"Journey to the Cross-roads" - Jacob's Thoughts

What actually happens in this chapter?

Faramir sends them off, then disappears back into the wood as though it were a dream; Gollum resumes guiding them some more through Mordor, almost without missing a beat, as though the Faramir episode never happened, didn't matter.  I'm guessing it will matter more later, but Faramir's dreamlike departure doesn't do much to establish what the necessity or point of this little detour into the world of Men was (though, as we've already discussed, he's a far more pleasant character to spend time with than Tom Bombadil--though, like Tom, Tolkien doesn't seem to know much what to do with him, either, sadly).

Samwise dreams of the Shire going to seed (no doubt a subtle foreshadowing of the homecoming in Book VI) then wakes up, more forlorn than ever (a much needed humanizing touch for Samwise after the needlessly cruel way he's been treating Gollum lately).

A storm appears to be brewing (I'm assuming this is chronologically concurrent with the Battle of Helm's Deep in Book III).

Frodo is fatalistic, and increasingly opaque to both Samwise and us as readers (Samwise became our reader-substitute in place of Frodo so gradually that I hardly noticed).

Gollum wakes them up in a panic to get out of the way of the coming troops.  They come to the cross-roads and see a vision foreshadowing the Return of the King.

All important details and proper character moments and nice foreshadowing.  Nevertheless, that is all, apparently, that happened in this chapter.

I've been using the descriptor "table-setting" for a few chapters in a row now, and frankly, I'm getting tired of finding new ways to say it.  My distant, childhood memories of reading this text reassure me that this all pays off soon, and the glacial pace of events in Book IV is almost Hitchcockian in how it keeps ratcheting up the tension, so as to ensure the bigger pay-off; and Tolkien's description itself is also lush enough to be a delight in and of itself to explore, even if Mordor is such a forlorn and depressing place to inhabit, so I feel a tad churlish to complain; nevertheless, this endless teetering between tension and tedium is a balancing-act that Tolkien has been playing all this series long, and I'm starting to strum my fingers a bit--and though I think he has far better command of that balance now than he did at, say, "The Old Forest," I kinda wish he would cease playing these balancing acts altogether.  We all identified places in Book III that could have used some trimming and pruning, and I feel like those same tendencies are starting to show this late in Book IV too.  I would like Tolkien to quit setting up the chess pieces and finally make some gambits, so to speak.

"The Forbidden Pool" - Ben's Thoughts

So I know Tolkien had to push Frodo and Gollum's relationship to a tipping point, and this chapter is his vehicle for that flashpoint. Unfortunately, I think it strains the plot to limits of my credulity.

Frodo and Sam are quasi-captives of Faramir; coming to the outpost is punishable by death for any outsider; and here comes Gollum, waltzing into the pool and diving for fish. Tolkien presents a problem, and has Frodo bungle through the fallout of Gollum's arrival with all the deftness of a drunken sailor. Part of the problem in which Tolkien has Faramir present the conundrum to Frodo in the first place: he's not up front with why he takes Frodo to the falls. From a narrative perspective, this does two diametrically opposite things: it sets Frodo on edge and off his guard, because of Faramir's tactic; but it also upsets the relationship that the two built in the last chapter, which ended with both hobbits trusting Faramir and revealing to him their secrets. Yet here, Tolkien makes Frodo and Faramir take a silent step back; the distrust has returned, for no discernable reason.

Faramir knows that Frodo is associated in some way with a small, tricky creature who evades capture by his men. Yet he chooses not to ask him about it. Faramir also notes about how brazen the creature is to swim and fish in the pool, all the while with a company of men on the other side of the falls. Frodo points out that this is probably because he doesn't know the outpost is there at all, but this should have been obvious to Faramir from the beginning. Faramir distrusts the creature from the first moment he laid eyes on him, but why? Just because he doesn't know what it is, because it looks vaguely like some "spying breed of orc"? I don't know. The motivations seem off.

Then Tolkien has Frodo stumble down to the pool's edge, by himself, to try to convince Gollum to slink into the waiting hands of the men to be captured. Why doesn't Frodo ask instead to talk to Gollum, to find out what he knows? Once he determines that Gollum doesn't know about the outpost, why doesn't he stay with Gollum until Sam can gather up their gear and leave? Why doesn't he explain to Faramir that Gollum is drawn to the Ring, and have Faramir capture him in a way that doesn't involve Frodo having to betray Gollum's trust? It just feels forced to me. All Frodo needed to do was ask for more time to consider how he could preserve Gollum's trust and achieve Faramir's goal of secrecy. The only explanation for why he would not ask that is that he didn't trust Faramir, but from the last chapter we know that those fears have been overridden.

Of course, we know the characters act the way they do because Tolkien needs them to, in order to advance the plot. It just comes across as heavy-handed, to me. I do appreciate Faramir's struggle of wills with Gollum, and that he seems to be doing some kind of Galadriel-style mind-reading on the poor creature before judging him no threat to the outpost (but possibly as a threat to Frodo). I also appreciate his decision to respect Frodo's agency. It's unclear whether or not Faramir understands just how much is riding on Frodo's quest, but he does know that the Ring in Sauron's hands would be a huge boost to the already-superpowered Enemy, so his decision to let Frodo go -- and let Gollum go with him -- should not be underappreciated. Of course, that too seems at odds with the paranoia Tolkien had him exhibit earlier in the very same chapter. Why couldn't they all have just talked it over before sending Frodo down to do the dirty work?

I love the foreshadowing of the danger that awaits the hobbits at Kirith Ungol. Tolkien manages this nicely without reavealing what is actually up there. There are some nice worldbuilding touches, as well, when Frodo refers to Minas Morgul as "Minas Ithil," and Faramir corrects him. It's interesting how ignorant Faramir seems to be regarding the Ringwraiths; I guess Sauron has not yet unleashed them in battle in the living memory of the current round of Gondorians. This is one instance, at least, in which our hobbits are more experienced and knowledgeable than their "betters."

All in all, a necessary, even compelling chapter, in terms of plot and dialogue -- just heavy-handed. Tolkien wields the plot bat to push his characters towards the final conflict of the book.

"The Window on the West" - Ben's Thoughts

This chapter is a character vehicle for Faramir. I like Jacob's comparison of Faramir to Frodo -- they do have many things in common, not least of which is a responsibility that has been pushed upon them by terrible circumstance. But this chapter also serves as meticulous set-up for the major conflict of Book V -- Denethor and Gandalf. We'll get to that in due course, but this exposition serves as groundwork for that conflict, which I believe to be the most intricate, tragic, and real conflict of the series. All of the chit-chat in this chapter does feel a bit clunky, but it's necessary to lay that stage which, if I recall correctly, will pay off big in the next book.

But back to Faramir. The backstory of Numenor, Gondor, and the Stewards serves to highlight Faramir's role in the conflict: kings of Numenor, driven to the shores of Middle-earth, mix with lesser men to form the kingdom of Gondor, until those kings too are extinct and the Stewards must step in, mixing themselves once again with their lessers to maintain parity in the never-ending struggle against Sauron. And now Faramir, second son of the Steward of Gondor, has been thrown into a leadership role we sense is unwanted, fighting a war that is, ultimately, distasteful to him, serving in a position that should have been filled by the eager shoes of Boromir. His brother's untimely death has allowed him to rise to power, but it in a way places him squarely in the center of that downward spiral of diminishing glory of the Numenoreans: he will always be the second choice, no peer to Boromir's bravery, ability to lead, and strength of arms. Faramir sees in himself the decay and dissipation of Gondor.

Of course, Frodo and Sam sense quite the opposite in him: something more and better than Boromir could ever hope to aspire to. Sam compares his quiet strength to that of Gandalf. Faramir (one senses) would be more eager to study history and magic under the tutelage of Gandalf (indeed, one of the accusations Denethor levels at his second son in the next book is the title of "wizard's pupil") than leading men into combat. And, naturally, when the opportunity presents itself to him, Faramir considers and then rejects the pull of the Ring and agrees that Frodo must be free to follow his course to Mordor. It's unclear whether or not Faramir realizes the danger of what would happen if Sauron were to seize the Ring from Frodo, but what is sure is that he has no desire for power. The Ring's influence is not even suggested in this chapter, except possibly in that brief moment when he stands to loom over the hobbits after Sam's ridiculous (and unfortunately characteristic) slip o' the tongue. Gandalf and Galadriel react quite differently when the Ring is within their power; even Gandalf has a desire to use the Ring to lead others to victory and defeat Sauron. Faramir, it seems has no such ambitions. He only desires to defend, not to attack or destroy. A fascinating counterpoint to the temptations of Gandalf and Galadriel both.

For someone who was bookish and fairly unassuming as a child, Faramir was instantly relatable and was one of my favorite characters in the entire series. It's a shame he is cast aside in Book 6, but after the Denethor plotline is resolved it seems that Tolkien didn't know what to do with him anymore. But he is engaging and fascinating while he is a central character. I'll discuss it more when we watch the film, but Faramir in Jackon's film is almost entirely unrecognizable; basically a Boromir clone, who chooses to give up the Ring for no discernable reason. It's probably Jackson's worst misstep. I also love the history lesson, told through his eyes, The stories he touches on are fleshed out considerably in the Appendicies and I hope we'll take the time to read and comment on them.

On to the Forbidden Pool! Frodo lays it all out for Faramir here; his hopes and fears. Unfortunately he blows it in the next chapter.

"The Forbidden Pool" - Jacob's Thoughts

This Frodo is a different character.

This is not the nephew pining for mountains in his lil' Hobbit hole, or cowering before Farmer Maggot, or getting half-eaten by frickin' Willow Trees, or openly lusting after Tom Bombadil's wife, or summoning his adorable little Hobbit courage against the Barrel-Wights, or making an abject fool of himself at the Prancing Pony, or getting mocked by Strider, or frolicking around Rivendell, or what have you. 

No, this is a new character.  Whether that is because this journey has changed him irrevocably, or he was simply never that clearly drawn of a character to begin with and thus changes fluidly based on the needs of the story, is a more difficult question to parse. 

Perhaps the Ring has infected him too much by now.  Or maybe the claim that Smeagol's service has made on his soul has altered it, made something a little more regal of it--Frodo now feels all the heavy responsibility of the Lordship without any of the attendant benefits.  Maybe some combination of all of the above, maybe something else entirely.

In any case, the way Frodo solemnly addresses Faramir, as an equal--and the way Faramir naturally reciprocates, as a kindred spirit--is different from any manner we've seen him behave before.  Don't get me wrong, I like it--and I don't normally enjoy this style of perpetual self-seriousness, but the chemistry between these two characters just seems to click in every scene they share--and I especially appreciate how Faramir's intuitive insight into the souls and intentions of others, including both Gollum's and Frodo's, makes him a natural soulmate for equally-insightful Frodo, thus enhancing the intrinsic tragedy that they will scarcely get a chance to ever let that mutual regard blossom into genuine friendship, such is the cost of war--yet nevertheless, this Frodo here feels as alien and strange to me as he does to Faramir.

This is not the same Frodo I've been journeying with all along.  This Frodo is a new character.  And I don't quite yet know how I feel about it.

"Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit" - Ben's Thoughts

This certainly is a bridge chapter, linking the hobbit's desperation at the Morannon to their final journey to Kirith Ungol. It introduces Faramir, who will be an important figure in Book V -- until he is conveniently shoved under the table in the final book, but we'll leave that for another time -- and gives us more details on the Southrons, the Haradrim.

I mentioned my fond memories of this chapter at the end of my last post. Basically I remember that one of the first times, or possibly the first time that I read this chapter, it was lying on the couch in the front room of my childhood home, on a Sunday after (or possibly before?) church with the full summer sun streaming in through the window onto the couch and me lying there. It was beautifully warm, and I didn't have a care in the world, and I laughed at Sam's banter with Gollum. It's a fond memory, and one of the memories that adds up to my love of The Lord of the Rings; that feeling of peace and contentment and wonder at delving into an exciting and absorbing fantasy world.

But... today the chapter leaves something to be desired. I see less banter in Sam's little chat with Gollum and more, as Jacob put it, "casual abuse." Also, the off-handed racism of the various races and cultures at play here sticks in my craw. More on each of these topics below. Aside from that, this is a harmless chapter. We're reminded again of Frodo's otherworldly connections; his ordeal in bearing the Ring has, in a way, purified him. It's telling that the "inner light" that signifies his connection with the Valar is only switched on when he's sleeping. Most likely, his daytime battle with the opposing forces detailed in previous chapters blocks that connection too much at other times. Tolkien's descriptions of Ithilien are beautiful, as well, even though I prefer more grandiose landscapes (craggy mountains or rolling oceans), myself.

Now, on Gollum and Sam. Sam is just terribly cruel to the poor wretch here. He sends him off to find them some food, knowing full well that he will be preparing the food in a way that Gollum will be unable or at least unwilling to eat. He threatens him with physical harm when Gollum refuses to do as he asks, perhaps in a misguided dominance tactic. And finally, after his threats and verbal abuse ("you're hopeless", for example) he tries again to get Gollum to do as he asked. It's small wonder that Gollum slunk off into the brush after that exchange. Sam is just completely unwilling to see past his own cultural standards; so unable to visualize Gollum's point of view about anything. And here the hobbits are almost totally in Gollum's hands. Doesn't Sam realize that Gollum could try to kill or betray them at any opportunity? Or does he trust so implicitly the oath that Gollum made on the Ring, that he disregards all reason in belittling, disregarding, and abusing him? It baffles me. It is of course both realistic and necessary to the plot, but it's still frustrating.

Finally, the racism. It must be mentioned. The Haradrim are "dark," the Gondorians are "pale-skinned." The Haradrim are "ever ready" to serve the Enemy, the Gondorians are stalwart defenders against his evil. I suppose it could be argued that Sam's internal monologue about the dead Haradrim soldier redeems Tolkien somewhat, but unfortunately, Sam's questions about whether the man was coerced or tricked into fighting against the white good guys is not answered by the text. In the next book the racism will compound, as the Easterlings and other servants of Sauron are pervasively described as "swarthy" or otherwise dark-skinned (and let us never forget that orcs have black skins and other "good" people, like the Rohirrim, are fair-skinned Nordic knock-offs). I know, it was another time, but I just have to wonder what went through Tolkien's mind when he wrote that into the story. It jerks me out of my immersion in Middle-earth, when I read it this time around. Others have written about Tolkien's (probably unconscious) racism at length elsewhere; I don't have anything else to say about it. I just think it bears mentioning.

Looking forward to more Faramir in the next chapter. Right now all my mind summons about him is the Jackson films' true bastardization of his character in the second film.

"The Black Gate is Closed" - Ben's Thoughts

Eric's right, there's just not a lot to this chapter. The main entrance to Mordor is about as grim and insurmountable as one would expect; we've seen the trope so many times now in so many different fantasy tales that it's almost cliche at this point. The evil overlord blockades himself in his chosen land or kingdom; a blasted, desolate wasteland that serves to counterpoint the proud, warrior state of the main military protagonists (Gondor in LOTR), and the idyllic, tranquil homeland of the protagonists themselves (the Shire). Of course, it's all symbolism, because once you start to think about Mordor, the realism falls apart. What do these vast armies of orcs and men eat? I think there's a throw-away line in "Return of the King" about how Sauron has farmer-slaves tilling the soil for his armies in the inner depths of the land, but that really doesn't and cannot explain all the infrastructure the Dark Lord has in place here. It's all right, though, because symbolism.

I suppose I've been spoiled by more recent series I've read where the antagonists are flawed human beings, rather than evil godlike overlords. I feel like those kinds of villains teach me more about myself and what I might be capable of, in the extreme instance, that Sauron and his ilk. But they call this sort of book "high fantasy" for a reason; the protagonists are struggling against an idea, more than an actual individual.

Like Jacob highlighted, the chapter devotes a large portion of its text in bringing home to the reader just how much the hobbits are in over their heads. They had no idea what they were going to do when they reached Mordor; they didn't know anything about it at all. This seems like an egregious oversight on Gandalf and Elrond's part. Didn't they even consider the possibility that Frodo might get separated from Aragorn or Gandalf at some point? Didn't they sit the hobbits down and have lessons with them in Rivendell? Like, Geography 101; Political Science 101; crash courses on diplomacy and negotiation with southern cultures (Easterlings, Haradrim, Gondorians, and the like) with an emphasis on culture and military structure. Nope -- instead they allowed the hobbits to frolic around the valley looking at birds and butterflies while the big important folk planned the adventure. Sigh. At the same time, though, this circles back to what I was saying earlier about the hobbits struggling against an idea, not against actual realistic antagonists. It's not a flaw (no matter how annoying) that the hobbits are clueless about how to accomplish their quest. For one, the text itself points out, as Jacob observed, that both of them figured it was hopeless anyway, but just didn't want to dwell on it. And two, the more naive the hobbits are, the more triumphant it will be when they triumph over Sauron, the ultimate planner (heck, he's been planning this conquest for 3000 years and he still manages to screw it up).

Jacob also reminds us about the inherent melancholy of LOTR. Absolutely -- this is a major theme of the book and one that will be brought sharply into focus in "King" after being forgotten, largely, since the Fellowship left Lorien. That is, even if the heroes triumph, entropy will come into full effect; the hold the Elves have over the land will be broken (because the Three Rings, tied to the One, will stop working); and men will slowly forget about them thereby. No matter what happens, it's a net loss for the good guys.

I do have to disagree about the timeliness of the poem in this chapter, though. I'm a fan of Tolkien's poetry and have championed it in a number of chapters where it's been written off as "boring" by everyone else, but here I feel like it's completely out of place. Have Sam sing it in the next chapter, where they actually meet the oliphaunt and the tone is a little lighter. It just doesn't belong here. I don't buy it as a spur for Frodo to finally decide to follow Gollum to Kirith Ungol, either. Sadly, unless I'm misremembering, most of the best poems are already past us, and those from here on out are just tedium. Poetry watch -- stand by.

On to Ithilien. I remember really enjoying the next chapter as a boy -- I'm excited to see whether it holds up.

"The Passage of the Marshes" - Ben's Thoughts

The almost plodding pace of Book IV always managed to capture my attention more than the ebbs and flows of Book III, and this chapter is an example why. Tolkien slowly describes the magnitude of the forces arrayed against the hobbits in their journey to Mordor, and at the same time, makes it clear that they have no idea what they are doing. The tension builds, and builds, and by the time we have Black Riders soaring overhead on leathery wings and Smeagol/Gollum on the ground, plotting against the duo, the reader is on the edge of his seat. Not to mention the soul-crushing struggle Frodo is engaged in on a constant basis over mastery of the Ring; the marshes and their environmental threat; and the simple fact that quite aside from being caught, killed, or tortured by the forces of Sauron (and therein dooming the entire world), the duo may not have enough food to even reach the mountain, let alone return back from it. The stakes seem incredibly high; far higher than those present with Aragorn & Co. Their conflicts are almost laughable in comparison.

Eric and Jacob both highlighted the fascinating Gollum section, which leaves the reader wondering just who "She" might be (and shaking their heads as Sam, who immediately dismisses the question out of hand). But what grabbed me this time around was the description of Frodo's struggle with the Ring. It's been years and years since I read LOTR last, and since that last time I've had heaps and heaps of personal responsibility heaped upon me in my own life. Not that I think that's necessarily comparable to dual malevolent forces struggling for dominance of your soul, but I would say that I think most of us can understand ongoing situations of continual stress and pressure, whether from jobs, family members, education, you name it. Frodo's day is one of continual concentration; continual defense against the assault on his will and spirit, both externally from "the Eye" and quasi-internally from "the Ring". The reader practically rejoices when Frodo, at the end of the chapter, wakes to find his burden made lighter, just for a time, by the "fair vision" he enjoyed while dreaming, and the rest he was able to capture.

Finally, I also appreciate the sense of history that Tolkien invests the chapter with. Frodo and Sam are trudging through the battle plain where Sauron was defeated by the combined armies of Men and Elves 3000 years previously, where ultimately Sauron's physical form was destroyed and the Ring was seized by Isildur. There certainly is some circular symbolism here: the Ring is returning to the place where it was seized and created. What is depressing is that the corpses have no affiliation, once dead -- the Elves and Orcs, both at once, are "all foul, all rotting, all dead. A fell light is in them." Their struggle, their battle, is forgotton; they are just present, as shades or figures, with less power than even the Barrow-wights encountered in Book 1. A grim contrast to the honor heaped upon the dead after the battles by the Rohirrim in the last book. Tolkien provides this counterpoint, I think, to once again highlight the fact that war, in and of itself, brings no joy, creates no life; it only ends it.

I'm back! I'm going to try to catch up to you guys by writing one post every day this week. We'll see if we can get back on schedule with the posts.