I don't know if I've ever really known what to make of these Lothlórien chapters. In some ways, they're foundational for what comes after, with respect to the dynamic of the members of the Fellowship and the choices Aragorn has to make (and is conveniently excused from making) later in LOTR. But in other ways, they're extremely confusing. Galadriel is just such an enigmatic character, so distant and remote compared to our narrators the Hobbits, that her appearances feel almost disturbing.
Within Tolkien's mythos, Galadriel is probably the oldest Elf in Middle-earth (except for Círdan). She was born in Valinor and came to Middle-earth before the First Age of the Sun, with Feänor and the hosts of the Noldor. She is the daughter of Finarfin, who was the brother of Feänor and later the High King of the Elves. Although she was overshadowed by the shenanigans of the sons of Feänor in The Silmarillion, she was a major figure in the wars of the Second and Third Ages. In these chapters, she completely overshadows her soft-spoken husband Celeborn, who is typically described as a "kinsman of Thingol of Doriath" (which makes him a Sindarin Elf, and thus not really the equal of Galadriel's Noldorin heritage and power). Interestingly, Galadriel says that she passed over the mountains, likely meaning the Blue Mountains of Beleriand, before the fall of Nargothrond or Gondolin. Checking my sources, it seems that Tolkien has Galadriel and Celeborn espousing the belief that the War of the Jewels, fought against Sauron's former master Morgoth, was hopeless and thus they did not participate in the War of Wrath in which the Valar finally destroyed Morgoth's power in the North (and the entirety of Beleriand in the process). I think that says something about Galadriel's pragmatism. She is not one for clinging to false hope.
But the big question in my mind is why does Tolkien have the Company pass through Lórien before sending them down the Great River and to the confrontation between Frodo and Boromir that by this point is obviously coming up quickly? Did he just want to show off another Elvish kingdom? One of the most important moments in this chapter is when Galadriel mentally tests each member of the Company, and here more seeds are planted in Boromir's mind that will eventually lead to the breaking of the Fellowship. Does Galadriel's test push Boromir over the edge? It's interesting to speculate about whether Boromir would still be driven to do what he does even without Galadriel prompting him a little bit, with ideas about the salvation of Gondor. Galadriel's not all roses and moonbeams; I can easily interpret Aragorn's rebuttal of Boromir's distrust (that no evil is in Lórien except that which a person brings with them) to mean that Galadriel's magic magnifies and eventually exposes the evil within a person. Perhaps that is what happened here. I'm sure I'll talk more about Boromir and his motivations in the final chapter of "Fellowship." In any event, the test is very disturbing to most members of the Company.
On the other hand, Galadriel is a wonderful voice for understanding between the Elves and Gimli. When Celeborn expresses his wish that Gimli should have been refused entrance into Lórien had he known about the evil that the Dwarves had awoken in the mountains, Galadriel gently reproves him and reminds him about the beauty possessed and admired by the Dwarves. I dislike the word "tolerance," so I don't think that's what Galadriel is communicating here, but she is certainly able to place herself in the shoes of the Dwarves and understands what makes them tick. I also love the line about Gimli's dawning comprehension of the better path that Galadriel is offering, which is certainly the catalyst for Gimli and Legolas' future friendship: "…it seemed to him that he looked suddenly into the heart of an enemy and saw there love and understanding. Wonder came into his face, and then he smiled in answer." Gimli is surprised by the offer of reconciliation but then immediately accepts it.
The magic of the Elves and specifically Galadriel's power over the land and people of Lórien, is what permeates this chapter. Sam's comment about how "there's Elves and Elves" is quite on the nose -- Galadriel is quite a different sort of Elf from, say, Haldir or even Legolas, who have never known anything but Middle-earth and have no sense of connection to Valinor beyond a vague longing for the Sea (which rises in Legolas as the books progress). I'll talk more about Galadriel's connection to Valinor in the next chapter, where it really comes to the forefront, but she is set apart from the rank-and-file Elf of Lórien very distinctly. Frodo can feel the power pulsing through Lórien, generated by Galadriel and her Ring of Power; Sam not so much.
Finally, the titular "Mirror" of the chapter. What is this strange magical object, that presents visions of past, present, and future, scenes desired by those that look into the Mirror but also scenes unbidden and unrequested by either Galadriel or the person looking? As with so many things with Tolkien's magic, the Mirror resembles ancient magic tropes like scrying, but is so completely unexplained as to be wholly opaque.
I find it fascinating that Galadriel was looking forward to and anticipating the "test" placed before her by Frodo. She makes it sound like she was eagerly hoping it would be given to her. Why? Likely, deep down, Galadriel finds the promise of absolute power alluring. Who among us would not? Who among us doesn't smile a little bit at the thought of being absolutely loved and absolutely feared by everyone? But I think Galadriel wants to be presented with this test because she wants to prove to herself that she can pass it. That she is content -- or if not content, than accepting of the fact -- that she will "diminish, pass into the West, and remain Galadriel."
Part of Galadriel's acceptance goes back to that pragmatism that I mentioned earlier. The Elves -- or at least the Wise (like true elitists, they seem to keep a lot back from regular shmoes like Haldir) -- are very aware that the ages of Elvish dominance are over. In Tolkien's legendarium, the "Music" of Illúvitar (the god-figure) gives a season to everything and everything in its season. The Elves had their time, and it is passing, and the Age of Men is nearing. With that comes the lessening of Galadriel's power; even at this point, it does not extend past the borders of Lórien itself (similar to Tolkien's concept that these powerful beings are about to designate the boundaries of their power, but are all but powerless outside those borders, a la Tom Bombadil outside the Old Forest or Sauron both magnifying and confining his power with the Ring).
And second, Tolkien has made (most of) his Elves inherently good. Galadriel, as exhibited by the compassion she shows to Gimli in this chapter, believes in acting for the greater good. She knows that the destruction of Sauron will free Men from his oppression. It's interesting that in this chapter, Frodo and Galadriel both wish for things that would result in great harm: Frodo that Galadriel would take the Ring, and Galadriel that the Ring had never been found (which would have resulted in Sauron's unchecked expansion). But ultimately they both understand what they must do to benefit the greater good. In Galadriel's case, she knows that the destruction of the Ring will hasten the waning of the Elves' power; they placed so much of their power (or so we are told; I've never really understood the how or why of this) into the creation of the Three Rings, and with the destruction of the One Ring, the Master Ring, comes the destruction of the power of all the other rings as well. But despite that fact, she chooses to support the Quest instead of clinging to her slowly fading power in Middle-earth.
Isn't this a lesson that so many of us could benefit from? I'm certainly guilty of clinging to the past from time to time at the expense of the present.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
Friday, September 19, 2014
"Farewell to Lórien" - Jacob's Thoughts
For the first half of this chapter, I worried that Tolkien had fallen back into old habits, indulging in that same, dull wheel-spinning that dragged down so many of the middle-chapters of Book 1. Part of it is all that discussion of cram and fine elvin rope; I hadn't cared before how the Fellowship was provisioned (it's not like Tolkien had cared before either), and I wasn't about to start now. (The most boring chapter in Moby Dick is also about getting rope).
Moreover, as Aragorn and Borimor et al argued inconclusively about where to go next, I began to worry that Tolkien didn't know at the time either, that he was making this all up on the fly. Maybe I had been spoiled by so many solid chapters in a row, but "Farewell to Lórien" felt like a misstep.
Or maybe I just hate long goodbyes, and that's exactly what "Farewell to Lórien" is--and despite the wonderful "Mirror of Galadriel" chapter, I didn't feel like we spent enough time in Lórien for us to feel all that invested in this grand au revoir. (Besides, what is this, the third time they had to say goodbye to somewhere nice? After the Shire and Rivendell, the trope begins to wear thin).
But by the end of the chapter, I had warmed up to it. Part of it were the touches of character development and foreshadowing: here Frodo (and the reader) first gets the sense that Borimor is not quite as deferential and bland a traveling companion as he has seemed so far, that he never actually took his eye of the Ring, that there is in fact some dissemination hidden within the ranks of the Fellowship; here Gimli allows himself some genuine vulnerability, grace, and courage in humbly begging a strand of hair from the Lady Galadriel, which elevates him from mere "obligatory generic Dwarf no. 473" to an actual person with hidden depths and a real personality, someone I might want to get to know better; and here, Aragorn receives a brooch which, while seemingly little more than an old heirloom, seems to lift the burden of "many years" from his countenance. This is all Hemingway's ice-berg theory at its best (I had to give a class presentation on Ernest Hemingway's debut In Our Time this week, so the ice-berg theory--that 7/8ths of the story should be hidden beneath the surface--has been on my mind a lot lately).
If we wanted to get all Campbellian-Hero-Cycle here, this chapter is where the hero receives the "supernatural boon" before the great confrontation. As such, Frodo's reception from Galadriel of a light that will shine in his darkest hour implies that this darkest hour is fast closing in. And indeed, for the first time in this journey, our heroes here have begun to discuss Mordor as a place they may actually approach soon--that is, for the first time, Mordor feels real. Already Tolkien is setting us up for the next book, which, based on the thinness of the pages remaining in my right hand, is also fast approaching.
In fact, not only is Tolkien already setting us up for the final approach to Mordor, but for post-Mordor, intriguingly. For the Lady Galadriel's gift to Sam is a patch of dirt from Lórien. She straight up admits will this boon not help him keep the right road nor protect him on his journey, but is instead to help his garden flourish and bloom if/when he ever gets home. Now, she explicitly does not promise him that he will ever get to go home ("all foretelling is now vain")--nor does she promise that the Shire won't be a barren, scorched wasteland if he does--only that he will be able to grow again. It's a small hope maybe, but in this ever-enclosing darkness, it's an encouraging one.
Moreover, as Aragorn and Borimor et al argued inconclusively about where to go next, I began to worry that Tolkien didn't know at the time either, that he was making this all up on the fly. Maybe I had been spoiled by so many solid chapters in a row, but "Farewell to Lórien" felt like a misstep.
Or maybe I just hate long goodbyes, and that's exactly what "Farewell to Lórien" is--and despite the wonderful "Mirror of Galadriel" chapter, I didn't feel like we spent enough time in Lórien for us to feel all that invested in this grand au revoir. (Besides, what is this, the third time they had to say goodbye to somewhere nice? After the Shire and Rivendell, the trope begins to wear thin).
But by the end of the chapter, I had warmed up to it. Part of it were the touches of character development and foreshadowing: here Frodo (and the reader) first gets the sense that Borimor is not quite as deferential and bland a traveling companion as he has seemed so far, that he never actually took his eye of the Ring, that there is in fact some dissemination hidden within the ranks of the Fellowship; here Gimli allows himself some genuine vulnerability, grace, and courage in humbly begging a strand of hair from the Lady Galadriel, which elevates him from mere "obligatory generic Dwarf no. 473" to an actual person with hidden depths and a real personality, someone I might want to get to know better; and here, Aragorn receives a brooch which, while seemingly little more than an old heirloom, seems to lift the burden of "many years" from his countenance. This is all Hemingway's ice-berg theory at its best (I had to give a class presentation on Ernest Hemingway's debut In Our Time this week, so the ice-berg theory--that 7/8ths of the story should be hidden beneath the surface--has been on my mind a lot lately).
If we wanted to get all Campbellian-Hero-Cycle here, this chapter is where the hero receives the "supernatural boon" before the great confrontation. As such, Frodo's reception from Galadriel of a light that will shine in his darkest hour implies that this darkest hour is fast closing in. And indeed, for the first time in this journey, our heroes here have begun to discuss Mordor as a place they may actually approach soon--that is, for the first time, Mordor feels real. Already Tolkien is setting us up for the next book, which, based on the thinness of the pages remaining in my right hand, is also fast approaching.
In fact, not only is Tolkien already setting us up for the final approach to Mordor, but for post-Mordor, intriguingly. For the Lady Galadriel's gift to Sam is a patch of dirt from Lórien. She straight up admits will this boon not help him keep the right road nor protect him on his journey, but is instead to help his garden flourish and bloom if/when he ever gets home. Now, she explicitly does not promise him that he will ever get to go home ("all foretelling is now vain")--nor does she promise that the Shire won't be a barren, scorched wasteland if he does--only that he will be able to grow again. It's a small hope maybe, but in this ever-enclosing darkness, it's an encouraging one.
Monday, September 15, 2014
"Lothlórien" - Eric's Thoughts
One thing I get to do when writing this blog is brag about it. Whenever someone complains about not being able to keep in touch with old friends, I explain this blog to them, and they say, "Wow, that's a great idea, I should do that!" I'm guessing they never do it, so kudos to you guys for keeping up with it. Kudos to me too. I'll keep this post short so I can move on to Mirror, which I think is a more interesting chapter.
Lothlorien is a pause chapter, where Tolkien slows things down after the suspense of Moria.
What's interesting is that Tolkien still maintains tension throughout, by singling out the dwarf for a blindfold, and by keeping the orcs in pursuit. It goes to show that adding a ticking time bomb to any prose makes it more interesting. The orcs running underground shows that the escape would have failed if the elves hadn't intervened. And of course Gollum is following, which is obvious to the reader by now for those who had read the Hobbit.
The elves singling out Gimli made for the best scene in the chapter. Legolas curses the stiff necks of dwarves, only to find himself being put in the same shoes as Gimli. Legolas objects, and Aragon quips its now the stiff-necks of elves that is causing delay. Aragon shows wisdom in resolving the conflict, and singling out no one. Haldir notes that the power of separation is derived from the ability to sow mistrust among allies. Yet Haldir still decides to follow the law and treat them like enemies. An unsettling thought.
Lothlorien is a pause chapter, where Tolkien slows things down after the suspense of Moria.
What's interesting is that Tolkien still maintains tension throughout, by singling out the dwarf for a blindfold, and by keeping the orcs in pursuit. It goes to show that adding a ticking time bomb to any prose makes it more interesting. The orcs running underground shows that the escape would have failed if the elves hadn't intervened. And of course Gollum is following, which is obvious to the reader by now for those who had read the Hobbit.
The elves singling out Gimli made for the best scene in the chapter. Legolas curses the stiff necks of dwarves, only to find himself being put in the same shoes as Gimli. Legolas objects, and Aragon quips its now the stiff-necks of elves that is causing delay. Aragon shows wisdom in resolving the conflict, and singling out no one. Haldir notes that the power of separation is derived from the ability to sow mistrust among allies. Yet Haldir still decides to follow the law and treat them like enemies. An unsettling thought.
"Lothlórien" - Ben's Thoughts
While not much actually happens in this chapter, it does allow for rumination on a number of different important subjects. It's a nice pause after the excitement of Moria.
I won't go into Gandalf's passing too much, as Jacob already covered it to a large extent. It's interesting that Aragorn really gives the Company no time to grieve at all, and Tolkien doesn't really dwell on it, either. If I recall correctly, there's more on the subject in later chapters, but here it is glossed over very quickly. That's too bad, seeing that this moment from the movie is one of the very best additions (and probably one of the best scenes from all three films). I also not that Aragorn's "We must do without hope" is a very bleak line. Aragorn really thinks there is no hope in this war. It's interesting, however, that the chapter is bookended by Aragorn's thoughts on hope -- here he denies it, but at the end, when he is wrapped up in his memories of Arwen ("For the grim years were removed from the face of Aragorn, and he seemed clothed in white, a young lord tall and fair; and he spoke words in the Elvish tongue to one whom Frodo could not see" -- a lovely description), he seems reminded of why he is fighting this war, despite the bleak outlook.
A few thoughts about the Elves. First, we have the answer to Jacob's question about the language all the characters are speaking, right here in the text of the chapter: it is called "Westron," the common tongue of Middle-earth. This language is derived from the Adûnaic language, the native tongue of the Men of Númenor. Apparently Westron is something of a creole adapted from Adûnaic and the other tongues of the West. By this point in the Third Age only the learned would speak anything but Westron; Pippin and Merry, for example, will have no trouble understanding the Rohirrim or the men of Gondor in the later books. It is fun to note that Tolkien even saw the test of LOTR as a "translation" of Westron; supposedly Bilbo and Frodo's names in Westron ended in "a" sounds (i.e., "Bilba" and "Froda"), but these had to be "translated" as "Bilbo" and "Frodo" into English because names that end in "a" in our language are viewed as feminine. That Tolkien. Going above and beyond for the sake of worldbuilding.
We also get a bit more of an insight into Elvish society than we had previously. It's very interesting that Legolas is not familiar with the Elves of Lórien, and vice versa. Indeed, Haldir knows next to nothing about the world outside the immediate concerns of Lórien and the war Galadriel is engaged in with Dol Goldur. Galadriel's isolationist policy really keeps her people in the dark (although it doesn't seem to keep her from communicating with Elrond telepathically about the inbound Fellowship), and engenders Haldir's oddly hypocritical stance on trust and estrangement: "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him," he says. Yet "…we dare not by our own trust endanger our land." How does that make sense? It sounds like Sauron has already succeeded, to me. Galadriel is clearly more of a pragmatist than Elrond, who made all of those speeches as the Fellowship was leaving Rivendell about agency and destiny, not to mention his symbolic choices about the makeup and number of the Company. It's nice to see diversity of opinion between the Lords of the Noldor.
Which of course takes me back to The Silmarillion -- while they mostly display a unified front in LOTR, Elves have a very fractious history. The divisions between Thranduil's kingdom of Mirkwood and Galadriel's kingdom of Lórien are wide indeed. First and foremost, Thranduil is a Sindar, from a line hailing from Doriath -- made up of Elves who did not journey over the Sea to the West in the Ages before the First Age. Meanwhile, Galadriel is quite possibly the oldest living Elf in Middle-earth -- she is a Noldor, was born in Valinor, and traveled to Middle-Earth with Feänor before the First Age. By this time the Elves have mostly overcome the differences between the different (ethnic?) groups, which is a good thing because it seemed like they were killing each other all the time in The Silmarillion. It also raises interesting class issues, as the Noldor lord it over the Úmayar Sindar and Nandor Elves that make up most of the population of (certainly) Legolas' people and (most likely) the Elves of Lórien as well. Peter Jackson makes something of these class issues in the new Hobbit "adaptation" (I use scare quotes because it is a very loose adaptation indeed), even though Tolkien leaves it entirely out of LOTR. Maybe that's a good thing. Elvish politics and class issues would probably muddy up the clear narrative that we have here.
A few miscellaneous notes. I don't think I've ever noticed before that the Elves monitored a "great troop of orcs" entering Moria at the eastern gate some months back. What was that all about? Sauron's delegation to the Balrog? Just Sauron stirring up trouble? Or perhaps Sauron's anticipation of Gandalf and Co. going into the Mines? It certainly lends itself to the idea that Gandalf was fated to fall in Moria, and that Sauron's will was driving the Company to enter the place. An interesting piece of evidence to Sauron's perception of Gandalf's travels.
Next, on Frodo - his "sixth sense" of danger seems to have developed considerably. Frodo feels uneasy long after the orcs have gone, which of course signals the approach of Gollum. I will continue to be on the lookout for other evidence of superpowers from Frodo, although it may be fewer and farther between in later books; as I recall Books IV and VI are mostly from Sam's point of view. Surely this sixth sense isn't a lingering effect from Frodo's dagger-wound -- how would being turned into a wraith have helped him sense Gollum, who is a different kind of beast altogether from the orcs? I'm just not sure what to make of Frodo's extrasensory abilities. Thoughts, anyone?
Frodo also experiences a certain "rapture in nature" moment there on Cerin Amroth. It's clear that Tolkien has a great love for woods and forests. However, while these are beautiful places, they bear no great resonance for me -- I love the mountains. As a result, Tolkien's waxing rhapsodic about the woods and hills of Lórien falls a little flat for me; being confined in woods will always feel subtly oppressive to me, no matter how beautiful. Give me mountains, grand vistas, any day. That's what really gets my blood moving.
I wanted to close with a comment on Frodo and Gimli's experience at Kheled-zâram, the "Mirror-mere." They gaze into the pool, and Gimli doesn't repeat what he sees other than the "crown of Durin," but Frodo believes that he sees lights shining in the depths of the pool that could not be reflected from the mountains above. What is all that about? What was Tolkien trying to convey by having his characters enjoy this experience?
On one level, it ties into the sense of glory lost, civilization crumbled, that pervades LOTR so deeply. The Elves, with Haldir as their spokesman in this chapter, believe that their day has passed and they will never again attain the beauty of the past; that all that is left for them is to pass into the West (and Haldir, interestingly enough, seems to be deeply skeptical about what awaits them there). The Dwarves, on the other hand, seem to have a far brighter outlook on things. While Gimli recognizes that their civilization has fallen from greater heights, he believes that his leader (prophet? god-figure?) Durin will return someday, and with him the glory of Dwarven civilization -- Durin is literally reborn, he comes again. Given that belief, the Mirror-mere (an interesting name, given the "Mirror of Galadriel" we will encounter in the next chapter) reflects a promise that is essentially a religious experience. Gimli says he wants to see the "wonder of the dale," but what he is looking for in the pool is spiritual confirmation that his Messiah-figure Durin will return.
The Dwarves seem to believe that what has been lost can be reclaimed, even if it is not always in the same way. Is this belief at odds with the message we will encounter at the end of the book that what is broken (Frodo's peace) cannot be mended, although joy and peace can ultimately be found, in some form or another, in places we did not at first expect (perhaps in death or the afterlife)? I'm not sure. I tend to lean more in the direction of Frodo, in that I feel like sublime experiences will never be recaptured in the same way twice in one lifetime. But wouldn't it be nice to think so? I guess that makes Gimli the optimist in the Company.
All in all, a very interesting chapter. A nice contrast from the frenetic energy and masterful action of Moria. Let's see if the rest of the "Lórien" chapters hold up to snuff.
I won't go into Gandalf's passing too much, as Jacob already covered it to a large extent. It's interesting that Aragorn really gives the Company no time to grieve at all, and Tolkien doesn't really dwell on it, either. If I recall correctly, there's more on the subject in later chapters, but here it is glossed over very quickly. That's too bad, seeing that this moment from the movie is one of the very best additions (and probably one of the best scenes from all three films). I also not that Aragorn's "We must do without hope" is a very bleak line. Aragorn really thinks there is no hope in this war. It's interesting, however, that the chapter is bookended by Aragorn's thoughts on hope -- here he denies it, but at the end, when he is wrapped up in his memories of Arwen ("For the grim years were removed from the face of Aragorn, and he seemed clothed in white, a young lord tall and fair; and he spoke words in the Elvish tongue to one whom Frodo could not see" -- a lovely description), he seems reminded of why he is fighting this war, despite the bleak outlook.
A few thoughts about the Elves. First, we have the answer to Jacob's question about the language all the characters are speaking, right here in the text of the chapter: it is called "Westron," the common tongue of Middle-earth. This language is derived from the Adûnaic language, the native tongue of the Men of Númenor. Apparently Westron is something of a creole adapted from Adûnaic and the other tongues of the West. By this point in the Third Age only the learned would speak anything but Westron; Pippin and Merry, for example, will have no trouble understanding the Rohirrim or the men of Gondor in the later books. It is fun to note that Tolkien even saw the test of LOTR as a "translation" of Westron; supposedly Bilbo and Frodo's names in Westron ended in "a" sounds (i.e., "Bilba" and "Froda"), but these had to be "translated" as "Bilbo" and "Frodo" into English because names that end in "a" in our language are viewed as feminine. That Tolkien. Going above and beyond for the sake of worldbuilding.
We also get a bit more of an insight into Elvish society than we had previously. It's very interesting that Legolas is not familiar with the Elves of Lórien, and vice versa. Indeed, Haldir knows next to nothing about the world outside the immediate concerns of Lórien and the war Galadriel is engaged in with Dol Goldur. Galadriel's isolationist policy really keeps her people in the dark (although it doesn't seem to keep her from communicating with Elrond telepathically about the inbound Fellowship), and engenders Haldir's oddly hypocritical stance on trust and estrangement: "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him," he says. Yet "…we dare not by our own trust endanger our land." How does that make sense? It sounds like Sauron has already succeeded, to me. Galadriel is clearly more of a pragmatist than Elrond, who made all of those speeches as the Fellowship was leaving Rivendell about agency and destiny, not to mention his symbolic choices about the makeup and number of the Company. It's nice to see diversity of opinion between the Lords of the Noldor.
Which of course takes me back to The Silmarillion -- while they mostly display a unified front in LOTR, Elves have a very fractious history. The divisions between Thranduil's kingdom of Mirkwood and Galadriel's kingdom of Lórien are wide indeed. First and foremost, Thranduil is a Sindar, from a line hailing from Doriath -- made up of Elves who did not journey over the Sea to the West in the Ages before the First Age. Meanwhile, Galadriel is quite possibly the oldest living Elf in Middle-earth -- she is a Noldor, was born in Valinor, and traveled to Middle-Earth with Feänor before the First Age. By this time the Elves have mostly overcome the differences between the different (ethnic?) groups, which is a good thing because it seemed like they were killing each other all the time in The Silmarillion. It also raises interesting class issues, as the Noldor lord it over the Úmayar Sindar and Nandor Elves that make up most of the population of (certainly) Legolas' people and (most likely) the Elves of Lórien as well. Peter Jackson makes something of these class issues in the new Hobbit "adaptation" (I use scare quotes because it is a very loose adaptation indeed), even though Tolkien leaves it entirely out of LOTR. Maybe that's a good thing. Elvish politics and class issues would probably muddy up the clear narrative that we have here.
A few miscellaneous notes. I don't think I've ever noticed before that the Elves monitored a "great troop of orcs" entering Moria at the eastern gate some months back. What was that all about? Sauron's delegation to the Balrog? Just Sauron stirring up trouble? Or perhaps Sauron's anticipation of Gandalf and Co. going into the Mines? It certainly lends itself to the idea that Gandalf was fated to fall in Moria, and that Sauron's will was driving the Company to enter the place. An interesting piece of evidence to Sauron's perception of Gandalf's travels.
Next, on Frodo - his "sixth sense" of danger seems to have developed considerably. Frodo feels uneasy long after the orcs have gone, which of course signals the approach of Gollum. I will continue to be on the lookout for other evidence of superpowers from Frodo, although it may be fewer and farther between in later books; as I recall Books IV and VI are mostly from Sam's point of view. Surely this sixth sense isn't a lingering effect from Frodo's dagger-wound -- how would being turned into a wraith have helped him sense Gollum, who is a different kind of beast altogether from the orcs? I'm just not sure what to make of Frodo's extrasensory abilities. Thoughts, anyone?
Frodo also experiences a certain "rapture in nature" moment there on Cerin Amroth. It's clear that Tolkien has a great love for woods and forests. However, while these are beautiful places, they bear no great resonance for me -- I love the mountains. As a result, Tolkien's waxing rhapsodic about the woods and hills of Lórien falls a little flat for me; being confined in woods will always feel subtly oppressive to me, no matter how beautiful. Give me mountains, grand vistas, any day. That's what really gets my blood moving.
I wanted to close with a comment on Frodo and Gimli's experience at Kheled-zâram, the "Mirror-mere." They gaze into the pool, and Gimli doesn't repeat what he sees other than the "crown of Durin," but Frodo believes that he sees lights shining in the depths of the pool that could not be reflected from the mountains above. What is all that about? What was Tolkien trying to convey by having his characters enjoy this experience?
On one level, it ties into the sense of glory lost, civilization crumbled, that pervades LOTR so deeply. The Elves, with Haldir as their spokesman in this chapter, believe that their day has passed and they will never again attain the beauty of the past; that all that is left for them is to pass into the West (and Haldir, interestingly enough, seems to be deeply skeptical about what awaits them there). The Dwarves, on the other hand, seem to have a far brighter outlook on things. While Gimli recognizes that their civilization has fallen from greater heights, he believes that his leader (prophet? god-figure?) Durin will return someday, and with him the glory of Dwarven civilization -- Durin is literally reborn, he comes again. Given that belief, the Mirror-mere (an interesting name, given the "Mirror of Galadriel" we will encounter in the next chapter) reflects a promise that is essentially a religious experience. Gimli says he wants to see the "wonder of the dale," but what he is looking for in the pool is spiritual confirmation that his Messiah-figure Durin will return.
The Dwarves seem to believe that what has been lost can be reclaimed, even if it is not always in the same way. Is this belief at odds with the message we will encounter at the end of the book that what is broken (Frodo's peace) cannot be mended, although joy and peace can ultimately be found, in some form or another, in places we did not at first expect (perhaps in death or the afterlife)? I'm not sure. I tend to lean more in the direction of Frodo, in that I feel like sublime experiences will never be recaptured in the same way twice in one lifetime. But wouldn't it be nice to think so? I guess that makes Gimli the optimist in the Company.
All in all, a very interesting chapter. A nice contrast from the frenetic energy and masterful action of Moria. Let's see if the rest of the "Lórien" chapters hold up to snuff.
Monday, September 1, 2014
"The Bridge of Khazad-dûm" - Ben's Thoughts
Doom is the word to use here, isn't it? From everything I know, the "û" is pronounced with the long "oo", making the word embedded in the chapter title itself.
A few quick matters before we get to the meat and potatoes of the chapter: Gandalf and the Balrog. The fight in the Chamber of Mazarbul is quite the example of a powerful but understated fight sequence. The Orcs do seem quite scary, even if they are just faceless mooks, and something about the "flat, toeless foot" of the troll is quite evocative as well. (Although it seems quite the cowardly troll to run off after just a little slash to the foot.) It's interesting to note that Tolkien again provides no description of Gandalf in combat (a far cry from the films, to be sure). I'll have to pay careful attention to Gandalf's sword-and-sorcery abilities after he returns as Gandalf the White in the next book. It seems that here he limits himself to the magical bolstering that is both his mission as a Maia to Middle-earth and the capacity of his Ring of Power that is carried with him unbeknownst to the rest of the company (or is it? I wonder if Aragorn was aware of that secret of Gandalf's).
The story of the Dwarves is very horrible. Again Tolkien manages to convey a lot by saying very little. Perhaps this "slashed book" tactic of telling very little and letting the readers fill in the gaps is the precursor of the "found footage" horror movies that are a dime a dozen today? "The Watcher in the Water took Óin" is one of the most horrible lines so far, both because we know Óin from The Hobbit, and because we know the Watcher from the last chapter. It's an old but powerful literary device to state things simply and allow the reader to fill in everything; thus we can imagine the defeated Dwarves, attempting to retreat up to the Eregion gate, only to find this horrible pool of water right on the doorstep and a Lovecraftian monster inside of it that eats one of the group when they try to ford the lake. Caught between the Watcher and the orcs inside; I don't know what I'd choose, but I suppose the Dwarves went with the orcs; in any case they returned to tell what had happened on that side of the Mines. "Valiant but foolish" is what Gandalf calls Balin's expedition. I think that sums it up nicely. Balin from The Hobbit never comes across as ambitious, but it would take a certain foolhardy ambition to ask Dáin, one of the only Dwarves who seemed to perceive the true evil hidden in Moria (see Appendix A), to take a group there to try and retake the Mines, when there have been no Dwarves in Moria because of the Balrog for hundreds (thousands?) of years.
Of course the big focus in the chapter is on the balrog, the monster that launched a thousand D&D campaigns. The giant demon-monster of the films has been so ingrained into my mind, that it's almost shocking to see how vaguely it is described in the books. Its first appearance in the Chamber after the Fellowship exits is interesting for several reasons, not least of which is the fact that it fits in the chamber at all. Just how big or small is this thing? Can it change its shape at will? Tolkien's descriptions of it seem almost fluid, and it makes one think of how powerful Maia in The Silmarillion often changed their physical forms when they needed to adapt to a different situation or needed to present themselves to weak-minded mortals in a different way. After all, the balrog is a Maia -- a fire-spirit likely in service to Aulë. Tolkien waffled on how many balrogs there were supposed to have been; in the The Silmarillion it is conveyed that they exist in large numbers, and in extant notes it is stated that there were alternatively only seven and huge numbers (even thousands). In any case, it's likely that the balrog here (goofily called "Durin's Bane" in Tolkien fandom) has a greater overt power than Gandalf, who is also a Maia (wielding one of the Three Rings, let us not forget) but who was in service to Nienna, a Vala who concerned herself with grief, mourning, and inner strength (which jives quite nicely with Gandalf's mission to inspire courage throughout Middle-earth in the face of Sauron's destructive power).
That mention of Sauron leads me to wonder what the balrog thought of Sauron? There's certainly no link between them; I'm sure Sauron would have loved to have had a balrog at his command, but this one seems content to relax in Moria and kill all passers-by and has no interest in exiting his lair to rain destruction on Sauron's enemies. If the Wise (the Istari and the leaders of the Elves) were aware or had suspicions of what had caused the destruction of the Dwarves in Moria, surely Sauron would have as well? (Although on second thought, it seems that Gandalf had only suspicions -- he exclaims "Now I understand" when he finally sees the monster.) In any case, the balrog would likely not want to bend its will to Morgoth's lowly lieutenant -- the balrogs were often described as Morgoth's personal guard, whereas Sauron was just another henchman who in the Third Age exalts himself in a measure greater than any could have foreseen. This duality between the evils of the balrog and Sauron are interesting -- one demands expansion, conquest, and subjugation, while the other slumbers until disturbed, and then surges forth with terrible force, but within the limits of its domain.
Anyway, back to the balrog in the chamber. I've always found it interesting how Gandalf can sense it in the chamber, how the balrog then "perceives" Gandalf and his spell, and how it then casts a counter-spell. Not only does this indicate that the balrog is more of an active force with a malevolent will of its own, rather than a chaotic force of nature, but it hints at a magic system existing beyond Tolkien's non-delineated supernatural powers possessed by Gandalf and other Maia. In this day and age of almost-too-clearly defined systems, there is something to be said for the mystery and ambiguity on display here. I suppose since we are never in Gandalf's head, it makes sense that we never know exactly how he does things. On the other hand it frustrates me to no end that there seem to be no rules on how things work.
Then the balrog appears at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It is described as a "man-shape maybe, yet greater." This makes me think it is simply the size of a man, but then Tolkien describes it swelling in size, or perhaps just of power, and that its "wings" (possibly just wings of shadow) stretch from wall to wall. I dunno, somehow I like the idea of a great power emanating from a smaller, man-sized figure. The balrog is such a compelling adversary perhaps because Tolkien leaves its description vague. It doesn't speak; it doesn't cackle or gloat. It doesn't even roar (like it does in the movie). It is silent and unspeakably malevolent.
Two final points. First, Aragorn immediately seizes the mantle of leadership after Gandalf's fall. "Come, I will lead you now," is one of the most powerful moments in the book for me, because it is done without hesitation. He almost knew what would happen and he was prepared. There is no doubt who the new leader will be; unless I'm forgetting something, Boromir does not even try to challenge Aragorn's knowledge and expertise in the next chapter. Aragorn finishes out the chapter with a bang ("Aragorn smote to the ground the [orc] captain that stood in his path, and the rest fled in terror of his wrath") and marks a transition point in the book as well. From this point on, he will go through a dynamic shift in character that is one of the best in LOTR.
Finally, Gandalf's fall. I don't have much to say that hasn't already been said, but I feel that "Fellowship" is probably the best of the three books because it deals with loss. Frodo's loss of the Shire, Boromir's spiral into madness, leaving Bilbo behind in Rivendell, and of course Gandalf's sacrifice. It brings home to the reader that there is real and great cost to this Quest. I almost feel like bringing Gandalf back not even a book later cheapens his death here, and I wonder why Tolkien wanted to bring him back and whether the book would have been better without him. I dunno. I'll probably address it more in "Two Towers." The chapter places a finality on the loss with the final words: "the drum-beats faded." What a great way to end the chapter.
A few quick matters before we get to the meat and potatoes of the chapter: Gandalf and the Balrog. The fight in the Chamber of Mazarbul is quite the example of a powerful but understated fight sequence. The Orcs do seem quite scary, even if they are just faceless mooks, and something about the "flat, toeless foot" of the troll is quite evocative as well. (Although it seems quite the cowardly troll to run off after just a little slash to the foot.) It's interesting to note that Tolkien again provides no description of Gandalf in combat (a far cry from the films, to be sure). I'll have to pay careful attention to Gandalf's sword-and-sorcery abilities after he returns as Gandalf the White in the next book. It seems that here he limits himself to the magical bolstering that is both his mission as a Maia to Middle-earth and the capacity of his Ring of Power that is carried with him unbeknownst to the rest of the company (or is it? I wonder if Aragorn was aware of that secret of Gandalf's).
The story of the Dwarves is very horrible. Again Tolkien manages to convey a lot by saying very little. Perhaps this "slashed book" tactic of telling very little and letting the readers fill in the gaps is the precursor of the "found footage" horror movies that are a dime a dozen today? "The Watcher in the Water took Óin" is one of the most horrible lines so far, both because we know Óin from The Hobbit, and because we know the Watcher from the last chapter. It's an old but powerful literary device to state things simply and allow the reader to fill in everything; thus we can imagine the defeated Dwarves, attempting to retreat up to the Eregion gate, only to find this horrible pool of water right on the doorstep and a Lovecraftian monster inside of it that eats one of the group when they try to ford the lake. Caught between the Watcher and the orcs inside; I don't know what I'd choose, but I suppose the Dwarves went with the orcs; in any case they returned to tell what had happened on that side of the Mines. "Valiant but foolish" is what Gandalf calls Balin's expedition. I think that sums it up nicely. Balin from The Hobbit never comes across as ambitious, but it would take a certain foolhardy ambition to ask Dáin, one of the only Dwarves who seemed to perceive the true evil hidden in Moria (see Appendix A), to take a group there to try and retake the Mines, when there have been no Dwarves in Moria because of the Balrog for hundreds (thousands?) of years.
Of course the big focus in the chapter is on the balrog, the monster that launched a thousand D&D campaigns. The giant demon-monster of the films has been so ingrained into my mind, that it's almost shocking to see how vaguely it is described in the books. Its first appearance in the Chamber after the Fellowship exits is interesting for several reasons, not least of which is the fact that it fits in the chamber at all. Just how big or small is this thing? Can it change its shape at will? Tolkien's descriptions of it seem almost fluid, and it makes one think of how powerful Maia in The Silmarillion often changed their physical forms when they needed to adapt to a different situation or needed to present themselves to weak-minded mortals in a different way. After all, the balrog is a Maia -- a fire-spirit likely in service to Aulë. Tolkien waffled on how many balrogs there were supposed to have been; in the The Silmarillion it is conveyed that they exist in large numbers, and in extant notes it is stated that there were alternatively only seven and huge numbers (even thousands). In any case, it's likely that the balrog here (goofily called "Durin's Bane" in Tolkien fandom) has a greater overt power than Gandalf, who is also a Maia (wielding one of the Three Rings, let us not forget) but who was in service to Nienna, a Vala who concerned herself with grief, mourning, and inner strength (which jives quite nicely with Gandalf's mission to inspire courage throughout Middle-earth in the face of Sauron's destructive power).
That mention of Sauron leads me to wonder what the balrog thought of Sauron? There's certainly no link between them; I'm sure Sauron would have loved to have had a balrog at his command, but this one seems content to relax in Moria and kill all passers-by and has no interest in exiting his lair to rain destruction on Sauron's enemies. If the Wise (the Istari and the leaders of the Elves) were aware or had suspicions of what had caused the destruction of the Dwarves in Moria, surely Sauron would have as well? (Although on second thought, it seems that Gandalf had only suspicions -- he exclaims "Now I understand" when he finally sees the monster.) In any case, the balrog would likely not want to bend its will to Morgoth's lowly lieutenant -- the balrogs were often described as Morgoth's personal guard, whereas Sauron was just another henchman who in the Third Age exalts himself in a measure greater than any could have foreseen. This duality between the evils of the balrog and Sauron are interesting -- one demands expansion, conquest, and subjugation, while the other slumbers until disturbed, and then surges forth with terrible force, but within the limits of its domain.
Anyway, back to the balrog in the chamber. I've always found it interesting how Gandalf can sense it in the chamber, how the balrog then "perceives" Gandalf and his spell, and how it then casts a counter-spell. Not only does this indicate that the balrog is more of an active force with a malevolent will of its own, rather than a chaotic force of nature, but it hints at a magic system existing beyond Tolkien's non-delineated supernatural powers possessed by Gandalf and other Maia. In this day and age of almost-too-clearly defined systems, there is something to be said for the mystery and ambiguity on display here. I suppose since we are never in Gandalf's head, it makes sense that we never know exactly how he does things. On the other hand it frustrates me to no end that there seem to be no rules on how things work.
Then the balrog appears at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It is described as a "man-shape maybe, yet greater." This makes me think it is simply the size of a man, but then Tolkien describes it swelling in size, or perhaps just of power, and that its "wings" (possibly just wings of shadow) stretch from wall to wall. I dunno, somehow I like the idea of a great power emanating from a smaller, man-sized figure. The balrog is such a compelling adversary perhaps because Tolkien leaves its description vague. It doesn't speak; it doesn't cackle or gloat. It doesn't even roar (like it does in the movie). It is silent and unspeakably malevolent.
Two final points. First, Aragorn immediately seizes the mantle of leadership after Gandalf's fall. "Come, I will lead you now," is one of the most powerful moments in the book for me, because it is done without hesitation. He almost knew what would happen and he was prepared. There is no doubt who the new leader will be; unless I'm forgetting something, Boromir does not even try to challenge Aragorn's knowledge and expertise in the next chapter. Aragorn finishes out the chapter with a bang ("Aragorn smote to the ground the [orc] captain that stood in his path, and the rest fled in terror of his wrath") and marks a transition point in the book as well. From this point on, he will go through a dynamic shift in character that is one of the best in LOTR.
Finally, Gandalf's fall. I don't have much to say that hasn't already been said, but I feel that "Fellowship" is probably the best of the three books because it deals with loss. Frodo's loss of the Shire, Boromir's spiral into madness, leaving Bilbo behind in Rivendell, and of course Gandalf's sacrifice. It brings home to the reader that there is real and great cost to this Quest. I almost feel like bringing Gandalf back not even a book later cheapens his death here, and I wonder why Tolkien wanted to bring him back and whether the book would have been better without him. I dunno. I'll probably address it more in "Two Towers." The chapter places a finality on the loss with the final words: "the drum-beats faded." What a great way to end the chapter.
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