"The Passage of the Marshes" - Ben's Thoughts

The almost plodding pace of Book IV always managed to capture my attention more than the ebbs and flows of Book III, and this chapter is an example why. Tolkien slowly describes the magnitude of the forces arrayed against the hobbits in their journey to Mordor, and at the same time, makes it clear that they have no idea what they are doing. The tension builds, and builds, and by the time we have Black Riders soaring overhead on leathery wings and Smeagol/Gollum on the ground, plotting against the duo, the reader is on the edge of his seat. Not to mention the soul-crushing struggle Frodo is engaged in on a constant basis over mastery of the Ring; the marshes and their environmental threat; and the simple fact that quite aside from being caught, killed, or tortured by the forces of Sauron (and therein dooming the entire world), the duo may not have enough food to even reach the mountain, let alone return back from it. The stakes seem incredibly high; far higher than those present with Aragorn & Co. Their conflicts are almost laughable in comparison.

Eric and Jacob both highlighted the fascinating Gollum section, which leaves the reader wondering just who "She" might be (and shaking their heads as Sam, who immediately dismisses the question out of hand). But what grabbed me this time around was the description of Frodo's struggle with the Ring. It's been years and years since I read LOTR last, and since that last time I've had heaps and heaps of personal responsibility heaped upon me in my own life. Not that I think that's necessarily comparable to dual malevolent forces struggling for dominance of your soul, but I would say that I think most of us can understand ongoing situations of continual stress and pressure, whether from jobs, family members, education, you name it. Frodo's day is one of continual concentration; continual defense against the assault on his will and spirit, both externally from "the Eye" and quasi-internally from "the Ring". The reader practically rejoices when Frodo, at the end of the chapter, wakes to find his burden made lighter, just for a time, by the "fair vision" he enjoyed while dreaming, and the rest he was able to capture.

Finally, I also appreciate the sense of history that Tolkien invests the chapter with. Frodo and Sam are trudging through the battle plain where Sauron was defeated by the combined armies of Men and Elves 3000 years previously, where ultimately Sauron's physical form was destroyed and the Ring was seized by Isildur. There certainly is some circular symbolism here: the Ring is returning to the place where it was seized and created. What is depressing is that the corpses have no affiliation, once dead -- the Elves and Orcs, both at once, are "all foul, all rotting, all dead. A fell light is in them." Their struggle, their battle, is forgotton; they are just present, as shades or figures, with less power than even the Barrow-wights encountered in Book 1. A grim contrast to the honor heaped upon the dead after the battles by the Rohirrim in the last book. Tolkien provides this counterpoint, I think, to once again highlight the fact that war, in and of itself, brings no joy, creates no life; it only ends it.

I'm back! I'm going to try to catch up to you guys by writing one post every day this week. We'll see if we can get back on schedule with the posts.

"The Window on the West" - Jacob's Thoughts

"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory." (pg. 355).

Faramir at this moment becomes I think a mouth-piece for Tolkien's own attitudes towards war; it feels a companion piece to the contemporaneous "Helm's Deep," which, as we previously discussed, likewise considers war to be an inglorious slog, no matter how just the cause.  "Helm's Deep" shows it, while "The Window of the West" is the commentary, it seems.  Tolkien seems intent on ensuring that his fellow Englishmen do not learn the wrong lessons from WWII.

Yet overall, this chapter overall feels an odd one to parse; in terms of modes for providing info-dumps and back-story, I can think of worse vehicles than an interrogation of world-weary Frodo by enigmatic Faramir (already one of the most likable, intriguing, and fleshed-out new characters we've met in awhile).  Really, the verbal chess match between Frodo and Faramir, two fundamentally decent men who nonetheless have strong reason to distrust each other, is the highlight of the chapter; theirs is an oddly noble form of conversational combat, such that when Frodo ultimately loses thanks to Samwise running is big fat mouth off about Boromir and the One Ring at the end, it still doesn't feel quite like a defeat.  Quite the contrary, it appears to seal the bond between the two men.

It would seem that Frodo has at last, however briefly, found a kindred spirit who can, in his way, understand what it means to resist the awful temptation of the Ring as he, and that is no small thing (no offense to Sam, but he feels the perennial outsider looking in with all things Ring related; he can love and serve Frodo, but that is not the same as understanding him).   It appears that it takes a genuine love of freedom and people, along with a real abhorrence for war and destruction, to refuse the power that the Ring represents.

Nevertheless, so much of what Frodo and Faramir discuss here are things that we've already read ourselves just a short while ago.  All this needless rehashing and review was a problem that plagued Book III as well, what with characters recounting the time they last recounted things that they already recounted about, in an irritatingly recursive fashion.  This chapter could've definitely used a pruning.

As for locus of their conversation, Boromir: once again, the son of Denethor is more interesting in death than he ever was in life.  A cipher much like most the Fellowship throughout Book II, we get a much fuller feel for the complexity of the man in Frodo and Faramir's eulogies and note-swapping, than we ever got when he was still walking amongst the living.  It would appear that I was wrong to assume that Tolkien was in a rush to push Boromir off the stage at the start of Two Towers; it wasn't that Tolkien didn't particularly feel like eulogizing him, but rather that Tolkien knew that Boromir would be back, and what's more, would be even more influential dead than alive.

"The Black Gate is Closed" - Eric's Thoughts

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.

"Of Herbs and Stewed Rabbit" - Jacob's Thoughts

I don't have nearly as much insight to provide into this chapter, in no small part because the chapter doesn't provide me much to reflect upon.  It is primarily a table-setting chapter, one that sets us up the chess-board for the next round of chapters.  We can sense that the tension is starting to brew warmer between Sam and Gollum, what with Sam's casual abuse of the poor creature he still doesn't trust, as well as Sam's blithe disregard for Gollum's warning that starting a cooking fire will draw unwanted attention--which of course is exactly what Sam does.  Goodness, Sam, you don't have to like Gollum, but could you at least listen to him once in awhile?!  He hasn't made nearly as many unforced errors as you ridiculous Hobbits have.

Really, Sam is incredibly lucky that it was Men whom his cooking-fire attracted to their position--it could have easily been orcs, and then it's game-over for our heroes.  So, Sam and Frodo are OK for now, but they have now been cut off from their guide Gollum, and though my memories of Book IV are hazy, I can already tell that this apparent abandonment and betrayal of the poor wretch, however unintentional, will have serious ramifications for their relationship, and sets up a fiercer showdown to come between Sam and Gollum.

But again, this is all in the future; for now, all that really happens of note is Frodo and Sam have been put in the path of Faramir, which also portends bigger things--as is shown (a little on the nose, if you ask me), by Sam's much-wished-for Oliphaunt rampaging through the forest right by them.

One final note on Frodo's sudden embrace of honesty-is-the-best-policy when he gives his full biographical data to Faramir: is this a sign of Frodo's growing maturity (the whole "Mr. Underhill" schtick went over so poorly at the Prancing Pony that he figured the truth would be less clumsy this time 'round), or a sign of his growing pessimism and resignation in this quest, such that he scarcely bothers to disguise himself anymore, for what does it matter?

"The Passage of the Marshes" - Eric's Thoughts

This chapter is about Gollum, and it's about the terrain. As the hobbits approach their goal, they cross through the land of the dead. As The Hobbit explains, out of the frying pan, into the fire. As they exit the land of the dead, they cross into poisonous pits--and eventually at the gates of Mordor itself.

Similarly, as the terrain grows more treacherous, so does their host Gollum. The reader learns that Gollum intends to serve the precious, but also will not allow it to fall into His hands again. Gollum is experiencing what literary critics call "internal conflict." That means, by the way, that Gollum feels conflicting emotions.

So, our little helpful guide through the marshes turns out to not necessarily be a reformed angel at all. Not that the reader is surprised by this. Tolkien ups the suspense by making it ambiguous whom Gollum serves. Does Gollum serve Frodo? Hardly likely. But at the same time,  the conflict itself makes Gollum sympathetic, because the reader understands that part of Gollum wants to help Frodo. The reader wants Gollum to triumph over his lust, and even hoping, knows that tragedy is the only outcome.

As Jacob right points out, the characters of Sam and Frodo tease out this internal tension within Gollum. Just as Gollum is evil, so he is good. For now, the good in Gollum has sway over the evil. Just by a hair. Frodo sees the good within Gollum. Sam sees only the bad.

Sam is right, of course. But Frodo's mercy is what allows evil to undo itself. Gollum is the product of the Ring--and is ultimately what destroys the Ring.

"The Black Gate Is Closed" - Jacob's Thoughts

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.

"The Taming of Sméagol" - Ben's Thoughts

Jacob delved deeply into some Gollum-y psychoanalysis; I'll stick to commenting on the beauty and depth of this chapter. It's very refreshing to return to Frodo and Sam. I feel like Tolkien, as well, must have breathed a sigh of relief when he wrote about the Hobbits. Frodo and Sam are written with neither the goofy joviality of Merry and Pippin, nor the almost bombastic epic style of Gandalf and Aragorn. Instead, the prose here is calm and down-to-earth, almost jarringly anachronistic thanks to Sam's vernacular (probably the weakest part of these chapters, in my opinion), and manages to delve deeply into the minds of both Frodo and Sam to the benefit of the reader. Notably, we do stay out of Gollum's mind; Tolkien does provide sharp descriptions of Gollum's mannerisms and even facial expressions that provide clues about his thoughts and feelings, but Tolkien chooses not to express his point of view at this point. A wise decision, in my opinion, but we will get to dig inside Gollum's mind in later chapters.

First a few words on the beauty of this chapter. When I was a kid I think I rushed through the early sections to get to the plot-advancing confrontation between Gollum and the hobbits. However, I did myself a disservice through skimming because I missed some of the most beautiful description Tolkien has provided to date. The way he describes the storm, for example, is simply stunning:

"The skirts of the storm were lifting, ragged and wet, and the main battle had passed to spread its great wings over the Emyn Muil; upon which the dark thought of Sauron brooded for a while. Thence it turned, smiting the Vale of Anduin with hail and lightning, and casting its shadow upon Minas Tirith with threat of war. Then, lowering in the mountains, and gathering its great spires, it rolled on slowly over Gondor and the skirts of Rohan, until far away the Riders on the plain saw its black towers moving behind the sun, as they rode into the West. But here, over the desert and the reeking marshes the deep blue sky of evening opened once more, and a few pallid stars appeared, like small white holes in the canopy above the crescent moon."

I felt compelled to quote the whole passage because it does so much: it provides a sense of location for the reader, while reminding them of the struggle of the other characters taking place elsewhere, while orienting the reader as to the exact time of the present setting (because we have gone back in time some weeks from where we left Gandalf and Pippin), while reminding the reader of the ever-present danger of Sauron, while being just a lovely passage in and of iself, chock full of imagery and metaphor. The Professor's done it again, students.

Just a few thoughts on the plot: Frodo is really trusting in the power of the Ring to bind Gollum to his promise at the end of the chapter. This seems... unwise, especially since he himself acknowledges how dangerous touching one's life to the Ring can be: "It is more treacherous than you are. It may twist your words. Beware!" This seems to be another clue that by declaring himself the Master of the Precious, Frodo is already far deeper under its sway than the reader can outwardly discern. Frodo when weilding the power of the Ring is nowhere close to where Gandalf or Sauron himself would be if he claimed it, but still is an imposing figure: "A tall stern shadow, a mighty lord who hid his brightness in grey cloud."

Finally, it's interesting to note the parallels, as Jacob has done already to some extent, between our trio. Each share notable characteristics. Gollum and Frodo are both, as Jacob noted, affected by the power of the Ring and have a connection that Sam cannot fathom therein. Frodo and Sam are linked by friendship and their roots in the Shire, although here Tolkien's notions of class and gentry come back to the forefront with the clear superior-subservient relationship between "Mr. Frodo" and Sam (remember, Frodo is gentry and Sam is working-class -- although it is worthwhile to remember that Sam, while older than Merry and Pippin, is younger than Frodo by something like twenty years). And finally, Sam and Gollum share Frodo as their master, superior, and leader, and one must wonder whether Sam's animosity towards Gollum stems in part from the sense that the two have an unseen connection that he will never share.

Love Book IV and these chapters. Looking forward to the rest.