"The Black Gate Is Closed" - Jacob's Thoughts

You guys ever watch The Office back in the day?  Not just the U.S. version, but the original U.K. one?  They both have a strong thread of despair running through them as is well known, but in the U.S. iteration it gets largely subsumed by the light-hearted tone, good humor, and an irrepressible American optimism that renders us constitutionally incapable of ever wallowing in the darkness for too long, or of ever taking it too seriously.  The British version, to put it mildly, serves it straight.  The bleakness is perpetually foregrounded, and the humor only serves to highlight it all the more starkly.  For the British, hope is a luxury, not a necessity; despair is not the exception to existence but its general rule; and if anything ever goes right, it is a strange thing that has happened.

I was reminded of this innately English pessimism throughout this chapter; we've already discussed how Aragorn post-Moriah claims we no longer live for hope, but only revenge, and now here both Frodo and Sam confess--to their innermost selves if no one else--that neither of them had any real hope for this quest, either.  Frodo is determined to cross the Black Gate alone--just as he had always assumed he would have to finally carry this awful burden alone--not because he ever thought he would ever actually make it to Mt. Doom, but only because fate had decreed this his own awful burden to carry, his duty alone to fail in.

Sam, for his part, must admit that the best his native cheerfulness could offer was never any real hope, but only a postponement of despair, one which he can no longer escape now that he stands before the all-too-guarded Black Gate.  Even Gollum is just playing an end-game of delaying the inevitable, of not defeating Sauron but just keeping the Ring out of his hands as long as possible; he straight up tells Frodo that he only guided him to the Black Gate to fulfill the terms of his terrible oath to the "Precious," not because he thought Frodo was crazy enough to try to enter!  Indeed, Gollum rants and raves that it is a terrible idea to try and enter Mordor at all, that he only offers this highly-specious alternate route because if you must enter Mordor, well, you'll have slightly better luck over at this other place--where Sauron's eye isn't as watchful, "he can't see everything, not yet"--which still isn't all that encouraging.

I don't know why it didn't strike me till this chapter, but this entire series is permeated by a very English pessimism, one that refuses to even entertain the possibility of success.  For despite its grand popularity in America, LotR is not an American novel at all.  This text is like the U.K. version of The Office, where all of its despair on the surface, where all humor is gallows humor, where all situations are hopeless.

But then also, like The Office, there comes a joke, and someone says something utterly ridiculous, as Sam recites that nursery poem about "oliphaunts" (by far the dumbest poem Tolkien has published yet), and that somehow relieves all the tension and they are all able to carry on besides.  For although America's source of confidence lies in our unflagging sense of optimism in the face of all contrary evidence, Britain's, by contrast, lies in their calm certainty that all is hopeless and everything and everyone is terrible, which somehow imbues them with the resolve to continue forward anyways.  It's a very English type of despair that almost becomes its own form of optimism.

Almost.

"The Taming of Sméagol" - Ben's Thoughts

Jacob delved deeply into some Gollum-y psychoanalysis; I'll stick to commenting on the beauty and depth of this chapter. It's very refreshing to return to Frodo and Sam. I feel like Tolkien, as well, must have breathed a sigh of relief when he wrote about the Hobbits. Frodo and Sam are written with neither the goofy joviality of Merry and Pippin, nor the almost bombastic epic style of Gandalf and Aragorn. Instead, the prose here is calm and down-to-earth, almost jarringly anachronistic thanks to Sam's vernacular (probably the weakest part of these chapters, in my opinion), and manages to delve deeply into the minds of both Frodo and Sam to the benefit of the reader. Notably, we do stay out of Gollum's mind; Tolkien does provide sharp descriptions of Gollum's mannerisms and even facial expressions that provide clues about his thoughts and feelings, but Tolkien chooses not to express his point of view at this point. A wise decision, in my opinion, but we will get to dig inside Gollum's mind in later chapters.

First a few words on the beauty of this chapter. When I was a kid I think I rushed through the early sections to get to the plot-advancing confrontation between Gollum and the hobbits. However, I did myself a disservice through skimming because I missed some of the most beautiful description Tolkien has provided to date. The way he describes the storm, for example, is simply stunning:

"The skirts of the storm were lifting, ragged and wet, and the main battle had passed to spread its great wings over the Emyn Muil; upon which the dark thought of Sauron brooded for a while. Thence it turned, smiting the Vale of Anduin with hail and lightning, and casting its shadow upon Minas Tirith with threat of war. Then, lowering in the mountains, and gathering its great spires, it rolled on slowly over Gondor and the skirts of Rohan, until far away the Riders on the plain saw its black towers moving behind the sun, as they rode into the West. But here, over the desert and the reeking marshes the deep blue sky of evening opened once more, and a few pallid stars appeared, like small white holes in the canopy above the crescent moon."

I felt compelled to quote the whole passage because it does so much: it provides a sense of location for the reader, while reminding them of the struggle of the other characters taking place elsewhere, while orienting the reader as to the exact time of the present setting (because we have gone back in time some weeks from where we left Gandalf and Pippin), while reminding the reader of the ever-present danger of Sauron, while being just a lovely passage in and of iself, chock full of imagery and metaphor. The Professor's done it again, students.

Just a few thoughts on the plot: Frodo is really trusting in the power of the Ring to bind Gollum to his promise at the end of the chapter. This seems... unwise, especially since he himself acknowledges how dangerous touching one's life to the Ring can be: "It is more treacherous than you are. It may twist your words. Beware!" This seems to be another clue that by declaring himself the Master of the Precious, Frodo is already far deeper under its sway than the reader can outwardly discern. Frodo when weilding the power of the Ring is nowhere close to where Gandalf or Sauron himself would be if he claimed it, but still is an imposing figure: "A tall stern shadow, a mighty lord who hid his brightness in grey cloud."

Finally, it's interesting to note the parallels, as Jacob has done already to some extent, between our trio. Each share notable characteristics. Gollum and Frodo are both, as Jacob noted, affected by the power of the Ring and have a connection that Sam cannot fathom therein. Frodo and Sam are linked by friendship and their roots in the Shire, although here Tolkien's notions of class and gentry come back to the forefront with the clear superior-subservient relationship between "Mr. Frodo" and Sam (remember, Frodo is gentry and Sam is working-class -- although it is worthwhile to remember that Sam, while older than Merry and Pippin, is younger than Frodo by something like twenty years). And finally, Sam and Gollum share Frodo as their master, superior, and leader, and one must wonder whether Sam's animosity towards Gollum stems in part from the sense that the two have an unseen connection that he will never share.

Love Book IV and these chapters. Looking forward to the rest.