Chapter 2: The Passage of the Marshes
Jacob's Thoughts (9/20/15)
What I admire about this chapter is how Frodo and Sam are both right: Sam is right to be deeply suspicious of Sméagol (Gollum's late-night conversation with himself is sure evidence of that), while Frodo is right to be kind, to be this poor creature's first friend in an age, to follow the counsel of Gandalf and example of Bilbo in showing mercy to this miserable wretch. And not just for altruistic reasons, either: Remember how Frodo and crew could scarcely get through the Old Forest without getting eaten by willow-trees?? And now they're gonna hike frickin' Mordor where the shadows lie?! These hobbits seriously need Sméagol's help right now.
I likewise admire how Frodo and Sam are both wrong: for that same late-night conversation should have made clear to Sam that there is still a sliver of an honorable man still lurking deep within Sméagol, one that needs to be fed encouragement and kindness, not hatred and callousness; and Frodo needs to seriously be way less naive about his chances of reforming this murderous creature, of undoing literal centuries of corruption.
I also appreciate how Frodo and Sams' attitudes towards Sméagol are rooted in both their best and their worst motivations: e.g. Sam's suspicions are fueled in part by his love for his master and friend yes, but also by his own xenophobia and hobbit-peavishness. Frodo's trust in turn is fueled in part by his humanity and decency yes, but also because he understands the seductive hold the Ring wields over his ownheart...a fact which he has thus far selfishly neglected to share with Sam.
Sméagol is just such a delightfully complex character, and he brings out the complexity in others, too! I do believe we have learned more about Frodo and Sam in just the chapter and a half that Sméagol's been around than in the entire book and a half preceding.
On a less-related note: I'm prepping for my comprehensive exams coming up in 2 short months, which has involved me reading a ton about Anglo-Modernism. A study I read just the other day, A Shrinking Island by scholar Jed Esty, makes the argument that the Modernist period ends in part because England turns towards its own mythologized pre-modern, folklorish past, as they are cut off from the folklores of other countries due to 1) their massive overseas Empire falling apart (especially in Ireland and India), and 2) the rise of fascism in continental Europe. He cites examples of this inward turn of the English in the late-period works of TS Eliot, Virginia Woolf...and JRR Tolkien! Esty's is the first scholarly work I've come across thus far that actually acknowledges Tolkien as a significant writer of this era, citing The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings as symptomatic of this late-Modernist turn towards Shires, countrysides, and ancient Breton mythology. Esty even cites the hobbits as analogous to the English self-perception, as "a race that is parochial, conventional...but capable of immense loyalty, devotion and--when pushed to it--heroism" (122) in the face of the Nazi--er, Mordor--menace. Ironically then, Lord of the Rings, in its self-conscious turn towards the pre-modern, is quintessentially Modern.
I bring this up because the other quintessentially Modern work I encounter over and over again in my readings (to the point that I'm gettin' kinda sick of it), is of course TS Eliot's "The Waste Land." And what have we here in this chapter? None other than another Waste Land, one that reminds us why England turned towards its Shires in the first place. For like Eliot's, this waste land is haunted by the spectres of battlefields, of the ghosts of a lost generation, on an "arid plain" filled with fragments shored against ruins. Eliot had based his poem upon an ancient Arthurian legend, of knights of the Round Table seeking to break the infertile curse on the land; but now in modern times, though the curse again smites the land, there are no more knights, only these hobbits, these doddering, parochial English hobbits far removed from any sort of heroic past, trudging dutifully across the waste land in the twilight of their age, towards what they are sure is their final end and dissolution. Shantih, Shantih, Shantih...
Guys, don't let the neo-Medievalism fool you: Lord of the Rings is incredibly Modern!
Eric's Thoughts (11/4/15)
This chapter is about Gollum, and it's about the terrain. As the hobbits approach their goal, they cross through the land of the dead. As The Hobbit explains, out of the frying pan, into the fire. As they exit the land of the dead, they cross into poisonous pits--and eventually at the gates of Mordor itself.
Similarly, as the terrain grows more treacherous, so does their host Gollum. The reader learns that Gollum intends to serve the precious, but also will not allow it to fall into His hands again. Gollum is experiencing what literary critics call "internal conflict." That means, by the way, that Gollum feels conflicting emotions.
So, our little helpful guide through the marshes turns out to not necessarily be a reformed angel at all. Not that the reader is surprised by this. Tolkien ups the suspense by making it ambiguous whom Gollum serves. Does Gollum serve Frodo? Hardly likely. But at the same time, the conflict itself makes Gollum sympathetic, because the reader understands that part of Gollum wants to help Frodo. The reader wants Gollum to triumph over his lust, and even hoping, knows that tragedy is the only outcome.
As Jacob right points out, the characters of Sam and Frodo tease out this internal tension within Gollum. Just as Gollum is evil, so he is good. For now, the good in Gollum has sway over the evil. Just by a hair. Frodo sees the good within Gollum. Sam sees only the bad.
Sam is right, of course. But Frodo's mercy is what allows evil to undo itself. Gollum is the product of the Ring--and is ultimately what destroys the Ring.
Ben's Thoughts (1/19/16)
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 readLOTR 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.
"I think this food would do you good, if you would try it. But perhaps you can't even try, not yet anyway."Oh Frodo, you incorrigible optimist!
What I admire about this chapter is how Frodo and Sam are both right: Sam is right to be deeply suspicious of Sméagol (Gollum's late-night conversation with himself is sure evidence of that), while Frodo is right to be kind, to be this poor creature's first friend in an age, to follow the counsel of Gandalf and example of Bilbo in showing mercy to this miserable wretch. And not just for altruistic reasons, either: Remember how Frodo and crew could scarcely get through the Old Forest without getting eaten by willow-trees?? And now they're gonna hike frickin' Mordor where the shadows lie?! These hobbits seriously need Sméagol's help right now.
I likewise admire how Frodo and Sam are both wrong: for that same late-night conversation should have made clear to Sam that there is still a sliver of an honorable man still lurking deep within Sméagol, one that needs to be fed encouragement and kindness, not hatred and callousness; and Frodo needs to seriously be way less naive about his chances of reforming this murderous creature, of undoing literal centuries of corruption.
I also appreciate how Frodo and Sams' attitudes towards Sméagol are rooted in both their best and their worst motivations: e.g. Sam's suspicions are fueled in part by his love for his master and friend yes, but also by his own xenophobia and hobbit-peavishness. Frodo's trust in turn is fueled in part by his humanity and decency yes, but also because he understands the seductive hold the Ring wields over his ownheart...a fact which he has thus far selfishly neglected to share with Sam.
Sméagol is just such a delightfully complex character, and he brings out the complexity in others, too! I do believe we have learned more about Frodo and Sam in just the chapter and a half that Sméagol's been around than in the entire book and a half preceding.
On a less-related note: I'm prepping for my comprehensive exams coming up in 2 short months, which has involved me reading a ton about Anglo-Modernism. A study I read just the other day, A Shrinking Island by scholar Jed Esty, makes the argument that the Modernist period ends in part because England turns towards its own mythologized pre-modern, folklorish past, as they are cut off from the folklores of other countries due to 1) their massive overseas Empire falling apart (especially in Ireland and India), and 2) the rise of fascism in continental Europe. He cites examples of this inward turn of the English in the late-period works of TS Eliot, Virginia Woolf...and JRR Tolkien! Esty's is the first scholarly work I've come across thus far that actually acknowledges Tolkien as a significant writer of this era, citing The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings as symptomatic of this late-Modernist turn towards Shires, countrysides, and ancient Breton mythology. Esty even cites the hobbits as analogous to the English self-perception, as "a race that is parochial, conventional...but capable of immense loyalty, devotion and--when pushed to it--heroism" (122) in the face of the Nazi--er, Mordor--menace. Ironically then, Lord of the Rings, in its self-conscious turn towards the pre-modern, is quintessentially Modern.
I bring this up because the other quintessentially Modern work I encounter over and over again in my readings (to the point that I'm gettin' kinda sick of it), is of course TS Eliot's "The Waste Land." And what have we here in this chapter? None other than another Waste Land, one that reminds us why England turned towards its Shires in the first place. For like Eliot's, this waste land is haunted by the spectres of battlefields, of the ghosts of a lost generation, on an "arid plain" filled with fragments shored against ruins. Eliot had based his poem upon an ancient Arthurian legend, of knights of the Round Table seeking to break the infertile curse on the land; but now in modern times, though the curse again smites the land, there are no more knights, only these hobbits, these doddering, parochial English hobbits far removed from any sort of heroic past, trudging dutifully across the waste land in the twilight of their age, towards what they are sure is their final end and dissolution. Shantih, Shantih, Shantih...
Guys, don't let the neo-Medievalism fool you: Lord of the Rings is incredibly Modern!
Eric's Thoughts (11/4/15)
This chapter is about Gollum, and it's about the terrain. As the hobbits approach their goal, they cross through the land of the dead. As The Hobbit explains, out of the frying pan, into the fire. As they exit the land of the dead, they cross into poisonous pits--and eventually at the gates of Mordor itself.
Similarly, as the terrain grows more treacherous, so does their host Gollum. The reader learns that Gollum intends to serve the precious, but also will not allow it to fall into His hands again. Gollum is experiencing what literary critics call "internal conflict." That means, by the way, that Gollum feels conflicting emotions.
So, our little helpful guide through the marshes turns out to not necessarily be a reformed angel at all. Not that the reader is surprised by this. Tolkien ups the suspense by making it ambiguous whom Gollum serves. Does Gollum serve Frodo? Hardly likely. But at the same time, the conflict itself makes Gollum sympathetic, because the reader understands that part of Gollum wants to help Frodo. The reader wants Gollum to triumph over his lust, and even hoping, knows that tragedy is the only outcome.
As Jacob right points out, the characters of Sam and Frodo tease out this internal tension within Gollum. Just as Gollum is evil, so he is good. For now, the good in Gollum has sway over the evil. Just by a hair. Frodo sees the good within Gollum. Sam sees only the bad.
Sam is right, of course. But Frodo's mercy is what allows evil to undo itself. Gollum is the product of the Ring--and is ultimately what destroys the Ring.
Ben's Thoughts (1/19/16)
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 readLOTR 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.
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