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.
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