of psychology behind that reasoning: a thief always assumes everyone else steals; a liar won't believe anyone else; and power-hungry Sauron assumes everyone is as power-hungry as him, and thus won't pass up the chance to wield a Ring of Power.
And it's not like Sauron doesn't have good data-points to back up that assumption: Gandalf's reveal of Saruman's treachery and betrayal, for example, has a sad sort of weary plausibility to it--for of course a great wizard would justify an alliance of convenience with Sauron by saying we could better control and mitigate him that way, as a "lesser of two evils" option, as though that made it all right. I only need recall all of the brutal dictators the U.S. has historically supported throughout Latin-America and the Middle-East under the pretense of "fighting communism" (and incidentally increasing American corporate profits) to see how repeatedly this justification gets deployed in real life, to great misery and suffering. Shoot, the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical Jesus Christ Superstar plays with the idea that Judas was seduced into betraying Christ when the Pharisees told him of all the "good" he could do, all the poor he could help, with that thirty pieces of silver. Sauron ain't exactly betting the farm when he assumes the worst of human self-interest.
Hence, this chapter also ultimately works for me (despite its meandering length), because of how Gandalf's reasoning has raised the stakes in a different way--for Gandalf is no longer just investing in poor little Frodo anymore, or even in the hidden tenacity of Hobbits generally, but in the very concept of decency altogether, that there is still enough of it left in Middle-Earth to trust in, with nothing less than the fate of Middle-Earth itself hanging in the balance--and the idea that Middle-Earth is even worth saving. Gandalf and Elrond really are betting the farm on this one.
All of that was just a round about way of saying that when there's a rather inevitable plot arc in play, it can be difficult to stay invested; and that's the narrative danger in this chapter, as the titular Council of Elrond keeps circling through all of their possible options, working their way down a process of elimination (including what will hopefully be our last Tom Bombadil reference), only to arrive at last to where we all knew this would end--indeed, where this novel's title told us it would end--with the decision for Frodo et al to form a posse to carry the Ring to Mordor. Knock me over with a feather.
Nevertheless, this (unusually long) chapter still kinda works for me; part of it, I think, is the fact that Frodo and friends have been so largely incompetent throughout Book 1--and intentionally so on Tolkien's part, as underlined by Strider--that it will take some justification to keep our protagonist around for the next leg. Quite frankly, this Council could have justifiably said, "Look, Frodo, thanks for everything, but the professionals will take over now," sending Gandalf and Strider to Mordor without these hobbits to drag them down. Such a scene needn't have even come off as snide or condescending either, but as giving a thankful Frodo a much-needed break. I almost wonder if Tolkien briefly toyed with the idea himself, before quickly realizing that he couldn't just spend one whole Book investing in a protagonist that is then promptly sidelined in the next (he already did that with Bilbo, anyways).
So, the solution is to make it as justifiably clear as possible that Frodo must continue to Mordor, not merely for narrative convenience, nor even because the Campbellian Hero Cycle demands that this character arc be completed, but because narratively, it is in fact the soundest strategy, indeed, the only strategy. And given the length of this chapter, none need accuse Tolkien of not being thorough. (And given the creeping laziness in recent Hollywood films to lean on galaxy-sized plot holes--*cough Star Trek reboot cough*--I find Tolkien's old-fashioned thoroughness to be surprisingly refreshing).
Besides, as justifications go, I kinda like the rather simple elegance of Gandalf's reasoning for sending Frodo to Mordor: Sauron, great and wise and powerful though he may be, will never see it coming! And why not? Because it wouldn't ever even occur to Sauron that anyone would ever try to destroy the Ring! There's actually a sound bit of psychology behind that reasoning: a thief always assumes everyone else steals; a liar won't believe anyone else; and power-hungry Sauron assumes everyone is as power-hungry as him, and thus won't pass up the chance to wield a Ring of Power.
And it's not like Sauron doesn't have good data-points to back up that assumption: Gandalf's reveal of Saruman's treachery and betrayal, for example, has a sad sort of weary plausibility to it--for of course a great wizard would justify an alliance of convenience with Sauron by saying we could better control and mitigate him that way, as a "lesser of two evils" option, as though that made it all right. I only need recall all of the brutal dictators the U.S. has historically supported throughout Latin-America and the Middle-East under the pretense of "fighting communism" (and incidentally increasing American corporate profits) to see how repeatedly this justification gets deployed in real life, to great misery and suffering. Shoot, the Rodgers & Hammerstein musical Jesus Christ Superstar plays with the idea that Judas was seduced into betraying Christ when the Pharisees told him of all the "good" he could do, all the poor he could help, with that thirty pieces of silver. Sauron ain't exactly betting the farm when he assumes the worst of human self-interest.
Hence, this chapter also ultimately works for me (despite its meandering length), because of how Gandalf's reasoning has raised the stakes in a different way--for Gandalf is no longer just investing in poor little Frodo anymore, or even in the hidden tenacity of Hobbits generally, but in the very concept of decency altogether, that there is still enough of it left in Middle-Earth to trust in, with nothing less than the fate of Middle-Earth itself hanging in the balance--and the idea that Middle-Earth is even worth saving. Gandalf and Elrond really are betting the farm on this one.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
"Many Meetings" - Ben's Thoughts
I don't know if I'm going to have a lot to say about this chapter. It's neither transitional nor driving forward, as far as plot goes; it just sort of exists as a respite for the reader. There's some interesting worldbuilding, especially from Frodo's discussions with Gloin about what the Dwarves and Men that follow and help them have been doing in the last hundred years or so, as well as many, many references to the First Age and the waning power of the Elves (more on that later), but aside from that, there's not a whole lot going on here. Tolkien is telling everyone to take a breather and relax in the House of Elrond, just like our characters are doing.
It's nice to have Gandalf back in play. He lends a lot of gravitas to the proceedings, and his grouchiness towards Pippin's thoughtless comments is always welcome (and will continue to provide moments of levity all the way through Moria, if memory serves). I did find interesting his comments about Frodo's sleep-talking -- did I miss something, or did Gandalf admit to some sort of psychic ability re: his knowledge of Frodo's experience with the Barrow-wight? He seems to imply that Frodo didn't say anything aloud, but that he was able to discern what happened in the barrow nonetheless. An interesting display of magical power on his part. I'll need to keep a keen eye out for future references to Gandalf actually doing magic. Of course, it seems likely that Elrond's healing of Frodo was somehow magical in nature, as well. The knife fragment's "burrowing" seems to indicate that some sort of will beyond simple steel at work (whether of the knife itself or as an extension of the Ringwraiths') and it seems logical that Elrond would have to exert a similar will to overcome and remove the shard.
Gandalf's explanation of the Nazgûl, however, left me with more questions than answers this time around. First, if Gandalf is familiar with this knife and its effects, does that mean that the Riders have used such tactics before and that people have succumbed to the knife's power? If so, does that mean that there are a bunch of wraiths running around under the Riders' control? And if so why haven't we heard of them before and why don't we hear about them after this point? And second, Gandalf's explanation that the Riders needed their horses to see struck me. The Ringwraiths are really blind? They can't see at all? They just rely on smell and their wraith-sensing abilities, in conjunction with the eyesight of their mounts, to get around? I don't know if this is consistent with what we see in later books, especially with the confrontation between the Witch-King and Merry and Éowyn in Book 5, where they are all talking to each other and so forth. We shall see. Another thing to look out for.
Some of the most interesting bits in this chapter, for me, were the references to the power of the Elves that had lived in the Undying Lands, which of course includes Glorfindel. Gandalf indicated that such an Elf lived in "both worlds" at the same time, and seemingly has some sort of ability to draw on the power of the Valar to aid them at any time they need it. Frodo and Sam seem to draw on similar powers later in the books, without having first spent time in Valinor. Interesting; I'm not really sure what that implies, other than the importance the Valar have placed on Frodo's quest. Also of note is the fact that Glorfindel may be the only Elf in Rivendell who actually did live in the Undying Lands at some point. Elrond, of course, was born in Middle-Earth; his father was the Ëarendil that Bilbo sung about (hence Strider's remark that Bilbo would be "cheeky" to write and recite a lyric about Elrond's dad in his own house). I noticed that Gandalf did manage to slip in a subtle reference to the fact that Rivendell is protected by the power of one of the Three Rings (held by Elrond).
The description of the "Lords of Rivendell" was interesting, although it did fall a bit flat to me since none of the three described (four if you count Arwen) will really play any role whatsoever in the plot other than Gandalf himself. It was nice to see Gandalf contrasted to the remote and tragic Elves somewhat. While Elrond has the power to call down the waters of the ford upon the Riders, it is Gandalf who adds the flair of the beautiful horses created from the foam and the insult-to-injury-adding boulders bouncing down upon the "heads" of the wraiths as they tumble about in the waters. It seems that this kind of humor and exhibitionism stems from the power of Gandalf's Ring to instill hope in those around him, even when everything seems completely hopeless (remember that Gandalf bears one of the Three Rings as well, the "ring of fire").
It's also nice to see Bilbo again after a book of him being absent. It is interesting to remember that nearly twenty years have passed since Bilbo's going-away party by this point. Bilbo has been all the way back to the Lonely Mountain and back again. Tolkien does an excellent job of indicating just how old Bilbo is getting without actually coming out and saying it (Bilbo doesn't go to feasts anymore, preferring just to sit and think, he hasn't really accomplished much in his time at Rivendell, and he doesn't sleep much, as evidenced by the fact that after Frodo goes to bed, he chooses to walk outside and look at the stars).
I do feel compelled to respond to Jacob's comment about the moment when Bilbo is faced with the Ring again after so long -- he said that he preferred the "gotcha" moment of the film to this subtler description. I have to disagree, especially after making a careful reading of the passage in question: I think it's clear that the Ring affects Frodo's perception of Bilbo, rather than Bilbo actually transforming into a Gollum-like creature at a glimpse of his former "precious":
I'm glad to be in Book 2. Sitting where I am now, this book is the best of the entire trilogy. We'll see if it lives up to my expectations.
It's nice to have Gandalf back in play. He lends a lot of gravitas to the proceedings, and his grouchiness towards Pippin's thoughtless comments is always welcome (and will continue to provide moments of levity all the way through Moria, if memory serves). I did find interesting his comments about Frodo's sleep-talking -- did I miss something, or did Gandalf admit to some sort of psychic ability re: his knowledge of Frodo's experience with the Barrow-wight? He seems to imply that Frodo didn't say anything aloud, but that he was able to discern what happened in the barrow nonetheless. An interesting display of magical power on his part. I'll need to keep a keen eye out for future references to Gandalf actually doing magic. Of course, it seems likely that Elrond's healing of Frodo was somehow magical in nature, as well. The knife fragment's "burrowing" seems to indicate that some sort of will beyond simple steel at work (whether of the knife itself or as an extension of the Ringwraiths') and it seems logical that Elrond would have to exert a similar will to overcome and remove the shard.
Gandalf's explanation of the Nazgûl, however, left me with more questions than answers this time around. First, if Gandalf is familiar with this knife and its effects, does that mean that the Riders have used such tactics before and that people have succumbed to the knife's power? If so, does that mean that there are a bunch of wraiths running around under the Riders' control? And if so why haven't we heard of them before and why don't we hear about them after this point? And second, Gandalf's explanation that the Riders needed their horses to see struck me. The Ringwraiths are really blind? They can't see at all? They just rely on smell and their wraith-sensing abilities, in conjunction with the eyesight of their mounts, to get around? I don't know if this is consistent with what we see in later books, especially with the confrontation between the Witch-King and Merry and Éowyn in Book 5, where they are all talking to each other and so forth. We shall see. Another thing to look out for.
Some of the most interesting bits in this chapter, for me, were the references to the power of the Elves that had lived in the Undying Lands, which of course includes Glorfindel. Gandalf indicated that such an Elf lived in "both worlds" at the same time, and seemingly has some sort of ability to draw on the power of the Valar to aid them at any time they need it. Frodo and Sam seem to draw on similar powers later in the books, without having first spent time in Valinor. Interesting; I'm not really sure what that implies, other than the importance the Valar have placed on Frodo's quest. Also of note is the fact that Glorfindel may be the only Elf in Rivendell who actually did live in the Undying Lands at some point. Elrond, of course, was born in Middle-Earth; his father was the Ëarendil that Bilbo sung about (hence Strider's remark that Bilbo would be "cheeky" to write and recite a lyric about Elrond's dad in his own house). I noticed that Gandalf did manage to slip in a subtle reference to the fact that Rivendell is protected by the power of one of the Three Rings (held by Elrond).
The description of the "Lords of Rivendell" was interesting, although it did fall a bit flat to me since none of the three described (four if you count Arwen) will really play any role whatsoever in the plot other than Gandalf himself. It was nice to see Gandalf contrasted to the remote and tragic Elves somewhat. While Elrond has the power to call down the waters of the ford upon the Riders, it is Gandalf who adds the flair of the beautiful horses created from the foam and the insult-to-injury-adding boulders bouncing down upon the "heads" of the wraiths as they tumble about in the waters. It seems that this kind of humor and exhibitionism stems from the power of Gandalf's Ring to instill hope in those around him, even when everything seems completely hopeless (remember that Gandalf bears one of the Three Rings as well, the "ring of fire").
It's also nice to see Bilbo again after a book of him being absent. It is interesting to remember that nearly twenty years have passed since Bilbo's going-away party by this point. Bilbo has been all the way back to the Lonely Mountain and back again. Tolkien does an excellent job of indicating just how old Bilbo is getting without actually coming out and saying it (Bilbo doesn't go to feasts anymore, preferring just to sit and think, he hasn't really accomplished much in his time at Rivendell, and he doesn't sleep much, as evidenced by the fact that after Frodo goes to bed, he chooses to walk outside and look at the stars).
I do feel compelled to respond to Jacob's comment about the moment when Bilbo is faced with the Ring again after so long -- he said that he preferred the "gotcha" moment of the film to this subtler description. I have to disagree, especially after making a careful reading of the passage in question: I think it's clear that the Ring affects Frodo's perception of Bilbo, rather than Bilbo actually transforming into a Gollum-like creature at a glimpse of his former "precious":
". . . Frodo quickly drew back the Ring. To his distress and amazement he found that he was no longer looking at Bilbo; a shadow seemed to have fallen between them, and through it he found himself eyeing a little wrinkled creature with a hungry face and bony groping hands. He felt a desire to strike him" (emphasis added).Indeed, Bilbo looks up at Frodo immediately afterwards and recognizes what the Ring has done to his nephew: "Bilbo looked quickly at Frodo's face and passed his hand across his eyes. 'I understand now,' he said. 'Put it away! I am sorry: sorry you have come in for this burden." The Ring doesn't want Frodo to give it back to its former bearer, and Bilbo recognizes just how deeply Frodo is enthralled at this point. Very subtle, Professor Tolkien. (Perhaps too subtle… how many times have I read that passage and I'm just now noticing it?) It really does make Bilbo's grief that much more real. He's not upset about what the Ring has done to him; he's upset that his actions have forced that burden upon someone he cares about.
I'm glad to be in Book 2. Sitting where I am now, this book is the best of the entire trilogy. We'll see if it lives up to my expectations.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
"Many Meetings" - Jacob's Thoughts
Onward to Book II! Maybe it's just cause it's finals week, or maybe it's the inevitable crash after the build up to Book I's finale, but I feel like I have less to say about "Many Meetings," despite its length, than I do about the past few chapters. I hear tell that in the anime world, this is what's known as a "beach episode", AKA the hang-out, the R&R, the necessary respite and de-escalation after several episodes of action, to prevent audience burn-out before proceeding with the narrative. Eric I know is a big believer in the importance of the break, and I generally agree with him on that.
Nevertheless, I still felt this chapter a little slow--you can only have so many people express their happiness that Frodo pulled through so many times before you start skimming a bit (and the fifth long poem in as many chapters didn't help, either).
That's not to say this chapter is a slog or anything (certainly nothing after "The Old Forest" can feel like a slog, anyways) in fact, what keeps this chapter (mostly) lively for me in a way the Old Forest chapter trilogy did not is, as always, the sense of genuine stakes, even in their respite. For amidst all these reveries is Frodo's barely detectable transparency that is a harbinger of the Gollumizing effects of the Ring to come; same with the shadow that crosses Bilbo's face at the sight of the Ring (can I say I actually prefer the jump-scare from the film? Man, I have a really conflicted relationship with the films, don't I); and Gandalf's warning that Rivendell and even the Shire are rapidly becoming but islands in a sea of ever-encroaching darkness has a real urgency to it. For once, I can even sympathize with mostly-useless Pippin, who just wants to enjoy this time here while he still can. Knowing how the rest of the narrative goes, he'll need it.
And ah yes, Gandalf and Bilbo, kind of you to join us again! There's an intriguing sense of symmetry between the first chapters of Book I and Book II, a feel that we are re-beginning where we started, that is, with Gandalf and Bilbo at a major feast setting up Frodo for perilous adventures soon to come. I almost wonder if Tolkien here is training first-time readers to subconsciously assume that this sort of reset button will be hit at the start of every new Book, with the main principals once again gathered around a rousing party, that we will always return to some sort of status quo--that way, he can upend audience expectations all the more brutally by the time we get to The Two Towers.
In the meantime, can I just say that I kinda like how we've paced ourselves so slowly at one chapter a week (sometimes slower)? It's made it feel like Frodo et al's 3-odd month journey to Rivendell has occurred in real-time, that we have actually felt the full epic scope and weight and exhaustion of this journey, which gets me excited for the next leg.
Nevertheless, I still felt this chapter a little slow--you can only have so many people express their happiness that Frodo pulled through so many times before you start skimming a bit (and the fifth long poem in as many chapters didn't help, either).
That's not to say this chapter is a slog or anything (certainly nothing after "The Old Forest" can feel like a slog, anyways) in fact, what keeps this chapter (mostly) lively for me in a way the Old Forest chapter trilogy did not is, as always, the sense of genuine stakes, even in their respite. For amidst all these reveries is Frodo's barely detectable transparency that is a harbinger of the Gollumizing effects of the Ring to come; same with the shadow that crosses Bilbo's face at the sight of the Ring (can I say I actually prefer the jump-scare from the film? Man, I have a really conflicted relationship with the films, don't I); and Gandalf's warning that Rivendell and even the Shire are rapidly becoming but islands in a sea of ever-encroaching darkness has a real urgency to it. For once, I can even sympathize with mostly-useless Pippin, who just wants to enjoy this time here while he still can. Knowing how the rest of the narrative goes, he'll need it.
And ah yes, Gandalf and Bilbo, kind of you to join us again! There's an intriguing sense of symmetry between the first chapters of Book I and Book II, a feel that we are re-beginning where we started, that is, with Gandalf and Bilbo at a major feast setting up Frodo for perilous adventures soon to come. I almost wonder if Tolkien here is training first-time readers to subconsciously assume that this sort of reset button will be hit at the start of every new Book, with the main principals once again gathered around a rousing party, that we will always return to some sort of status quo--that way, he can upend audience expectations all the more brutally by the time we get to The Two Towers.
In the meantime, can I just say that I kinda like how we've paced ourselves so slowly at one chapter a week (sometimes slower)? It's made it feel like Frodo et al's 3-odd month journey to Rivendell has occurred in real-time, that we have actually felt the full epic scope and weight and exhaustion of this journey, which gets me excited for the next leg.
Sunday, May 4, 2014
"Flight to the Ford" - Ben's Thoughts
"Flight to the Ford" is not as good a chapter as "Knife," either tonally or plot-wise. But I do think that most of Jacob's criticism are undeserved. It has its problems, but I think by this point Tolkien has control over his narrative. The plot is driving forward with some real momentum here, and there are also nice links to past and future events (references to the Hobbits' escape from the Shire; the Elvish drink Glorfindel gives them) that allow the chapter to exists comfortably in the overarching narrative.
First things first: Elbereth. "Elbereth" is the Sindarin name for Varda, the "Queen of the Stars" or chief goddess among the Valar (Tolkien's pantheon of "higher" gods). Elbereth is linked to Frodo throughout LOTR, and the connection between them seems to stem from his affinity with Elves. (I say "seems to stem" because it is never spelled out directly; supernatural forces seem to lend him (and later Sam) strength, but the nature of this power is never specified.) She is referred to by her Sindarin name because by this point, most of the Elves in Middle-Earth are Sindar.
What the heck is a "Sindar", you ask? Hearkening back to our Elven taxonomy class, the Elves were first created by Eru ("God") but were left sleeping in the Earth until they were awakened by the creation of the stars (hence their link to Varda as "Queen" of the stars). Once awakened, the Valar invited them to come to Valinor (the continent in the west where the gods dwelled). Many Elves did not want to come, but others chose to undertake the long journey west. These Elves were called the "Eldar." The Eldar were divided into three families: the Noldor, the Vanyar, and the Teleri. The Noldor are the "Deep-Elves," who were concerned with metallurgy. Fëanor was a Noldor, and he brought his family back to Middle-Earth after Morgoth stole the Silmarils from Valinor. Most of the important Elves in LOTR are of Noldorin descent, for example Elrond and Galadriel. The Sindar, or "Grey-Elves," on the other hand, were Teleri who made most of the journey west, but ultimately decided to stay in Middle-Earth. Thingol, who I mentioned in my previous post, was their king. By the Third Age, the wars between Morgoth and Sauron and the Elves had decimated the Noldorin houses, and the remaining Elves were almost all Sindar. Legolas, for example, is Sindar. "Quenya," or the Noldorin language, is all but a dead language by the time of LOTR. "Sindarin" was the native Elven language by that time.
Whew, that was a lot of backstory to just explain the origin of one word. In any case, the invocation of "Elbereth" is a defense against the Riders because of Varda's constant opposition towards Morgoth and Sauron (who was originally Morgoth's lieutenant). In The Silmarillion, Varda's husband Manwë is typically portrayed as more easy-going towards Morgoth's crimes (because during the creation of the Earth, they had similar talents and abilities), while Varda is always opposed and antagonistic towards them. Thus Varda because the favored goddess of the Noldor, because of the Noldor's quest to destroy Morgoth and retrieve the Silmarils. I've speculated about Frodo's supernatural connections prior to this point, but it seems logical that Elbereth is the source of his dreams and visions; for example, the vision Frodo had in "Knife in the Dark" about the Riders' attack on Crickhollow was probably from that source.
But back to the matter at hand. I feel like the driving action of the chapter was to get the Hobbits and Strider to the Ford (hence the chapter title), and it did a relatively good job of doing that. Jacob is right that the company's interlude with Bilbo's trolls is pretty out of place here. After the Riders' retreat from Weathertop, there was no need for a second pause to lower the levels of tension. While the callback was cute, it also was the opportunity for Tolkien to shoehorn in another poem (the fourth poem in as many chapters!), and while I gushed about the last one, this one was truly cringe-inducing. A comical song about a troll was just not needed in this chapter to keep things going.
However, I do have to protest about Jacob's criticism of the Riders' MO in this chapter. Despite some indication of physicality displayed in "Knife" (what with the beating down the door at Crickhollow), I believe that Tolkien has been remarkably consistent in portraying that the Riders' power comes (1) from numbers, i.e. the greater number of Riders, the greater total power; and (2) from fear, despair, and terror (which, if I recall, remains very much in play throughout the rest of LOTR). One Rider in the Shire was easily shooed away by a group of wandering Elves. Two (probably) Riders in Bree had to sneak in the Prancing Pony's windows in the middle of the night, without making any noise, to try to get at the Ring. Three Riders were able to break down a door and openly announce their presence, but only in a dark alley in an obscure corner of Hobbit-land. Five Riders were able to assault the company's camp at Weathertop, but only in the dead of night when their enemies' fear was greatest, and chose to retreat when Aragorn attacked them.
Here, again, their plan is consistent. Frodo's injury will render him weaker and more susceptible to their persuasive ability re: the Ring (as evidenced at the end, when Frodo must obey their command to stop the horse on the far side of the Ford). It also increases the fear and terror of the company. Two Riders remain in the wilderness west of the River Mitheithel, to drive the company towards the three waiting to trap them at the Last Bridge. The other four wait in Rhudaur to trap the company if they manage to cross the bridge. They did not reckon on Glorfindel coming upon the "choke-point," as Jacob put it, and driving all five Riders west, which allowed the company to safely and easily cross the bridge. After Glorfindel turned back east, those five turned and rode down the Road as fast as possible. So to answer Jacob's criticisms, the Riders aren't particularly disposed to direct physical violence, and their power is increased only in some situations. As Strider tells Sam, they dispersed after the attack on Weathertop because the Riders "believe [Frodo] has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will." If Frodo succumbs to the wound, a nearby Rider could tell him to put on the Ring, and then it wouldn't matter what Strider or the others tried to do.
A word on Glorfindel: it makes sense that Elrond would send out his most powerful councilors to try and find the Hobbits. Glorfindel single-handedly is able to drive three Riders from the bridge and all five west, away from the company, and then with the help of Strider, the Hobbits, and some fire, forces six Riders to be swept away by the river at the end of the chapter. He is also able to ease the pain and effects of Frodo's wound. I've wondered a few times why Tolkien didn't just merge the characters of Glorfindel and Legolas (in fact, the Ralph Bakshi animated film does just this) in accordance with the Law of Conservation of Characters (never create two characters where one will do). However, I suppose Tolkien wanted to have someone able to be a threat to the Riders, while at the same time a member of the stealthy Fellowship couldn't be so overtly powerful. Thus Legolas.
As a result, poor Glorfindel seems shortchanged, and certainly doesn't feel like a fully realized character, despite his calm and confidence in the face of the company's predicament. He does manage to outshine Strider in the few pages of his arrival, which is almost too bad. I'm not as vitriolic towards Peter Jackson's replacement of Glorfindel with Arwen as Jacob is; I feel like the poor guy had to give female characters bigger roles, and this was the most fluid way to do it. However, I agree with Jacob that the ending of the chapter, where Frodo manages to defy the Riders on his own before being finally overcome, packs a lot more punch with respect to our main character than Arwen's overwrought "come and take him!" from the film.
In any case, Glorfindel is familiar to Tolkien fans as a minor character from The Silmarillion. He shows up as a lieutenant of one of the Noldorin High Kings of Gondolin, where he fights and kills a Balrog on his own but also gets killed in the process. Later ret-conning efforts by Christopher Tolkien have merged these two Glorfindels into one character, so we can now feel confident in this chapter that an Elf who is thousands and thousands of years old and who has killed a Balrog single-handedly can handle a few Ringwraiths.
I don't know if I really touched a lot on the chapter here. It's mostly plot-focused, with some time wasted on the troll interlude. Strider remains competent and concerned (although without the humor and sarcasm of previous chapters, which is too bad -- I hope some of that returns in later chapters). It was nice to see Sam's initial antagonism towards Strider at the beginning of the chapter -- way to make yourself an individual, Sam. Merry and Pippin are interchangeable here (Like Samneric from Lord of the Flies, I guess). I suppose that, like Jacob, I was a little underwhelmed by this closing chapter after the giddy heights of "Knife in the Dark," but we can't have it all. Let's see what Book 2 brings.
First things first: Elbereth. "Elbereth" is the Sindarin name for Varda, the "Queen of the Stars" or chief goddess among the Valar (Tolkien's pantheon of "higher" gods). Elbereth is linked to Frodo throughout LOTR, and the connection between them seems to stem from his affinity with Elves. (I say "seems to stem" because it is never spelled out directly; supernatural forces seem to lend him (and later Sam) strength, but the nature of this power is never specified.) She is referred to by her Sindarin name because by this point, most of the Elves in Middle-Earth are Sindar.
What the heck is a "Sindar", you ask? Hearkening back to our Elven taxonomy class, the Elves were first created by Eru ("God") but were left sleeping in the Earth until they were awakened by the creation of the stars (hence their link to Varda as "Queen" of the stars). Once awakened, the Valar invited them to come to Valinor (the continent in the west where the gods dwelled). Many Elves did not want to come, but others chose to undertake the long journey west. These Elves were called the "Eldar." The Eldar were divided into three families: the Noldor, the Vanyar, and the Teleri. The Noldor are the "Deep-Elves," who were concerned with metallurgy. Fëanor was a Noldor, and he brought his family back to Middle-Earth after Morgoth stole the Silmarils from Valinor. Most of the important Elves in LOTR are of Noldorin descent, for example Elrond and Galadriel. The Sindar, or "Grey-Elves," on the other hand, were Teleri who made most of the journey west, but ultimately decided to stay in Middle-Earth. Thingol, who I mentioned in my previous post, was their king. By the Third Age, the wars between Morgoth and Sauron and the Elves had decimated the Noldorin houses, and the remaining Elves were almost all Sindar. Legolas, for example, is Sindar. "Quenya," or the Noldorin language, is all but a dead language by the time of LOTR. "Sindarin" was the native Elven language by that time.
Whew, that was a lot of backstory to just explain the origin of one word. In any case, the invocation of "Elbereth" is a defense against the Riders because of Varda's constant opposition towards Morgoth and Sauron (who was originally Morgoth's lieutenant). In The Silmarillion, Varda's husband Manwë is typically portrayed as more easy-going towards Morgoth's crimes (because during the creation of the Earth, they had similar talents and abilities), while Varda is always opposed and antagonistic towards them. Thus Varda because the favored goddess of the Noldor, because of the Noldor's quest to destroy Morgoth and retrieve the Silmarils. I've speculated about Frodo's supernatural connections prior to this point, but it seems logical that Elbereth is the source of his dreams and visions; for example, the vision Frodo had in "Knife in the Dark" about the Riders' attack on Crickhollow was probably from that source.
But back to the matter at hand. I feel like the driving action of the chapter was to get the Hobbits and Strider to the Ford (hence the chapter title), and it did a relatively good job of doing that. Jacob is right that the company's interlude with Bilbo's trolls is pretty out of place here. After the Riders' retreat from Weathertop, there was no need for a second pause to lower the levels of tension. While the callback was cute, it also was the opportunity for Tolkien to shoehorn in another poem (the fourth poem in as many chapters!), and while I gushed about the last one, this one was truly cringe-inducing. A comical song about a troll was just not needed in this chapter to keep things going.
However, I do have to protest about Jacob's criticism of the Riders' MO in this chapter. Despite some indication of physicality displayed in "Knife" (what with the beating down the door at Crickhollow), I believe that Tolkien has been remarkably consistent in portraying that the Riders' power comes (1) from numbers, i.e. the greater number of Riders, the greater total power; and (2) from fear, despair, and terror (which, if I recall, remains very much in play throughout the rest of LOTR). One Rider in the Shire was easily shooed away by a group of wandering Elves. Two (probably) Riders in Bree had to sneak in the Prancing Pony's windows in the middle of the night, without making any noise, to try to get at the Ring. Three Riders were able to break down a door and openly announce their presence, but only in a dark alley in an obscure corner of Hobbit-land. Five Riders were able to assault the company's camp at Weathertop, but only in the dead of night when their enemies' fear was greatest, and chose to retreat when Aragorn attacked them.
Here, again, their plan is consistent. Frodo's injury will render him weaker and more susceptible to their persuasive ability re: the Ring (as evidenced at the end, when Frodo must obey their command to stop the horse on the far side of the Ford). It also increases the fear and terror of the company. Two Riders remain in the wilderness west of the River Mitheithel, to drive the company towards the three waiting to trap them at the Last Bridge. The other four wait in Rhudaur to trap the company if they manage to cross the bridge. They did not reckon on Glorfindel coming upon the "choke-point," as Jacob put it, and driving all five Riders west, which allowed the company to safely and easily cross the bridge. After Glorfindel turned back east, those five turned and rode down the Road as fast as possible. So to answer Jacob's criticisms, the Riders aren't particularly disposed to direct physical violence, and their power is increased only in some situations. As Strider tells Sam, they dispersed after the attack on Weathertop because the Riders "believe [Frodo] has a deadly wound that will subdue him to their will." If Frodo succumbs to the wound, a nearby Rider could tell him to put on the Ring, and then it wouldn't matter what Strider or the others tried to do.
A word on Glorfindel: it makes sense that Elrond would send out his most powerful councilors to try and find the Hobbits. Glorfindel single-handedly is able to drive three Riders from the bridge and all five west, away from the company, and then with the help of Strider, the Hobbits, and some fire, forces six Riders to be swept away by the river at the end of the chapter. He is also able to ease the pain and effects of Frodo's wound. I've wondered a few times why Tolkien didn't just merge the characters of Glorfindel and Legolas (in fact, the Ralph Bakshi animated film does just this) in accordance with the Law of Conservation of Characters (never create two characters where one will do). However, I suppose Tolkien wanted to have someone able to be a threat to the Riders, while at the same time a member of the stealthy Fellowship couldn't be so overtly powerful. Thus Legolas.
As a result, poor Glorfindel seems shortchanged, and certainly doesn't feel like a fully realized character, despite his calm and confidence in the face of the company's predicament. He does manage to outshine Strider in the few pages of his arrival, which is almost too bad. I'm not as vitriolic towards Peter Jackson's replacement of Glorfindel with Arwen as Jacob is; I feel like the poor guy had to give female characters bigger roles, and this was the most fluid way to do it. However, I agree with Jacob that the ending of the chapter, where Frodo manages to defy the Riders on his own before being finally overcome, packs a lot more punch with respect to our main character than Arwen's overwrought "come and take him!" from the film.
In any case, Glorfindel is familiar to Tolkien fans as a minor character from The Silmarillion. He shows up as a lieutenant of one of the Noldorin High Kings of Gondolin, where he fights and kills a Balrog on his own but also gets killed in the process. Later ret-conning efforts by Christopher Tolkien have merged these two Glorfindels into one character, so we can now feel confident in this chapter that an Elf who is thousands and thousands of years old and who has killed a Balrog single-handedly can handle a few Ringwraiths.
I don't know if I really touched a lot on the chapter here. It's mostly plot-focused, with some time wasted on the troll interlude. Strider remains competent and concerned (although without the humor and sarcasm of previous chapters, which is too bad -- I hope some of that returns in later chapters). It was nice to see Sam's initial antagonism towards Strider at the beginning of the chapter -- way to make yourself an individual, Sam. Merry and Pippin are interchangeable here (Like Samneric from Lord of the Flies, I guess). I suppose that, like Jacob, I was a little underwhelmed by this closing chapter after the giddy heights of "Knife in the Dark," but we can't have it all. Let's see what Book 2 brings.
Saturday, May 3, 2014
"A Knife in the Dark" - Ben's Thoughts
"Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake! Awake!" Now this is a chapter.
It's chapters like this that made me fall in love with Tolkien -- and that make me forgive all of the slow introduction that came before. It has suspense, horror, beautiful travelogue, magnificent worldbuilding, lyrical poetry, action, and character building for all of the main characters (well, Pippin gets a little shortchanged). What more could you ask for in a chapter? I only have a few complaints (which I will address shortly).
Let's get the most obvious out of the way right off the bat. Fatty Bolger. Why did we need to return to him? Why was he important to the narrative at all? I like the suspense generated from the very outset with the creeping threat of the Riders, a glimpse into their physical abilities, and even the brief POV from the Riders themselves. But why Fatty Bolger? The only thing that the Riders' attack on Crickhollow adds to the story is a sense that the Riders are able to coordinate their attacks (as it seems this one and the assault on the inn occurred simultaneously). My question is why this sequence couldn't have been set in Bree? The Riders could have approached the inn, busted down the door, etc. in just the same way. I feel like Tolkien was clinging to Fatty Bolger's character for some reason -- perhaps in an earlier draft he had more to do, like the all-but-discarded 'Folco Boffin'? Maybe he just couldn't bear to excise him completely from the story. But if I was his editor, I would have encouraged him to do so, that's for sure. To use up that suspense on Fatty Bolger was a complete waste.
But despite this weak opening sequence, the chapter can only go up from there. The sequence of Strider and the Hobbits attempting to leave Bree was just the right amount of whimsical humor for me this time around (and as Eric pointed out -- Nob! He brightens your day whenever he's mentioned!) Of course the Hobbits were stymied in their attempts to leave quietly -- you can imagine Strider grinding his teeth as he leaves town under the eye of all those curious townsfolk. And yet at the same time a glimmer of insight is given into Strider's psyche, thanks to Bill Ferny, of all people. His comment that Strider "finally found a friend," and Strider's non-response to that jab, goes to show that under his gruff exterior, Strider probably is touched by the fact that he has been accepted by the Hobbits and Frodo in particular. After all that time alone, it would be nice to have some company (even if that company includes Pippin). I makes me sad to think that I don't remember these little tidbits of character development surviving into the "Aragorn the Savior-King" phases of later books.
A few nitpicks about the leave-taking sequence: First, as someone else pointed out, what is the deal with that aside about the ponies? I suppose Tolkien can't resist name-dropping his favorite character Tom Bombadil one more time (and who could pass up an excuse to mention "Fatty Lumpkin" -- the second "Fatty" character mentioned in the chapter; you can just see Tolkien giggling at his typewriter about such a hi-LARious nickname), but what really gets my goat is the quasi-spoiler of "[the ponies] missed a dark and dangerous journey. But they never came to Rivendell." Call me quaint, but I prefer my fiction to be suspenseful and the plot to keep me guessing. All but telling me up front that the company makes it to Rivendell is not exactly my favorite literary device.
I won't go into detail this time about Tolkien's beautiful descriptions and how he makes the journey of these characters come alive for me. But I certainly want to mention just how evocative his language is and how easy he makes it to conjure images of the landscape into your mind. One passage will suffice:
But back to Beren and Lúthien. For the uninitiated, the full story can be found in The Silmarillion. The story is one of two mostly-fleshed-out and realized short stories contained in that book (the other being the dark tragedy of Túrin Turambar, who in the course of the story kills his best friend, is the major cause of the destruction of one of the Elf-kingdoms, marries his sister by accident, and then causes her to commit suicide). The short version of Beren and Lúthien is as follows: Beren is the last scion of one of the noble houses of Men, who encounters Lúthien in an enchanted forest. Lúthien is an Elf, the daughter of Elwê (one of the three original rulers of the Elves) and Melian (a Maia), which makes her half-goddess (I suppose). Elwê Thingol at that time is trying to keep his kingdom out of the wars between Morgoth and the sons of Fêanor, and he refuses to let his beloved daughter Lúthien marry a Man of a house sworn to fight Morgoth. So Thingol decides to stop the marriage by making Lúthien's bride-price impossible -- he asks Beren to get him one of the Silmarils in exchange for his daughter's hand, which were at that time securely ensconced in Morgoth's iron crown.
Anyway, many adventures later, Beren and Lúthien manage to retrieve the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, but Beren's hand (which contains the Silmaril) gets eaten by a wolf, and he dies in the process of retrieving it. Lúthien's love for him is so great that she dies as well and the Valar allow them both to return to mortality to live as mortals so they can be together. Aragorn has a strong connection to this story, because his romance with Elrond's daughter Arwen mirrors Beren's of Lúthien: Elrond won't let Aragorn marry his Elvish daughter Arwen until Sauron is defeated and Aragorn secures the crown of Gondor and Arnor. "Beren and Lúthien" really is a beautiful story. I would highly recommend that one (as well as "Túrin Turambar", because of and despite of all its almost wacky tragic elements) from Silmarillion even if you don't read anything else in that book.
The poem is quite lovely in an of itself: its structure is an interesting A-B-A-C, B-A-B-C pattern (which perhaps is a traditional one, but my poetry classes are nearly ten years behind me and I can't place it), and the words just flow off the tongue when recited. "One moment stood she, and a spell / His voice laid on her: Beren came, / And doom fell on Tinúviel / That in his arms lay glistening." It captures description and emotion equally well, in my opinion. Nobody else really talked about it in their commentary -- I'd be interested to see what your thoughts were on the poem specifically.
Strider's lyrical recitation is the calm before the storm of the Riders' attack on the camp. I don't really understand what Strider was planning here; did he know it was hopeless to try and hide, and he figured that he could beat off the Riders when they arrived with the fire they had lit? Because he didn't really try to conceal the camp, and if he wanted a defensible position, surely the top of Weathertop would have been better? Oh well. It certainly raises the tension with the Hobbits rushing back to inform Strider about the approaching shadows, and how the Riders are poised on the rim of the hollow, ready to rush down and strike.
The Riders truly are terrible, aren't they? Tolkien's description of them is masterful:
It's chapters like this that made me fall in love with Tolkien -- and that make me forgive all of the slow introduction that came before. It has suspense, horror, beautiful travelogue, magnificent worldbuilding, lyrical poetry, action, and character building for all of the main characters (well, Pippin gets a little shortchanged). What more could you ask for in a chapter? I only have a few complaints (which I will address shortly).
Let's get the most obvious out of the way right off the bat. Fatty Bolger. Why did we need to return to him? Why was he important to the narrative at all? I like the suspense generated from the very outset with the creeping threat of the Riders, a glimpse into their physical abilities, and even the brief POV from the Riders themselves. But why Fatty Bolger? The only thing that the Riders' attack on Crickhollow adds to the story is a sense that the Riders are able to coordinate their attacks (as it seems this one and the assault on the inn occurred simultaneously). My question is why this sequence couldn't have been set in Bree? The Riders could have approached the inn, busted down the door, etc. in just the same way. I feel like Tolkien was clinging to Fatty Bolger's character for some reason -- perhaps in an earlier draft he had more to do, like the all-but-discarded 'Folco Boffin'? Maybe he just couldn't bear to excise him completely from the story. But if I was his editor, I would have encouraged him to do so, that's for sure. To use up that suspense on Fatty Bolger was a complete waste.
But despite this weak opening sequence, the chapter can only go up from there. The sequence of Strider and the Hobbits attempting to leave Bree was just the right amount of whimsical humor for me this time around (and as Eric pointed out -- Nob! He brightens your day whenever he's mentioned!) Of course the Hobbits were stymied in their attempts to leave quietly -- you can imagine Strider grinding his teeth as he leaves town under the eye of all those curious townsfolk. And yet at the same time a glimmer of insight is given into Strider's psyche, thanks to Bill Ferny, of all people. His comment that Strider "finally found a friend," and Strider's non-response to that jab, goes to show that under his gruff exterior, Strider probably is touched by the fact that he has been accepted by the Hobbits and Frodo in particular. After all that time alone, it would be nice to have some company (even if that company includes Pippin). I makes me sad to think that I don't remember these little tidbits of character development surviving into the "Aragorn the Savior-King" phases of later books.
A few nitpicks about the leave-taking sequence: First, as someone else pointed out, what is the deal with that aside about the ponies? I suppose Tolkien can't resist name-dropping his favorite character Tom Bombadil one more time (and who could pass up an excuse to mention "Fatty Lumpkin" -- the second "Fatty" character mentioned in the chapter; you can just see Tolkien giggling at his typewriter about such a hi-LARious nickname), but what really gets my goat is the quasi-spoiler of "[the ponies] missed a dark and dangerous journey. But they never came to Rivendell." Call me quaint, but I prefer my fiction to be suspenseful and the plot to keep me guessing. All but telling me up front that the company makes it to Rivendell is not exactly my favorite literary device.
I won't go into detail this time about Tolkien's beautiful descriptions and how he makes the journey of these characters come alive for me. But I certainly want to mention just how evocative his language is and how easy he makes it to conjure images of the landscape into your mind. One passage will suffice:
"Standing upon the rim of the ruined circle, they saw all round below them a wide prospect, for the most part of lands empty and featureless, except for patches of woodland away to the south . . . . Beneath them on this southern side there ran like a ribbon the Old Road, coming out of the West and winding up and down, until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the east. . . . Following its line eastward with their eyes they saw the Mountains: the nearer foothills were brown and sombre; behind them stood taller shapes of grey, and behind those again were high white peaks glimmering among the clouds."On to the worldbuilding aspect of this chapter (that I see Jacob is so eager to learn about). Against my best instincts, I really loved the poem of Beren and Lúthien that surfaced here. Far from sticking out like a sore thumb as I remember some of Tolkien's poems do, this one felt right at home. The idea that the company might want to focus on something beautiful to take their minds off of the horrors surrounding them, hiding down in that dell, resonated with me. Another nice touch was Sam's unexpected depths surfacing with the poem about Gil-galad, and Strider's quasi-indignation that Bilbo had (apparently) intimated to Sam that he had written the poem in the first instance. The elaboration upon Sam's character, as well, was appreciated. Strider was also quick to cut Frodo off when he realized that Frodo was going to go into the war of Sauron and the Elves in the Second Age, which I agree was probably not an appropriate topic with the Nazgûl closing in on them.
But back to Beren and Lúthien. For the uninitiated, the full story can be found in The Silmarillion. The story is one of two mostly-fleshed-out and realized short stories contained in that book (the other being the dark tragedy of Túrin Turambar, who in the course of the story kills his best friend, is the major cause of the destruction of one of the Elf-kingdoms, marries his sister by accident, and then causes her to commit suicide). The short version of Beren and Lúthien is as follows: Beren is the last scion of one of the noble houses of Men, who encounters Lúthien in an enchanted forest. Lúthien is an Elf, the daughter of Elwê (one of the three original rulers of the Elves) and Melian (a Maia), which makes her half-goddess (I suppose). Elwê Thingol at that time is trying to keep his kingdom out of the wars between Morgoth and the sons of Fêanor, and he refuses to let his beloved daughter Lúthien marry a Man of a house sworn to fight Morgoth. So Thingol decides to stop the marriage by making Lúthien's bride-price impossible -- he asks Beren to get him one of the Silmarils in exchange for his daughter's hand, which were at that time securely ensconced in Morgoth's iron crown.
Anyway, many adventures later, Beren and Lúthien manage to retrieve the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown, but Beren's hand (which contains the Silmaril) gets eaten by a wolf, and he dies in the process of retrieving it. Lúthien's love for him is so great that she dies as well and the Valar allow them both to return to mortality to live as mortals so they can be together. Aragorn has a strong connection to this story, because his romance with Elrond's daughter Arwen mirrors Beren's of Lúthien: Elrond won't let Aragorn marry his Elvish daughter Arwen until Sauron is defeated and Aragorn secures the crown of Gondor and Arnor. "Beren and Lúthien" really is a beautiful story. I would highly recommend that one (as well as "Túrin Turambar", because of and despite of all its almost wacky tragic elements) from Silmarillion even if you don't read anything else in that book.
The poem is quite lovely in an of itself: its structure is an interesting A-B-A-C, B-A-B-C pattern (which perhaps is a traditional one, but my poetry classes are nearly ten years behind me and I can't place it), and the words just flow off the tongue when recited. "One moment stood she, and a spell / His voice laid on her: Beren came, / And doom fell on Tinúviel / That in his arms lay glistening." It captures description and emotion equally well, in my opinion. Nobody else really talked about it in their commentary -- I'd be interested to see what your thoughts were on the poem specifically.
Strider's lyrical recitation is the calm before the storm of the Riders' attack on the camp. I don't really understand what Strider was planning here; did he know it was hopeless to try and hide, and he figured that he could beat off the Riders when they arrived with the fire they had lit? Because he didn't really try to conceal the camp, and if he wanted a defensible position, surely the top of Weathertop would have been better? Oh well. It certainly raises the tension with the Hobbits rushing back to inform Strider about the approaching shadows, and how the Riders are poised on the rim of the hollow, ready to rush down and strike.
The Riders truly are terrible, aren't they? Tolkien's description of them is masterful:
"There were five figures: two standing on the lip of the dell, three advancing. In their white faces burned keen and merciless eyes; under their mantles were long grey robes; upon their grey hairs were helms of silver; in their haggard hands were swords of steel. . . . The third was taller than the others: his hair was long and gleaming and on his helm was a crown."That's all for now. I'll leave my discussion of "Elbereth" for the next chapter, where Strider references it in greater detail. What an amazing chapter. I know I'm gushing, but let's see if Tolkien can top it in the future.
Thursday, May 1, 2014
"Flight to the Ford" - Jacob's Thoughts
I'm still waiting for Ben to catch up with us and fill us in with his Encyclopedic knowledge of Tolkien mythology about what exactly is the meaning and importance of "Elbereth," and why that word seemed to drive the Black Riders away at the climactic moment at the end of the chapter previous. I even contemplated just waiting another week and, you know, be more responsible myself and spend this time working on my various 20-page finals (one more year, one more year, one more year...)
Nevertheless, I was so tantalizingly close to the end of Book 1 (and I also wanted to procrastinate as much as reasonable), that I just couldn't resist. But as thrilling as that conclusion was, I'm still left with unsettled questions in my mind: why exactly didn't the Black Riders just finish the job the night they stabbed Frodo? What was it about shouting "Elbereth!" and/or Strider flinging torches at them that sent the Black Riders scrambling, exactly? If they're so violent and powerful (as we've already seen), and if even an elf can hardly stand up to The Nine (as we learn in this chapter), then what's to stop them from dismembering 4 frightened hobbits and a single man they've got outnumbered in the dark, which we already know is their home turf? And if they can just telekineticly make your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth and make your sword fall apart (as we see them do at the ford), why not just do that to Frodo when they've got him cornered, so that he can't slash at them or cry enchanted words at them or whatever? I need my villains to feel more competent than our erstwhile heroes in order for their defeat to feel fully satisfying.
For that matter, why did it take so long for them to track down and cut off our motley crew of hobbits again, particularly if our heroes are now sticking to the main road and there's not one but two choke points at rivers and bridges? Why wait till they're almost on the cusp of Rivendell, where there's already elves riding out to reinforce them, before they attack? For that matter, if Rivendell is already so aware of the deathly importance of their quest, why only send out one guy to help them out, instead of, say, an entire battalion? Will any of these questions be answered in the next chapters at all? All these hanging mysteries are like static on the radio, disrupting my ability to enjoy Book 1's climax.
Two comments on the film version: I am still irritated after all these years with Peter Jackson for undercutting and blunting the impact of Frodo's lone stand against the Black Riders by shoe-horning in Steve Perry's daughter pouting all sexy-like in her Elfin dominatrix outfit across the ford; it was a relief to override that scene in my own imagination with the original here once more. However, everything else the film does in the lead up to that moment is, frankly, more internally consistent and intelligible than what Tolkien has written down here, viz: the Black Riders disperse simply because Strider is a total bad-ass of a fighter; but rather than lingering around all day and traveling days more, as in the text, our little Fellowship take off at once for Rivendell as fast as they can, for the Black Riders regroup almost immediately and are hot on their heels. Maybe Tolkien should've been a screen-writer, to help reign in his most meandering tendencies.
Also, while blundering across the stone Trolls from The Hobbit might have perhaps been a delightful call-back earlier in the novel, it feels jarring and out of place here, what with the tone so very different and the stakes so much higher.
Nevertheless, it's impossible for me to be a total crank about this chapter: I've repeated so often that even I'm getting kinda sick of it, that my favorite theme in this book is that of a light shining through the darkness, and here in Book 1's final scene, we see that theme get bumped up to the next level! For here we have all nine Black Riders, and they don't even bother covering their heads anymore (I'd forgotten that detail), letting their cold, merciless eyes shine in broad daylight, so self-confident are they, so complete is their control, so total is their victory. Up till now, the darkness has never been more powerful.
But then, lo, behold! Down the river comes a "cavalry of waves," with "white riders upon white horses with frothing manes." Even more important, across the ford is "a shining figure of white light; and behind it ran small shadowy forms waving flames, that flared red in the grey mist that was falling over the world" (another detail I'd forgotten). Whatever these are, they drive into the retributive flood the remaining Black Riders who had wisely held back (to no avail), saving Frodo.
And just what is that shining figure of white light with its attendant shadowy forms waving flames? The paradox is that, unlike my earlier questions, I actually don't need that particular question answered at all: for right now, it is enough for me to know that as dark as was the darkness, the light was more powerful still, that it shined brightly no matter the grey mist falling over the world, and swept away the dark ones suddenly, in an instant.
Nevertheless, I was so tantalizingly close to the end of Book 1 (and I also wanted to procrastinate as much as reasonable), that I just couldn't resist. But as thrilling as that conclusion was, I'm still left with unsettled questions in my mind: why exactly didn't the Black Riders just finish the job the night they stabbed Frodo? What was it about shouting "Elbereth!" and/or Strider flinging torches at them that sent the Black Riders scrambling, exactly? If they're so violent and powerful (as we've already seen), and if even an elf can hardly stand up to The Nine (as we learn in this chapter), then what's to stop them from dismembering 4 frightened hobbits and a single man they've got outnumbered in the dark, which we already know is their home turf? And if they can just telekineticly make your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth and make your sword fall apart (as we see them do at the ford), why not just do that to Frodo when they've got him cornered, so that he can't slash at them or cry enchanted words at them or whatever? I need my villains to feel more competent than our erstwhile heroes in order for their defeat to feel fully satisfying.
For that matter, why did it take so long for them to track down and cut off our motley crew of hobbits again, particularly if our heroes are now sticking to the main road and there's not one but two choke points at rivers and bridges? Why wait till they're almost on the cusp of Rivendell, where there's already elves riding out to reinforce them, before they attack? For that matter, if Rivendell is already so aware of the deathly importance of their quest, why only send out one guy to help them out, instead of, say, an entire battalion? Will any of these questions be answered in the next chapters at all? All these hanging mysteries are like static on the radio, disrupting my ability to enjoy Book 1's climax.
Two comments on the film version: I am still irritated after all these years with Peter Jackson for undercutting and blunting the impact of Frodo's lone stand against the Black Riders by shoe-horning in Steve Perry's daughter pouting all sexy-like in her Elfin dominatrix outfit across the ford; it was a relief to override that scene in my own imagination with the original here once more. However, everything else the film does in the lead up to that moment is, frankly, more internally consistent and intelligible than what Tolkien has written down here, viz: the Black Riders disperse simply because Strider is a total bad-ass of a fighter; but rather than lingering around all day and traveling days more, as in the text, our little Fellowship take off at once for Rivendell as fast as they can, for the Black Riders regroup almost immediately and are hot on their heels. Maybe Tolkien should've been a screen-writer, to help reign in his most meandering tendencies.
Also, while blundering across the stone Trolls from The Hobbit might have perhaps been a delightful call-back earlier in the novel, it feels jarring and out of place here, what with the tone so very different and the stakes so much higher.
Nevertheless, it's impossible for me to be a total crank about this chapter: I've repeated so often that even I'm getting kinda sick of it, that my favorite theme in this book is that of a light shining through the darkness, and here in Book 1's final scene, we see that theme get bumped up to the next level! For here we have all nine Black Riders, and they don't even bother covering their heads anymore (I'd forgotten that detail), letting their cold, merciless eyes shine in broad daylight, so self-confident are they, so complete is their control, so total is their victory. Up till now, the darkness has never been more powerful.
But then, lo, behold! Down the river comes a "cavalry of waves," with "white riders upon white horses with frothing manes." Even more important, across the ford is "a shining figure of white light; and behind it ran small shadowy forms waving flames, that flared red in the grey mist that was falling over the world" (another detail I'd forgotten). Whatever these are, they drive into the retributive flood the remaining Black Riders who had wisely held back (to no avail), saving Frodo.
And just what is that shining figure of white light with its attendant shadowy forms waving flames? The paradox is that, unlike my earlier questions, I actually don't need that particular question answered at all: for right now, it is enough for me to know that as dark as was the darkness, the light was more powerful still, that it shined brightly no matter the grey mist falling over the world, and swept away the dark ones suddenly, in an instant.
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