"The Black Gate Opens" - Jacob's Thoughts

I wanted to finish Book V with the end of this year, when so many Black Gates feel like they've opened...

The chapter's obvious highlight is Gandalf's trashtalk with the Mouth of Sauron, and I will touch back on him in a bit; but I first wanted to back up and note a couple less-innocuous moments from earlier in this chapter: when the heralds cry "The Lords of Gondor are come!  Let all leave this land or yield them up!"  To which Imrahil suggests, "Say not The Lords of Gondor.  Say The King Elessar.   For that is true, even though he has not yet sat upon the throne; and it will give the Enemy more thought, if the heralds use that name" (198).  Then, before the Black Gate itself, the heralds again cry, "Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth!  Justice shall be done upon him.  For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands.  Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart forever" (201).  In each case, the rights of the legitimate King are invoked, and this feels integral to me.

For a thing that's been quietly gnawing at me throughout re-read is why it was so imperative, so essential, to Tolkien, that there be a King that Returns.  There have been occasional hints of Christian apocalyptic allegory here and there, as the King is a type for the coming Messiah, but nothing that rises to the level of his colleague C.S. Lewis's Chronicle of Narnia--on the whole, Aragorn hasn't felt too much like a Christ-like analogue, but simply the heir to a restored Monarchy after a particularly long interregnum.

One might argue that Tolkien's infatuation with the Monarchy is just another way of saying he's English--but then, the English have had a really fraught relationship with their Kings!  From King John forced to sign the Magna Carta in 1215, to the Peasant Revolt of 1381, to Jack Cade's rebellion of 1450, to the War of the Roses and Guy Fawkes and the English Civil War and Charles I's beheading and the American Revolution (which is best understood as a bunch of Englishmen once again trying to kill their King) and the Sex Pistols sneering "Anarchy in the UK" and The Smiths singing "The Queen is Dead" and Prince Charles' motorcade being attacked during the 2011 London riots with shouts of "Off with his head," the English have a long and bloody history of always trying to get rid of their monarchy!   That the British Monarchy is one of the few surviving left on Earth is one of the supremest ironies of history.

Even in Tolkien's time, the monarchy had already been reduced to a figure-head arrangement, the real power lying primarily with Parliament, the forces of Democracy having largely won their victories, the term "constitutional monarchy" coined as a polite way to say that the Monarchy is allowed to stick around primarily due to institutional inertia.  There is certainly nothing Messianic about the British Crown.

Yet there is about Aragorn's.  I've been trying to put my finger on why, because it just seems to odd for a book all about challenging the absolute rule of a dictator should simultaneously celebrate the rise of a Monarch; the cognitive dissonance is astounding.  But I think this chapter rather off-handedly explains the appeal of a King to Tolkein: "For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands."  Quite simply, Sauron has no rights to Gondor--or the rest of Middle-Earth for that matter--because the King is asserting his claims.  That the King still largely lacks the military-apparatus necessary to enforce said claims is beside the point: for what Aragorn represents is not that hereditary monarchy is an ideal form of government (I highly doubt that even Tolkein seriously believed that), but rather that there is a proper order, that the current rule of darkness is not the way things are supposed to be. King Aragorn does not merely challenge Sauron's power, but his legitimacy.

Although, as a red-blooded American, I have even less interest in a Monarch than the British, I have as of late found a strange sort of solace in wanting to say to the gathering forces of darkness, you have no rights here.  You do no belong here, you are not the way things are supposed to be.  There is just this sense that something has been usurped--not a Kingship per se, but an overall order wherein cruelty and viciousness are not allowed to run amok unchecked.  That, I believe, more than any mere nostalgia for some chivalrous past that never actually existed, is the real appeal of Aragorn to Tolkein--this idea that evil can be checked by a proper claimant who can order it off its property. 

Which in turn perhaps explains Gandalf's own boldness before the Mouth of Sauron.  The White Wizard snatches Sam and Frodos' accouterments from the Mouth quite simply because they do not belong to him; they are not his to offer nor to bandy about nor to keep.  Gandalf then calls Sauron a haggler, a base master of treachery, and the Mouth a slave.  These are not random insults, but cutting jabs intended to mark the Dark Lord as just another thuggish low-life trying to basely steal what isn't his; Sauron may still be able to force things from you like a common mugger, or haggle with you like some back-alley swindler, but nevertheless he still has no legitimate claims to anything that actual Free Men may possess.  The Mouth of Sauron himself must feel this, because after Gandalf snatches away Frodo and Sams' garments, he ceases all his mocking laughter and swiftly retreats to the Black Gate with his tail between his legs, to take refuge in Mordor's numbers because he can't take any in its claims.

This whole idea, that evil has no real claims to this world, that it can be evicted, is an empowering one, and can help to muster your forces and courage and righteous indignation, even when you feel outnumbered.

"The Houses of Healing" - Ben's Thoughts

I just can't bring myself to like these filler chapters. I'm not sure what the purpose of "Houses" can be, other than -- as Jacob noted -- heavy-handed allegory. Why was it necessary to spend so many pages on Aragorn healing Faramir, Merry, and Eowyn?

Part of me argues that it's to establish Aragorn's bona fides as a king, and that probably is what Tolkien is going for. It seems that in his mind, Aragorn must be established as both the proper heir to the throne by lineage -- his direct ancestry to Elendil and Anarion -- but by right as well, and by acceptance by the people. First he pauses before the gate and puts away his emblems of kingship before entering, to mollify the Stewards who have ruled there for so long. Then when he does enter he does so anonymously, hidden in his cloak and only when bidden by Gandalf. And finally, his great work of healing in the city, which earns him the love and trust of the people, is only done when the people "followed after him; and when at last he had supped, men came and prayed that he would heal their kinsmen or their friends whose lives were in peril through hurt or wound, or who lay under the Black Shadow." Tolkien establishes Aragorn as no tyrant, but as a benevolent ruler who accepts responsibility when called upon by his people.

But so much about this chapter rings false to me. Are we to believe that Gandalf, the wizard of action that was chomping at the bit to get out into the thick of the battle just a few minutes ago, is going to hang out in the Houses of Healing observing the battle from afar? While he is the main caretaker of the wounded until Aragorn arrives, I think the text makes it plain that there is little he can do for them. But again, are we truly to believe that Gandalf, a Maia spirit, doesn't know about or cannot harness the healing properties of aethelas? Quite unfortunately, the text supports the inference that the properties of kingsfoil are only at their peak when used by the legitimate king himself, and by no others. Such plot contrivances irritate me to the extreme. Why is that the case? For what purpose? This certainly was never before mentioned when kingsfoil was used in Book I (again by Aragorn, however, I will note).

The lovey-dovey vibe the chapter tries to pull off also rings somewhat false to me. Aragorn goes from one patient to the next, and they each awake with cliched sayings and sticky sweet praises. Equally irritating is Aragorn's exchange with Merry poking fun of the master of herb-lore and his love of languages. This seems like the Professor is trying to cheekily make fun of his own proclivities, but it doesn't fit with how Aragorn has been portrayed throughout the book and doesn't fit the tone of the chapter, either. I just... am baffled by the chapter in general It's just a slog. It's just bad.

I will note that Gandalf's explanation about what truly ails Eowyn, although a further extrapolation of what she already communicated to Aragorn in "Grey Company," contains excellent turns of phrase; so much so that Peter Jackson excised it from "Return of the King" (in fact, he excised this entire chapter and plot-line) and gave the line to Wormtongue to speak directly to Eowyn in "Two Towers." It's unfortunate that is chapter is such an great example of how beautifully Tolkien could write, and how poorly (at times) he could plot.

"The Pyre of Denethor" - Ben's Thoughts

I don't know if I have too much more to say about Denethor. His final decision is chilling, but it feels all too real. Here is a man whose life, as he has lived it up to that point, has no place in the changing world. Either Gondor is defeated by Sauron, and he and his city is destroyed, or the West triumphs over the Enemy, and Aragorn supplants him. He is unwilling to change, or perhaps unable to change perspective. He has been perpetually poisoned by Sauron's propaganda, a process that was no doubt accelerated since the death of Boromir, and he is left with the terrible conclusion that the only other option is destruction.

Gandalf wisely points out that "it would not seem that a Steward who faithfully surrenders his charge is diminished in love or in honour," but the problem is that Denethor does not see himself as a Steward; he sees himself as a king. He is a man that thanks to his birth, lineage, and circumstances of fate that occurred many hundreds of years prior, answers to no one. I think we would all like to say to ourselves that in the same circumstance, we would gladly abdicate to Aragorn (as Faramir, we will see, actually does in Book VI), but the temptation to think as Denethor does is probably all to real for most of us. It's not easy to give up power, to accept that we must change or be nullified, or to cede control to others in the face of great danger.

Unfortunately in these situations where we feel our control slipping, it's all too easy to jump to unwarranted conclusions, breeding anger and even paranoia. Of Gandalf, Denethor says that he has "read thy mind and its policies," and that:

Thy hope is to rule in my stead, to stand behind every throne, north, south, or west. . . . Do I not know that you commanded this halfling here to keep silence? That you brought him hither to be a spy within my very chamber? And yet in our speech together I have learned the names and purpose of all thy companions.

We know, from long experience with Gandalf, that his purpose is not to rule, nor to "supplant" Denethor with Aragorn. Additionally, we know that the "purpose" of each member of the Fellowship is benevolent and, at least initially, was bent towards assisting Frodo and the destruction of the Ring. Certainly, Gandalf did command Pippin to be silent about Aragorn and his ultimate kingly destiny. But it is Denethor, in his frustration, that fills in the blanks there with malevolent intent. How hastily we jump to conclusions when we feel like others are being duplicitous with us. Denethor was unwilling to consider the fact that it was he who was the problem, not Gandalf or Aragorn.

And in Denethor's mind, I'm sure it was all to easy to rationalize his fear towards Aragorn: he came from a line of failed kings, whose kingdom in Arnor was destroyed over a thousand years before. Likewise, the Gondorian line had failed; the stewards had stepped in to guide the kingdom in the absence of the line of Elendil. In his mind, why should he bow to such a person? What he did not know was that Boromir, initially just as skeptical as his father about Aragorn's legitimacy, was won over by Aragorn's character and ability. Denethor refuses to give Aragorn that chance.

Fear, jumping to conclusions, inability and unwillingness to change behavior and perspective, rationalization -- these sound like very human foibles indeed. A tragic end to a compelling character.

"The Last Debate" - Jacob's Thoughts

This chapter is a sort of spiritual successor of "The Council of Elrond" in two regards: first and most obviously, it involves a long, round-about debate that functions primarily to justify a foregone conclusion--in this case, that they must send an expeditionary force to Mordor in order to buy the Ring-Bearer some time.   It's all pretty perfunctory.

But this chapter also spiritually follows Elrond when Aragorn declares, "Let none now reject the counsels of Gandalf, whose long labours against Sauron come at last to their test.  Nonetheless I do not yet claim to command any man.  Let others choose as they will" (192). Aragorn urges the others to Mordor, but he adamantly refuses to order anyone to do so.   In this moment, I cannot help but recall Elrond's parting counsel to the Fellowship in "The Ring Goes South":

"'The ring bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom.  On him alone is any charge laid...The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way.  You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows.  The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will.  For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.' 

'Faithless is he that says farewell when the road is darkness,' said Gimli. 

'Maybe,' said Elrond, 'but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.' 

'Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,' said Gimli, 

'Or break it,' said Elrond."

At the time, I commented that, "For Elrond, the Fellowship must never be compelled to continue their Quest--they must all proceed of their own free will and choice, fully cognizant of their freedom to quit at any time.  Otherwise, if they act only under compulsion, how are they any better or different than Sauron?"  Aragorn I think understands the same, that it is only worth defeating Mordor if it is defeated by a free people.  It is a small character beat, but one that I think indicates that Aragorn will in fact make a good and just King.
 
For he could just as easily make an awful one.  As Legolas recalls of their adventures on the Paths of the Dead: "In that hour I looked on Aragorn and thought how great and terrible a Lord he might have become in the strength of his will, had he taken the Ring to himself.  Not for naught does Mordor fear him" (186).  Tolkien's close friend CS Lewis had written that the reason the Lord chose Paul is because only those truly capable of great evil are likewise truly capable of great good; Nietzsche of all people, likewise said, "Verily, I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good because they had no claws," and Aragorn has claws indeed.  

Nor do I mention Nietzsche arbitrarily: "Strength of will" was one of his key terms, one that was heavily abused and exploited by the Nazis to justify their worst atrocities.  Tolkien here seems to indicate that there is nothing inherently wrong with "strength of will"...but there isn't anything inherently right about it, either.  The question is not whether we should or should not have strength of will, but for what purpose we shall exercise it, whether in the cause of domination or of freedom; it is equally important to Tolkien that Aragorn understand that distinction, too.  Having recently survived the horrors of WWII, these were not academic questions for him at all. 

"The Battle of the Pelennor Fields" - Ben's Thoughts

So Jacob's right, the "black men" line is inexcusably racist by today's standards, and there is serious anticlimax with respect to Gandalf's confrontation with the Witch-king at the gate and Aragorn's sudden arrival thanks to his (off-screen) victory at Pelargir. Even more silly, the ships aren't full of the Dead, as we've been expecting this whole time -- as we'll learn later, they were released from their oaths at Pelargir and now the ships are full of defenders from Gondor's southern countries. The Dead are a plot device only fit to be used in a flashback, I suppose.

But despite all that -- despite the at-times disjointed plotting, and the utter refusal to shift POVs between characters, which would create a more stable, flowing narrative (for instance, don't go into Eowyn being taken into the city right after the battle with the Witch-king, save that for later; instead, jump right to the action with Eomer and Aragorn!) -- despite all that, I still think this is a masterful chapter.

Why? Two reasons. One: the confrontation and defeat of the Witch-king. And two: the concluding poem. I'll take them in turn.

I would submit that the Lord of the Nazgul has been one of the book's antagonists built up well from the very beginning. He's the one who stabbed Frodo all the way back in Book I; he's the one to make a powerful appearance at the head of the Morgul army in Book IV; and he's the one who's been plaguing our heroes in this book as everything comes to a head at Minas Tirith. So we know what he's capable of, we know what a dangerous and powerful foe he is. So to have him so easily dispatch Theoden and then launch his assault on Eowyn is a terrifying thing for the reader.

And I know the reveal that Dernhelm was actually (surprise!) Eowyn the whole time is something of a non-starter -- only the most obtuse of readers would fail to recognize that twist (to the degree that, in the Peter Jackson film, he does away with the silly reveal; Merry knows its Eowyn the whole time). Even so, when she takes off that helmet, defying the Black Rider: "[T]he helm of her secrecy . . . had fallen from her, and her bright hair, released from its bonds, gleamed with pale gold upon her shoulders. Her eyes grey as the sea were hard and fell, and yet tears were on her cheek. A sword was in her hand, and she raised her shield against the horror of her enemy’s eyes." That's a powerful moment.

I know the set-up for the "no living man" thing was not well laid for the reader. In this book, all you get is Gandalf's allusion to it in "Seige of Gondor." But by delving into the backstory, the reader finds that a long-ago prophecy foretold that not by hand of man would the Witch-king fall. And even without the knowledge of a prophecy, I argue that the Nazgul's defeat is an effective moment: all the male riders of the king's house have either died and abandoned him in the face of such a threat; Eomer is off fighting elsewhere; and here is Eowyn, alone save for Merry, facing down the most terrible threat on the battlefield:

Still she did not blench: maiden of the Rohirrim, child of kings, slender but as a steel-blade, fair but terrible. A swift stroke she dealt, skilled and deadly. The outstretched neck she clove asunder, and the hewn head fell like a stone. Backward she sprang as the huge shape crashed to ruin, vast wings outspread, crumpled on the earth; and with its fall the shadow passed away. A light fell about her, and her hair shone in the sunrise.

And of course it is Merry and Eowyn together that manage to subdue the Witch-king, who is but an expression of his master's contempt and disregard for all that he perceives as weak and worthless (hobbits, in particular, have been the focus of his disgust, as we saw through Pippin's experience in "Palantir" in Book IV). As Jacob points out, Sauron cannot see everything; cannot control everything. His disregard for what he considers beneath him is his (and his servant's) ultimate undoing. Powerful stuff, in my opinion.

And next, that poem, and the paragraph preceding it. I know our main characters, the Fellowship in particular, are protected by plot armor. But Theoden does die -- in battle, yes, but when you boil it down, because his horse rolled over him at the wrong moment and crushed him. And that long list of others, including Halbarad, Aragorn's Dunedain friend, and Grimbold, and a host of other secondary and tertiary characters whose names have been tossed around for the last two books. War is not free. It seems such a waste that victory, even the crushing victory the battle turned into after Aragorn arrived, should result in that many deaths. I find the lines about how those men will never return home, never again revisit the beautiful places they loved, never again see their families or lead their people, to be particularly poignant.

Tolkien of course, in concluding the poem, uses description to powerful effect, as he mirrors the landscape and the setting sun with the death and destruction and loss of the battlefield: "Grey now as tears, gleaming silver, / red then it rolled, roaring water: / foam dyed with blood flamed at sunset; / as beacons mountains burned at evening; / red fell the dew in Rammas Echor."

Too bad that that book still has several tedious chapters before its conclusion and we can get on to Frodo and Sam. Fortunately, "Pyre," coming up next, has some meaty stuff to it.

"The Ride of the Rohirrim" - Ben's Thoughts

Once again I'm confronted with the difficulty that Tolkien obviously had in plotting Book V. He wants Merry to join the fracas before the gates of Minas Tirith, and he wants to make sure that his carefully-laid timeline adds up from chapter to chapter, perspective to perspective. The trouble is that he displays a strange reluctance to abandon a particular character for a long period of time.

I maintain that the best way to solve this problem would have been to have just one, rather than two, chapters about the Rohirrim and their journey to Minas Tirith (essentially, to combine "Muster" and "Ride") into one extended chapter. Tolkien deftly handled extended journey sequences in previous books; "The Great River" comes to mind from Book II, where the narration alternated between several POVs quite smoothly and major episodes were highlighted as the Fellowship journeyed down the Anduin River. Why something like that could not have been employed here is beyond me.

The frustrating thing about this chapter is that it ends with a bang. The Rohirrim's sneaky entry past the Rammas and into the Pellenor, combined with the tense pause before their final triumphant charge, is excellent stuff. It's just the lead-up was, as Jacob irately points out, totally unnecessary.

In the end, I agree with his assessment that the Wild Men could have been excised from the narrative and it would have been all for the better. I will, however, attempt to address the Wild Men's place among Tolkien's thematic elements. In the last several chapters -- really, ever since Frodo's meeting with Faramir in Book IV -- the Professor has been highlighting his hierarchy of Men, from the pinnacle (Numenoreans) down to the most base (the uncomfortably stereotyped Haradrim and other vassals of Sauron). Generally, there's a clear curve from the heights to the depths; force of will, art, literature, supernatural ability, and the like are at their peak with the Men of the West and at their nadir with the Men of the East. The question is, where do the Wild Men fit in? On the one hand, they embody the kind of Men present in Middle-earth before the Numenoreans returned to the land in the Second Age -- primitives. They are the distant kin of the Dead, now rallied by Aragorn at the Stone of Erech, who betrayed Gondor thousands of years ago. Yet here, the Wild Men are united with the Rohirrim in their opposition of Sauron, even if they're not willing to descend from the hills and actually engage in outright warfare.

While the stereotypes are fairly reprehensible, I do think that Tolkien was mildly challenging his own smooth ethnic model by inserting a good, righteous -- but primitive -- culture into the mix. I would like to think he's reminding himself that there's no such thing as an absolute; truth and goodness is found in every culture and walk of life. Unfortunately, I can't complain about Jacob's criticism of the execution of that idea, nor about his complaint that it simply isn't necessary or helpful at this point in the narrative.

Take the chapter for what it's worth -- which is the final sequence -- and we'll move on to what I remember being far better: the big battle.

"The Siege of Gondor" - Ben's Thoughts

This is an excellent chapter, one of the highlights of Book V. Tolkien has proved himself in the past to be a master of tension-building, and he does it again with great effect here. The chapter starts off with the Dawnless Day, the whole city holding its collective breath against the breaking of the coming storm. Then it hammers on sucker punch after sucker punch in a long, brutal, slog of defeats and setback for the men of Gondor: Faramir's initial retreat, cowering under the wings of the Nazgul; Denethor's callous command for him to return to Osgiliath; the news of the loss of the fords, the destruction of the Causeway Forts, the fall of Cair Andros, and then Faramir taking a wound himself; Denethor's unravelling and his men's acknowledgement of his broken state; and finally the destruction of the city gates at the command of the Witch-King. Powerful stuff, capped with the electrifying confrontation of Gandalf and the Lord of the Nazgul at the broken gate. Throughout, Tolkien manages to convey the stakes, the sense of scale, and the military movements with aplomb. The reader is assisted from setpiece to setpiece as he juggles all of the players' movements, including the Chekhov's Gun of the (hopefully timely) arrival of the Rohirrim.

It bears mentioning that some of the setup that this chapter provides falls flat in later chapters, as Jacob has already pointed out. However, taking the chapter on its face, it succeeds marvelously. A few thoughts.

First, Denethor. I admit that on this reading I was surprised by how quickly his 180-degree turn into madness and despair comes on. But isn't that how it would actually be? You put on a brave face, just as much for yourself as for anyone else, but that straw that breaks the camel's back -- in this case Denethor coming face to face with his wounded, apparently dying son -- is what it takes to tumble you over the edge. This is a man whose entire life has been framed by retreat, setback, and the knowledge that true, total victory over his lifelong foe will result only in a diminuation of himself and his familial authority.

Is it any wonder, then, that Denethor's thoughts turn to the Ring? It's not stated explicitly in the text, but I don't think that Faramir ever came right out and told his dad about the Ring when he was talking about his encounter with Frodo and Sam. This is hinted at by Denethor's remarks: "[L]ittle of what you have half said or left unsaid is now hidden from me. I know the answer to many riddles." So where does his knowledge come from? Wrested from his son's mind by his alluded-to powers of perception and discernment? Or, more mundane but perhaps more sinister, has he been spying on his son's actions through his Palantir? Later we learn that Denethor only sees through the Palantir what Sauron wishes him to see, and we know that Sauron has no direct knowledge of Frodo's quest and how close he has gotten to Mordor, but I tend to think the Stone's limitation is more of a general restriction than Sauron peeping over Denethor's shoulder every time he looks into the Palantir.

In any case, Denethor holding the Ring would be a bulwark both against Sauron and the impending encroachment of Aragorn, of whom Denethor is too keenly aware (as we discover in "Pyre", coming up). He believes he would never use its power; he would only safeguard it and use it as a threat against his opposing forces. Of course, that kind of tempting, destructive power cannot be simply locked away without use, not by a man like Denethor. Far better to reject it honestly to oneself, as Gandalf did, than trick yourself into thinking you would not pull it out in your hour of greatest need.

Then, inextricably linked with Denethor's fears about the Ring and his personal power is his complicated relationship with his second son. I think Tolkien wants us to have a vision of Denethor as a young man: a blend of Boromir's military ability and obedience combined with Faramir's thirst for knowledge and quality as a "superior," more-like-a-Numenorean kind of man. (I'm not really sure how to describe this quality. Tolkien lays these clear (sometimes racially distasteful) distinctions between Men in his text: highest are the Numenoreans, with their extra-sensory powers and links to the Elves and the Valar; next are the "lesser" but still noble men like the Rohirrim, and lowest and least are the men of the East, vassals to Sauron.) But even though he embodies (or embodied) the qualities of both his sons, he obviously preferred those of Boromir to those of Faramir, perhaps because his oldest son was so intractably dutiful. There can be little doubt from his remarks in this chapter that he spoke with his son about "Isildur's Bane" and his duty, should it chance to come within his grasp. This fact adds a nuance, one I hadn't previously considered, to Boromir's actions in the first book -- it isn't just that the Ring has seduced him based on his own emotional and mental state; his actions are influenced by the fact that all along, his father likely advised him to seize the Ring and bring it to Minas Tirith if the opportunity arose. One can definitely picture Boromir's complaints about "Elves and Half-Elves and wizards" originally coming out of the mouth of the haughty Denethor.

Poor Denethor. He learns too late the true value of his son -- far greater than that of the Ring or even of his own title and station. When he breaks, as occurs in this chapter, it's ugly.

And I haven't even mentioned the powerful yet vague descriptions of Sauron's host (effective in their opacity) and Pippin finally shining through as the stalwart who puts what is right (saving Faramir) over loyalty to order and so-called duty. Complex, meaty chapters like this one are why I love The Lord of the Rings.

"The Houses of Healing" - Jacob's Thoughts

So one of my favorite shows of the past few years (as you two have endlessly heard me proselyte) is NBC's Community, an absolutely brilliant, high-concept comedy centered rather inauspiciously around a community college study-group.  It is based on the experiences of creator Dan Harmon (currently of Rick and Morty fame) with a Spanish 101 study group he joined with his girlfriend when he first moved to L.A.; the show was very much his baby, his passion-project, informed and dominated by his sensibilities.  Hence, there was probably no way for the show to win when Harmon was fired at the end of Season 3.  Season 4 is easily considered the nadir of the whole series.  When Harmon was hired back for Season 5, everyone immediately distanced themselves from it by calling it "the year of the gas-leak."

It's difficult to put one's finger on why exactly Season 4 suffered so: most the rest of the same writers returned; as did the same characters, played by the same actors with the same chemistry; there was a similar density of rapid-fire jokes, high-concept episodes, and Post-Modern deconstructions of genre.  Nevertheless, there was just this inescapable feeling that something was simply...off.  The jokes felt more forced, the situations more contrived, the relationships less natural.

Basically, Season 4 felt less like Community than it did Community-fan-fiction. And when Dan Harmon returned to the show, there was a noticeable return to form.

That's all just a round-about way of saying that that's what so much of Book V has felt like to me: less like Tolkien than Tolkien fan-fiction, written by a faithful acolyte who, despite his most slavish fawning, simply can't reproduce the magic of the original.  The situations feel more contrived, the relationships less natural.  Gandalf here feels not so much a person than an exposition machine; Strider is less a human than an idol.  His prophetic "healing hands" in the Minas Tirith med-bay renders him so obviously a Christ-analogue that even Joseph Campbell might consider it a little on-the-nose; this fascinating character no longer gets to have a personality, he is now only an icon.

There are still moments of brilliance in Book V (as did Community Season 4, for that matter), but they grow increasingly lost in the Professor's mad rush to get to the grand finale of Book VI.  But Community Season 4 at least had the excuse that it was missing the guiding hand of its creator; Tolkien, as far as I'm aware, has no one to blame but himself for the blahs of so much of Book V.  He produces his own fan-fic.

"The Pyre of Denethor" - Jacob's Thoughts

As near as I can tell, the sin of Denethor is two-fold.  First and most obvious is Pride, particularly his arrogance in attempting to wield one of the Palantirs; as Gandalf succinctly glosses it:

"In the days of his wisdom Denethor did not presume to use it, nor to challenge Sauron, knowing the limits of his own strength.  But his wisdom failed; and I fear that as the peril of his realm grew he looked in the Stone and was deceived...He was too great to be subdued to the will of the Dark Power, he saw nonetheless only those things that Power permitted him to see...the vision of the great might of Mordor that was shown to him fed the despair of his heart until it overthrew his mind" (161).

Apparently, Denethor was the first victim of psychological warfare; Sauron knew he needn't convert Denethor as he did Saruman, only demoralize him, which he effects by presenting a wide-array of cherry-picked intell calculated to convince Denethor of the futility of fighting, infecting him with defeatism and despair. Like Hawthorne's "Young Goodman Brown," Denethor has been tricked into thinking he resists the Devil in the very moment that he succumbs to him.

Denethor in his pride thought he could match wills with the Dark Lord, but failed; what's more, his pride (like all pride) was fueled primarily by fear--for he had always known better than to look into the Palantir, but his nerves in the end got the best of him.  There are a number of moralistic lessons to be gleaned from this passage, viz: pessimism is a greater enemy than armies; know your limits; never do anything out of fear; question your sources; etc. and etc.   Maybe (just for kicks and giggles) we can even consider Denethor's fall as a parable about the need to get off the internet, reading the Palantir as a forerunner to the social-media echo-chambers that keep us trapped in our own rage-fueled, paranoid myopias and so forth.

But Pride is only one component of the sin of Denethor, and I think the bigger reason why he succumbs to despair is actually highlighted just a few pages earlier, when Gandalf demands of him, "What then would you have...if your will could have its way?"

Almost petulantly, Denethor answers, "I would have things as they were in all the days of my life...and in the days of my long-fathers before me..."  (158).  At the risk of politicizing a tad here, Denethor wants to Make Gondor Great Again--he wants things back to how he imagines they always used to be, and probably never were.  We are not privy to what exactly Sauron showed Denethor in the Palantir, but I have my suspicions that it wasn't just the military might of Mordor that shock-and-awed the Steward of Gondor into submission: I think Sauron also showed Denethor a world wherein he doesn't matter anymore.  A changed world, one where there is no need for Stewards or rival realms or what have you, where his entire "way of life" (to borrow a Bushism) is rendered irrelevant.

I suspect that it wasn't just the rise of Mordor or even the threat to Gondor that most shook Denethor, but simply the realization that the world was never going to go back to the way it was.  Even if Mordor is totally defeated, Middle-Earth is still going to be fundamentally different from how it was, and it is this fact that proud Denethor cannot abide.  Whether Sauron or Aragorn comes out on top, in either case Denethor does not, and so he throws a fit like it's the end of the world, because it is the end of his privileged little world.  It is not just change for the worse, but any change whatsoever that most frightens him--and like many a voter last Election Day, he has lashed out against the changing face of the world in the most self-destructive ways possible.

"The Muster of Rohan" - Eric's Thoughts

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. If Lord of the Rings started with Return of the King, I would guess no one would ever read on.

As Ben and Jacob have noted, this chapter, among others before it, are obviously transitional chapters bridging the characters from the battle of pelennor fields to where they were before. To refresh everyone on what happened here, the chapter involves moving the riders towards Minas Tirith, Merry eating with the King, Merry almost being left behind, and Merry being picked up by a rider called Dernhelm.

Sadly, like the chapters that come before it, something is lacking that makes the prose lack an "oomph" factor. My initial thought is that it lacks a compelling POV character to drive at least an emotional arc while the external conflict itself is non-existent. Merry, not developed as a character, seems to be a poor choice to drive the narrative.

That's not to say that there aren't a few moments that are interesting. For me the most compelling part is when a messenger shows up from Minas Tirith and begs for aid from Théoden. King Théoden rises to the challenge and summons the army -- wait for it -- which (disappointingly) is only 6,000 strong.

And that goes to another problem. Something I found really odd is how few men the forces of good seem to have -- yet they manage to put up a fierce resistence to the supposedly numberless hordes of Sauron. Perhaps that just goes to human tenacity, but personally I think it's a plot whole. It almost suggests that Sauron doesn't have that much either, say like 30,000-50,000 troops at best. That's nothing to sneer at, but in a modern world of over 5 billion people, Sauron would have significant trouble conquering even Alaska (population 736,732). If anything, the low amount of "Team Gandalf" forces seems to suggest the Dark Lord himself is not really that powerful. (Especially since that paltry force breaks Sauron's forces in Pelennor.)

"The Muster of Rohan" - Ben's Thoughts

The cardinal sin of this chapter is not that it's bad, like "Grey Company" -- it's that it's boring.

What happens: The company arrives at Dunharrow; Merry hears an old legend about the Paths of the Dead, that doesn't add anything to what we learned in the last chapter; the errand-rider arrives and asks Theoden to come to Minas Tirith, which we already knew was his plan; Merry is not allowed to come with; and a mysterious rider lets Merry ride with him to come anyway.

So essentially, not very much. There's a song thrown in, that isn't an "in-narrative" song like many from "Fellowship" (i.e. something far better fit in an appendix, or footnote, or something other than the text itself, but heaven forbid Tolkien excise one of his songs), and a legend with a spooky maybe statue-maybe really old guy, that ties in with the skeleton we saw in the last chapter. But other than that, there's a lot of talking, they travel from one place to another place, more talking, then more traveling begins.

Part of me is sympathetic because of the Gordian knot that Tolkien's plotting has presented him with: he doesn't want to leave Merry in the lurch, and how else can he get Merry to Minas Tirith without exiling him, and Theoden and Eowyn, from the narrative for several chapters? My thought, for what it's worth, is that this chapter should have been trimmed down to maybe a page, and inserted in "The Ride of the Rohirrim" as an extended flashback, with Merry contemplating "the trip so far", particularly his first contact with Eowyn as Dernhelm. I think that would have moved the book along at a better clip, with only one boring chapter in between the two more thematically and narratively rich Minas Tirith chapters.

I will say two nice things about the chapter, however. One: Tolkien once again manages to convey his sense of history as palimpsest -- the Rohirrim has settled into their lands, after the previous peoples were swept away by the tides of history. Their songs, tales, their very reason for being, has vanished in the mists of time. Merry gets a sense of that loss as he regards the Pukel-men statues: "[N]o power or terror was left in [the statues]; but Merry gazed at them with wonder and a feeling almost of pity, as they loomed up mournfully in the dusk." This theme is one that he continually circles back to: civilizations crumble; entropy abounds; no-one, mortal or elf-kind, can escape from it. It is one of the overarching themes of LOTR, and one that resonates powerfully with the reader.

Two: Tolkien's prose shines through; his descriptions and landscapes remain utterly masterful. What a sense of scope and wonder he evokes, in describing the White Mountains and Merry's descent into the valley:

It was a skyless world, in which his eye, through dim gulfs of shadowy air, saw only ever-mounting slopes, great walls of stone behind great walls, and frowning precipices wreathed with mist. He sat for a moment half dreaming, listening to the noise of water, the whisper of dark trees, the crack of stone, and the vast waiting silence that brooded behind all sound. He loved mountains, or he had loved the thought of them marching on the edge of stories brought from far away; but now he was borne down by the insupportable weight of Middle-earth. He longed to shut out the immensity in a quiet room by a fire.

Of course, Merry's a bit of a wimp. I'm not sure if he's truly reflecting Tolkien's mindset, but this sense of wanting to escape the majesty, the enormity, of the natural world is nothing that resonates with me. I would be right at home in the vastness of Middle-earth.

"The Passing of the Grey Company" - Ben's Thoughts

I honestly think that part of me was delaying writing about this chapter because it is just plain bad.

I can envision Tolkien faced with a plot-based conundrum at this point in "Return of the King." He needs to bring his various characters together at the two-thirds point of Book V at Minas Tirith, with the pivotal battle scene of "Pellenor Fields." Tolkien was a writer who jumped around, and without consulting the copious published material detailing the intricacies of the writing process of Lord of the Rings, I feel confident in my guess that "Pellenor Fields" was written long before these transitional chapters. The dilemma was, how to get the characters to that point?

Previous books, while not strictly episodic, nevertheless consisted of related episodes attached to a wider narrative. In the journey of the Fellowship in Book II, we had Rivendell - Moria - Lorien - River - Breaking. Separate setpieces, each transitioning smoothly into the other. In Book III, we had the similar structure of Chase - Fangorn - Rohirrim - Helm's Deep - Isengard. There was padding in there, but still a clear narrative flow. Now in Book V, Tolkien has "Pellenor Fields" and "The Black Gate Opens," the finale leading into Book VI... and the big question of what to do in between.

The result is a series of stilted episodes, each lacking the passion, cinematic quality, and cohesion of that of previous books. The best bits are reserved for Minas Tirith, where Tolkien at least has fully realized characters in Denethor and Faramir (not to mention Gandalf) to fall back on. Sadly, the Dunedain, Elladan and Elorhir, the Dead, and yes, even Theoden in these sections are not fully realized characters. They are mere sketches.

So Tolkien doesn't want Aragorn to just ride along with Theoden to Minas Tirith, he needs him to arrive in suitably heroic fashion, as befitting a returning king, and if he has an adventure to pad out a chapter or two in the process, so much the better. So he sends Aragorn through the Paths of the Dead; but to get to the Paths, he has to know that there's a danger growing in the sound (the corsairs of Umbar); but to know that, he has to use the Palantir; but to use the Palantir, he has to wrest it away from Sauron; and wow, this is getting really complicated, let's not show the struggle with Sauron on-screen, let's have Gimli be the POV character (even though he was just fine with Aragorn being the POV in "Two Towers" -- Tolkien's reluctance to have Aragorn be the POV from this point on is quite frustrating and something I will probably address in later chapters), and let's have the journey through the Paths to be kinda creepy but with nothing much really happening and Aragorn doesn't have to do any convincing of the Dead, they're all just ready to follow him to Pelargir.

Suffice it to say, this kind of plotting does not a masterful chapter make. Similar plotting in later chapters does not a masterful Book V make.

Tolkien does get one thing right, however: Aragorn's conversation with Eowyn. Say what you will about Tolkien's male-centric tale: when Eowyn takes center stage, as she does here, I feel like he genuinely portrays a feminist perspective. Here is Eowyn, as powerful as she can get in a patriarchy like the Rohirrim (given charge over the affairs of the kingdom while the king rides off to war). And yet, she remains constrained, powerless, unable to effectuate real change in her life: "Shall I always be left behind when the Riders depart, to mind the house while they win renown, and find food and beds when they return?" she asks. Then, when Aragorn tries to pass her off with a platitude about the honor of service on the homefront, she shoots back: "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house."

Of course, Tolkien manages to undercut it with having Eowyn fall madly in love with Aragorn on the basis of their two interactions, but the fact remains that it's a ballsy move to have one of your main male protagonists needled like this by a female character. From a feminist perspective, if you can weed through the problematic parts of the Aragorn-Eowyn interaction, there's some striking words there. And it is important to note that Eowyn proves Aragorn wrong: her part is not in the home, as she proves later at the Pellenor.

I think we've all expressed our frustration about these chapters. Unfortunately they keep going for a while. On to the next.

"The Battle of the Pelennor Fields" - Jacob's Thoughts

Eowyn finally gets her big moment, the ostensible pay-off we've been building up to the past few chapters.  The Nazgul first gets some most excellent trash talk as he warns her that if she does not stand aside, he won't merely kill her, but bear her away "beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shriveled mind be left naked to the Lidless eye," for "No living man may hinder me!"  Which of course just sets up Eowyn for the killer rejoinder: "But no living man am I!  You look upon a woman."  She then skillfully dispatches the flying beast, and straight-up slays the Nazgul--women are apparently the Black Rider's one weakness, I guess?  Not since Macbeth has such a formidable villain been defeated by such a bare technicality.

Of course, she doesn't do it alone; she gets an assist from dinky little Merry, whom the Nazgul had no more regarded than he would a "worm in the mud."  As with Shelob and Sam, the enemy's easy disregard of these doddering Hobbits is what proves their immediate undoing--it's what will prove Sauron's, too.  That is the definite theme emerging in these concluding chapters.

I still maintain that Eowyn's last stand is not nearly developed enough to pack as much punch as Tolkien clearly wants it to have; nevertheless, the grand fanfare and grandiose language with which he describes her combat is just too darn earnest for me to hate on too much.  The professor's enthusiasm covers a multitude of sins.

But not all of them; and if Mordor's constant overlook of the Hobbits is the emergent theme of these chapters, likewise I note that anti-climax is becoming this novel's recurrent failing.  Just as Pippin's midnight flight from Sauron is deflated by his easy arrival into Minus Tirith, this chapter opens by revealing how Gandalf's climactic showdown with the Nazgul at the city gates ends with...the Nazgul promptly flying away.  Just like that.  Call me eccentric, but I kinda would've liked to see Gandalf himself actually battle one of these mofos!  In fact, I think I would've been more invested in such a combat than I was in Eowyn's. Come to think of it, besides that one quick light-show to liberate King Theoden, we have not actually beheld Gandalf the White in action once!  Even Gandalf the Gray we got to see duel a Balrog.  I keep being told how much more powerful Gandalf the White is, but I'm apparently going to have to take everyone's word for it, because Tolkien simply refuses to show it.

Another anti-climax: the arrival of Aragorn from the Paths of the Dead.  While I'll admit it was somewhat stirring to see the Black-sailed Navy suddenly unfurl the long-lost banner of the King (in the original False Flag operation) to the rejoicing of Rohan and the dismay of Mordor, nevertheless the utter absence of the actual Oathbreakers in the ensuing melee had me scratching my head.

Of course my reading is still far too colored by the Peter Jackson film, wherein these swarming ghosts pour from the ships to make short work of the hosts of Mordor in a thrilling shower of CGI.  Tolkien, by contrast, does not even bother to show them in the climactic moment.  I complained earlier about how left-field the Oathbreakers felt to the narrative, but if you're going to introduce them, then at least have the decency to show them!  Does everything Aragorn-related--his stare-down with Sauron, the reforging of the Sword--have to happen off screen??  The titular Return of the King should not feel so strangely off-handed.  Here is another moment that I am going to have concede to the Jackson version.

More egregiously, in the Tolkien text, some of Mordor's most vicious forces are made up of what are clearly black people, "black men like half-trolls with white eyes and red tongues"--which is, you know, hugely problematic.  Likewise, the fact that this war is explicitly presented as a battle between the innumerable hordes of the East verses the noble-men of the West has profoundly uncomfortable Orientalist valences (a deep-seated European fear of Asia that so often justified the West's most repressive colonialism) that would have sent Edward Sa'id's eyes rolling into his head. Again, the Professor is clearly rushing at this point, as shown by how some of his most deep-seated, culturally-conditioned prejudices are starting to seep through. 

"The Ride of the Rohirrim" - Jacob's Thoughts

First off: what on earth are the Wild Men supposed to be??  Much like the Oathbreakers, the Paths of the Dead, the return of the Rangers, Eowyn's dilemma, and so many other elements in Book V, their appearance just feels so left-field (no matter Merry's awkward insistence that he had seen them before), unnecessary, puzzling, random and above all beside the point.  More egregiously: Their grass-skirts, stilted patois, and "Noble Savage" demeanor straight out of Dryden or James Fenimore Cooper, all comes from an uncomfortably racist lineage of indigenous caricatures that the English long used to romanticize Natives even as they slaughtered them.  I am disappointed to find the Professor indulging in such lazy stereotypes, for reasons both ethical and aesthetic.

Moreover, on a thematic level, the Wild Men don't appear to fit in with anything--as the very title of this novel suggests (not to mention the unqualified fanfare that will greet King Aragorn), Tolkien, like a true British subject, is a big fan of civilization and its contents.  As such, the paleolithic Wild Men fit nowhere within Tolkien's larger schema.  By contrast, consider the Hobbits in their tidy little holes, Tom Bombadil with his flowers, the Elves in their tranquil realms--Tolkien harbors obvious affection for domesticity and stability.  Nature is nice and all, but only insofar as it is carefully tended and pruned (no Old Forests or Caradhras Mountains for Tolkien, thank you very much!).  He no more advocates for a turn towards the "primitive" than he does towards the totalitarian Mordor state.  So then why introduce the Wild Men at all?  They are clearly not intended as an alternative to Middle-Earth medievalism, nor does Tolkien evince the slightest interest in exploring the ethics of indigenous rights (e.g. the blasé manner in which Tolkien alludes to how Rohan had previously hunted Wild Men like animals--as though that were no big deal, just something that happened--likewise disconcerts me). 

Even on a strictly technical level, their contribution to the plot is largely nil--why did we even need to introduce these one-off stock-figures to help Rohan get around Mordor's forces in the first place?  What, Rohan's own scouts couldn't have found a way themselves?  Come to think of it, why did we even need a whole chapter for them to figure that out?  Or why did there need to be an obstacle in their way at all?  Why couldn't we just cut straight to the battle, since the previous chapter literally ends with them arriving to save the day?  Why drag out a foregone conclusion? Why does this chapter even exist?

For that matter, why is Merry's pointless POV privileged here?  And why has Tolkien suddenly chosen now of all times to romanticize warfare with such giddy language, after describing it all in such drab terms before?   This is just such an odd, redundant, retrograde, excisable chapter.

"The Passing of the Grey Company" - Eric's Thoughts

The chapter transitions from Gandalf/Pippin to Merry/Theoden/Strider/Legolas/Gimli/Eowyn. Merry, like Pippin, offers his sword to Theoden. (That's called literary symmetry.) Meanwhile, these guys called Rangers randomly show up. Now, Aragon (Strider) keeps acting a little fishy and goes off with the Rangers, and the Rangers have a fishy looking furled staff with a banner, but hey, that's ok.

Theoden and Merry go off, and at this point I'm drifting, but suddenly, lo! Strider finally gives some answers about why he's been so skulky -- he looked into the palantir!! My eyelids immediately stop drooping and I read on, eager to learn about the confrontation between Strider and Sauron. This part's a little bit interesting, but soon after it turns out Theoden left Eowyn behind, and she begs Aragon to take her with him to face the lands of the dead. Aragon refuses. Then, Aragon/Gimli/Legolas enter the lands of the dead to fulfill some promise that is described for the very first time that the story progresses. Ok. Tolkien is kind of winging it right now, but that's ok.

The lands of the dead prove less than scary. Aragon and Co. see some shadows, and blow a horn, and announce that everyone needs to come along. The dead seem to be ok with that, and follow they do.

Analysis:

Yeah, this chapter was kind of a snooze. Didn't help that I was tired when I read it, but I literally was drifting until Aragon reveals he had just had a confrontation with Sauron. But that short bit of interesting writing was short lived.

Again, like the last chapter, this chapter suffers from a lack of external conflict and a basic plot goal. At least the banner was unfurled in the lands of the dead. Phew! Excellent foreshadowing on Tolkien's part! -- note that the banner was foreshadowed earlier by the Ranger carrying it.

"The Siege of Gondor" - Jacob's Thoughts

Let's just get this out of the way: Denethor is the worst.  He is sending his last living son--the one he had earlier sent into a hopeless battle with nary a kind word, no less--to the funeral pyre without even checking his vitals.  He is abandoning his city to its doom, letting others take all the hits while he gives himself over solely to his own despair.  Rarely has grief been more selfish.

And yet, and yet.

I find I can't really join in the choruses of condemnation against Denethor, for his failings are ours, too. For he is behaving so erratically because he has lost all hope, and he has lost all hope because his first son was killed, the Enemy is at the gates, any possible allies are few and distant, and he learns that the wizard who's supposed to be helping him has let their one chance, their one boon--the One Ring--wander right into the enemy's grasp with some hapless halfling.

Frankly, Denethor's objections to Gandalf make a sad sort of sense: why on earth did he send the Ring away with Frodo?  Wasn't that just the most insane, idiotic plan ever?!  Yes, with the benefit of hindsight, it will turn out to have been the best strategy all along, the winning move; but when you have only a 1% chance of destroying the Dark Lord once and for all but a 99% of ruining everything--especially compared to having only, say, a 10% chance of only temporarily defeating Mordor, but a 90% chance of at least keeping the Ring out of Sauron's grasp (even if it still eats at your own soul)--well, by that arithmetic, Denethor's initial plan for the Ring appears far more sensible than Gandalf's.  And when Gandalf himself confesses to Pippin that there was only ever a dim hope to begin with, it would appear to justify Denethor's assessment of the situation.

This is not to defend Denethor, nor excuse him, but just to at least get where he's coming from.

Denethor likewise fascinates me because he is such a compelling portrait of a man given over to complete despair.  The way he releases Pippin from his service with a "go die in the manner you see fit," the way he openly wails at how the lines of Kings and Stewards are at an end, all this indicates a man who has truly abandoned all hope.  For all his arrogant macho posturing (e.g. dropping his cloak to reveal the armor he wears night and day and so forth), the man collapses like an accordion at the signal moment.  Like his eldest Boromir, his fate is so tragic precisely because his could so easily be ours.

In a sense, he is the mirror-image to Theoden, a man who shakes off his doldrums to rise to the challenge when he's needed most; Denethor by contrast prepares all his life for battle, only to sink into despair when the enemy comes.  Something feels...realistic about this pairing.  I have to think that Tolkien, in the trenches of the Great War, saw some of both: men of cynicism and hopelessness who reveal a forgotten courage when called upon, and arrogant men of strength and will who wilt like flowers in the face of danger.

And here's the thing: you don't know which one you're going to be until the trial moment, either! Theoden is who we hope we will be, but Denethor is in the cards, too.  You also don't know whom your friends and allies will be, either, and you're going to have to deal with both responses in a fire-fight.  Let us not judge Denethor till we are faced with the same challenge, too.

I don't want to finish without noting this chapter's excellent ending: Gandalf personally faces the Nazgûl at the gates of Gondor, "under the archway that no enemy ever yet had passed," commanding the demon back to the abyss as only a man who has personally slain a Balrog can do--and the insolent Nazgûl in turn uncloaking his invisible head, like we haven't seen a Dark Rider do since they had Frodo cornered in "Flight to the Ford," and for the same reason: to exult in the totality of his triumph.

And with the same effect: right when the Nazgûl thinks he's won, lo and behold, a light breaks, pierces the darkness, and horses ride to the rescue--"Rohan had come at last."

"The Muster of Rohan" - Jacob's Thoughts

Yeesh, Ben wasn't kidding when he called these next few chapters a slog.  I have hardly any memories of Book V, and for good reason, I increasingly find.  Chapters that contain killer lines like "So we come to it in the end...the great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away" should fill one with excitement, euphoria, anticipation and awe; instead, I'm filled with mere relief that this whole exhausting drag will finally come to a close.

Who knows, maybe all this dragging is performative; as we discussed clear back in the Battle of Helm's Deep, there is in reality nothing euphoric or exciting about war.  The main war-time memories of most folks, civilian and military alike, is of it all just being one big monotonous slog.  For Tolkien, a veteran of WWI and a survivor of WWII, "adventure" was perhaps the last thing he associated with war--he probably couldn't have written an exciting battle scene even if he'd wanted to, which he clearly didn't.

Moreover, this whole subplot of Merry and Eowyn-in-drag not wanting to be left behind for the final battle either needed to have been introduced far earlier or cut altogether, because right now neither character is developed enough, nor are the readers sufficiently invested in them, for their predicament to carry much resonance.  (I have the same complaint about the Oathbreakers, recall).

Compared to the far greater arcs about the destruction of the Ring and the Return of the King, Merry's mopiness before Theoden is borderline asinine.  Much like the Palantir with Pippin, the whole situation just feels like a mere plot device to get Merry into the thick of the action, with some pathos tacked-on to make it less obvious.  Moreover, these various plot-devices feel unnecessary: Tolkien got Merry and Pippin to the Siege of Orthanc without hardly any melodramatics whatsoever.  Tolkien is starting to rush, and it shows.

A friend of mine once ranted that she believed most trilogies would be far better served as duologies; that most authors, in their quest for that magical, marketable "3", end up resorting to a whole lot of unnecessary padding, which undercuts the impact of their endings.  LoTR may be Exhibit A, the progenitor of both the modern Trilogy and of its worst excesses. I'm still excited for some of the thrilling scenes to come, but I think Ben may be right, that Return of the King is overall less than the sum of its parts.  Here's hoping we're wrong.

"Minas Tirith" - Eric's Thoughts

Yes, yes, I know. No blog yet about the movie. I'm still deciding whether I'm going to watch it. It's just sooooo long and I remember it being pretty cheesy. What can a man do against such reckless hate (against a movie)???

But the good news is I read the first chapter of Return of the King. It wasn't a bad one -- at the beginning. Gandalf goes into Minas Tirith with Pippin, they meet with Denethor, Pippin swears to be a good hobbit to Denethor (i.e. conscripts into the army), Gandalf is amused by it, and a random soldier teaches passcodes to the Hobbit, and the random soldier's son makes fun of the hobbit's height but then they walk around Minas Tirith with a man-crush and literally holding each other's hands. The chapter ends with a cliffhanger of . . . another meeting with Denethor. What could the madman want now? (We don't know he's been driven mad yet.)

I thought the chapter was a bit slow at the beginning, but on some level does some necessary world building. The reader can picture Minas Tirith and its seven levels. (Why seven?)

The scene picks up when Pippin and Gandalf meet the Steward Denethor. Denethor is an interesting fellow--the reader can immediately tell he has a string of darkness to him, and that something is not quite right. Of course, Tolkien sells it as the death of his most favored son, but a repeat reader knows what's really going on: Denethor's been looking at things he shouldn't.

Beregond is the random soldier that introduces Pippin to life as a citizen. Nothing particularly exciting about Beregond, he seemed like a pretty flat character, but so is Pippin. The absence of Denethor and Gandalf for the remainder of the chapter becomes apparent: nothing really happens except that Pippin sees some of the city, and hangs out with something who far taller but fifteen years younger.

Now that I think about it, this is actually kind of a weird chapter, and excluding the cameos of Gandalf and Denethor, I found it to be a little tiring. A little more plotting might have been nice here. Pippin aimlessly walks around Minas Tirith without a real objective, and while he does, so does the reader.

"Minas Tirith" - Ben's Thoughts

I had hoped to wait and begin "Return of the King" after Eric blogged about his thoughts on the "Two Towers" film, but since that hasn't been forthcoming, onward into the final book. The first thing to note is that I've always felt "Return of the King" to be an underwhelming title, one that fails to fully encapsulate the themes of the book. It focuses on such a narrow selection of what happens, to the exclusion of the (in my mind) far more important and weighty matters of the destruction of the Ring and the fallout of the war on each of the characters.

And much like the title, I think I've always felt this final book is less than the sum of its parts. There are truly masterful sections in this final journey -- namely, the three chapters from Sam and Frodo's perspective leading up to Mount Doom; the Battle of the Pellenor Fields; and large portions of the denouement, particularly the Scouring of the Shire. But it's padded out with a whole lot of filler, and this first chapter is no exception.

Sadly, as Jacob noted, Pippin's ordeal at the hands of the palantir and Sauron seem terribly downplayed in the chapter. They are only referenced in the first few paragraphs (except possibly for Pippin's ongoing complaint of gloom and loneliness, but he hardly seems singular on that score) and then forgotten. More and more, the palantir seems like a plot device to advance Gandalf and Pippin to the new setting of Minas Tirith.

The new setting is, however, a masterclass in worldbuilding. Here, Tolkien creates a society and people that is wholly different from the Rohirrim we encountered in the last book. It's also helpful that Tolkien chooses to introduce us to the Gondorians (Gondormen? I don't think he ever spells out a clever moniker like "Rohirrim" for the Gondor-folk) through a common soldier, Beregond. By keeping Denethor opaque at this point (and more on Denethor in a moment), he heightens the tension while still providing a relatable figure for the reader to latch onto. Bergil is a bit annoying (and unnecessary -- it seems excessive when Tolkien could have just had Beregond accompany Pippin throughout the chapter), but Beregond is nothing but endearing from beginning to end.

Unfortunately, the transition to Minas Tirith takes the wind out of the sails of the narrative. When we last saw these protagonists, they were rocketing away from Isengard, with the fury of the Nazgul soaring overhead. Now, they're plunked down in a fortress with no forward motion in sight. Perhaps that's the intention -- Tolkien does, after all, have Beregond voice the objection that the men of Gondor can do nothing but wait for their foes to descend upon them -- but it certainly drags the reader down into the malaise with them. I remember being disappointed to come to these chapters after finishing "Two Towers," with its climactic ending. The book should have begun with a bang, but Tolkien insists on easing the reader into the new setting.

Also questionable is the choice of narrator: our boy Pippin. Forcing the reader to experience the city through the eyes of the most immature of the hobbits is frustrating, and forces the reader to digress into episodes like "feeding Gandalf's horse" and "making jokes with 10-year old boy." When you boil the chapter down, a good third of it is Pippin wandering around and moping. Additionally, is Pippin really so idiotic that he hasn't made the connection that Aragorn has a claim to the throne of Gondor? Really, how has he not been eaten by something before now, if he is that clueless?

Complaints about Pippin aside, what the chapter really does well is set up the character of Denethor, who is easily the best part of these Gondor chapters in Book V. Tantalizing hints about the extent of Denethor's power are dropped throughout the section featuring him, and his clash with Gandalf is fascinating. What other leader, to this point, would make Gandalf sit and wait for the sole purpose of showing his authority? And from what other leader would Gandalf put up with it, other than a catty remark at parting? Pippin does acknowledge that Gandalf is the stronger and wiser of the two, but the conflict set up from the beginning energizes the chapter beyond what the rest of it deserves. Denethor's remark at the outset is downright frightening, given the context of the looming war that may snuff out the kingdom for good:

Then the old man looked up. Pippin saw his carven face with its proud bones and skin like ivory, and the long curved nose between the dark deep eyes; and he was reminded not so much of Boromir as of Aragorn. "Dark indeed is the hour," said the old man, "and at such times you are wont to come, Mithrandir. But though all the signs forebode that the doom of Gondor is drawing nigh, less now to me is that darkness than my own darkness."

The Steward of Gondor places his grief above the danger that faces the realm? What kind of a place has Gandalf brought Pippin to? Gandalf's instructions to not mention Aragorn, or the Ring, amplify the reader's concern. Gandalf is right; this is no Theoden, with whom the party could be open and honest. This is a dangerous, powerful man, whose goals and means in achieving them may not align fully with Gandalf's. And Gandalf makes sure that Denethor knows he understands that, and reciprocates in full: "And for my part, I shall not wholly fail of my task, though Gondor should perish, if anything passes through this night that can still grow fair or bear fruit and flower again in days to come." Gondor may fall, but Gandalf's struggle will go on, with or without her.

The next few chapters are a slog, but we'll plow through them to get to the good stuff. Onward!

"The Passing of the Grey Company" - Jacob's Thoughts

One of the hoariest old saws of the creative writing workshop is "show, don't tell."  That this maxim only rose to prominence in the post-WWII period (and that largely thanks to the nefarious influence of Iowa) is once again demonstrated by the fact that Return of the King often ignores the maxim entirely.  For example, in this chapter, we are told all about how Aragorn had his long-awaited Skype session with Sauron in the Orb of Orthanc, and apparently (with great effort) wrested away log-in privileges from the Dark Lord, so to speak.  Likewise, the legendary Broken Blade has been reforged.  Now, these are both highly significant events that signal the advent of Strider's full transformation into Aragorn the King--yet we only learn of both events from a dinner conversation, which is frankly rather anti-climactic.  I would kind of liked to have witnessed the scene wherein Aragorn wrestles with Sauron in a battle of wills through the Palantir (my goodness, we saw Pippin do it, so why not show far-more-important Strider?!); I would also have liked to actually see the reforging of the Sword--or at least its presentation to Aragorn--with just a touch more fanfare.  It's chapters like these that perhaps encouraged the rise of "show, don't tell" in the first place.

But then elsewhere in this chapter, Tolkien runs into the opposite problem, wherein he does show, but doesn't really tell at all: case in point, the arrival of the Rangers. I had plumb forgotten that Strider was a member of that mysterious order, so little had they come up since Strider's first introduction!  In fact, the order remains a mystery: what is their organizational structure?  Their history?  How do they recruit?  What, exactly, are their missions, and how do they choose them?  The Rangers arrive cloaked, and remain thusly opaque (if memory serves) for the rest of the novel.  It's just kinda odd that a series with such a massively mapped-out mythology should both introduce and re-introduce the Rangers in such a tossed off manner, presuming a readerly familiarity with the group that he has not set up, which just feels so uncharacteristic of the Professor (even one-off Shelob gets a full history, so why not the Rangers!)

Likewise uncharacteristic: Tolkein's rather left-field introduction of the Oathbreakers, haunting the Paths of the Dead.  There had simply been no foreshadowing, no allusion, no prior reference or set-up for them this whole series long.  This has not been the case for just about every other place the Fellowship has visited throughout LoTR.  I am supposed to feel the intense fear of the company as they cross the threshold (and having Gimli serve as our POV helps a little), yet there has not been even a tenth of the world building as there was for, say, the Mines of Moriah--or Mordor itself.  Hence, this meeting with the dead simply does not pack the same punch.  It feels like Tolkien started to rush through things as he sensed himself finally getting towards the end.

Also: how the heck am I supposed to treat the dead in this universe??  Like I said, Tolkien has otherwise done such an admirable job of working out his mythology here, but it occurs to me that he has included precious little discussion throughout this series of what the Middle-Earth Afterlife looks like, about the nature of its Spirits, Gods, Devils, Heavens, Hells, Purgatories, and the like.  What are the folk-beliefs, the orthodoxies, the legends and doctrines of the dead in Middle-Earth?  Do any of these people go to Church?  Do they participate in any rites, rituals, or sacraments?  There have been a few scattered prayers of distress here and there, but no clear working out of any sort of religious system.  Given Tolkien's own open Christianity, this utter neglect of the theological is especially baffling.

I nit-pick these underdeveloped parts because this self-same chapter still reminds us that Tolkien does know how to properly set things up when he feels like it!  For here is where Eowyn first offers her blade in the service of Aragorn--which he of course refuses, but this only sets up a pay-off for later down the line when she joins the final battle.  As Ben has repeatedly noted, Tolkien could have really used a strong editor.

"Minas Tirith" - Jacob's Thoughts

When last we saw our heroes at the end of Book III, Gandalf the White was racing across the night on Shadowfax, Pippin in tow, the latter traumatized by a vision of the Dark Lord.  It was a well-calculated cliff-hanger that had me excited for more, a narrative master-stroke that suddenly had me slightly resentful to rejoin Frodo and Sam after waiting a whole half-a-novel to find out what happened to them.

And now, nearly a full-year later on our dilettante reading schedule, having beheld Frodo succumb to Shelob and Samwise become the steward of the Ring, with all the fate of Middle-Earth dangling by a thread, I at last return to Pippin to find out...he's fine.  A-OK, in fact.  Even swears an impromptu, impulsive oath of fealty to the Steward of Gondor, in a semi-humorous, supposedly heart-warming(?) scene of sorts.  It actually wasn't a chore to follow him around the titular Minas Tirith, meet the locals, see the sights, breath in the calm before the storm.  This was yet another table-setting chapter, I get it.

Nevertheless, there was for me an inescapable sense of deflation, a rather anti-climactic wrap-up of a cliff-hanger I waited 10 months and 10 chapters to learn the resolution to.  Not every narrative-thread requires some grand denouement, I recognize that, but it seems like the chapter could have at least gestured towards the fact that Pippin has just beheld the Eye of Sauron, and mayhaps has a wee bit of PTSD after it.  Maybe this is all just a subtle commentary on the native resiliency of Hobbits, how these doddering little domesticates can stare straight into the heart of Evil Incarnate and still just shake it off like a bad dream--more worried about getting a good breakfast than the potential extinction of Middle-Earth--a secret source of strength that will yet prove to be the salvation of all.  But Pippin's easy stroll into Minas Tirith still felt like a missed opportunity.

Yet I will also admit that I was still happy to see Pippin OK (hardly a personal favorite!)--just as it is good to be back here in Middle-Earth altogether, no matter the gathering Darkness.  Chalk one up to the Professor, that he still had me quietly caring about these characters, almost in spite of myself.  There's only one novel left, so I'd better make the best of my last time here.

Peter Jackson's "The Two Towers" - Ben's Thoughts

I've probably seen this film the most out of Peter Jackson's trilogy. This is one of those films for which my enjoyment has been something of an inverse bell curve. Allow me to explain.

When I first saw the film, I remember enjoying it. The centerpiece of the film, the battle at Helm's Deep, was a truly awe-inspiring sequence upon first watch. The sheer scope of the battle, with all the computer-generated orcs swarming the imposing fortress, the ingenious siege devices that the book alludes to but doesn't fully describe, the destruction of the wall by suicide-orc -- it's all appropriately epic in scale. So I really think I did enjoy it upon first blush. But I remember the film left me with some nagging disappointments, and these feelings only grew and grew upon further viewings. The epic and terrifying battle scenes grew tedious for me. The initial chase sequences by Aragorn & Co., at first so exhilarating to see on screen for the first time (what Bakshi cartoon?), became boring. And those Ents -- oh, those Ents. Every time they show up on screen, barring the final "destruction of Isengard" sequence, the pace of the film just slows to a snail's pace. Interesting on the page, especially when we get a chapter of it all packed in and then a lengthy break, but ravaging to the pace of an action/adventure movie. I remember in college the university sponsoring a back-to-back showing of all three films and a friend recommending we give it a try. I had to walk out of "Two Towers" about five minutes in because I just couldn't take it any more. This nadir is the bottom of the bell curve for me.

So when I watched "Two Towers" with my wife in preparation for this blog post, I didn't launch into it with high expectations, even though it had probably been seven or eight years since I'd seen the film. Knowing that my tolerance for its digital excesses was low, we decided to split the viewing into three one-hour sessions spread out over a couple of nights, turning the film more into a mini-series than a marathon viewing. And you know what? The results were entirely positive. Oh, the film still has flaws, which I'll touch on in a minute, but even taking those into account, this is a really fun movie.

Broken into two parts, the action sequences at Helm's Deep are not nearly so tedious. Although they still have their ridiculous moments (Legolas skateboarding down the stairs on a shield leaps to mind, and Aragorn randomly jumping thirty feet from the top of a wall into the midst of the orc army is still eye-rollingly stupid), they are very effective at communicating the chaos, tragedy, and insensibility of battle. I love the fact that Theoden's grand moment of "drawing his sword" and heading to the gate is immediately truncated by the fact that he's stabbed by an orc spear within the first thirty seconds of fighting and has to pull back. Or the moment when he bars the gate on Aragorn and Gimli because they're not fast enough to get through before the entrance is sealed. Of course, Our Heroes (TM) are still protected by plot armor, but a cheerier film would have had them rush through before the gate was sealed, because they're individually more important than a hundred random soldiers. Or the scene where Haldir is dying and surveys the landscape of dead Elves, no doubt wondering about the futility or effectiveness of his participation in the battle. War sucks. "For death and glory?" Theoden asks Aragorn, when the latter proposes they ride out together into the fray. "For Rohan," Aragorn replies. "For your people." Give them a chance to escape through the tunnels; make your death have some meaning not just for you, but for the future.

You'll notice I've referenced Theoden a number of times already. Basically Bernard Hill and his portrayal of the Rohirrim king is the best part of the film. I always had pictured Theoden as a really old man with a long, silky white beard (probably because of that darn Bakshi cartoon, there it goes creeping in again), but Bernard Hill really inhabits the role. Some (Eric) may scoff at the scene where Theoden is donning his armor and reciting the Eorlingas verse, framed by the setting sun and intercut with images of the marching Uruk-hai closing in on the citadel, but man, that scene packs a punch every time for me. Theoden's ever-increasing sense of helplessness in the face of indomitable orcish advance ("What can men do against such reckless hate?" -- a line not in the books, but probably Jackson's most memorable original from all three films) rings true to me, because there really is so much inexplicable hate in the world (some housed within ourselves). What can we do? Face it, says Aragorn, and Bernard Hill beautifully captures the change within the king as he realizes that standing for something serves a purpose beyond simple "death and glory".

What else is great about the film? Gollum -- although the motion-capture CGI, which I thought still served well after all these years in "Fellowship", did not hold up as well in some of the scenes with Gollum -- but much has been said about Jackson's framing of the creature's internal and psychological struggles, and Andy Serkis' portrayal of said struggles elsewhere, so I will abstain. They're still great. Gandalf -- although I can't agree with the cosmetic choice to give him a fashionable shoulder-bob haircut (I much prefer long greasy-haired Gandalf the Grey) -- Ian McKellen continues to inhabit the character and convey the appropriate gravitas and power. The supporting Rohirrim cast members, especially Eomer and Eowyn.

What's not so good? The handling of the rest of the Fellowship.

Legolas is reduced to outrageously bad action sequences and pensive looks. Gimli is nothing more than eye-rolling comic relief. Merry and Pippin are ten times more annoying in this movie than in the last one, and even so the script still has to hit Treebeard with the idiot bat so that the hobbits can seem like they're moving and shaking that plotline instead of just being carried around by a boring tree. Aragorn suffers from the bland love story flashbacks with Arwen and is forced to kiss a horse (this elicited chuckles from the theater audiences I originally saw the film with, I recall, but for me this scene and several others in the movie always generated within me that uncomfortable feeling of being embarrassed for the film I was watching). And Frodo and Sam. Oh, Frodo and Sam.

I realize that Peter Jackson felt like he had to spice that storyline up a little to make it more palatable for rapacious and critical audiences. But man, it feels like it's overboard. Frodo falls headfirst into the Dead Marshes. Sam falls over the cliff at the Morannon. The Black Rider's not just off in the distance, he's directly overhead. The oliphant is coming right at Sam and Faramir's tiny arrow manages to divert it. Faramir also saves Frodo from the Nazgul with his mighty Bow of Power (TM) when he shoots the flying creature it rides, then Sam tackles Frodo off the roof and they fall four stories onto the ground where Frodo draws his sword on Sam. Gag me.

I've already complained about the butchering of Faramir's character in the film. I'll never forgive Jackson for it, just for the sake of padding the movie a bit (and so much of the film feels like padding -- Frodo's tumble into the marshes, some of the Helm's Deep action, the warg attack and its aftermath). Instead of "showing his quality," Faramir tumbles off the deep end and seizes Frodo for Gondor. Then somehow they are transported from the orc-controlled east bank of the river to the west back with the rest of the Gondor forces; there's some fol-de-rol with the Nazgul, Faramir shoots it, and suddenly (and entirely inexplicably) he comes to his senses and Frodo and Sam are magically back on the east side of the river, going about their merry way. What?! And what, exactly, changes Faramir's mind? He's just seen Frodo go binky-bonkers and climb up on top of a tower, ready to hand the Ring over to the first Nazgul who calls to it, and has to be tackled by his pudgy servant in order to snap out of it. That's enough to say "at last, we understand each other" and turn him loose? No witnessing Frodo's magnanimity with respect to Gollum; no revelations about Boromir; no discussions of Faramir's hopes and dreams with respect to his country and Gondor. Nope, just a silly action sequence and then, bam, it's all resolved, plotline concluded. Ugh, it's just terrible.

My complaints could continue, but I'll cease and desist. I really did enjoy the film this time around; it's just very flawed. I have the haziest memory of "Return of the King"; I'm actually looking forward to seeing how Jackson resolves his epic film trilogy. "Two Towers" is definitely the weakest of the two, by all recollection, but even it has its moments of majesty. Certainly worth a watch every five to ten years!

"The Choices of Master Samwise" - Eric's Thoughts

This is somewhat of a monumental moment for us all -- Ben, Jacob and myself have completed the Two Towers and have blogged on two of three of the books! Quite an accomplishment, if I may say so! Why, I think even Samwise Gamgee would be rightfully impressed.

The chapter is good and provides a necessary conclusion to the cliffhanger in Shelob's lair. As Ben notes, this chapter, and the previous, is where Sam finally becomes more than a blubbering fool. As the orcs note, Sam succeeded in needling Shelob, which no warrior (great or small) had ever done before.

While Sam's dilemma and taking the Ring is good prose, the chapter really becomes interesting when Sam starts to listen into the orcs. The conversation immediately gives an insight into orc culture: they just want to be free and set up shop somewhere else . Orcs clearly hate working for Sauron, but they know that the people on the other side of the gate would treat orcs even worse. The orcs, if they even have a choice, ally themselves with the power that at least could give them some more "space."

Of course, the revelation that Frodo is not dead is the real shocker. I still remember that moment when I learned he was not dead, and it is a powerful moment. Now, on reread, since I know the plot, that revelation had less impact. Rather, I enjoyed paying more attention to Shagrat's and Gorbag's conversation as to a window into Mordor culture. It's clear that the orcs aren't blind automatons of evil. They have desires and hopes and opinions like everyone else in Middle Earth. And ambition. Both Gorbag and Shagrat want a piece of the assumed reward for finding the hobbit.

And, as I remember, the orcs' ambition and irritable nature is yet another provincial windfall that allows Frodo to ultimately succeed in his quest. That is to say, evil proves its own undoing.

"Shelob's Lair" - Eric's Thoughts

Frodo and Sam, after beating back an unseen beast with light, and cut through a swath of giant cobwebs that ricochet when struck with an ordinary sword, the hobbits emerge from the cave. Frodo in his desire to get away, separates from Sam. Shelob strikes. Just when you think it couldn't get any worse, it does. Gollum strikes. The point of view of Sam in this chapter plays a critical role in ratcheting up the tension--not only is Sam fighting for his own life, but he is engaged in a struggle that has a clear ticking clock -- Sam must not only defeat Gollum, but do it quickly so he can help Frodo. This is storytelling done well: make things worse, give a brief glimmer of hope, and then make things even worse.

As my fellow readers note, this chapter is the climax of the entire Two Towers. The hobbits face the dragon in its lair, so to speak, and Gollum reveals himself as a true villain. One can only wonder how the outcome might have changed if Sam's treatment of Gollum was different. That is why Gollum presents such an interesting antagonist -- it's not clear whether the creature had any hope at all, or whether this had been his rotten plan all along and nothing the hobbits did could have stopped its execution. It is the continued ambiguity in Gollum that partly makes this chapter so tragic and compelling.

I notice that Jacob believes this chapter stands up as well as Khazad-Dum and Knife in the Dark (and the Voice of Saruman). I agree. The four chapters Jacob mentions (including this one) are probably among my favorite as well. What's particularly interesting to me is the similarities between the four chapters and why they are so compelling:

1. Characters stripped of senses: Three of the four chapters take place at night, in the dark
2. Claustrophobia: Two of the chapters are literally claustrophobic, involving tunnels and caves (Bridge and Shelob). Knife in the dark is arguably claustrophobic as well for the simple reason that the hobbits are trapped on a hill, and are surrounded by dangerous beings closing in fast
3. Superhuman villains: all four chapters present incredibly dangerous antagonists and otherworldly beings that present an immediate danger to the protagonists in their own way
4. Success comes only at great price: Knife in the dark involved Frodo getting stabbed and almost later dying from that wound; Bridge cost the Company Gandalf himself; the Voice is tragic in that the loss of Saruman becomes final -- Saruman rejects Gandalf's overtures to cast away evil and join them; Shelob's Lair costs Frodo and Sam their guide, Gollum rejects the call to good, and Frodo himself falls victim to Shelob.

Further, each chapter presents a resolution to a strong dramatic question: Is Gollum bad (the reader suspects, but does not know for sure, whether he will betray Frodo)? When will the black riders actually strike, and what will their attack be like? What does the beating of the drums mean (it certainly can't be good)? Will Saruman turn anyone with his renowned Voice; and, when Gandalf tries to flip the script, will Saruman give up the mantle and find redemption among his old friends?

Tolkien answers each of those questions in the worst possible way: yes, Gollum is evil. Yes, the black riders are extremely dangerous and have weapons where a mere puncture will not only kill you, but blacken your very soul. Yes, a giant monster who is superior to Gandalf is behind the beating of the drums. No, Saruman cannot accept the redemption and forgiveness of his friends.

Shelob's Lair, like the other great chapters before it, contain the elements that make a chapter truly great to read: it preys on our darkest fears of monsters, darkness, claustrophobia, and our very guides through them all either vanishing or turning against us.

"The Stairs of Cirith Ungol" - Eric's Thoughts

While the previous chapter (Crossroads) seems to be filler material to lend credibility of how long the journey is, it lacked any palpable form of external antagonist (other than the terrain) or internal struggle. That is why that chapter was not particularly compelling, and I agree with Ben and Jacob that some pruning was in order.

This chapter alleviates what was lacking in the previous chapter and has some very compelling moments. Three stood out in particular.

The first, of course, is the internal confrontation between Frodo and the Ringwraith. Note that the confrontation was internal, not external. No swords are parried, no bullets flying in the air, but the language here was more compelling than Helm's Deep: "Frodo waited, like a bird at the approach of a snake, unable to move. And as he waited, he felt, more urgent than ever before, the command that he should put on the Ring. But great as the pressure was, he felt no inclination now to yield to it."

The reader turns the page, literally, to determine if Frodo will put on the Ring. As we know from the Fellowship, if Frodo puts on the Ring here, he is doomed. Yet, somehow Frodo is drawn to put the Ring on. The reader knows the stakes; Tolkien does not have to say them outright. At first it seems Frodo is tempted, then he knows putting it on would not lend him the strength to fight the Witch King, but then his finger draws ever closer nonetheless. It's a compelling back and forth internal dialogue wrought with inconsistency -- and that is why it is so interesting to watch. Finally, a magic token takes him out of the spell, and the Witch King is vanquished, merely moving on with his armies to continue in his quest to destroy the entirety of Gondor. Frodo, reflecting on the vast size of Sauron's armies and how even if he did the impossible and destroyed the Ring, says "'There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.' Overcome with weakness he wept. And still the host of Morgul crossed the bridge." Frodo emerges triumphant, yet his great victory is still not enough to overcome inevitable defeat.

Second, as my fellow readers note, is the interesting diversion into metafiction. Sam and Frodo's dialogue, discussing how Lord of the Rings is nothing but a story, makes the characters feel even more real than before. Interestingly, just as Tolkien did, Robert Jordan in the Wheel of Time used this technique regularly -- sometimes having the main character Rand reflect that doing things in reality were much more difficult than what he had read in stories. What Rand, and Sam and Frodo have observed is a thought real people often have, so characters that reflect on how their lives relate to stories they've read lends the character almost an air of credibility. Sam says, "I wonder what sort of a tale we’ve fallen into?’" A reader too can't help but wonder what sort of tale he has fallen into, and what legacy he will leave behind.

Third, the marvelously written dialogue between Sam and Gollum. Tolkien really shines at his best when he's writing dialogue for Smeagol. After Gollum sneaks off and returns, he shows a glimpse of humanity, almost as if he's regretting his decision to betray his friends (revealed in the next chapter). Sam calls Gollum a sneak, chastises him, and Gollum's eyes turn green, symbolizing that his brief moment of humanity is gone. The dialogue that ensues is tragic, but similarly hilarious. Gollum mutters, "‘No food, no rest, nothing for Sméagol,’ said Gollum. ‘He’s a sneak.’"

"'Don’t take names to yourself, Sméagol,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s unwise, whether they are true or false.'"

"'Sméagol has to take what’s given him,’" answered Gollum. "‘He was given that name by kind Master Samwise, the hobbit that knows so much.’"

Gollum plays the victim (is he just deranged or purely manipulative?), when it is he that is about to betray the Hobbits, demonstrating the psychological complexity of this tragic creature.