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

It's funny that Sam's battle with Shelob is over almost as soon as it's begun, and the chapter after that point is quickly divided into three main sections: Sam's dilemma; Sam's experience with the Ring and its power after he puts it on; and the conversation between the orcs. The latter is by far the most interesting, in my opinion, as we delve deeper into the Ring and its power over the hobbits in Book VI, but the others bear mentioning.

First, as Jacob pointed out, Shelob is her own undoing. It's telling that Shelob's body is described as her "precious flesh," because appetites and lust is what defined the monster in the last chapter as well. Shelob seeks to crush Sam with her body, her flesh, and at the same time her flesh is her own undoing. It's a subtle but scathing rebuke of hedonistic pursuits. (More has been said elsewhere about how Tolkien chose to clothe this theme in gendered terms; it is somewhat unquieting that this bloated, ghastly evil is described as female, but perhaps it's merely thematic; male Sauron, female Shelob.)

On to Sam's choices. After he realizes that he made the "wrong" choice later in the chapter, Sam castigates himself by stating that his choice was informed by his lack of hope. An accurate, if depressing sentiment, in my opinion. Sam revealed in previous chapters that he didn't actually have much hope that the Quest would succeed; he was just seeing it through to the end with his master. Here, that lack of hope spills over onto his assessment of the situation: Frodo is cold and non-responsive, without breath or pulse; by all standards he is dead. However, Sam is no stranger to supernatural forces. With a little more hope in him, would he have realized that there was a chance that Frodo wasn't dead, but just poisoned? In any case, Tolkien has Sam conveniently lose his head and leave Frodo lying there in the middle of the path for anyone to find, instead of moving him to the side or among some rocks and covering him with his cloak. (Of course, if he had done that, the orcs wouldn't have found Frodo, and Sam wouldn't have realized that Frodo was still alive. So it's all for the best.) It's interesting just how casually Sam takes the Ring, but then immediately feels the weight and burden upon him. "Somewhere, an Eye was searching for him," the text relates, and it makes the reader wonder whether Sauron can feel the Ring being used by another. Sam's innate power is so minuscule, however, so even if Sauron knew the Ring was being used, surely he couldn't sense where it was taking place.

And finally, the orcs. There's a lot to process in this dialogue. A couple of things stood out to me this time. First, either the orcs have extremely long institutional memories, or they're immortal, like the elves. Shagrat and Gorbag are talking about "old times" and the "Great Siege" as if they occurred yesterday, not (literally) thousands of years in the past. I suppose it makes sense that the orcs, made as twisted mockeries or perhaps an offshoot from the elves, would have long lives. I guess I never really considered it before. Second, we revisit the theme of discontent in Sauron's ranks. Shagrat makes it clear that he believes he has spies for the higher-ups among his own people; talk about a police state. And Shagrat and Gorbag have a healthy mutual distrust (that will blossom into violence) for each other, their own men, the Nazgul, and even Sauron himself ("the Biggest Boss" as they call him). They're anxious to take the first opportunity they can get to bolt away from the Enemy's control and set up shop on their own far away from any "Bosses." Part of this discontent of course comes from the aforementioned police state and hypermilitarized society the orcs seems to be steeped in (Tolkien, as a veteran, no doubt parroted the orcs' military lingo off of what he heard in the military himself). And part of it comes from the fact that the orcs are all too aware that they are just expendable drones who could be shoved into the meat grinder at any time. They're unsettled by the magical means of communication that pass information they are not privy to (see their conversation about how "the messages go through quicker than anything could fly") and realize they're in a damned if they do, damned if they don't situation. If the "good guys" win, they know they're just as screwed as if Sauron ends up triumphing. What a life. I love the insight into how the bad guys operate. This is more nuanced, I feel, than the petty squabbling we saw between the Isengard and Mordor orcs in the last book.

To sum up, this is a great chapter that provides a killer cliffhanger and excellent setup for the next book. I remember being stunned when I read this for the first time as a kid. The explosive last few chapters made up, in my opinion, for the plodding pace of the rest of Book IV.

I'm not as excited, however, to revisit Jackson's "Two Towers" film. It has been, historically, my least favorite of the three. Bring on the hyena-wargs and the never-ending Helm's Deep battle scenes.

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

So why does Sam succeed against Shelob when none ever has, as the Orcs inform us?  The answer maybe gets straight to the heart of Tolkien's entire Hobbit-centric series--for despite all his grandiose and sprawling mythologies and the great acts of elves and dwarves and wizards and dark lords and demi-gods and men, all mapped out with appendixes and concordances, remember that this is nonetheless a Hobbit-focused tale, and it's worth asking just why that is.

As for this Hobbit's victory over Shelob: the first factor is the shear fact that Shelob severely underestimated Sam--she would in all likelihood have been all on guard against a genuine Elf-warrior, or Strider-like Ranger, or some other Orc chieftan, but Sam she scarcely considers worth her attention.  Only when he proves a pest does she deign to crush his "impudence" under her tremendous weight--which is precisely her undoing, impaling herself more savagely than Sam ever could have contrived to do on his own.  This utter disregard for Hobbits will also prove Sauron's undoing, as he remains so fixated upon the troop movement of men and elves that he does not even bother to note the doddering halflings wandering right under his nose.

That sense of doddering duty that proves a decisive asset is a key part of the English self-identity, I think: Napoleon and Hitler alike dismissed England as a mere "nation of shopkeepers," and both paid dearly for their mistake.  One gets a sense that the English prefer it that way, that even when they had a world-spanning empire they liked to constantly be overshadowed by their flashier rivals--the French, the Russians, the Germans and Italians--such that they could then all the more easily sneak away with the victory from right under their noses.  Tolkien is, of course, a thorough-going product of his country.

But there is another aspect to Tolkien's thought that influences Sam's improbable victory here, the religious one, which, given the Professor's own devout Catholicism and his role in converting CS Lewis to Christianity, is one that we have not spent enough time thinking about--and that is the fact that within Christian theology, heavy emphasis is placed on the small and lowly things of this world that are favored of the Lord: David is considered the least of the sons of Jesse, but God warns the Prophet Samuel, "Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the LORD seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the LORD looketh on the heart"; according to Isaiah, the Messiah grows "like a root out of dry ground...there is no beauty that we should desire him"; Christ himself is a carpenter, who chooses fishermen to be his Apostles; and St. Paul to the Corinthians declares that God chooses the weak things of the world to shame the strong.

Hobbits, then, can be read as a sort of Christian archetype, the weak things of the world that the Gods express themselves through in order to humble the proud, all so that God's own power may be made manifest.  The vanquishing of Shelob is but the first expression of that ethos, before the main event with Sauron.

Except, of course, it won't be the Hobbits themselves that defeat Sauron, will it--at least not exactly, which complicates the picture immeasurably in really interesting ways, all of which we shall surely get into more depth with in Return of the King.  Until then, so ends The Two Towers.  To quote Whitman, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

"Shelob's Lair" - Jacob's Thoughts

Like Ben said, these are the chapters that make the whole series.  It's been fascinating throughout this entire re-read to see how even those of us reared on the series, with the fondest of childhood memories, have been surprisingly ruthless in our adult-eyed evaluations of Tolkien's literary shortcomings.  I wonder if someone reading our varied posts might come to the conclusion that we actually disliked the series, that this whole blog is just a hatchet-job against one of our childhood heroes.

But then comes that one chapter--that singular chapter--in each Book, that makes the whole series worth while.  In Book I, it was "A Knife in the Dark."  In Book II, it was "The Bridge of Khazad-dûm."  In Book III it was "The Voice of Saruman."  Now in Book IV, the standout is "Shelob's Lair."  

And it's not like you can just edit out all the other dross to just focus on the highlights; for what makes each of these chapters work is the pay-off.  In Book I, it was the Dark Riders slowly circling in around our hapless Hobbits until they are cornered; in Book II, it was the increasing dread of the Mines of Moriah that exploded in a climax as spectacular as it was tragic; and in Book III, the various machinations of Saruman come to their logical conclusion.  You needed all the shaky build-up (maybe the shakiness is part of what builds up the tension, cause you as a reader begin to wonder if Tolkien can pull it off and deliver yet again), for the blow to pack that much more of a punch.

And now here in Book IV, as Ben already noted, Gollum's treachery has been a long time coming--and though I was slightly disappointed that Gollum (not Smeagol, note) has reverted back to a straight villain, undermining whatever hint of hope or redemption his character represented, it is nevertheless hard to get too mad about it when it is couched amidst such a well-executed chapter.

Ben has already touched beautifully on most everything I would have mentioned, and then some, so I'll just confine myself to a side-note here about Mordor as a Necropolis.  The term comes from the influential 2003 article "Necropolitics" by the Cameroon philosopher Achille Mbembe; my advisor suggested I read it for my dissertation.  As Mbembe explains it, "I have put forward the notion of necropolitics and necropower to account for the various ways in which, in our contemporary world, weapons are deployed in the interest of maximum destruction of persons and the creation of death-worlds, new and unique forms of social existence in which vast populations are subjected to conditions of life conferring upon them the status of living dead" (40).  Mbembe is addressing Foucault's concept of biopower, wherein the disciplinary powers of the state are inscribed directly onto the subject's body, which idea Mbembe finds insufficient to fully address the horrors of the modern state, as exemplified by the concentration camp, or the mercenaries and child-soldier armies that permanently roam the borderlands of contemporary Africa, or the Apartheid ghettos of Johannesburg.

I was reminded of the Necropolis based upon Tolkien's description of Shelob's relationship with Sauron, the latter of whom tolerates her presence because she provides "a more sure watch upon that ancient path than any other that his skill could have devised.  And Orcs, they were useful slaves, but he had them in plenty. If now and again Shelob caught them to stay her appetite, she was welcome: he could spare them" (423-4).  Mordor's is a societal order of endless death, wherein "vast populations are subjected to conditions conferring upon them the status of living dead."  The Orcs are always expendable, and the absolutist Mordor state reserves all power to determine who lives or dies for any reason.  Everyone and every living thing there exists solely to wind up dead, in an organization explicitly designed to maximize destruction  and create "death worlds," which is as apt a description of the Land of Shadows as any.  

Mordor is a modern state; it was conceptualized by an author who was fully aware of the concentration camps, and worse--for the Nazi Camps were intended as a "Final" Solution, a horror to be completed, but the Necropolis is intended as a permanent, never-ending, hellish order.  This is the type of state, one dedicated solely to total and perpetual destruction, that most sends chills down the spine of Tolkien--as it does Mbembe, too.  Again, don't let the retro-medievalism of LoTR fool you; by the measures of our most cutting edge thinkers, this text is incredibly modern.

"The Forbidden Pool" - Eric's Thoughts

Jacob's analysis focuses on how Frodo has changed -- gone is the deferential hobbit, replaced now by a person who is Faramir's equal. I agree. I noted in my last chapter analysis how Faramir seems to bring out excellent character development in Frodo. I think the change Jacob questions is a good thing, for the simple reason that a character change is necessary as the story progresses. As Frodo nears Mordor, so too will his power grow, distrust rise -- and conversely his will weakens.

Ben comes at this chapter from a different angle. He argues that the chapter presents a forced dilemma onto the reader that is contrived solely for plot purposes. He observes there were other reasonable ways out of the dilemma, thereby making it a conjuration to serve plot.

I didn't particularly feel that way when I was reading it. To me, Tolkien establishes Faramir as a man who will do the right thing. In this case, doing the right thing means following the law and killing Gollum.

Perhaps there were better ways to more tactfully approach the situation. But I think what Ben overlooks is that Faramir is not intimately familiar with this Gollum creature like we are. From Faramir's perspective, who cares if Gollum is offended? Neither Faramir, nor Frodo, are aware of the consequences of their actions as we readers know from previous viewings of the story. Hindsight is 20/20.

Frodo's dilemma furthers sheds light on his character change. For the first time in the story, he does not tell the truth and intentionally tricks another character (aside from his Mr. Underhill ruse). Of course, he does so to save Gollum's life. The moral ambiguity of this chapter is ultimately what makes it so compelling.

"Shelob's Lair" - Ben's Thoughts

Now this is a chapter. Gollum's treachery has been building towards this moment, and it lands a solid blow when it arrives: claustrophobic tension, the horror of the monster's eyes appearing in the dark, the backstory weighting the creature with monstrous import, the reveal as she appears in full form between Sam and Frodo in the tunnel, and finally Gollum's futile assault against Sam.

Most of my goodwill towards Sam stems from this chapter and the ones that follow, into Book 6, as here he shows his true mettle and rises to the task of combating the nearly hopeless situation that (admittedly) he himself contributed to create. Setting aside for a moment the mistakes that led the trio to this moment, Sam is marvelous here: rightly suspicious of Gollum; guessing that he has finally made his move when they find themselves abandoned in the tunnel; and outwitting the scheming "Stinker" at his own game. I felt like laughing a grim laugh at Tolkien's description of Gollum's ultimate failure:

Grabbing from behind was an old game of his, and seldom had he failed in it. But this time, misled by spite, he had made the mistake of speaking and gloating before he had both hands on his victim's neck. Everything had gone wrong with his beautiful plan, since that horrible light had so unexpectedly appeared in the darkness. And now he was face to face with a furious enemy, little less than his own size. This fight was not for him.

The unveiling of the Phial of Galadriel is also one of those moments that makes the series for me. I appreciate that it's not the light itself but the resolve and fortitude of the bearer of the light that defeats the "unseen malice" of Shelob. Tolkien seems a firm believer in willpower, and when the hobbits' will is bent towards the defeat of evil, evil retreats. Only when Frodo and Sam's attention is directed elsewhere (Frodo on his irrational, exhilarating escape; Sam on the defeat of his old enemy Gollum) and the two are separated both physically and mentally is when Shelob is able to strike and overpower the light's bearer. Also significant is the continuation of the theme of the neverending story from the last chapter; Frodo cries in Quenya, " Hail Eärendil, brightest of stars!" as he advances towards the monster. Eärendil, if we recall, was the bearer of the Silmaril, sent to convince the gods of the Undying Lands to aid Elves and Men in their fight against Morgoth, the Great Enemy. Eärendil succeeds and is instrumental in Morgoth's defeat in a final battle, but may never return to earth; instead he resides in the heavens, the Silmaril eternally lighting the night sky. Frodo and Sam are the heirs, in this chapter and the next, of Eärendil's legacy of courage and defiance in the face of great evil.

Which of course brings us to Shelob. Tolkien's backstory reveals Shelob as a "child of Ungoliant." In The Silmarillion, we learn that Ungoliant is a Maia who assumed the physical form of a giant, monstrous spider, who was unaligned with either Morgoth or the Valar until Morgoth approaches her and convinces her to aid him in stealing the Silmarils from the Elves in the Undying Lands. Ungoliant kills and poisons the Trees that light the world while Morgoth steals the jewels. Back in Middle-earth, Ungoliant, intent on consuming the Silmarils as well, attacks Morgoth, who barely manages to fend her off. Ungoliant represents the primal desire to consume. She had no will to create; just to consume, to engorge herself on things of beauty and light to increase her own darkness. Shelob, as her heir and extension (not a Maia, but certainly a being of great power), adopts that legacy, and with Frodo re-enacts Ungoliant's role in the history of the Silmarils as she is confronted with the light that her mother in the ancient past desired to devour. She also represents the counterpoint to Sauron's quest for perfect, fascist, martial order: primal, base hunger and the desire to consume. Sauron, however evil, does create; he loves systems and structures and organization (as we'll see more of when we interact with the Mordor orcs in Book 6). Shelob desires to only feed. She is the ultimate primal animalistic force.

And this is what Sam's up against at the end of the chapter. The hobbits underestimated her will to consume; in a way, the reader senses that the more resistant and powerful the prey, the more Shelob's hunger will be sated. I've always felt that Shelob is a more terrifying antagonist than Sauron, for all of his armies. This chapter and the next represent some of the very best of The Lord of the Rings.

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

One can't help but be intrigued by Faramir. He's definitely emo, but good emo.

Brooding, tragic, thoughtful -- a type that reads the hearts of man shrewdly, but what he reads moves him to pity.

So. Now we have an actual, real character with which to test how far Frodo has progressed. Gone is the Frodo that is scared by Farmer Maggot, replaced by a weary traveler who distrusts even those that might be of great aid. The old Frodo would have begged Faramir for help -- this Frodo seeks to avoid any at all cost.

Sam, of course, is as stupid as ever, serving as a foil to Frodo's metamorphosis. Naturally, Sam gets a little drunk and then blurts out: Hey! Turns out we have Isildur's Bane, that ring he wore, ya know?

Faramir's reaction is perhaps one of the most brilliant in the book (along there with Saruman's voice): "A chance for Faramir, Captin of Gondor, to show his quality! Ha!"

Faramir then stands up very tall and stern, and says that "How you have increased my sorrow, you strange wanderers from a far ountry, bearing the peril of Men!"

Faramir's reaction to this news is sorrow -- sorrow that his brother lacked the mettle for the trial. His reaction to the ring is not lust for it, but pity for those who carry it, and an apology for his brother's betrayal.

If anything, the reveal only bonds the hobbits even closer to Faramir. Sam is rightly impressed: "Yes sir, and showed your quality: the very highest."

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

"Stairs" is an interesting chapter that covers a lot of ground, but I feel like the sum is less than its parts. Jacob highlights the interesting metatextual commentary that crops up towards the end; the description of Minas Morgul is chilling and the exeunt of the army terrifying; the climb up the Straight Stair captures the hobbits' physical exhaustion; and Sam's conversation with Gollum at the end is suitably frustrating for the reader ("Sam! You blew it!"). But I'm left a little cold at the amount of territory the chapter had to cover, because I feel like these parts, all marvelous gems of writing, don't seem to quite gel.

One of the problems is that I'm never able to quite visualize what Minas Morgul looks like, exactly, despite the beautiful prose. We're told in turns that it is a "city," but also "walls and a tower"; which, exactly? "Corpse-light", a "light that illuminates nothing" is evocative, but what does it mean? And the tower has a revolving head on top of it? What, like a lighthouse? Like the rotating restaurant I ate at in San Antonio that one time? Go figure. Tolkien nailed the description of Orthanc, in my opinion, but his second Tower doesn't live up to the comparison. (Or is the second tower Barad-dur? Or is it Kirith Ungol itself? The text is never quite clear).

Then after the army issues from the gate (a convenient timeline-marker for the next book, as we will see when we return to Pippin's perspective), the Lord of the Nazgul senses... something... in the valley with him, and we're loaded up with a lot of Tolkien's "perhaps" phrases without actually getting into his head. The Phial of Galadriel makes its return after not having been mentioned in ten chapters, and the Witch-King, stymied, goes on his way. In this section I'm somewhat confused with the narrative informing us that Frodo no longer has any desire to seize the Ring as his own: "[H]e felt no inclination to yield to it. . . . There was no longer any answer to that command in his own will, dismayed by terror thought it was". I'll have to keep a careful eye out for how this squares with the climax of Book 6, where (spoiler alert) Frodo succumbs to the temptation of the Ring completely.

I suppose what I'm getting at is that the set-pieces transition so quickly that it gives the reader a bit of whiplash. I found the meta commentary (which, in isolation, is just as delightful as Jacob has highlighted) jarring when placed back to back with the climb and Sam and Gollum's confrontation. It's interesting that Tolkien does choose to place it here, although I suppose this is his last opportunity for Frodo to have a thoughtful conversation of this nature before the conflict ramps up to 11. The pause in the action does allow the hobbits to catch a much-needed nap, and sets the stage for what may be the most beautiful and tragic description of Gollum in all of LOTR:

"The gleam faded from his eyes, and they went dim, and grey, old and tired. . . . For a fleeting moment, could one of the sleepers have seen him, they would have thought that they beheld an old weary hobbit, shrunken by the years that had carried him far beyond his time, beyond friends and kin, and the fields and streams of youth, an old starved pitiable thing."

That last sentence works even better when read out loud, with pauses punctuating after every word: "An old. Starved. Pitiable. Thing." Gollum has discarded everything, even his own identity, in his obsession with the Ring. He is functionally a time traveler, sling-shotted forward thousands of years in time, but he cares nothing for his surroundings. He is still consumed by his lust for the Ring. I suppose that all came crashing down on him in that moment... until Sam blows it. ("Sam! You blew it!")

Sam. So infuriating. So unfortunately true to life and to his own character. Next up, Gollum executes his master plan. It doesn't go over so well, to no one's surprise.