Chapter 8: The Stairs of Cirith Ungol
Tolkien goes meta.
Perhaps sensing that the world he has immersed his readers into has become entirely too dark and hopeless, Tolkien takes a page from the contemporaneous Postmodernists and decides to call explicit attention to the fact that his characters inhabit a story--and to critique said stories at the same time.
"The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them," [emphasis added] says Sam significantly, reminding readers that what passes for the genre of "adventure" in fiction is actually harrowing in real life--and he does this from within a novel!
Sam continues: "I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of sport, you might say." They had read fictions, and now wished to participate in one themselves--but now Tolkien wishes to remind you why you shouldn't be a naive reader of fiction.
"But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually--their paths were laid that way, as you put it." There is a certain fatalism associated with adventure--a word that shares etymology with "venture"--"to risk the loss of"--that is, to allow one's self to be subject to chance, luck, fate, forces beyond one's own control--you don't compose adventure in real life, as in a novel; no, adventure happens to you.
"But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't." We may all ultimately be subject to chance, but then, it was our choice to abandon the tranquilizing comfort of routine, of domesticity and the quotidian, to be subject to chance instead.
"And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten." Which answers the question as to why anyone would ever let themselves be subject to adventure, to chance, in the first place--do you wish to be memorialized in song and story? Do you desire that sort of surrogate immortality? Is it worth the cost? It is a serious question.
"We hear about those as just went on--and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end...But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?" Surely the readers have asked themselves this same question many times throughout this apparently hopeless text--is this every going to get happier? Or have I fallen into reading a tragedy? Tolkien winks at you--he knows your thoughts.
"You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to." Establishing your own complicity in Frodo and Sams' sufferings--this is meta-fiction done right, not to pull you out of the text, but to pull you in even deeper.
"And people will say: 'Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring!' And they'll say: 'Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave, wasn't he dad?' 'Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot." A bit of braggadocio on the part of Tolkien--he's already counting on this fantasy series of his to eclipse The Hobbit, to in fact go on to dominate the entire genre for the rest of the century! He creates his own self-fulfilling prophecies.
"Why Sam...you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. 'I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo, wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad?'" But now this is no longer a wink at the reader--now this conversation is evolving back into a genuine character moment between two characters who have needed it for a long time.
"You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: 'Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more.'" Tolkien was showing boundless self-confidence in his series just a moment ago, but now, just in case, he asks you to please stick with him, to not close the book just yet--yes, it's all very bleak right now, he readily confesses, but have a little faith!
"Maybe...but I wouldn't one to say that. Things done and over and made into part of the great tales are different. Why, even Gollum might be good in a tale, better than he is to have by you, anyway. And he used to like tales himself, by his own account. I wonder if he thinks he's the hero or the villain?" Directly addressing the question every reader has been nursing throughout Book IV: is Gollum good or bad, friend or foe, redeemable or irredeemable? And what is most fascinating is that Tolkien's eventual answer to this question will be--Yes.
Ben's Thoughts (3/2/16)
"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.
Eric's Thoughts (5/14/16)
While the previous chapter (Crossroads) seems to be filler material to lend credibility of how long the journey is, it lacked any palpable form of external antagonist (other than the terrain) or internal struggle. That is why that chapter was not particularly compelling, and I agree with Ben and Jacob that some pruning was in order.
This chapter alleviates what was lacking in the previous chapter and has some very compelling moments. Three stood out in particular.
The first, of course, is the internal confrontation between Frodo and the Ringwraith. Note that the confrontation was internal, not external. No swords are parried, no bullets flying in the air, but the language here was more compelling than Helm's Deep: "Frodo waited, like a bird at the approach of a snake, unable to move. And as he waited, he felt, more urgent than ever before, the command that he should put on the Ring. But great as the pressure was, he felt no inclination now to yield to it."
The reader turns the page, literally, to determine if Frodo will put on the Ring. As we know from the Fellowship, if Frodo puts on the Ring here, he is doomed. Yet, somehow Frodo is drawn to put the Ring on. The reader knows the stakes; Tolkien does not have to say them outright. At first it seems Frodo is tempted, then he knows putting it on would not lend him the strength to fight the Witch King, but then his finger draws ever closer nonetheless. It's a compelling back and forth internal dialogue wrought with inconsistency -- and that is why it is so interesting to watch. Finally, a magic token takes him out of the spell, and the Witch King is vanquished, merely moving on with his armies to continue in his quest to destroy the entirety of Gondor. Frodo, reflecting on the vast size of Sauron's armies and how even if he did the impossible and destroyed the Ring, says "'There will be no one I can tell. It will be in vain.' Overcome with weakness he wept. And still the host of Morgul crossed the bridge." Frodo emerges triumphant, yet his great victory is still not enough to overcome inevitable defeat.
Second, as my fellow readers note, is the interesting diversion into metafiction. Sam and Frodo's dialogue, discussing how Lord of the Rings is nothing but a story, makes the characters feel even more real than before. Interestingly, just as Tolkien did, Robert Jordan in the Wheel of Time used this technique regularly -- sometimes having the main character Rand reflect that doing things in reality were much more difficult than what he had read in stories. What Rand, and Sam and Frodo have observed is a thought real people often have, so characters that reflect on how their lives relate to stories they've read lends the character almost an air of credibility. Sam says, "I wonder what sort of a tale we’ve fallen into?’" A reader too can't help but wonder what sort of tale he has fallen into, and what legacy he will leave behind.
Third, the marvelously written dialogue between Sam and Gollum. Tolkien really shines at his best when he's writing dialogue for Smeagol. After Gollum sneaks off and returns, he shows a glimpse of humanity, almost as if he's regretting his decision to betray his friends (revealed in the next chapter). Sam calls Gollum a sneak, chastises him, and Gollum's eyes turn green, symbolizing that his brief moment of humanity is gone. The dialogue that ensues is tragic, but similarly hilarious. Gollum mutters, "‘No food, no rest, nothing for Sméagol,’ said Gollum. ‘He’s a sneak.’"
"'Don’t take names to yourself, Sméagol,’ said Frodo. ‘It’s unwise, whether they are true or false.'"
"'Sméagol has to take what’s given him,’" answered Gollum. "‘He was given that name by kind Master Samwise, the hobbit that knows so much.’"
Gollum plays the victim (is he just deranged or purely manipulative?), when it is he that is about to betray the Hobbits, demonstrating the psychological complexity of this tragic creature.
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