Chapter 3: The Black Gate is Closed
Jacob's Thoughts (10/30/15)
You guys ever watch The Office back in the day? Not just the U.S. version, but the original U.K. one? They both have a strong thread of despair running through them as is well known, but in the U.S. iteration it gets largely subsumed by the light-hearted tone, good humor, and an irrepressible American optimism that renders us constitutionally incapable of ever wallowing in the darkness for too long, or of ever taking it too seriously. The British version, to put it mildly, serves it straight. The bleakness is perpetually foregrounded, and the humor only serves to highlight it all the more starkly. For the British, hope is a luxury, not a necessity; despair is not the exception to existence but its general rule; and if anything ever goes right, it is a strange thing that has happened.
I was reminded of this innately English pessimism throughout this chapter; we've already discussed how Aragorn post-Moriah claims we no longer live for hope, but only revenge, and now here both Frodo and Sam confess--to their innermost selves if no one else--that neither of them had any real hope for this quest, either. Frodo is determined to cross the Black Gate alone--just as he had always assumed he would have to finally carry this awful burden alone--not because he ever thought he would ever actually make it to Mt. Doom, but only because fate had decreed this his own awful burden to carry, his duty alone to fail in.
Sam, for his part, must admit that the best his native cheerfulness could offer was never any real hope, but only a postponement of despair, one which he can no longer escape now that he stands before the all-too-guarded Black Gate. Even Gollum is just playing an end-game of delaying the inevitable, of not defeating Sauron but just keeping the Ring out of his hands as long as possible; he straight up tells Frodo that he only guided him to the Black Gate to fulfill the terms of his terrible oath to the "Precious," not because he thought Frodo was crazy enough to try to enter! Indeed, Gollum rants and raves that it is a terrible idea to try and enter Mordor at all, that he only offers this highly-specious alternate route because if you must enter Mordor, well, you'll have slightly better luck over at this other place--where Sauron's eye isn't as watchful, "he can't see everything, not yet"--which still isn't all that encouraging.
I don't know why it didn't strike me till this chapter, but this entire series is permeated by a very English pessimism, one that refuses to even entertain the possibility of success. For despite its grand popularity in America, LotR is not an American novel at all. This text is like the U.K. version of The Office, where all of its despair on the surface, where all humor is gallows humor, where all situations are hopeless.
But then also, like The Office, there comes a joke, and someone says something utterly ridiculous, as Sam recites that nursery poem about "oliphaunts" (by far the dumbest poem Tolkien has published yet), and that somehow relieves all the tension and they are all able to carry on besides. For although America's source of confidence lies in our unflagging sense of optimism in the face of all contrary evidence, Britain's, by contrast, lies in their calm certainty that all is hopeless and everything and everyone is terrible, which somehow imbues them with the resolve to continue forward anyways. It's a very English type of despair that almost becomes its own form of optimism.
Almost.
Eric's Thoughts (12/3/15)
Tolkien seems to obliquely be hinting at something in this chapter. Can't quite put my finger on it . . . perhaps it's that it's difficult to get into Mordor . . . yep. I think that's what he was trying to say.
What really needs to happen is Middle Earth needs a U.N., so that the forces of good can have Mordor join, and then they could work things out. Why not a little diplomacy? Did anyone think of that? I guess the only problem with that is that Mordor would probably get a veto vote, being a world super-power and all.
The U.S. could probably take that Mordor nonsense on, though. We wouldn't need Frodo to infiltrate into Mordor, to cast away a puny ring. We'd nuke the orcs! And the good thing is, since Mordor is already the equivalent of nuclear fallout, there would be no collateral impact to the environment.
Perhaps that is what the ring itself symbolizes--nuclear technology. Using the power corrupts, and leads to another tyrant. But, wait, I guess that metaphor is no good, cause that would make us the bad guys. Shoot.
Let's try again. Err, oh shucks. Who am I kidding? I just don't have much to say about this chapter. Frodo, Sam and Gollum see an impassable wall, Gollum suggests an alternate route, and off they go. The wall represents an obvious hurdle the protagonists must overcome. It is a literal obstacle. (I suppose sometimes chapters really aren't built for commentary.)
I guess one thing I could say is that entering into the land of evil is a common trope. You have to go into the villain's lair to do the deed. Here, Mordor is becoming more real than ever, and you get a sense what a horrible place this is. Tolkien does a great job of establishing mood. I enjoyed the chapter. But I don't have much to say about it.
Ben's Thoughts (1/20/16)
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.
You guys ever watch The Office back in the day? Not just the U.S. version, but the original U.K. one? They both have a strong thread of despair running through them as is well known, but in the U.S. iteration it gets largely subsumed by the light-hearted tone, good humor, and an irrepressible American optimism that renders us constitutionally incapable of ever wallowing in the darkness for too long, or of ever taking it too seriously. The British version, to put it mildly, serves it straight. The bleakness is perpetually foregrounded, and the humor only serves to highlight it all the more starkly. For the British, hope is a luxury, not a necessity; despair is not the exception to existence but its general rule; and if anything ever goes right, it is a strange thing that has happened.
I was reminded of this innately English pessimism throughout this chapter; we've already discussed how Aragorn post-Moriah claims we no longer live for hope, but only revenge, and now here both Frodo and Sam confess--to their innermost selves if no one else--that neither of them had any real hope for this quest, either. Frodo is determined to cross the Black Gate alone--just as he had always assumed he would have to finally carry this awful burden alone--not because he ever thought he would ever actually make it to Mt. Doom, but only because fate had decreed this his own awful burden to carry, his duty alone to fail in.
Sam, for his part, must admit that the best his native cheerfulness could offer was never any real hope, but only a postponement of despair, one which he can no longer escape now that he stands before the all-too-guarded Black Gate. Even Gollum is just playing an end-game of delaying the inevitable, of not defeating Sauron but just keeping the Ring out of his hands as long as possible; he straight up tells Frodo that he only guided him to the Black Gate to fulfill the terms of his terrible oath to the "Precious," not because he thought Frodo was crazy enough to try to enter! Indeed, Gollum rants and raves that it is a terrible idea to try and enter Mordor at all, that he only offers this highly-specious alternate route because if you must enter Mordor, well, you'll have slightly better luck over at this other place--where Sauron's eye isn't as watchful, "he can't see everything, not yet"--which still isn't all that encouraging.
I don't know why it didn't strike me till this chapter, but this entire series is permeated by a very English pessimism, one that refuses to even entertain the possibility of success. For despite its grand popularity in America, LotR is not an American novel at all. This text is like the U.K. version of The Office, where all of its despair on the surface, where all humor is gallows humor, where all situations are hopeless.
But then also, like The Office, there comes a joke, and someone says something utterly ridiculous, as Sam recites that nursery poem about "oliphaunts" (by far the dumbest poem Tolkien has published yet), and that somehow relieves all the tension and they are all able to carry on besides. For although America's source of confidence lies in our unflagging sense of optimism in the face of all contrary evidence, Britain's, by contrast, lies in their calm certainty that all is hopeless and everything and everyone is terrible, which somehow imbues them with the resolve to continue forward anyways. It's a very English type of despair that almost becomes its own form of optimism.
Almost.
Eric's Thoughts (12/3/15)
Tolkien seems to obliquely be hinting at something in this chapter. Can't quite put my finger on it . . . perhaps it's that it's difficult to get into Mordor . . . yep. I think that's what he was trying to say.
What really needs to happen is Middle Earth needs a U.N., so that the forces of good can have Mordor join, and then they could work things out. Why not a little diplomacy? Did anyone think of that? I guess the only problem with that is that Mordor would probably get a veto vote, being a world super-power and all.
The U.S. could probably take that Mordor nonsense on, though. We wouldn't need Frodo to infiltrate into Mordor, to cast away a puny ring. We'd nuke the orcs! And the good thing is, since Mordor is already the equivalent of nuclear fallout, there would be no collateral impact to the environment.
Perhaps that is what the ring itself symbolizes--nuclear technology. Using the power corrupts, and leads to another tyrant. But, wait, I guess that metaphor is no good, cause that would make us the bad guys. Shoot.
Let's try again. Err, oh shucks. Who am I kidding? I just don't have much to say about this chapter. Frodo, Sam and Gollum see an impassable wall, Gollum suggests an alternate route, and off they go. The wall represents an obvious hurdle the protagonists must overcome. It is a literal obstacle. (I suppose sometimes chapters really aren't built for commentary.)
I guess one thing I could say is that entering into the land of evil is a common trope. You have to go into the villain's lair to do the deed. Here, Mordor is becoming more real than ever, and you get a sense what a horrible place this is. Tolkien does a great job of establishing mood. I enjoyed the chapter. But I don't have much to say about it.
Ben's Thoughts (1/20/16)
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.
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