Chapter 5: The Steward and the King

Jacob's Thoughts (3/2/17)

Yeesh, Tolkien just doesn't know how to do romance, does he.

Or women generally.

I mean, look: I get that it was the '50s, it was a different time and era, gender roles were much more rigidly codified, it was genuinely remarkable that Tolkien even bothered to include a female-warrior in the first place--let alone one who quits herself as impressively as Eowyn does, what with the way she defends Theoden when all else flee and slays the Witch-King in combat.  But then Tolkien undercuts her achievements by having Faramir tell her: "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn, because he was high and puissant [...] But when he gave you only understanding and pity, then you desired to have nothing, unless a brave death in battle" (299).  Apparently, she fought not for honor or glory, but only because her crush didn't like her back.  That's...not as interesting.

Then when Faramir offers himself as her Silver Medal (way to sweep her off her feet there, bro), she promptly forswears that whole soldier life she fought so hard for and declares: "I will be a shieldmaiden no longer, nor vie with the great Riders, nor take joy only in the songs of slaying.  I will be a healer, and love all things that grow and are not barren" (300).  'Cause all a girl really wants, apparently, is for a cute guy to show her her true nature: to be a nurse and a nurturer.  (Nursing and Home & Family Development, the two most stereo-typically feminine majors at BYU).  Again, that's...not as interesting.

I'm sure it's the only end to that particular character arc that Tolkien (so thoroughly a product of his time and place) could have imagined for Eowyn, but it remains a disappointing one.  Her final fate is especially frustrating since there have been so few other female characters at all in these novels; I think there's been, what, Tom Bombadil's girlfriend Goldberry that Frodo pervs on? Arwen, with even less to do than the movies give her?  I think Galadriel is the only genuinely powerful female we encounter, though like Gandalf the White, we hardly ever see her in action--and like a proper lady, she consents to "diminish and fade" rather than accept the Ring when it is offered her in "The Mirror of Galadriel".  Moreover, the way she contemplated that offer with "All will love me and despair!" indicates that Tolkien apparently believes that all women really want deep down is not power, but to be loved.  Now, I understand that no one should ever accept the Ring, its corrupting influence is not gendered; nevertheless, the implicit message of Galadriel's choice is that a wise woman knows to refuse power, even when it is freely offered her, and then fade into the background--which is, at best, a mixed message.

Ernest Hemingway has a famous short-story collection called Men Without Women, and the same could double as a sub-title for Lord of the Rings: The Ents, recall, have not seen their Ent-wives in literal ages.  Neither Bilbo nor Frodo appear to have any sort of mother figure or romantic partner or love interest in their lives; for that matter, the entire Hobbit posse is a boy's club without the slightest hint of feminine influence in their lives.  In fact, come to think of it, their domesticity and love of cooking almost seems to mark them as feminine themselves, thereby rendering female Hobbits superfluous (as though cooking and domestic chores were all women were good for).  The Peter Jackson films show the orcs spawning from the ground, which they might as well do, since there is no mention of Orc-women anywhere in the text that I can recall.  Overall, Tolkien appears to consistently forget that women are half of humanity and are absolutely essential for the existence of our species--at least, so I conclude based on the way he seems to have to keep reminding himself to include women-characters in the first place.

Ben's Thoughts (6/23/17)

The denouement continues. This chapter can be easily split into three sections: first, the romance of Eowyn and Faramir; second, the coronation; and third, Aragorn's first days as king.

The romance is... bad. I agree with much of what Jacob says. I know that Tolkien had built Eowyn up as a major character, and he needed to resolve her story, but this is a disappointing end. I think as a kid I thought this section of the chapter a grand love story, but here it feels extremely trite. Faramir really does offer himself as "sloppy seconds," so to speak, and Eowyn just changes her mind all of a sudden, realizing that since she can't have Aragorn, now she'll give up her previous path in life and turn to nursing and gardening?

I think I know what Tolkien intended Eowyn's arc to consist of. She lived a hopeless life -- doomed to tending her dotard uncle (who truly was a dotard under the ministration of Wormtongue and the enchantment of Saruman), never to live or thrive or grow. She sees in Aragorn a chance to break the cycle, to forge a new path for herself, tethering herself to his rising star. When he rejects her, she sinks back into hopelessness -- not because he rejected her love, but because he denied her freedom. And finally, Faramir presents her with an opportunity to...

...to what? This is where the arc falls apart. Eowyn is revealed to be, under Tolkien's characterization, nothing more than an empty shell. She doesn't actually want anything at the end of the day; she trades the cold iron bars of Meduseld for the gilded cage of being Faramir's wife. As I said, it rings false. A disservice to what could have been an interesting character. Jackson's films tried to do something with her, but if I recall correctly, the character is completely dropped after the Pelennor Fields sequence, so it flops on its belly as well. Perhaps that's also an indicator that the source material left something to be desired as far as guidance was concerned.

The second section is mostly filler, a chance to depict the grand ceremony, see everybody get their just desserts (although that annoying singing eagle got away scot-free, I think; somebody should have held him accountable for that awful song), and see Aragorn crowned. I'm not sure what I think about the tonal dissonance of the narrative of the coronation being interrupted multiple times by the Middle-Earth equivalent of Pride and Prejudice's Mrs. Bennett; perhaps Tolkien as well was rolling his eyes at all the pomp and portent.

The final section, I feel, is the weightiest, with Frodo's yearning for home (although as we shall see, it is to be a never-ending quest for solace that can never truly be achieved -- the closest thing he has to home is when he is with Bilbo) and Aragorn's fear regarding the one thing he truly wants but has not yet arrived. The description of the mountain and the view of Aragorn's new realm is stunning, and Gandalf's words, as always, help things be put in perspective: "[I]t is your task to order its beginning and to preserve what may be preserved. For though much has been saved, much must now pass away." With every beginning comes endings.

I feel like Aragorn's joy in this final section puts his character in context, and provides a deep insight into all his actions that came before. We knew that he loved and wanted to marry Arwen, but here is the emotion behind his books-long quest: the kingship is his duty, and he acknowledges that; but what truly inspired him was the knowledge that he could never be with Arwen unless he defeated Sauron and attained his birthright. (The ugly implications about Arwen as chattel we'll gloss over for now; hopefully we'll get to the appendicies and can talk about this more troubling aspect of the story in a bit greater detail.)

The chapter's title, in the end, turns out to be clever: the steward is featured in the first section, the king in the third, and they come together for the coronation in the middle. While previous chapters didn't thematically flow, this one does, no matter how flat the first romance feels. The chapter improves as you read.

Eric's Thoughts (8/5/17)

For some reason Tolkien's prose stood out to me in this chapter. Tolkien used archaic words. And the language had the rhythm of an older text:

  • "That I know," Faramir said. "You desired to have the love of the Lord Aragorn. Because he was high and puissant, and you wished to have renown and glory and to be lifted far above the mean things that crawl on the earth."
The characters also play out their roles archaically. Faramir acknowledges that Eowyn loves Aragorn, professes his love, and then suddenly after Faramir makes his grand speech, "[t]hen the heart of Eowyn changed, or else at last she understood it. And suddenly her winter passed, and the sun shone on her." Then Eowyn says, "No longer do I desire to be a queen."

Ah, voila, if only real life was this simple (pardon my French). By any normal standard, this is pretty shoddy plotting.
  • Eowyn loves Aragorn --> Faramir makes a cheesy speech --> Eowyn no longer loves Aragorn and instead loves Faramir
If you're doubtful that the above plot outline works, you have good reason. But actually, Tolkien's high-chant prose seems to make it work. The language almost seems to take on a charaterization of its own which makes the characters in the story more than just people. They are beings from an epic poem that existed in a different age. Of course Eowyn should change her heart so suddenly. That's what happens in epic poems, after all!

Of course, Tolkien's high chant comes with a price. It is difficult to empathize with Faramir or Eowyn. So while I may believe Eowyn the demi-goddess was quick to change her feelings in epic-poem fashion, Tolkien's approach makes the text read like a summary of a Greek myth, not like something real people are doing. Perhaps the beauty of language in a book is inversely proportional to how realistic the book is?

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