Peter Jackson's "The Return of the King" - Ben's Thoughts

It's taken me far too long to blog about The Return of the King film. Part of that, I truly believe, was trepidation about how the film would resonate with me. I remembered parts of this movie just being bad. And those parts did not disappoint. They were bad. So bad.

However, in the same moment, parts of the movie were glorious. As both Jacob and Eric noted, the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, translated to the big screen, is awe-inspiring (even with the elephant surfing -- after all, they had to top the shield-surfing of the previous movie). The climax of the film, especially the Frodo, Sam, and Gollum half of the climax, is masterfully done. (More on these two setpieces later on.)

But do the good parts of the movie make up for the bad parts? I'm left uncertain. Like Two Towers, I watched this film in three installments. The first hour takes us to Shelob's Lair and the muster of Rohan. The second hour finishes out the Battle of the Pelennor. And the final hour includes the climax and denouement. But unlike Two Towers, I felt like the pacing here was more uneven. The setpieces, while largely visually spectacular, were interspersed with bad humor and cringeworthy emotional beats. Some of the plotting seems questionable, in light of the intricacy of how the book plays out. Even some of the visual effects felt less impressive than in previous films.

First, touching on a couple of main plot points. Why does the movie have Frodo believe that Sam is eating all of the food? Does that make any sense, given what we've seen to that point? This subplot is in place to awkwardly separate Sam from Frodo so that he can charge in later "unexpectedly" (as if a single viewer didn't believe that Sam wasn't going to save the day after Shelob wraps up Frodo). But at what cost? It effectively deletes Gollum's aborted redemptive arc from the film; gone are the beats such as where Gollum watches Frodo sleep and then Sam foolishly berates him. I know Two Towers covered a lot of that ground already, but Gollum is in full-on villain mode in this film, and I think it is a less complicated, less interesting film as a result.

Second, Denethor has lost all his nuance in the film. I can recognize the beauty of the charge of the Gondorian cavalry, juxtaposed with Denethor slobbering over his dinner and Pippin's melancholy song hovering in the background. It is a masterful piece of technical and emotional filmmaking. But it comes at the cost of Denethor's complexity; the internal conflict; the question of how much of his actions were because of Sauron's corruptive influence and how much because of personal weakness; his moments of true leadership before the final collapse. Even his demise is altered; instead of making the affirmative choice to end his life in the face of his insurmountable despair, here he is knocked back into the burning pyre by Gandalf's horse, of all things, while he is in the middle of strangling Pippin (or something; Pippin spends a lot of this movie screaming randomly with his mouth wide open) and burns up rather accidentally (and then runs and throws himself over the edge of the city? Well, now you're burning alive AND falling to your death, not sure that really solves anything). It's all blockbuster cinema, but I think hewing closer to the source material would have been just as good if not better.

I could go on. Probably the runner-up is the fact that the film spends SO MUCH time on Eowyn in the first two-thirds, and she is completely and utterly forgotten in the final third. At least Tolkien tried to give her some closure. Film Eowyn is just abandoned. But in any case, what continually pulled me out of the movie more than plotting decisions was emotional beats.

I feel like Peter Jackson is fully committed to the emotional poignancy of the book. Return of the King is a wrenching text in many ways, dealing with loss and fear and death and perseverance in the face of hopelessness. And much of the film treats this subject matter well. Aragorn's speech before the Black Gates captures very poignantly and cinematically this particular theme. But boy, are there some duds squatting perversely in the midst of this film.

Pippin's silent shrieking, as the camera tilts wildly, as he grips the palantir, made me cringe and roll my eyes. Merry's goofy smiles at, well, basically everything ("Milady!" he squeaks, with a foolish grin on his face, as Eowyn scoops him up onto her horse, is just one example of many.) Sam's blubbering. His quivering bottom lip could receive its own billing in the credits. And Frodo's smiles. Oh, those smiles. I am not one to read unintended undertones into films where I think the filmmakers did not intend them. But the cinematography, angles, lighting, and expressions the director has these characters make (Frodo and Sam in particular) leave me firmly convinced that Sam and Frodo are either a current romantic item or are desperately longing to become one. (Frodo actually kissing Sam at the Havens, but slighting Pippin and Merry, does nothing to discourage this view.)

And oh, that bedroom scene. The bedroom scene.

Gandalf's forced laughter. The members of the Fellowship coming in one by one (even the ones that we never saw Frodo develop a relationship with or even interact with, like Legolas and Gimli). The hobbits jumping on the bed. Then more jumping on the bed. Then Merry or Pippin randomly hurling themselves backwards onto the bed. Then Sam's entrance, with the sun shining so fake behind him and Frodo's lopsided, contorted expression of love on his face. That scene ripped me out of the movie so much the first time I saw it, and still does today. It's one of those scenes that makes a moviegoer embarrassed to be in the theater when it comes on.

There is much to love about the film. The scope of the Battle of the Pelennor Fields is breathtaking. When the Rohirrim arrive, and the CGI horsemen line up on the hilltop, you cannot help but feel something like joy stirring within you. I think the end of Two Towers does it a little better, with Sam's speech interspersed between images of victory halfway across the world, but this is good too. Really, anything in the film that involved Bernard Hill as Theoden, and Miranda Otto as Eowyn, was phenomenal. Bernard Hill in particular steals the movie once again. His frustrated statements about Gondor at the beginning, juxtaposed with his selfless decision to ride to their aid when they ask for it. His speech to the men at Dunharrow and then before the final battle, again addressing that need for valor and perseverance, even in the face of hopeless, soul-crushing odds. "We cannot defeat the armies of Mordor," Gamling says. Theoden replies, "No, we cannot." And then, after a pregnant pause, "But we will meet them in battle nonetheless." Basically everything about Theoden and Eowyn is perfect in this film, down to the last moment where they repeat their conversation from Two Towers: "I know your face..."

Similarly, the scene preceding the destruction of the Ring is masterfully done. Frodo succumbing to the Ring's seductive influence is just as terrifying on the big screen as in the text. Gollum's treacherous strike against Sam is unexpected and cruel - Gollum at his most sinister. I loved how Sam's words mirrored Elrond's to Isildur, that we saw in flashbacks in Fellowship, but with a hobbit-like twist that made the desperate plea his own. When I first saw the film, I was frustrated with how Frodo attacked Gollum after his finger had been bitten off, and how that struggle was what led to the Ring going over the edge; I thought that they should have stuck with Gollum slipping and falling like in the book. But upon this rewatch, I find myself pleased with the juxtaposition of Gollum and Frodo: Gollum has literally nothing left but the Ring, to the point of holding it up out of the lava for as long as he can before he is incinerated. Frodo, on the other hand, chooses to live, even if it is just for Sam: "Don't you let go!" Sam shouts, knowing Frodo's temptation of hurling himself after his Precious.

I stayed away from reviewing the film for its major themes, because Jacob and Eric touched on those so eloquently. For what it's worth, I think it conveys a powerful message in a (generally) effective way. As a work of entertainment, it's less effective, because of the sketchy parts I outlined above. All in all, a good film, but not a great one. Fellowship is still the best, and I would put this one (surprisingly) behind Two Towers as well.

And that's a wrap, folks!

...who wants to read The Silmarillion with me?

Peter Jackson's "The Return of the King" - Eric's Thoughts

The Return of the King surprised me. My recollection of the LOTR movies was that they got sequentially worse. (Perhaps that's because I'm remembering the Extended Editions that I watched.)

Whatever the reason, I enjoyed the Return of the King almost as much as the Fellowship, if not just as much. Perhaps it resonated with me more this time because of the current state of affairs in the U.S. The theme of the movie is clear -- people riding out in the face of certain death to face unspeakable odds. The Return of the King is about a volitional act, about people deciding they have had enough of the bullying and riding out to meet it. (Note the contrast of the boxed-in survival of the Two Towers.) Rather than waiting for the enemy to come, King Theoden rides out to certain death with his armies -- because it's the right thing to do, and it's better than waiting around for the end to come. The battle scene does not disappoint; the elephants are fun to watch and add a nice flavor to the battle.

In turn, Frodo and Sam's subplot was also far more interesting than in the Two Towers. Gollum is up to his old tricks again, and leads the hobbits into Shelob's lair. At the top of the Stairs of Cirith Ungol, Frodo says he doesn't want to go on. Gollum has a moment where he is baffled and doesn't know what to do; for a moment, it looks like all of Gollum's scheming has come to naught. Gollum simply says, "Go in, or go back." Frodo recognizes the folly of not going on and replies, "Well, I can't go back." A fun exchange to watch. Inside the lair, the spider is delightfully foul, and Frodo struggling in the webs was probably the one of the best scenes of the whole series in terms of creating an actual tense moment.

The film also hits a high point, just like in the book, when Frodo hangs over the edge of Mount Doom, deciding whether to drop the ring into the fires, but is not able to cast it away. Instead, Frodo claims the ring as his own. A truly chilling moment.

At the same time, the rag-tag remains of Rohan and Gondor face the hordes of Sauron at the black gate, ready to die. When Gollum steals the ring from Frodo and falls into the abyss, and Sauron's armies flee, the moment truly feels earned.

In short, I didn't really have much to criticize about this movie. A fun romp with a feeling of stakes. And a great way to end the journey of blogging through every chapter of Lord of the Rings.

Peter Jackson's "The Two Towers" - Eric's Thoughts

A re-watch of the the Two Towers film basically met my expectations -- an okay film overall but too long. It's certainly not as engaging as the Fellowship of the Ring.

The star of the film of course is the computer generated Smeagol. Even though the CGI looked a bit dated, the portrayal and voice acting is fantastic. One of best ideas of this whole film was how they shot the split personality of Gollum -- changing camera angles so it looked like he was having a conversation with himself. It's funny and tragic at the same time . . . and a great way to capture an inner monologue on film.

What disappointed me most on the re-watch was how one-dimensional Faramir is. The book paints Faramir as a dichotomy of his brother, with the will to reject the call to the ring. Instead, in the film, Faramir seems like a brooding bully. Jackson would have done better to stick to the source material. Instead of dragging the hobbits to Gondor (the film), Faramir should have given up his claim to the ring when he learned what it was (the book). I think Jackson's approach was a mistake.

The subplot then plods along so that the hobbits and Faramir are being attacked by Nazgul. Drawn by the call of the Nazgul, Frodo approaches the Nazgul and hands out the ring for the taking. Perhaps this subplot was developed so that there was better trailer eye-candy? Whatever the reason, Sam knocks Frodo down just in time, and the Nazgul misses. Phew. That is intensity.

Not really, especially because as soon as Sam interrupts Frodo's attempted betrayal, Faramir approaches the hobbits and says: "I think we now understand each other, Mr. Baggins. I'm now going to let you go to Mordor."

WHAT???? If anything, Faramir should have all the more reason to take Frodo to Gondor. From Faramir's perspective (without the benefit of having read the trilogy like we have), he has all the more reason to prevent these hobbits from going into the land of the enemy so they can just hand the ring over to Sauron. There is no reason for Faramir to suddenly "understand" what the freak just happened. What a contrived subplot!!!

On the Theoden / Aragorn side, Theoden does a nice job of painting a king watching the downfall of his kingdom. Like Jacob, I actually found his hopeless battle against reckless hate a compelling metaphor for the times.  Lines like "What can a man do against such reckless hate," which rang cheesy while I was younger, seem particularly relevant now.

Peter Jackson's "The Return of the King" - Jacob's Thoughts

One more for the road.

It almost feels strange to at long last write my final post here--about the film version of Return of the King--in part because I wrapped up writing about the novels clear back in April. My, what all we can experience in just 9 months! The years keep flying by, but a full year is still a full year, where anything can happen. By way of comparison: it's now been well over a year and a half since I rewatched The Two Towers for this project, and in some ways, I still feel the same sense of futility and despair I felt then, concerning the seemingly inevitable rise of the forces of ignorance, darkness, and bigotry. "What can men do against such reckless hate?" was and remains the watchword.

But on the other hand, in the year and a half since I last watched an LoTR film, there has at last arisen a genuine resistance of sort against that tide--far more belatedly than I would've preferred, of course, but at least it's there--and suddenly I find that the rapid series of turn-abouts throughout Return of the King resonate as much with me now as Two Towers did in 2016.

Seriously, every few minutes in this interminable film brings some new change in fortune: The orcs are seizing Minith Tirith! But wait, the Riders of Rohan have arrived! But wait, some weird elephant cavalry is making short work of them! But wait, now Aragorn has arrived with the spirits of the dead! Back and forth, back and forth--and these ceaseless and rapid shifts in fortune continue all film long. It can get downright exhausting, even eye-roll inducing, and if you had asked me to rewatch Return of the King just a few years ago, I think I would've grown irritated and finally bored by the whole ordeal.

But just as Two Towers resonated far more with me in 2016 than it did when I was 21, so too does Return of the King at the end of 2017, which has likewise featured an endless series of reversals: His cabinet is even more nepotistic, racist, corrupt, and radically unqualified than we feared! He signs an unconstitutional travel ban as one of his first acts! But wait, the courts have shut it down! And the mass protests have numbered in the millions! But wait, Congress is repealing the ACA without a viable replacement! But wait, the repeal failed! But they're trying again! But they failed again! But now bona fide Nazis are marching in Virginia! But Virginia just flipped even further blue! But now they're passing a tax break for the rich! But now the Dems have won the Alabama senate seat! But now the racist criminal sheriff he pardoned is running for senate! And on and on and on and on. It's absolutely exhausting. Eye-roll inducing. Irritating.

But that also means that the endless reversals of Return of the King feel far more true to real life. Northrop Frye in The Secular Scripture argued that literary "Realism" so-called is reliant on an endless series of cause-and-effect, of "A therefore B," whilst "Romance" is much more a series of "and thens," conceptualizing life as a string of abrupt events. Ironically then, "Romance" structurally feels far more true to life than "Realism," which, despite its pretentions otherwise, does not behave like real life at all!

Which brings me by a round-about way to another reason why it feels strange to be writing this final blog-post: because the implicit message of this film is that nothing ever really ends! As is notoriously known, even after Sauron is decisively defeated, the film just keeps going. There's at least 2 or 3 false endings in there. From a strictly cinematic standpoint, all these fake-out endings just kill the narrative momentum, needlessly stringing out a film that could've easily ended 20 minutes earlier. But from a Romance sort of perspective, all those fake-out endings also feel more true to life! Frodo sails away with the elves and Bilbo at the end, but Sam continues to carry on with the rest of his long, full life after. A big, fat "The End" covers the screen just before the credits roll, but that is also a misnomer: implicitly, Middle-Earth is still barreling forward after the termination of the events on-screen. Life continues--both theirs and our own. Indeed, all of our lives have continued forward since this film first debuted in 2003.

Maybe we, like the forces of Middle-Earth, will enjoy a decisive victory sometime in the near future. Maybe we're in for the long haul on an endless series of reversals. Who knows. The only thing we know for sure is that the story will continue on nonetheless. And for all of Tolkien's wizards, sorcerers, elves, orcs, and magic-rings--and for all of Jackson's CGI, practical effects, make-up artists and post-production--that is what renders the books and the films feeling the most realistic of all. Our most unexpected journey continues, long after we've closed the books and left the theater.

"The Grey Havens" - Eric's Thoughts

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said that life is a journey, not a destination. In the spirit of Emerson, I've used this opportunity to peek at our old posts and see how we progressed through the years (along with Frodo and Company).

And what progress! Jacob, Ben, and I have wrote our way through sixty-two lengthy chapters, and between school, and children, and marriages, it's taken a little under three years to complete this project. At the time we started (January 2014), I was just out of law school, Ben had just finished his clerkship, and Jacob was working on his Ph.D.

Since that time, we've visited Yellowstone (June 2015), Capital Reef / Arches / Canyonlands (June 2016), and Yosemite (June 2017). Marriages, and kids, and Ph.Ds happened. Most certainly we have all grown as Frodo and Co. did within Tolkien's wonderland.

The Grey Havens is a haunting chapter that is enigmatic and a pleasure to read.The growth of the hobbits really wouldn't have been apparent without the Scouring of the Shire and the Grey Havens. This is classic hero's journey -- the transformed character(s) return with a boon.

So what is the boon? I would submit that the greatest boon the hobbits bring back to the shire are their changed selves, with skillsets and leadership that allows the hobbits to drive out evil before it fully takes root. Of course, this is a boon that is only seen through the hobbits' acts and deeds. The literal boon is that Sam brings back Galadriel's earth that allows the Shire to heal and grow stronger than before. Most memorable to me (even from many years ago) is how Sam replants seeds of trees that are buffered with a single grain of Galadriel's gift of earth, and of course the mallorn tree with silver leaves (that replaces the old party tree).

Interspersed between these denouements lies Frodo, where Tolkien describes Frodo clutching a jewel and muttering to himself. Indeed, Frodo's behavior foreshadows that he cannot live a life of peace amongst the shire (though he does seem to try). Frodo's war wounds are simply too great:

"Where are you going master?" cried Sam[.]

"To the Havens, Sam," said Frodo.

"And I can't come."

"No, Sam. Not yet, anyway, not further than the Havens . . ."

"But," said Sam, and tears started in his eyes, "I thought you were going to enjoy the Shire too, for years and years, after all you have done."

"So I thought too, once. But I have been too deeply hurt, Sam. I tried to save the Shire, and it has been saved, but not for me. It must often be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them . . ."

Frodo then embarks on a ship with Gandalf, the elves, to go on a journey to the Havens A haven, in the literal sense, means a place of refuge or safety. Interestingly, it also can mean a harbor or a port, that is to say a place of departure or destination for a ship. (In his descriptions, Tolkien hints that the Havens is both a place of departure and a place of destination.) And Tolkien complicates this description by calling the havens "grey," which signifies images of age, fog, clouds, and blurring.

The only real clue in the text is that "And then it seemed to [Frodo] that as in his dream in the house of Bombadil, the grey rain-curtain turned all to a silver glass and was rolled back, and he beheld white shores and beyond them a far green country under a swift sunrise." In contrast, "But to Sam the evening deepened to darkness as he stood at the Haven, and as he looked at the grey sea he saw only a shadow on the waters that was soon lost in the West."

I would study those words in church growing up, Lord of the Rings hidden between my bible, and ponder them. At the time, Tolkien's uncertainty left me scratching my head and bothered me. My younger self always wanted a clear answer to what the Havens was.

But now, I appreciate Tolkien's ambiguity. He ends the story in a way that signifies new beginnings. Sam returns home, ready to start his next adventure. Frodo goes on to see a "swift sunrise" in a land with far greener pastures.

In essence, Frodo and his friends become legends, and an older age lives on through the Red Book, reality turning to fantasy as years pass.

"The Scouring of the Shire" - Eric's Thoughts

The “Scouring of the Shire” is a story within a story—a self-contained dramatic arc that probably could be read independently, understood, and enjoyed as a great work of literature unto itself without having read one page of Lord of the Rings.

Structurally, the story begins with the hobbits Merry, Pippin, Sam, and Frodo approaching their old stomping grounds. They’ve had a long journey and are “homeward bound” at last. But the expected hero’s welcome is an illusion—instead they are greeted by looming gates, skepticism, fear, and silly regulations. Tolkien makes clear that the Shire, painted earlier in the story as a utopia of green countryside and peaceful farmers, has been invaded and touched by the world of men.

Tolkien plays with structure even as he embraces it—the “Scouring of the Shire” is oddly out of place with the rest of the novel. As we were taught since grade school, after the story’s climax comes the resolution.

But The Lord of the Rings does not follow this structure. The climax of Tolkien’s Middle Earth epic is undoubtedly the destruction of the Ring earlier in “Mount Doom.” There, Sam and Frodo confront Baggins old nemesis Gollum, spare him yet again, and the doom of the story unfolds. The story then engages in resolution chapters, which are to be expected. But then LOTR suddenly diverges into a sub-plot (Scouring of the Shire) that is mostly unrelated to the main tale.

Interestingly, not one mention of the Ring is made in “Scouring of the Shire.” The Scouring of the Shire tells of a different arc—a washed up villain who was rejected and defeated in Middle Earth takes up the only abode he can—the place not up to speed on current events. Of course, what is interesting is that “Sharkey” is not the cause of the problem—and merely takes up an abode where Lotho already had created a tyrannical regime. Sharkey merely steps into Lotho’s shoes and attempts to increase the harm. So the root of tyranny in the Shire was actually the result of only one hobbit’s greed.

Of course, while this chapter could be read independently from The Lord of the Rings as a short story, the characters of Merry and Pippin are enriched because of this chapter—Scouring changes Merry and Pippin from clueless hobbits to bold leaders. Frodo benefits from the cruel mercy he bestows upon Saruman. (And it is nice to see the villains finally turn on one another.)

In short, Scouring of the Shire certainly carries deeper depth because of the backstory of Lord of the Rings, but the full LOTR treatment is not necessary here to appreciate this self-contained tale. “Scouring” has an immediate problem, rising tension, and a climax (homeward bound crew encounters something sinister afoot with the lack of reception coupled with mountains of regulations à confrontation with Shiriffs à confrontation with men à a battle involving hundreds of men and hobbits à a twist that Lotho was killed and replaced by Saruman à villains killing each other off). Scouring is really its own short story contained within the greater work of the novel.

As Ben and Jacob point out, there’s a lot going on here. Tolkien fills his narrative with jabs at the industrial world, describing a mill with many gears and wheels. In his description, Tolkien appears to question why we need faster and more efficient contraptions, especially if the price of such contraptions is pollution. And, obviously, Tolkien posits the silliness of the government state that interferes with a free-market farming economy. Tolkien also has fun poking fun at communism, where the hobbits talk about “sharers” that come along and collect the food and only give it to Lotho and his cronies. In short, Tolkien’s thesis seems to be that a farming culture free of technology and government intervention seems to be the ideal. Of course, Tolkien advances this ideology even as as he mocks it—the only reason such a world can exist is because men and elves embraced technologies and progress that allowed them to withstand the evil of Sauron.

"Homeward Bound" - Eric's Thoughts

Wherein herein lies a transitional chapter, wherein herein it only deserves a transitional analysis.

Homeward Bound (the chapter) could be best described by Homeward Bound (the movie), which assuredly everyone watched growing up. Remember that one? No?

I will summarize. There are two dogs and a cat in that movie (I think). The animals get lost. They have to find their way home. Antics ensue, including a porcupine attack to one of the dog's faces. (I'm pretty sure that happened. Anyone willing to (re)watch it to make sure?)

All right, maybe the chapter is not all that similar with the movie, but you get the point. The hobbits are bounding towards home -- i.e. they are homeward bound. Along the way they see Butterbeer, err, Butterbur. Him and Knob and Cobb are much more suspicious towards outsiders. Tolkien is doing this to show that the world the hobbits left behind has changed. As have the hobbits.

Gandalf leaves, again. (You may be be wondering: why is that wizard always running off at critical moments?? He did the same thing in The Hobbit! [Spoiler below***])

The chapter ends with a real cliffhanger as the hobbits approach home. Is everyone the way it was??? Can Sam go back to a peaceful life of gardening notwithstanding the visions that he saw in Lothlorien and Butterbur's ominous foreshadowing in Bree??? Dum - dum - dum!!!! We'll have to see!!!!

***Answer: Because that way the characters can develop without a crutch. The wizard / helper figure generally has to be taken out of the equation so that the hero can truly demonstrate his/her apotheosis. See Campbell.

"Many Partings" - Eric's Thoughts

The highlight of this chapter is the brief appearance of the villain Saruman, who is described as an old ragged beggar leaning on a staff. In his ragged form, once again, Saruman is offered mercy. And once again, Saruman rejects it.

I can't help but suspect that Tolkien and C.S. Lewis had a talk about theology once or twice. Saruman's repeated rejection of mercy is very similar to Lewis' Great Divorce. Indeed, Saruman's infinite, unrelenting pride gives him the incapacity to understand why Gandalf and the others offer mercy in the first place. Saruman cannot accept others' mercy because he once dominated the council of wizards and was one of the most powerful beings in Middle Earth. Even Gandalf would take Saruman's counsel. To be seen in rags by his former friends; that must gnaw him from the inside. To accept their mercy, well, that would just be giving them the satisfaction that he was wrong, right? Humbug!

As will be seen, sympathy for Saruman is not the best approach, however. The man is a snake, and Saruman's capacity for evil is not done yet. Perhaps spurred by his close encounter, Saruman turns to the Shire to seek revenge. One thing I wonder -- is Saruman aware that the hobbits Merry and Pippin spurred the Ents to war? If so, it adds another layer of pettiness to the man--even though he has lost, he wishes to destroy as many lives as possible before he is caught and taken from the world.

"The Grey Havens" - Ben's Thoughts

The final chapter of The Lord of the Rings never fails to put chills through me, because of its beauty, poignancy, and staggering sense of inevitability.

Frodo has long since realized that he cannot retain this "dream" he had, of comfortable life in the Shire. He is too damaged, too changed by his experiences to do so. This fact is something that the Wise--Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel--have been hinting and and telling him about practically since the first moment he realized that Bilbo's "ring" was in fact the "Ring"--the Ring of Power of the Dark Lord of Mordor. Taking part in the Quest irrevocably changed him.

But the touching thing about this change is that Frodo accepts it. He doesn't rail against it, or try to cling to his old life. He doesn't hang on to the Deputy Mayorship and push poor old Will Whitfoot aside in a desperate attempt to retain a place in the Shire. No--slowly, he diminishes, just as Galadriel said she would diminish (and yet, "remain Galadriel"--a powerful message to anyone engaged in that sort of struggle. You can lose yourself in trying to hang onto some past version of yourself). He moves aside for Pippin, and Merry, and Sam, and their descendants, and the new generation of hobbit-children that fill the Shire. He stays just long enough to record his account of what happened in the war and pass it on to Sam, who will hopefully in turn pass it on to his descendants. And then he moves on to the next great adventure. I think that is a strong message to all of us about letting go and moving on.

But that of course leaves us with Sam, standing in many ways alone on the shore, listening to the waves and watching where the ship vanished over the horizon long after the light of Galadriel faded into the darkness. Parting is one of the hardest things we ever do in life. Being separated from those we love, separated in time from experiences we have cherished. The loss of those memories, those people, those places is powerful; it's something that stays with us. As Sam says, we feel torn in two. We know that we must move forward, that we have joys and responsibilities and relationships in the here and now; but something continues to tug on us, pulling us back, causing us to look over our shoulder.

I think Tolkien is telling us that it's all right to keep looking over your shoulder. Far from the story of Lot's wife, we are not going to be turned into a pillar of salt for keeping these feelings, these experiences, these memories close to us. It is true: on the one hand, too much reliance on past experiences and relationships can hamper those we have in the present. But on the other, if they inform and support rather than consume, they can be used as founts of strength, information, experience, and empathy to buoy us up rather than drag us down.

This all sounds very trite when I read it back over. But Tolkien has managed to capture powerful essences of our human experience and portray them in plot and narrative. It's a rare author who manages to do this for me. This feels real to me, unlike so much other literature which instead feels like a pale copy, if it's striving to capture anything at all.

As I stand with Sam there on the shores of Middle-earth, I think about my quests, my adventures, and the ones that I have yet to experience. Tolkien has managed, once again, to assist me in my travels.

"The Scouring of the Shire" - Ben's Thoughts

Sometimes I wonder why Peter Jackson didn't include the Scouring in his final film. It's full of drama and tension, with a wonderful climax, and all of the characters (except perhaps Pippin) are put to good use in reaching the final terrible conclusion. Perhaps it's because it's just something that could have been easily excised from what was already a lengthy movie. Or perhaps it's because Jackon's Shire is one far different from the Shire of the books -- where hobbits are real people and not just caricatures, where choices have consequences, where hobbits die and men are struck by arrows and Saruman tries to stab Frodo and makes his last, tragic mistakes. Yes, the films by comparison are trite indeed. (Another regret is how frequently we compare these books to the movies. The mediums and narrative and thematic choices are so different, are they even that comparable?)

The chapter works on multiple levels. It's at once a comedy, a dystopian cautionary tale, a Greek tragedy, and a thrilling war story. As we've mentioned before, it's one of those chapters that is just so good that it makes the entirety of LOTR that much better. I'd like to touch on just a few aspects.

As dystopia, it's fairly chilling. This is the same Shire the hobbits left before, where the only evil was exterior -- the threat of the Black Riders. There was never any worry about rot from within. But now, we have collaborators, opportunists, Bosses, power-hungry "Shirriffs"; indeed, as Frodo says about Ted Sandyman (nasty from the start, but not malicious until when our Heroes see him at his mill): "I hope there are not many more hobbits that have become like this. It would be a worse trouble than all the damage the Men have done." The "great spiked gate," the depressing guardhouses, the "whips, knives, and clubs" of the ruffians, the blockades, the curfews, the illegal imprisonment... I could continue, but all are hallmarks of a dystopia as compelling as George Orwell's (which, I might note, predates LOTR by only a few years).

Tied into all of this is Tolkien's obvious distaste for industrialization. This is the extreme example of what we've seen earlier: the evil forces of Mordor and Saruman are all about destroying the old order and installing or rebuilding a new order on the ashes of the old like a twisted palimpsest. The new is harsh and rigid and functional and cheap and dirty and dead. In the Shire, the old holes have been ripped out (literally dug out of the earth in the case of Bagshot Row and replaced with a sandpit) and replaced with functional yet tragic houses (removing the hobbits that live in them further from their mother earth). Old, functioning mills have been replaced with new ones that have no grist; instead they trundle on, day and night, producing who knows what other than pollution that flows into the water and the air (this brings to mind in Dr. Suess' The Lorax, where the by-product of the Once-ler's factory is Gloppity-Glopp and Schluppity-Schlupp, which proceeds to schlupp up the land). Shanties have been throw up, and "heaps of refuse" disgrace the lawns of Bag End.

All of this seems fairly over-the-top, especially when contrasted with the glorious utopia that "returning to the land" creates in the next chapter, but I can't fault Tolkien for his love of nature and a simpler, rural lifestyle. I also feel rejuvenated when I return to nature. But it's equally hard to reject the fact that industrialization has led to incredible advancements in technology, science, and medicine that have allowed us not only to better understand the world around us, but prolong the human life-span. Tolkien kind of cheats with hobbit society, because hobbits are naturally long-lived; Bilbo starts out the story turning 111, and is 131 by the end of the book (by comparison, Otho Sackville-Baggins is 102 when he dies, an age described as both "ripe" and "disappointed"). If we were all as naturally long-lived as hobbits (and think of what they could do if they laid off of the beer, pipe-weed, and rich food!) I'd argue a bit more forcefully for a return to nature, too.

But on to Saruman. Is there a more conceited, spiteful, and rage-inducing character in all of literature than Saruman in this chapter? He's all too successful in his attempts to wound the Shire, and unpleasantly on the nose with his critiques of our Heroes and their wanderings. Ultimately, one gets the sense that he knows he'll ultimately be unsuccessful in destroying the Shire; he just wants to hurt it as much and as soon as possible: "It would have been a sharper lesson, if only you had given me a little more time and more Men. Still I have already done much that you will find it hard to mend or undo in your lives."

What I want to focus on, though, is Frodo's mercy to counterpoint Saruman's spite. Even after his ruthless, underhanded assassination attempt, Frodo spares his life. "He is fallen, and his cure is beyond us; but I would still spare him, in the hope that he may find it." Saruman, however, completely misunderstands Frodo's mercy: "You have grown, Halfling. . . . Yes, you have grown very much. You are wise, and cruel. You have robbed my revenge of sweetness". Saruman is incapable of understanding Frodo's gesture, and his hope. He sees only malice and cruelty in Frodo's response. Perhaps that is the most tragic aspect of all about Saruman's state, there at the end. It tends to belie Frodo's hope and indicate that there really is no turning back for Saruman, once so great and so wise. I think Saruman's fall is more impactful than Sauron's, because of these glimpses that we get of him.

But that's not all! Sam flirting! Pippin threatening a thug with his "troll's bane" sword! Crotchety old hobbits making wisecracks! Poking fun at ridiculous authority figures! Chases, escapes, hobbits using military techniques to outmaneuver ruffians! Wormtongue's final tragic revenge! The chapter has it all. It's a masterwork, and one that lives on in one's memory well after the words are read. I've said it before, but this chapter is an example of why Tolkien's work lives through the ages.

"Homeward Bound" - Ben's Thoughts

Jacob touched on it briefly at the end of his post, but I want to highlight it a bit further: the differences between how the hobbits approach their "adventure," to use a somewhat inapplicable term. Merry says "it seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded." Frodo, however, says "To me it feels more like falling asleep again."

I never realized what that meant growing up. In every single one of my prior reads, I think I glossed over that line as a flippant joke in my hurry to get to the excitement of "Scouring of the Shire," like Frodo was saying that he sure was sleepy and won't it be great to get to a nice warm fireside again. Only this time around have I read that as it's truly meant: his prior life was a dream, and his real life was the adventure.

Of course, for Frodo, the truly heartbreaking thing about his "real life" is that it was full of trauma. The comment about "falling asleep" back into his old life is the second bookend to the chapter opener, where he reveals to Gandalf that "There is no real going back. Though I may come to the Shire, it will not seem the same; for I shall not be the same. I am wounded with knife, sting, and tooth, and a long burden. Where shall I find rest?" His experiences were all to horrifyingly "real" to him, and in the face of that trauma, the seemingly idyllic life of the Shire seems suddenly empty.

Merry and Pippin, and probably to a lesser extent, Sam, are returning to their lives in the Shire. Looking at the later chronologies, Merry and Pippin become civic leaders in their respective ethnic communities, and Sam becomes Mayor of the Shire many times over. Each of them marry and have many children. For them, their adventures were formative experiences, with "wishes come true" (as Sam states) along the way. Frodo, on the other hand, never marries, never has children, never engaged with the community, and swiftly leaves the Shire -- and Middle-earth in its entirety -- behind. He has a choice between a dream and a nightmare. He chooses escape instead.

The other joy of these chapters is revisiting our old stomping grounds to see how the community has reacted to difficult circumstances. In "Prancing Pony" way back in Book I, everyone was bewildered by the strange events and dangerous creatures come among them. Now, everyone's hardened -- Butturbur comes out with a cudgel, for heaven's sake. Hidden depths indeed, but it took hard lessons to get them there. The same will be shown in the following chapter, one of the best in the trilogy. Looking forward to it.

"The Steward and the King" - Eric's Thoughts

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?

"The Field of Cormallen" - Eric's Thoughts

Jacob and Ben came down too harshly on this chapter, in my view. As Ben points out, the chapter is really divided into two chapters.

The first mini chapter involves the forces of good conquering the forces of Sauron and the rescue of the Hobbits. I think Ben and Jacob's criticisms are unfair. The Ring is destroyed. That was the true battle between the forces of good and evil. After all, as Tolkien demonstrated in the last chapter, this actually is not a battle of force. It is a battle of the minds and will (e.g. Sam lifting Frodo, and Frodo being light). It is a battle of small, relatively helpless hobbits versus the might of a powerful empire. It is the battle of everyday folks imposing their will against evil. If Frodo and Sam triumph, Sauron is vanquished. If they fail, then Sauron triumphs. The fate of the little people bearing the Ring determines the fate of Middle Earth.

To dive into an actual battle after the Ring was destroyed, or create guerilla holdouts, would have been inconsistent with these important themes and anti-climatic. Mount Doom elevated Lord of the Rings into the realm of literary. I would argue Tolkien's approach to the forces of evil so suddenly crumbling only builds on that. Tolkien continues to establish through this chapter that the forces are merely an idea--when the idea is destroyed, evil quickly is vanquished. I wholeheartedly agree with Tolkien's approach here. Swords ringing against plate mail would have rang hollow.

(However, I do agree this chapter should have been split into two chapters--the battle and rescue as one chapter, and then the hobbits waking up and finding themselves among old friends as another.)

The second mini chapter involves the king of Gondor kneeling to the hobbits. In my view, contrary to Ben's argument, the second part of chapter is hardly tripe. The hobbits have just literally descended into the bowels of hell and destroyed the root of all evil through both Frodo and Sam's mercy. (Note that the hobbits could not destroy evil by any direct act, but only indirectly--through acts of mercy and kindness.)

This chapter progresses the characters of Frodo and Sam. Who would have thought that the gardener from the Shire would have the most powerful lords of the world kneeling to him, and being praised with great praise? The hobbits deserve their triumph, and I felt pleased that they were awarded such  boons.  This chapter works to help resolve everything. The book could have ended with this chapter, with perhaps just a little more package tying.

What is interesting, though, is that the Return of the King continues for a while yet. This of course goes against classic story structure, where normally after the climax, the story quickly resolves. Instead, Tolkien pulls a strange one and continues the story. We shall see how this unusual structure holds up on the re-read. But, if I remember correctly, at this point we are so invested in this world, and the last few chapters have been so interesting, I am not prepared to leave Middle Earth just yet.

"Mount Doom" - Eric's Thoughts

This chapter IS Lord of the Rings. The whole is greater than the sum. Imagery, character, literal crushing weight. It is a keystone chapter that upholds vast world building by Tolkien. Suddenly everything Tolkien has done wrong seems to work. Not-scary wights in Barrow Downs? World building. Bombadil? Just world building. Feet dragging in Return of the King? World Building.

At this stage, the reader has been through forests, marshes,  mountains, and Elf-Kingdoms. Middle Earth exists, and the reader believes. Tolkien finishes the journey by forcing the hobbits to endure a final march of death:

• As the light grew a little he saw to his surprise that what from a distance had seemed wide and featureless flats were in fact all broken and tumbled. Indeed the whole surface of the plains of Gorgoroth was pocked with great holes, as if, while it was still a waste of soft mud, it had been smitten with a shower of bolts and huge slingstones. The largest of these holes were rimmed with ridges of broken rock, and broad fissures ran out from them in all directions . . . For the hungry and worn, who had far to go before life failed, it had an evil look.

Of course, what would be the external obstacles without internal conflict to match? Tolkien lets the Ring wreck havoc among old friends, foreshadowing Frodo's doom, causing the reader to wonder if Frodo is ready for the final test:

• ‘I can’t manage it, Sam,’ [Frodo] said. ‘It is such a weight to carry, such a weight.’ Sam knew before he spoke, that it was vain, and that such words might do more harm than good, but in his pity he could not keep silent. ‘Then let me carry it a bit for you, Master,’ he said. ‘You know I would, and gladly, as long as I have any strength.’ A wild light came into Frodo’s eyes. ‘Stand away! Don’t touch me!’ he cried. ‘It is mine, I say. Be off!’ His hand strayed to his sword-hilt. But then quickly his voice changed. ‘No, no, Sam,’ he said sadly. ‘But you must understand. It is my burden, and no one else can bear it. It is too late now, Sam dear. You can’t help me in that way again. I am almost in its power now. I could not give it up, and if you tried to take it I should go mad.

• ‘Do you remember that bit of rabbit, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘And our place under the warm bank in Captain Faramir’s country, the day I saw an oliphaunt?’ ‘No, I am afraid not, Sam,’ said Frodo. ‘At least, I know that such things happened, but I cannot see them. No taste of food, no feel of water, no sound of wind, no memory of tree or grass or flower, no image of moon or star are left to me. I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades.’

After addressing internal conflict, Tolkien again pivots back to describing the world and painting images:

• The Mountain crept up ever nearer, until, if they lifted their heavy heads, it filled all their sight, looming vast before them: a huge mass of ash and slag and burned stone, out of which a sheer-sided cone was raised into the clouds. Before the daylong dusk ended and true night came again they had crawled and stumbled to its very feet.

Back and forth, internal to external and back to internal, and the mountain and final test only looms ever closer. Mount doom, of course, is more than just a mountain. It represents an impassable obstacle given the Hobbits' weak strength. Frodo cannot do it. He begins to crawl. And whether Tolkien did it purposefully (or was it chance just like Gollum's slip and fall?), Tolkien captures something absolutely brilliant when Sam picks up Frodo and carries him up the mountain:

• As Frodo clung upon his back, arms loosely about his neck, legs clasped firmly under his arms, Sam staggered to his feet; and then to his amazement he felt the burden light. He had feared that he would have barely strength to lift his master alone, and beyond that he had expected to share in the dreadful dragging weight of the accursed Ring. But it was not so. Whether because Frodo was so worn by his long pains, wound of knife, and venomous sting, and sorrow, fear, and homeless wandering, or because some gift of final strength was given to him, Sam lifted Frodo with no more difficulty than if he were carrying a hobbit-child pig-a-back in some romp on the lawns or hayfields of the Shire. He took a deep breath and started off.

To Frodo, the Ring's burden is crushing. But to Sam, the Ring weighs absolutely nothing. Tolkien shows that the Ring is merely a psychological burden; it exists solely in the mind of the wearer. Tolkien does not advertise this fact, however. He almost addresses it in passing. Mount Doom (the chapter) is epic in scope but also contains subtleties even the most astute reader might miss given the chapter's page-turning nature.

The strangeness and other-worldliness of the chapter compounds. Gollum attacks, and the attack lights a fire under what life remains in Frodo.  Frodo commands Gollum to be gone, and Sam takes a more practical view: 'Look out!' cried Sam. 'He'll Spring!'

Frodo looked at [Sam], as if at one now far away. 'Yes, I must go on,' he said. 'Farewell, Sam! This is the end at last. On Mount Doom doom shall fall. Farewell!'

(Frodo's comments are to say the least . . . ominous.)

Gollum is defeated and instead of fighting back, curls into a ball. Suddenly Sam then sees "Gollum's shrivelled mind and body, enslaved to that Ring, unable to find peace of relief ever in life again." Sam forgives Gollum and turns to join Frodo at the summit.

What does Sam find? The light of Galadriel fails, and walls on either side cloven by a great fissure , out of which the red glare came, now leaping up, now dying down into darkenss; and all the while far below there was a rumour and a trouble as of great engines throbbing and labouring.

The light springs up, and there on the brink of the chasm, at the very Crack of Doom, stood Frodo, black against the glare, tense, erect, but still as if he had been turned to stone.

And in one of the creepiest moments in all of literature, Frodo claims the Ring:

• ‘I have come,’ he said. ‘But I do not choose now to do what I came to do. I will not do this deed. The Ring is mine!’

Frodo attacks Sam and knocks Sam out cold. Sometime later, Sam awakes to find Gollum battling an invisible thing:

• Suddenly Sam saw Gollum’s long hands draw upwards to his mouth; his white fangs gleamed, and then snapped as they bit. Frodo gave a cry, and there he was, fallen upon his knees at the chasm’s edge. But Gollum, dancing like a mad thing, held aloft the ring, a finger still thrust within its circle. It shone now as if verily it was wrought of living fire.

Of course, we all know what happens. Gollum slips, and with that single unlucky slip Sauron's entire empire collapses.

What to make of this chapter? Has Tolkien dragged the reader through page after page, chapter after chapter, only to reveal that no one is capable of this task? That good conquers evil only as a matter of chance?

Frodo the mild-mannered hobbit is not the first to try this. All of this could have been prevented if Isildur had thrown the Ring into the fires in the first instance, but he could not. Frodo similarly could not. Tolkien suggests that no one has the power to throw the Ring away and destroy it. But then, just maybe, if Frodo had not undergone his long journey and transformation, might if he stepped into Isildur's shoes been capable of destroying it? Could Sam have had the strength to do it if he took it forcefully from Frodo?

The answer from the clues of the text is plainly no, but still the reader is left wondering. Would I have been able to? Would you?

"The Land of Shadow" - Eric's Thoughts

The hobbits are nearing the end of their journey. And before they can, they face the one of the most difficult obstacles yet -- the terrain.

There are many different types of villains in stories: criminals, corrupted allies, bullies, beasts, dark lords . . . but one of the biggest antagonists in Lord of the Rings is the terrain.

The terrain is rightfully the largest antagonist in this chapter, and in actuality is the driving antagonist of the entire book. Tolkien uses geography to great effect. The hobbits fall into a bed of sharp thorns, battle against the absence of water, and find themselves circling around trying to find a way through. The clock ticks, as supplies and strength begin to fail. Tolkien takes his time as well with this chapter -- the hobbits run out of water at least twice and repeatedly guess they have at least 40 miles to go to Mount Doom. I shudder at the thought of 40 miles, which would take at least 3-4 days of hiking in normal conditions, a clear path, and plenty of supplies.

But Mordor hiking is not normal conditions. I distinctly recall hiking Navajo Knob in Capital Reef with my fellow bloggers, having run out of water and skipped lunch, and endless passes around outjetting ledges, up and down. Although we had not properly prepared for that hike, we knew a car was awaiting us when we were done.

Frodo and Sam have it far worse, with Orcs chasing after them and that sneak Gollum on the hunt. As Ben and Jacob rightly point out, this chapter is heavy on plot and light on theme, but the chapter is essential. It's the only time really spent in Mordor, and Tolkien paints the world -- through how nothing seems to grow and when it does its hideous, to the brief encounter as to how one orc kills another for threatening to tattle tale to the Nazgul.

"The Tower of Cirith Ungol" - Eric's Thoughts

Am I reading the same book? It's as if going back to the hobbits gave Tolkien a second wind and jolted the novel with coffee + Red-Bull + methamphetamine. Tolkien takes the momentum from the last chapter and builds on it. Sam storms the castle, sings a magical song, a way is revealed, and up the stairs he goes to save Frodo.

When Frodo is finally reunited with Sam, the wine flows right? Wrong! Frodo recognizes the quest has failed, because, as Frodo explains, they took everything. Everything!

Not everything, Sam replies excitedly. We have the ring after all, Mr. Frodo!

Is Frodo excited about Sam's revelation? (Maybe a thank you Sam for saving it (and me) is in order?  How about just a simple "Nice job, man"?)

Nope. In return for Sam's valiant efforts, Frodo calls Sam a thief and demands the return of the ring. But Sam is reluctant. Not out of anger at Mr. Frodo. Not because of a desire to claim the ring for his own. But because he purportedly felt that he did not want to burden Frodo with it again.

The ambiguity of Sam's reluctance to return the ring is a powerful moment in the story. What is going on here? Would Sam have been a better Ring-bearer? Or is the Ring toying with Sam? (As the reader knows, Gandalf himself admitted he would wield the ring out of a desire to do good, but the Ring inevitably would corrupt him.) Probably the latter. You see Sam being seduced like everyone else; the Ring is merely playing off of Sam's penchant for helping others. Sam just can't see it. We can. Brilliant.

Of course, what would a chapter be without watchers at the Gate? Now that the mini-quest is done, the hobbits have to escape with their boon. With a little bit of elf-mumbo-jumbo, out they go. After all, we've got to make use of that magical artifact provided by Galadriel somehow, right?

There's more going on here than just on the surface. Tolkien makes his language carry weight thematically and in terms of plot. I'll give two examples. First, Frodo has achieved death and rebirth within the hero's journey. At this point, the reader has watched Frodo die and become reborn . According to Campbell, the reader should now completely relate to Frodo and identify with him. (Perhaps there's something to that theory after all, as I certainly feel sympathy for what Frodo has been through and continue to root for him.) However, as an interesting twist, Frodo's death and rebirth does not result in a Christ-like or other demi-god hero. Instead, Frodo is even worse off. In fact, this scene foreshadows Frodo's transformation into a mini-villain. We take this for granted now, of course, but Tolkien's novel capturing the slow descent of Frodo into villain-dom is masterful.

Second, the mithril coat deserves honorable mention. In the previous scene, the Mouth of Sauron shows that the free world's position is truly hopeless. The orc's escape with the mithril coat adds a nice tie-up to that particular sub-plot, showing that the alliance is not necessarily fighting in vain. It's up to Frodo and Sam now. Can they do it? We shall see.

"Many Partings" - Ben's Thoughts

I love this chapter. It feels so very true-to-life, and fills me with real emotion. We've all had events, or periods of time in our lives, that are particularly vivid; particularly meaningful; or are filled with particularly important relationships. Moving on to the next stage of life is always so bittersweet. That's the emotion that this chapter conveys. The hobbits have undergone such difficult but rewarding experiences that to leave that behind is not easy. Sam doesn't really wish to go back to Lorien -- but he does want to relive or perhaps just re-experience, just for a moment, the feelings that he had while he was there in "Fellowship." You can never truly return to prior states of being. But the memories remain so potent, the emotions so real, that you wish it so. Nostalgia is one of the most powerful emotions, in my opinion -- often more powerful than fear, anger, or even love.

And of course, this is when "Return of the King" kicks into high gear with that theme of beginnings, endings, loss, and change. The book always was one of "dying magic"; the Elves passing across the Sea and leaving Middle-earth to Sauron and Men has always been in the background, but here it's incredibly foregrounded. Jacob is left cold by Tolkien's lack of explanation -- he seeks for meaning behind it all. But I think it's fairly true to life that everything remains kind of vague and formless. Isn't that how it works for us? The beginnings and endings in our lives are often meaningless, or imposed by factors outside our control, sometimes with very little explanation or warning.

Nevertheless, I will try to impose some sense to it all, given my knowledge of Tolkien's legendarium. The Elves were the first race of sentient beings to awaken in Middle-earth, many ages ago. They lived through Ages of Earth without sun or moon; they were the "children of the stars" that traveled to Valinor, Tolkien's version of heaven where the Vala (gods) dwelt, long ago. Many Elves -- including many we encounter in The Hobbit and LOTR (such as the Elvenking of the wood-Elves, Legolas, and most of the people of Mirkwood and Lorien) -- never traveled to Valinor and chose instead to remain in Middle-earth. Those who did and returned are the "High" Elves, who beheld the light of the Valar in ages past or are their descendants (Galadriel, Cirdan, Elrond).

But the Elves' time in LOTR was coming to an end. With the creation of the sun in the First Age of the world came the awakening of Men, who spread to fill the earth. Some Men were friendly with the Elves; many were not (see even the Rohirrim's fear of the people of the Wood), but they were all destined to become the inheritors of Middle-earth; no longer subservient or lesser than the Elves but in fact the lords of the earth. The Elves' magic (read: power, ability, ties to each other and the physical world) was naturally fading. One concrete reason for this change (something more physical, perhaps, than the vague explanation that it was just "their time") was the fact that Valinor, or heaven, the home of the gods, was physically removed from the sphere of the Earth. Only those granted a boon from the Valar could now come to Valinor. In that sense, Jacob's question about whether the Elves are actually ascending to another sphere of existence is in fact correct.

Into this cycle of change and transfer of power comes the Three Rings. Sauron was the one who introduced the Elves to ringlore, in the Second Age, before they realized his true nature as a servant of Morgoth. The purpose of the Three Rings, reading between the lines, was to heal, preserve, and inspire the Elves, despite their waning power and influence. Imagine a race confronted with the fact that your very presence in the only world or home you ever knew was becoming obsolete. (This sounds very much like growing old and seeing your children and grandchildren growing past and away from you, a similarity that I think is no coincidence.) The power of the Three Rings was to stave off the mass depression that was leaching into the Elvish people.

Of course, since Sauron was the mastermind of ringlore, we can perceive the innate selfishness (justifiable, perhaps, but selfishness nonetheless) of the Three Rings. When it is time, it is time; trying to preserve what is lost does not help anyone. But then Sauron made the One Ring, which we are told was the Master Ring, with some kind of power over even the Three that Sauron never personally touched. The power of the Three was turned from preserving the power of the Elves towards fighting the Enemy. It makes sense that when he was defeated, the purpose of the Three was utterly spent. Neither could they be used to prolong the power of the Elves when the Fourth Age was come and the ascendance of Men was cemented.

In the end, of course, Jacob is correct -- all the guff about the Rings is just some fairly transparent trimming to the story. While it's fun to learn in "Grey Havens" that Gandalf had one of the Three, the whole time we knew him, it doesn't really add anything to what came before. I am a firm believer, however, in the themes that Tolkien is espousing -- cycles, passing the torch, and fading with dignity. Bilbo is the exemplar of this cycle: retaining his humor, wit, and interest in friends and family while formally and informally passing the torch to the next generation (symbolic in the gifts he gives the hobbits). There is a warmth and dignity to those final sections of the chapter that I hope we can all achieve in our life when we confront change, loss, and the ultimate passing.

"The Steward and the King" - Ben's Thoughts

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.

"The Black Gate Opens" - Eric's Thoughts

So far, The Black Gate Opens is the best structured chapter in the Return of the King as of yet. Between Minis Tirith and the close of this portion of the story, it probably is the best chapter.

I find little to critique here. The writing is solid. The objective is clear: go to the black gate to distract Sauron -- and die in the attempt. The setting also plays an evocative role in developing the characters. Aragon's rag-tag army become increasing disturbed by what is around them.The reader stays with the characters and eagerly turns the page to see where this is going. After all, what good is a futile assault on Mordor with fewer than 6,000 soldiers? There are high schools that are bigger than that.

The soldiers dragging their feet to their doom would have been a solid chapter in itself. Tolkien goes further and executes well. A lesser writer would have launched into some kind of battle scene immediately when the troops reached the black gate. Not Tolkien. Tolkien shifts viewpoints as he so often does, and notes that Sauron wanted to toy with the army first before crushing it. While this hubris is so frustrating in the Hollywood structure of Bond villains (why not just shoot James Bond?), it really works here. Sauron doesn't just want to win; he wants to gloat about it.

So how does Sauron gloat, as he is more an idea than a form? Enter one of the best villains in the story--better than any Ringwraith or two-bit orc. The Mouth of Sauron. This foul-mouthed cretin wants to rule over all the West, which is clear when the Mouth describes the terms of surrender. Gandalf wisely points out what guarantees does one have when bargaining with the master of treachery, and the Mouth responds honestly that there are no guarantees at all. So much for bargaining. Of course, Sauron didn't want a bargain. He just wanted to taunt. Both sides know this.

So well done is this scene, that Tolkien even uses this scene to ratchet up the tension offstage. As far as the reader knows, Frodo has been taken alive by the enemy and tortured. The Mouth reveals the tokens of Frodo and Sam -- e.g. the mithril coat -- showing that the hobbits have been captured by the enemy.

So much for Gandalf's gambit. The heroes suddenly realize that their last throw of the dice is for naught. Frodo has been taken and is being tortured, and Sauron has the One Ring. At this moment, the title of the chapter, The Black Gate Opens, reveals more than tides of endless orcs. The Black Gate opens to reveal indisputable evidence, from the Mouth of Sauron, that all truly is lost. The heroes of the light rally and fight anyway.

Masterful.

"The Field of Cormallen" - Ben's Thoughts

This chapter always occupies an awkward place, because it contains both the conclusion of the climax and the beginning of the denouement. The smashed-together feel of the chapter does not serve it well, in my opinion.

I wish I could offer Tolkien a better alternative. I feel like the stinger at the end of "Mount Doom" ("Here we are at the end of all things, Sam") is such an evocative closing line that I hesitate to make a recommendation that it should just be turned into a mere line prior to a section break. A different writer might have turned the four paragraphs of the Eagles and Gandalf saving the hobbits into a larger section; indeed, perhaps an entire chapter in and of itself. Such a theoretical chapter could have involved a more complete description of the battle before the Black Gate from Gandalf or Aragorn's perspectives -- or even from Legolas or Gimli's, since the text is so intent on separating itself from Gandalf or Aragorn's personal thoughts (the better to keep them as heroic savior figures, I suppose). The section could have heightened the tension that the reader has felt since the end of Book V, the question of "so what?" The Ring is destroyed, but what does that mean for the characters we know and love? Did Pippin survive, did the forces of the West triumph?

The trouble is, as Jacob pointed out in his comments, that Tolkien doesn't seem to care much about getting Frodo and Sam from point A to point B; it's all just rushed along without much thought or energy spent on the journey. I do find myself wishing we got a little more insight into what hold, exactly, Sauron had over his minions (especially since we had fairly complex insights into the lives and opinions of the orcs in the preceding chapters), and how exactly his end affected them and their involvement in the war. How it's resolved is all very hand-wavey and convenient.

As for the rest of the chapter, it's just tripe. Pure sugar. Even at my height of Lord of the Rings awe, I rolled my eyes at the bard trotting out with his lute or whatever like a character in the animated Disney "Robin Hood" movie and singing about Frodo's mystical journey or whatever. C'mon. A war just ended. Probably thousands of people lost their lives at the battle before the Black Gate, and Frodo just got his finger bitten off. It's still too raw to sing about it like it was a long-ago tale. And the way the Fellowship is reunited, especially with Merry and Pippin being all like, "Naw, ya'll, we so important now" is just ludicrous. This is a meeting that shouldn't be as joyful as Tolkien tries to make it out to be. So to conclude: not a good chapter. And the last part is unadulterated tripe.