Chapter 8: Farewell to Lórien
Jacob's Thoughts (9/19/14)
For the first half of this chapter, I worried that Tolkien had fallen back into old habits, indulging in that same, dull wheel-spinning that dragged down so many of the middle-chapters of Book 1. Part of it is all that discussion of cram and fine elvin rope; I hadn't cared before how the Fellowship was provisioned (it's not like Tolkien had cared before either), and I wasn't about to start now. (The most boring chapter in Moby Dick is also about getting rope).
Moreover, as Aragorn and Borimor et al argued inconclusively about where to go next, I began to worry that Tolkien didn't know at the time either, that he was making this all up on the fly. Maybe I had been spoiled by so many solid chapters in a row, but "Farewell to Lórien" felt like a misstep.
Or maybe I just hate long goodbyes, and that's exactly what "Farewell to Lórien" is--and despite the wonderful "Mirror of Galadriel" chapter, I didn't feel like we spent enough time in Lórien for us to feel all that invested in this grand au revoir. (Besides, what is this, the third time they had to say goodbye to somewhere nice? After the Shire and Rivendell, the trope begins to wear thin).
But by the end of the chapter, I had warmed up to it. Part of it were the touches of character development and foreshadowing: here Frodo (and the reader) first gets the sense that Borimor is not quite as deferential and bland a traveling companion as he has seemed so far, that he never actually took his eye of the Ring, that there is in fact some dissemination hidden within the ranks of the Fellowship; here Gimli allows himself some genuine vulnerability, grace, and courage in humbly begging a strand of hair from the Lady Galadriel, which elevates him from mere "obligatory generic Dwarf no. 473" to an actual person with hidden depths and a real personality, someone I might want to get to know better; and here, Aragorn receives a brooch which, while seemingly little more than an old heirloom, seems to lift the burden of "many years" from his countenance. This is all Hemingway's ice-berg theory at its best (I had to give a class presentation on Ernest Hemingway's debut In Our Time this week, so the ice-berg theory--that 7/8ths of the story should be hidden beneath the surface--has been on my mind a lot lately).
If we wanted to get all Campbellian-Hero-Cycle here, this chapter is where the hero receives the "supernatural boon" before the great confrontation. As such, Frodo's reception from Galadriel of a light that will shine in his darkest hour implies that this darkest hour is fast closing in. And indeed, for the first time in this journey, our heroes here have begun to discuss Mordor as a place they may actually approach soon--that is, for the first time, Mordor feels real. Already Tolkien is setting us up for the next book, which, based on the thinness of the pages remaining in my right hand, is also fast approaching.
In fact, not only is Tolkien already setting us up for the final approach to Mordor, but for post-Mordor, intriguingly. For the Lady Galadriel's gift to Sam is a patch of dirt from Lórien. She straight up admits will this boon not help him keep the right road nor protect him on his journey, but is instead to help his garden flourish and bloom if/when he ever gets home. Now, she explicitly does not promise him that he will ever get to go home ("all foretelling is now vain")--nor does she promise that the Shire won't be a barren, scorched wasteland if he does--only that he will be able to grow again. It's a small hope maybe, but in this ever-enclosing darkness, it's an encouraging one.
Ben's Thoughts (10/5/14)
There's not too much to be said about this chapter that Jacob hasn't already said. It's certainly a chapter of transition. You can almost feel Tolkien trying to consolidate Lórien into two chapters, and failing miserably as he simply had too much worldbuilding and important details to throw in that wouldn't fit in a smaller space. Tolkien, like so many Tolkien fanboys and girls, is all about the Elves, and here the Professor relishes spending a little longer in the Elvish kingdom than might be strictly necessary from a narrative standpoint.
Nevertheless, there are some real gems in this chapter. I particularly like the theme of Aragorn's indecision coming to the forefront. I know this plot thread ends with a whimper, not a bang, at the beginning of "Two Towers," but it's fascinating while it lives with us and I'll be talking about it a lot more in "The Breaking of the Fellowship" still to come. But I can just relate so completely to Aragorn's dilemma here -- torn between two paths, and confronted with a choice between what he wants and what he feels is right. On the one hand, he wants to go to Minas Tirith, to help his people in their hour of greatest need. But on the other hand, he believes it to be his duty, as leader of the Fellowship, to go to Mordor with Frodo -- a path that, I believe, Aragorn thinks is doomed to failure and destruction. "We must go on without hope" -- the line from "Lothlórien" -- very much still embodies Aragorn's mentality at this point. He still doesn't believe that Sauron can be defeated, especially after the fall of Gandalf; instead he wants to make the most of a hopeless situation and be with his people as they fall under the shadow.
What a Sophie's choice this is! Aragorn has been preparing, or at least expecting, his whole life to return to Gondor, reveal himself as the heir of Isildur, and assume some kind of leadership role in the defense against Mordor (although, since he knows Denethor personally from years of service to Denethor's father Ecthelion, he probably should expect that coming back to Minas Tirith with Boromir will not be all roses and moonbeams). And here, suddenly, Aragorn is thrust into a position of leadership of the Company that he never expected to have to bear -- a role that he had assumed Gandalf would carry forward.
I think in our lives, very frequently we are presented with situations we never expected ourselves to be in. Often in those moments we lament that such a choice has been placed before us, between what we know to be right and what we want to do. But those are the moments when I feel like we develop true character. Aragorn is lucky that he gets all these weeks in Lórien and on the River to mull over his ultimate decision -- often we don't have that luxury.
Now I'd like to spend a few words on Galadriel and the Elves' obsession and terror of the Sea and their return to Valinor. The two songs that Galadriel sings in this chapter are about Valinor and her thoughts about her inevitable return, which of course takes place at the end of "Return of the King." Of note is that Galadriel was born in Valinor; she decided to accompany Fëanor and her father Finarfin to Middle-Earth even though she did not feel like she was bound to the Fëanor's quest to recover the Silmarils like her kin did. According to The Silmarillion, she swore no oaths about the Silmarils; instead the words of Fëanor about the beauty and wild of Middle-earth kindled a strong desire in her to see those lands and one day rule a kingdom of her own. Tolkien left conflicting accounts of why Galadriel stayed in Middle-earth after Morgoth was defeated; one account says that she was not permitted to return, while another says she was given the opportunity to return but refused, self-exiling herself in Middle-earth.
This by itself hints at Galadriel's conflicted view of Valinor. It is her birthplace, a place where she would be welcomed home by her father Finarfin (who decided to ultimately stay in Valinor). But at the same time, going to Valinor would mean renouncing both the beauty and the power she enjoyed in Middle-earth. I dealt with her choice to give up her power in my thoughts on "Mirror"; here I'll touch on the decision to give up the beauty of Middle-earth, which goes hand in hand with Valinor as an analogue for death and the afterlife.
The rank and file Elf, as Haldir revealed in this chapter, knows little or nothing about Valinor (especially the Elves not of Noldorin descent) -- indeed, it's almost ironic to see everyone describing Lórien as the fairest place on earth when Galadriel has clear knowledge of a place far more enchanting. Galadriel, with her intimate personal knowledge of Valinor, seems full of trepidation at the thought of returning. She is recognizant of its beauty ("I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew . . . And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden tree") which surely must be at the very least the equal of the beauty of Lórien ("Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore / And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor"), and yet she is not anxious to return (the second song refers to "Valimar" as "lost", and Galadriel questions "What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?") despite the fading treasures of Middle-earth ("While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears").
Of course all this closely mirrors our journey through life and our thoughts about the afterlife. This life is full of beauty ("the golden elanor"; "Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees!") and sorrow ("the Elven-tears"), but it's all we know, for the moment. But we can practically feel our life slipping away from us, year by year, day by day ("The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away"), despite our best efforts to cling to the past and present ("Who now shall refill the cup for me?") What can we do? Many of us choose to hope for something more beyond this life ("Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon . . . by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree"; ". . . sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly") that provides us with a way of living that points us towards an otherworldly goal. That hope is both beautiful ("I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew") and terrifying ("what ship would come to me, / What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?"; "Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell!").
Such belief is conflicting and wonderful and terrible. Kind of like life… conflicting and wonderful and terrible. Sounds to me like Tolkien uses Galadriel to refer obliquely to this universal human condition.
Eric's Thoughts (11/2/14)
I really liked this chapter when I was younger. For me, part of the fun of reading about adventures is not only seeing new places, but also vicariously acquiring loot. Really adventures are often about the loot, and gaining artifacts or mastery of self that allow progression into the next stage of the adventure. The Brothers Grimm are a classic example of this. In those stories, the pauper or prince would acquire a magical item that allows justice to be done in the world, and a wrong righted. In the Grimm stories, heroes are given a tablecloth that magically provides food for those that are starving, guns that never miss, and bags where men with sticks jump out to beat on the bad guys. When I read these stories, I felt like I too had acquired something magical and used it to right a wrong.
We like this archetype because the stories illustrate the principle that the good man will acquire the artifact that will allow good to triumph over evil. We like this archetype because so often in real life evil very often triumphs over good. This is why stories like Game of Thrones upset us so much. Because we recognize that they mirror reality much more than the fairy tales of magical artifacts: good men die, and evil men triumph and rule. North Korea is a current example of a regime where pure evil is what controls. And there are many, and have been many. I wonder how many good regimes have existed in proportion to bad ones? The United States has its problems, but for the most parts citizens are allowed to live their lives without fear of execution. In terms of human history, I suspect that this is a relatively new phenomenon, and that the number of evil regimes far, far outweighs the number of good.
The gifts in this chapter are not quite as fun as some of the ones in Brothers Grimm. Notably Frodo gets a vial of light that will serve him later against the giant spider. Sam gets a bit of earth (and rope). Merry and Pippin get belts, as does Boromir. Aragon gets a sheath. Most surprisingly, the wafer bread they get proves to be the most valuable, as Frodo and Sam would not have survived Mordor without it.
Gimli asks for a piece of hair, which draws out his character nicely. So for Gimli (hair) and Sam (earth for gardening and rope), the gift giving serves the dual role of giving a boon and developing character. What's interesting is that the "character-development" gifts serve no purpose as to the adventure. So this is a different take than the utility of the gifts in Grimm, where a gift given will undoubtedly serve a useful purpose later on in the story, helping the hero triumph. Rather, these gifts are keepsakes for after the war, and allow for the forging of new friendships (dwarves and elves) and keeping a piece of Lorien in the Shire.
The belts, of course, are of no utility in the adventure (unless the belts allow them to be recognized as "elf-friend," which I do not remember if they do), and no utility in character development. The belts rather are just gifts that allow for the other gifts to be accented. At this point Merry and Pippin and even Boromir are all very flat characters, and so perhaps there is some wisdom in giving them flat gifts as well, so as not to distract from the gifts of significance. I dunno.
Gifts are also a part of the Campbellian cycle. Frodo has been given the vial that will allow him and Sam to defeat the spider. So despite the interesting twist that some gifts will be useful after victory has been achieved, the gift-giving still somewhat falls in line with classical storytelling methods.
For the first half of this chapter, I worried that Tolkien had fallen back into old habits, indulging in that same, dull wheel-spinning that dragged down so many of the middle-chapters of Book 1. Part of it is all that discussion of cram and fine elvin rope; I hadn't cared before how the Fellowship was provisioned (it's not like Tolkien had cared before either), and I wasn't about to start now. (The most boring chapter in Moby Dick is also about getting rope).
Moreover, as Aragorn and Borimor et al argued inconclusively about where to go next, I began to worry that Tolkien didn't know at the time either, that he was making this all up on the fly. Maybe I had been spoiled by so many solid chapters in a row, but "Farewell to Lórien" felt like a misstep.
Or maybe I just hate long goodbyes, and that's exactly what "Farewell to Lórien" is--and despite the wonderful "Mirror of Galadriel" chapter, I didn't feel like we spent enough time in Lórien for us to feel all that invested in this grand au revoir. (Besides, what is this, the third time they had to say goodbye to somewhere nice? After the Shire and Rivendell, the trope begins to wear thin).
But by the end of the chapter, I had warmed up to it. Part of it were the touches of character development and foreshadowing: here Frodo (and the reader) first gets the sense that Borimor is not quite as deferential and bland a traveling companion as he has seemed so far, that he never actually took his eye of the Ring, that there is in fact some dissemination hidden within the ranks of the Fellowship; here Gimli allows himself some genuine vulnerability, grace, and courage in humbly begging a strand of hair from the Lady Galadriel, which elevates him from mere "obligatory generic Dwarf no. 473" to an actual person with hidden depths and a real personality, someone I might want to get to know better; and here, Aragorn receives a brooch which, while seemingly little more than an old heirloom, seems to lift the burden of "many years" from his countenance. This is all Hemingway's ice-berg theory at its best (I had to give a class presentation on Ernest Hemingway's debut In Our Time this week, so the ice-berg theory--that 7/8ths of the story should be hidden beneath the surface--has been on my mind a lot lately).
If we wanted to get all Campbellian-Hero-Cycle here, this chapter is where the hero receives the "supernatural boon" before the great confrontation. As such, Frodo's reception from Galadriel of a light that will shine in his darkest hour implies that this darkest hour is fast closing in. And indeed, for the first time in this journey, our heroes here have begun to discuss Mordor as a place they may actually approach soon--that is, for the first time, Mordor feels real. Already Tolkien is setting us up for the next book, which, based on the thinness of the pages remaining in my right hand, is also fast approaching.
In fact, not only is Tolkien already setting us up for the final approach to Mordor, but for post-Mordor, intriguingly. For the Lady Galadriel's gift to Sam is a patch of dirt from Lórien. She straight up admits will this boon not help him keep the right road nor protect him on his journey, but is instead to help his garden flourish and bloom if/when he ever gets home. Now, she explicitly does not promise him that he will ever get to go home ("all foretelling is now vain")--nor does she promise that the Shire won't be a barren, scorched wasteland if he does--only that he will be able to grow again. It's a small hope maybe, but in this ever-enclosing darkness, it's an encouraging one.
Ben's Thoughts (10/5/14)
There's not too much to be said about this chapter that Jacob hasn't already said. It's certainly a chapter of transition. You can almost feel Tolkien trying to consolidate Lórien into two chapters, and failing miserably as he simply had too much worldbuilding and important details to throw in that wouldn't fit in a smaller space. Tolkien, like so many Tolkien fanboys and girls, is all about the Elves, and here the Professor relishes spending a little longer in the Elvish kingdom than might be strictly necessary from a narrative standpoint.
Nevertheless, there are some real gems in this chapter. I particularly like the theme of Aragorn's indecision coming to the forefront. I know this plot thread ends with a whimper, not a bang, at the beginning of "Two Towers," but it's fascinating while it lives with us and I'll be talking about it a lot more in "The Breaking of the Fellowship" still to come. But I can just relate so completely to Aragorn's dilemma here -- torn between two paths, and confronted with a choice between what he wants and what he feels is right. On the one hand, he wants to go to Minas Tirith, to help his people in their hour of greatest need. But on the other hand, he believes it to be his duty, as leader of the Fellowship, to go to Mordor with Frodo -- a path that, I believe, Aragorn thinks is doomed to failure and destruction. "We must go on without hope" -- the line from "Lothlórien" -- very much still embodies Aragorn's mentality at this point. He still doesn't believe that Sauron can be defeated, especially after the fall of Gandalf; instead he wants to make the most of a hopeless situation and be with his people as they fall under the shadow.
What a Sophie's choice this is! Aragorn has been preparing, or at least expecting, his whole life to return to Gondor, reveal himself as the heir of Isildur, and assume some kind of leadership role in the defense against Mordor (although, since he knows Denethor personally from years of service to Denethor's father Ecthelion, he probably should expect that coming back to Minas Tirith with Boromir will not be all roses and moonbeams). And here, suddenly, Aragorn is thrust into a position of leadership of the Company that he never expected to have to bear -- a role that he had assumed Gandalf would carry forward.
I think in our lives, very frequently we are presented with situations we never expected ourselves to be in. Often in those moments we lament that such a choice has been placed before us, between what we know to be right and what we want to do. But those are the moments when I feel like we develop true character. Aragorn is lucky that he gets all these weeks in Lórien and on the River to mull over his ultimate decision -- often we don't have that luxury.
Now I'd like to spend a few words on Galadriel and the Elves' obsession and terror of the Sea and their return to Valinor. The two songs that Galadriel sings in this chapter are about Valinor and her thoughts about her inevitable return, which of course takes place at the end of "Return of the King." Of note is that Galadriel was born in Valinor; she decided to accompany Fëanor and her father Finarfin to Middle-Earth even though she did not feel like she was bound to the Fëanor's quest to recover the Silmarils like her kin did. According to The Silmarillion, she swore no oaths about the Silmarils; instead the words of Fëanor about the beauty and wild of Middle-earth kindled a strong desire in her to see those lands and one day rule a kingdom of her own. Tolkien left conflicting accounts of why Galadriel stayed in Middle-earth after Morgoth was defeated; one account says that she was not permitted to return, while another says she was given the opportunity to return but refused, self-exiling herself in Middle-earth.
This by itself hints at Galadriel's conflicted view of Valinor. It is her birthplace, a place where she would be welcomed home by her father Finarfin (who decided to ultimately stay in Valinor). But at the same time, going to Valinor would mean renouncing both the beauty and the power she enjoyed in Middle-earth. I dealt with her choice to give up her power in my thoughts on "Mirror"; here I'll touch on the decision to give up the beauty of Middle-earth, which goes hand in hand with Valinor as an analogue for death and the afterlife.
The rank and file Elf, as Haldir revealed in this chapter, knows little or nothing about Valinor (especially the Elves not of Noldorin descent) -- indeed, it's almost ironic to see everyone describing Lórien as the fairest place on earth when Galadriel has clear knowledge of a place far more enchanting. Galadriel, with her intimate personal knowledge of Valinor, seems full of trepidation at the thought of returning. She is recognizant of its beauty ("I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew . . . And by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden tree") which surely must be at the very least the equal of the beauty of Lórien ("Too long I have dwelt upon this Hither Shore / And in a fading crown have twined the golden elanor"), and yet she is not anxious to return (the second song refers to "Valimar" as "lost", and Galadriel questions "What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?") despite the fading treasures of Middle-earth ("While here beyond the Sundering Seas now fall the Elven-tears").
Of course all this closely mirrors our journey through life and our thoughts about the afterlife. This life is full of beauty ("the golden elanor"; "Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind, long years numberless as the wings of trees!") and sorrow ("the Elven-tears"), but it's all we know, for the moment. But we can practically feel our life slipping away from us, year by year, day by day ("The leaves are falling in the stream, the River flows away"), despite our best efforts to cling to the past and present ("Who now shall refill the cup for me?") What can we do? Many of us choose to hope for something more beyond this life ("Beyond the Sun, beyond the Moon . . . by the strand of Ilmarin there grew a golden Tree"; ". . . sweet mead in lofty halls beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda wherein the stars tremble in the song of her voice, holy and queenly") that provides us with a way of living that points us towards an otherworldly goal. That hope is both beautiful ("I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew") and terrifying ("what ship would come to me, / What ship would bear me ever back across so wide a Sea?"; "Now lost, lost to those from the East is Valimar! Farewell!").
Such belief is conflicting and wonderful and terrible. Kind of like life… conflicting and wonderful and terrible. Sounds to me like Tolkien uses Galadriel to refer obliquely to this universal human condition.
Eric's Thoughts (11/2/14)
I really liked this chapter when I was younger. For me, part of the fun of reading about adventures is not only seeing new places, but also vicariously acquiring loot. Really adventures are often about the loot, and gaining artifacts or mastery of self that allow progression into the next stage of the adventure. The Brothers Grimm are a classic example of this. In those stories, the pauper or prince would acquire a magical item that allows justice to be done in the world, and a wrong righted. In the Grimm stories, heroes are given a tablecloth that magically provides food for those that are starving, guns that never miss, and bags where men with sticks jump out to beat on the bad guys. When I read these stories, I felt like I too had acquired something magical and used it to right a wrong.
We like this archetype because the stories illustrate the principle that the good man will acquire the artifact that will allow good to triumph over evil. We like this archetype because so often in real life evil very often triumphs over good. This is why stories like Game of Thrones upset us so much. Because we recognize that they mirror reality much more than the fairy tales of magical artifacts: good men die, and evil men triumph and rule. North Korea is a current example of a regime where pure evil is what controls. And there are many, and have been many. I wonder how many good regimes have existed in proportion to bad ones? The United States has its problems, but for the most parts citizens are allowed to live their lives without fear of execution. In terms of human history, I suspect that this is a relatively new phenomenon, and that the number of evil regimes far, far outweighs the number of good.
The gifts in this chapter are not quite as fun as some of the ones in Brothers Grimm. Notably Frodo gets a vial of light that will serve him later against the giant spider. Sam gets a bit of earth (and rope). Merry and Pippin get belts, as does Boromir. Aragon gets a sheath. Most surprisingly, the wafer bread they get proves to be the most valuable, as Frodo and Sam would not have survived Mordor without it.
Gimli asks for a piece of hair, which draws out his character nicely. So for Gimli (hair) and Sam (earth for gardening and rope), the gift giving serves the dual role of giving a boon and developing character. What's interesting is that the "character-development" gifts serve no purpose as to the adventure. So this is a different take than the utility of the gifts in Grimm, where a gift given will undoubtedly serve a useful purpose later on in the story, helping the hero triumph. Rather, these gifts are keepsakes for after the war, and allow for the forging of new friendships (dwarves and elves) and keeping a piece of Lorien in the Shire.
The belts, of course, are of no utility in the adventure (unless the belts allow them to be recognized as "elf-friend," which I do not remember if they do), and no utility in character development. The belts rather are just gifts that allow for the other gifts to be accented. At this point Merry and Pippin and even Boromir are all very flat characters, and so perhaps there is some wisdom in giving them flat gifts as well, so as not to distract from the gifts of significance. I dunno.
Gifts are also a part of the Campbellian cycle. Frodo has been given the vial that will allow him and Sam to defeat the spider. So despite the interesting twist that some gifts will be useful after victory has been achieved, the gift-giving still somewhat falls in line with classical storytelling methods.
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