I was initially excited for this chapter--battle, siege, battering-rams, thunder, lightning, cavalry charges, orcs and slaughter--what's not to like? In practice, however, Helm's Deep, like warfare in general, was kind of a slog to get through. I often had difficulty following the action. I don't necessarily mean that as a knock against it; having recently survived the Battle of Britain and the Nazi siege of England, I doubt Tolkien had a romantic bone in his body concerning war.
Here, all is confusion, chaos, darkness, doubt, and death. Yes, there is that friendly competition between Legolas and Gimli in how many orcs they can slay, but frankly their little rivalry smacks less of heroic gallantry than of the gallows humor soldiers must develop to keep their sanity. And yes, we also have Aragorn's grand-standing speechifying before the hosts of the Uruk-hai; but in that moment Aragorn draws his nobility from his defiance in the face of the senseless carnage, not from any intrinsic virtue in participating in it.
And yes, the battle does in fact end in a resounding, unambiguous victory for the good guys, the first we've encountered throughout this series, as the Riders of Rohan ride out gallantly at dawn and Gandalf arrives just in the nick of time with reinforcements. But what of that? America also entered the war at last and helped England defeat the Nazis once and for all--all of which did not make the whole ordeal any less traumatizing, destructive, or wasteful.
Even the absolute best case result of any battle, Tolkien seems to imply, is still a slog of madness and death. The relief at the end of the chapter is derived not just from the defeat of the orcs, but from the fact that war itself has paused. Because for all our bloviating about the duty and glory of warfare and supporting the troops, no soldier in actual combat spends more than 5 minutes in battle without wishing they were literally anywhere else.
Friday, May 29, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
"Treebeard" - Eric's Thoughts
Treebeard, ironically, is (at this point) one of the best developed characters in the story. Here, Tolkien manages to do in one chapter what he has failed to do so far in the entire series -- create an interesting and human character. This is ironic because Treebeard is, in fact, not human. Unsurprisingly, he is a tree.
Every other character besides Treebeard simply lacks the passion, humanity, and--most importantly--the force of Treebeard. Other than Treebeard, characters in this story are simply reacting to events rather than making choices that drive the plot. This is what's putting a drag on everything. Aragon is merely chasing after the Hobbits (reacting), and spouting off a kingly speech now and then (reacting), and (in the next chapter) fulfilling a promise to Eomer (reacting). Gandalf is just Gandalf -- enigmatic, powerful, funny, and trying to avoid a mountain storm (reacting), dodge the tentacles of a water beast (reacting), and survive the attack of a Balrog (reacting). Little needs to be said about Gimli (reacting), Legolas (reacting), Pippin (reacting), Merry (reacting), and Sam (reacting), who are all caricatures. Frodo, the only character to yet make a choice of any impact (I will take the ring!), has disappeared from the action (and regardless he mostly does what he is told anyway, i.e. reacting). What I am trying to say is that reacting characters are boring, and characters that make choices and decide to wreak havoc are interesting. (À la, Treebeard.)
Also, all of these characters lack the passion and sorrow of Treebeard. Indeed, the saddest story so far--and the most relatable--is that of the lost Ent Wives. Certainly we would all be as devastated as Treebeard in a world without the company of women or hope of reproduction.
And when the Treebeard gets pissed off (pardon my French), and convinces the other Ents that they should be mad too, you can feel the weight of their footsteps as the Ents march to war. It doesn't take an English degree to know that the Ents are about to do some serious damage to Isengard. This gets me excited and makes me want to read on, as I assume it does for other readers. In contrast, listening the other characters talk about the end of the world, the conversation is so commonplace you'd think they were discussing having ham and eggs for breakfast.
So while this chapter is initially slow, yes, I also find it to be the most compelling and best written chapter in LOTR so far.
Every other character besides Treebeard simply lacks the passion, humanity, and--most importantly--the force of Treebeard. Other than Treebeard, characters in this story are simply reacting to events rather than making choices that drive the plot. This is what's putting a drag on everything. Aragon is merely chasing after the Hobbits (reacting), and spouting off a kingly speech now and then (reacting), and (in the next chapter) fulfilling a promise to Eomer (reacting). Gandalf is just Gandalf -- enigmatic, powerful, funny, and trying to avoid a mountain storm (reacting), dodge the tentacles of a water beast (reacting), and survive the attack of a Balrog (reacting). Little needs to be said about Gimli (reacting), Legolas (reacting), Pippin (reacting), Merry (reacting), and Sam (reacting), who are all caricatures. Frodo, the only character to yet make a choice of any impact (I will take the ring!), has disappeared from the action (and regardless he mostly does what he is told anyway, i.e. reacting). What I am trying to say is that reacting characters are boring, and characters that make choices and decide to wreak havoc are interesting. (À la, Treebeard.)
Also, all of these characters lack the passion and sorrow of Treebeard. Indeed, the saddest story so far--and the most relatable--is that of the lost Ent Wives. Certainly we would all be as devastated as Treebeard in a world without the company of women or hope of reproduction.
And when the Treebeard gets pissed off (pardon my French), and convinces the other Ents that they should be mad too, you can feel the weight of their footsteps as the Ents march to war. It doesn't take an English degree to know that the Ents are about to do some serious damage to Isengard. This gets me excited and makes me want to read on, as I assume it does for other readers. In contrast, listening the other characters talk about the end of the world, the conversation is so commonplace you'd think they were discussing having ham and eggs for breakfast.
So while this chapter is initially slow, yes, I also find it to be the most compelling and best written chapter in LOTR so far.
Saturday, May 16, 2015
"The Uruk-Hai" - Eric's Thoughts
Ben and Jacob already covered my thoughts on this chapter pretty well. I have to say we seem to be on the same page.
I personally found fascinating the orc-salve that is used to heal Merry and Pippin, and the liquor they feed them that burns them inside but gives them vigor. That part came alive for me--for a moment I was Pippin, and imagined what it would be like to be imbued with harsh healing methods.
Certainly, it is a well-tried trope that evil characters are always trying to screw one another behind the scenes, and that they are only loyale insofar they can increase their own power, and your superior is useful, etc. I laughed at the capitalism example by Ben
In a way, you almost feel more sorry for the orcs than Pippin. Especially if you're at the top. Not only do you have cruel masters above you that will kill you and make an example out of you if they so much as think you've stepped out of line, but you also have alpha-wolf contests with your inferiors and have to constantly kill to stay alive. Indeed, the orcs are very much like a pack of dogs, where the alpha dog constantly is challenged, and one sign of weakness or an unlucky wound, and you'll be tomorrow's dinner. They certainly eat like dogs--foul food that Pippin and Merry won't touch. It's not good to be an orc -- you certainly won't be appreciated for who you are.
I think I can add a little backstory that might be helpful, here. We find out through blizzard entertainment that the orcs are a noble species, and that they were merely corrupted by a bunch of demons. Some literary scholar really ought to look into it, and they could figure out where the orcs really came from, and why it's a such a difficult life being an orc, and why the orcs were a noble species and got so corrupted. PhD dissertation, anyone?
I personally found fascinating the orc-salve that is used to heal Merry and Pippin, and the liquor they feed them that burns them inside but gives them vigor. That part came alive for me--for a moment I was Pippin, and imagined what it would be like to be imbued with harsh healing methods.
Certainly, it is a well-tried trope that evil characters are always trying to screw one another behind the scenes, and that they are only loyale insofar they can increase their own power, and your superior is useful, etc. I laughed at the capitalism example by Ben
In a way, you almost feel more sorry for the orcs than Pippin. Especially if you're at the top. Not only do you have cruel masters above you that will kill you and make an example out of you if they so much as think you've stepped out of line, but you also have alpha-wolf contests with your inferiors and have to constantly kill to stay alive. Indeed, the orcs are very much like a pack of dogs, where the alpha dog constantly is challenged, and one sign of weakness or an unlucky wound, and you'll be tomorrow's dinner. They certainly eat like dogs--foul food that Pippin and Merry won't touch. It's not good to be an orc -- you certainly won't be appreciated for who you are.
I think I can add a little backstory that might be helpful, here. We find out through blizzard entertainment that the orcs are a noble species, and that they were merely corrupted by a bunch of demons. Some literary scholar really ought to look into it, and they could figure out where the orcs really came from, and why it's a such a difficult life being an orc, and why the orcs were a noble species and got so corrupted. PhD dissertation, anyone?
Friday, May 15, 2015
"The King of the Golden Hall" - Jacob's Thoughts
I'm of two minds about the "exorcism" of King Theoden by Gandalf.
In the Peter Jackson film version, Theoden is quite obviously under Saruman's spell by means of the nefarious Wormtongue, which influence Gandalf magically expels with his staff while his compatriots battle the guards empty-handed.
This of course is not how it goes down in the book.
But weirdly, it is the book that actually features the more cinematic scene, what with Gandalf revealing his white-robes and glowing in the dark and blackening the skylights and summoning thunder and striking down Wormtongue in a sudden flash of righteous lightning!
Yet I also understand why Jackson opted for the less "cinematic", sturm und drang climax to this scene, because, quite frankly...what just happened? How did striking Wormtongue with lightning free the king, exactly? I understand that Tolkien here was making some sort of commentary about all those smooth-tongued operators in our lives who play on our fears and vanities to manipulate us, but how does a literal flash-in-the-pan light-show and a little fresh air undo (what sounds like) literal years of rhetorical connivings? (For crying out loud, the man had been talked into imprisoning his own nephew!).
Far more believable is the idea that Theoden was under an actual spell--and not just a spell of flattering words--which Gandalf liberates him from. In my experience, most folks don't just give up everything they've been told over night. I'm gonna have to side with the Jackson version on this one.
Moreover, Gandalf's victory over Saruman has a rather satisfying full-circle feel to it in the film; it's a sort of vindication, a knock-out punch against the same foe who handed his butt to him in Fellowship. Given that Gandalf and Saruman will never have another rematch, this was as opportune a time as any for the wizard to have his Rocky moment.
Not that I disliked this chapter or anything--in fact, I was actually rather pleased when they allow Wormtongue the option to either ride with them into battle, or ride back to Saruman--but in either case he is free to choose. Theoden even instructs his men to follow him to make he does not do anymore damage, but not to hinder him. A lesser novel would have had Theoden or Gandalf strike down Wormtongue in a self-righteous fury. It takes real moral fortitude to demonstrate the level of magnanimity we get instead. As we've discussed before, Sauron's goal is to exercise complete control, such that no one has a choice--hence, if our heroes are gonna be the actual heroes, then they are gonna have to make sure that everyone has a choice. Including their enemies.
It is easy to grant freedom to your friends, but the real test is whether you can grant freedom to your enemies, including such obvious dirtbags as Wormtongue. As the past decade and a half of U.S. foreign policy has demonstrated, the moment we lower to the level of our enemies, is the moment when we lose all moral authority. Tolkien here knows better.
In the Peter Jackson film version, Theoden is quite obviously under Saruman's spell by means of the nefarious Wormtongue, which influence Gandalf magically expels with his staff while his compatriots battle the guards empty-handed.
This of course is not how it goes down in the book.
But weirdly, it is the book that actually features the more cinematic scene, what with Gandalf revealing his white-robes and glowing in the dark and blackening the skylights and summoning thunder and striking down Wormtongue in a sudden flash of righteous lightning!
Yet I also understand why Jackson opted for the less "cinematic", sturm und drang climax to this scene, because, quite frankly...what just happened? How did striking Wormtongue with lightning free the king, exactly? I understand that Tolkien here was making some sort of commentary about all those smooth-tongued operators in our lives who play on our fears and vanities to manipulate us, but how does a literal flash-in-the-pan light-show and a little fresh air undo (what sounds like) literal years of rhetorical connivings? (For crying out loud, the man had been talked into imprisoning his own nephew!).
Far more believable is the idea that Theoden was under an actual spell--and not just a spell of flattering words--which Gandalf liberates him from. In my experience, most folks don't just give up everything they've been told over night. I'm gonna have to side with the Jackson version on this one.
Moreover, Gandalf's victory over Saruman has a rather satisfying full-circle feel to it in the film; it's a sort of vindication, a knock-out punch against the same foe who handed his butt to him in Fellowship. Given that Gandalf and Saruman will never have another rematch, this was as opportune a time as any for the wizard to have his Rocky moment.
Not that I disliked this chapter or anything--in fact, I was actually rather pleased when they allow Wormtongue the option to either ride with them into battle, or ride back to Saruman--but in either case he is free to choose. Theoden even instructs his men to follow him to make he does not do anymore damage, but not to hinder him. A lesser novel would have had Theoden or Gandalf strike down Wormtongue in a self-righteous fury. It takes real moral fortitude to demonstrate the level of magnanimity we get instead. As we've discussed before, Sauron's goal is to exercise complete control, such that no one has a choice--hence, if our heroes are gonna be the actual heroes, then they are gonna have to make sure that everyone has a choice. Including their enemies.
It is easy to grant freedom to your friends, but the real test is whether you can grant freedom to your enemies, including such obvious dirtbags as Wormtongue. As the past decade and a half of U.S. foreign policy has demonstrated, the moment we lower to the level of our enemies, is the moment when we lose all moral authority. Tolkien here knows better.
Monday, May 11, 2015
"Treebeard" - Ben's Thoughts
I have a decidedly love-hate relationship with this chapter. On the one hand, it's a beautiful piece of lyrical prose, with (what I consider to be) lovely poetical interludes, vivid descriptions, and just the right tinge of sorrow and loss floating throughout that Treebeard's character really resonates with me, and the Ents' choice to go to war makes perfect emotional and logical sense. On the other hand, this is a massive chapter -- equivalent in length to "Council of Elrond" in Book 2, which we all agreed was just too lengthy to be of ultimate service to the narrative -- which drags down the pace of this book to a snail's crawl. Not to mention the fact that Merry and Pippin are without a doubt the least engaging characters among the Fellowship and they just don't get any better here.
So I don't really know what to say about the chapter beyond the fact that it's inventive, well-written, admirable from a literary perspective, and an absolute bore, all at the same time.
Treebeard -- the Old Ent doesn't really come across as much of a threat to anyone when he is first encountered at the beginning of the chapter, which is a strange juxtaposition when considered in the light of the threatening, sinister Old Man Willow of Book 1. He kind of comes across as a goof until we get the story of the Entwives and the sorrow behind the character and the Ents as an entire race emerges. Treebeard really doesn't come to life until that moment when he speaks and sings of the Entwives. I'm glad the Ents were given some life and motivation beyond just "shepherds of the trees". Frankly, it makes their march on Isengard all the more believable. They searched and searched for their missing wives and, when they finally gave up on finding them, retreated back to their last shrinking stronghold. And even there these orcs and dirty wizards won't leave them alone; instead they seek to destroy the last thing left to the Ents. It can't be tolerated further.
Jacob is right that the Ents' longevity really affects their characterization in these chapters; Tolkien's a little on the nose with it, in my opinion, but he gets his point across and makes the Ents quite unique in that respect. The Ents experience time in the same way as humans and hobbits do, and as a result they feel quite alien in many respects to the young hobbits. Jacob also talks about the Elves not having this same feel. I would argue that Tolkien has actually quite carefully laid out that Elves experience time quite differently than mortals do. The hobbits mention quite explicitly that in Lórien, and to a lesser extent in Rivendell, they completely lose track of the days and weeks; the hobbits are even confused about how many moons have passed while they stayed in the Golden Wood. This seems like the Elves' time-diluted lives have some kind of an effect on the mortals that surround them. Sam experiences something of the same during the evening they hobbits spent with the Wood-Elves way back at the beginning of Book 1. Tolkien, I believe, places starkly-defined lines between his mortals and immortals; the Elves, although capable of interacting with humans to the degree that they almost might seem human themselves, are actually quite different, and when the reader is reminded of these differences its effect is almost startling. (Remember just two chapters ago? Legolas didn't even need to sleep, and he could put his mind in a trance-like state while running that was just as good as sleep to him.)
Merry and Pippin -- Oh, those darn hobbits. I just can't warm up to them. They're wholly useless. I know they're given narrative purpose here, in swinging the Ents into violent action, but really, they serve as a catalyst only. They tell Treebeard what is going on in the outside world, and a very guarded version of their quest, and then Treebeard decides that enough is enough and takes the Ents to war. I can almost see why Peter Jackson changed this section so much, even though it makes the Ents come across as utter idiots. It simply makes the hobbits, who are supposed to be real characters, into something more than plot muffins. But as it is, here, they're just set dressing who distract us away from the interesting business: the Ents' discussion of whether or not to fight. Additionally, Pippin's weird flash-forward description of Treebeard's eyes is very strange and completely out of character; if there is one person who has been depicted as wholly clueless and unobservant to this point in the narrative, it's Pippin. There's no way the character as we know him would be that eloquent or articulate in describing something later on.
The concepts, the ideas, of the chapter, are wonderful. I love the Hurons (Tolkien's Ents and Hurons spawned a whole legion of tree-like characters in D&D an countless video games from these brief appearances in Lord of the Rings), the fact that Merry and Pippin can live off of the magical Ent-water (seriously, what is in that stuff?), the descriptions of the varying kinds of Ents, and the callback to "The Old Forest" with explanations of how trees might come alive or become corrupted. I also love the new perspective on Saruman; Treebeard seems dumb to have divulged so much to Saruman without receiving anything in return, but it makes perfect sence once we actually meet the White Wizard in a few chapters and see just what his superpower really can do to people.
But while the concepts are excellent, the execution and pacing is woefully turgid. I'm eager to get back to Aragorn and Friends in the next chapter.
So I don't really know what to say about the chapter beyond the fact that it's inventive, well-written, admirable from a literary perspective, and an absolute bore, all at the same time.
Treebeard -- the Old Ent doesn't really come across as much of a threat to anyone when he is first encountered at the beginning of the chapter, which is a strange juxtaposition when considered in the light of the threatening, sinister Old Man Willow of Book 1. He kind of comes across as a goof until we get the story of the Entwives and the sorrow behind the character and the Ents as an entire race emerges. Treebeard really doesn't come to life until that moment when he speaks and sings of the Entwives. I'm glad the Ents were given some life and motivation beyond just "shepherds of the trees". Frankly, it makes their march on Isengard all the more believable. They searched and searched for their missing wives and, when they finally gave up on finding them, retreated back to their last shrinking stronghold. And even there these orcs and dirty wizards won't leave them alone; instead they seek to destroy the last thing left to the Ents. It can't be tolerated further.
Jacob is right that the Ents' longevity really affects their characterization in these chapters; Tolkien's a little on the nose with it, in my opinion, but he gets his point across and makes the Ents quite unique in that respect. The Ents experience time in the same way as humans and hobbits do, and as a result they feel quite alien in many respects to the young hobbits. Jacob also talks about the Elves not having this same feel. I would argue that Tolkien has actually quite carefully laid out that Elves experience time quite differently than mortals do. The hobbits mention quite explicitly that in Lórien, and to a lesser extent in Rivendell, they completely lose track of the days and weeks; the hobbits are even confused about how many moons have passed while they stayed in the Golden Wood. This seems like the Elves' time-diluted lives have some kind of an effect on the mortals that surround them. Sam experiences something of the same during the evening they hobbits spent with the Wood-Elves way back at the beginning of Book 1. Tolkien, I believe, places starkly-defined lines between his mortals and immortals; the Elves, although capable of interacting with humans to the degree that they almost might seem human themselves, are actually quite different, and when the reader is reminded of these differences its effect is almost startling. (Remember just two chapters ago? Legolas didn't even need to sleep, and he could put his mind in a trance-like state while running that was just as good as sleep to him.)
Merry and Pippin -- Oh, those darn hobbits. I just can't warm up to them. They're wholly useless. I know they're given narrative purpose here, in swinging the Ents into violent action, but really, they serve as a catalyst only. They tell Treebeard what is going on in the outside world, and a very guarded version of their quest, and then Treebeard decides that enough is enough and takes the Ents to war. I can almost see why Peter Jackson changed this section so much, even though it makes the Ents come across as utter idiots. It simply makes the hobbits, who are supposed to be real characters, into something more than plot muffins. But as it is, here, they're just set dressing who distract us away from the interesting business: the Ents' discussion of whether or not to fight. Additionally, Pippin's weird flash-forward description of Treebeard's eyes is very strange and completely out of character; if there is one person who has been depicted as wholly clueless and unobservant to this point in the narrative, it's Pippin. There's no way the character as we know him would be that eloquent or articulate in describing something later on.
The concepts, the ideas, of the chapter, are wonderful. I love the Hurons (Tolkien's Ents and Hurons spawned a whole legion of tree-like characters in D&D an countless video games from these brief appearances in Lord of the Rings), the fact that Merry and Pippin can live off of the magical Ent-water (seriously, what is in that stuff?), the descriptions of the varying kinds of Ents, and the callback to "The Old Forest" with explanations of how trees might come alive or become corrupted. I also love the new perspective on Saruman; Treebeard seems dumb to have divulged so much to Saruman without receiving anything in return, but it makes perfect sence once we actually meet the White Wizard in a few chapters and see just what his superpower really can do to people.
But while the concepts are excellent, the execution and pacing is woefully turgid. I'm eager to get back to Aragorn and Friends in the next chapter.
Saturday, April 11, 2015
"The White Rider" - Jacob's Thoughts
Captain Kirk stays dead for scarcely 10 minutes in Star Trek Into Darkness; Nick Fury dies and returns before the end of Captain America 2; Professor X is hand-waved back to life, practically as an afterthought, just in time for X-Men: Days of Future Passed; Superman, Batman, Spiderman, etc., all have been killed off and brought back to life so many times by now that the question is no longer how the series will carry on without 'em, but only in what preposterous way they'll be resurrected this time. Ironically, stories of courageous superheros are the most cowardly of all at facing the finality of death.
Yet I suspect it didn't always used to be this way. In Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi is killed by Vader, and then stays dead; he comes back as a helpful ghost, yes, but never in a manner that can directly influence events again. Spock is resurrected in Star Trek III, sure, but Kirk must sacrifice literally everything that matters to him--his career, his ship, his son--to bring it about. As recently as the '80s, resurrections in fiction were apparently far more rare, costly, and meaningful than they are now.
Which takes me back to 1954: was the appearance of Gandalf the White truly an astonishing event? Were readers really fooled into thinking our heroes were being accosted by the treacherous Saruman, not their old friend? I'm seriously asking.
As for myself, I have vague childhood memories of being surprised by Gandalf's reappearance--as well as more than a little unnerved by his descriptions of falling "beyond light and knowledge," down into places "Far, far below the deepest delvings of the Dwarves," where "the world is gnawed by nameless things. Even Sauron knows them not. They are older than he", as Gandalf engages in a Battle Royale wherein "If there were a year to spend, I would not tell you all," a fight that ends in a Pyrrhic Victory atop a mountain that leaves him "alone, forgotten, without escape," as he "lay staring upward, while the stars wheeled over, and each day was as long as a life-age of the earth."
A cheap, easy resurrection that robs death of its meaning Gandalf's is not. Indeed, I do believe I had the dim feeling as young reader that if this was the cost of becoming Gandalf the White, then I wasn't entirely sure the price was worth it. He hath drunken out of that bitter cup, yeah, to the very dregs.
Yet despite the unimaginable pains he suffered to return (all the more ominous in his lack of detail), Gandalf's reappearance still feels strangely...low-key? In fact, there is a curious lack of stakes surrounding this chapter altogether. Mostly it functions as an utterly redundant data-dump, wherein Aragorn et al learn all about Merry and Pippin and Treebeard and the Ents barely a chapter after we the readers have already learned it, only now we have to hear about it all over again, with no new information to add besides. It's all so needlessly repetitive, and I seriously think at least half of this chapter could have been excised.
On a more positive note: Aragorn is a lot less indecisive in this chapter, I suppose--throughout their trackings, he makes life-and-death decisions quickly, firmly, and authoritatively, in contrast to the waffling figure from the end of Fellowship. Whether this signifies genuine character growth on his part, or is just Tolkien trying to hurry up to the next episode, is open for debate.
And the chapter does at least have a heckuva closer:
"I see a great smoke," said Legolas, "What may that be?"
"Battle and war!" said Gandalf, "Ride on!"
Friday, April 3, 2015
"The Riders of Rohan" - Eric's Thoughts
Ben and Jacob seemed to have a gloomy take on this chapter, criticizing the lack of character development, the length, the pacing, and relevance to overall plot.
I actually found this chapter to be pretty engaging (though I read it on a Florida beach, so maybe the relaxed environment gave me greater patience). I also don't think it's that much of a diversion from overall plot because the chase results in an important alliance between Eomer and Aragon. (And chasing after the Hobbits themselves tells you something about these characters--they do not easily abandon their friends.)
The descriptions of the hills and ravines, and the weather added the right touch of mood. You immediately sympathize that theirs is quest doomed to fail. The orcs seem to not slow and have a significant head start, but catching the orcs may result in something even worse. Three against a hundred? That's the tension that exists here.
Of course, the Riders of Rohan intervene, and there's a beautiful confrontation between Eomer and Aragon, Gimli, and Legolas. Gimli gets depth by standing up for the Lady of the Wood. You can tell it is rare that a dwarf if complimentary of an elf.
And while Gimli and Legolas aren't three dimensional at this point, the lack of focus on them merely focuses Aragon's change from a Striding Woodsman to a king. The other two trust Aragon's judgment. And while characters in fantasy novels certainly seem to always want to fight just because someone said something a little offputting (Gimli threatening Eomer because he said he heard rumors about the Lady that she might be evil), Aragon seems to have a little bit more sense by stopping the fight.
I actually found this chapter to be pretty engaging (though I read it on a Florida beach, so maybe the relaxed environment gave me greater patience). I also don't think it's that much of a diversion from overall plot because the chase results in an important alliance between Eomer and Aragon. (And chasing after the Hobbits themselves tells you something about these characters--they do not easily abandon their friends.)
The descriptions of the hills and ravines, and the weather added the right touch of mood. You immediately sympathize that theirs is quest doomed to fail. The orcs seem to not slow and have a significant head start, but catching the orcs may result in something even worse. Three against a hundred? That's the tension that exists here.
Of course, the Riders of Rohan intervene, and there's a beautiful confrontation between Eomer and Aragon, Gimli, and Legolas. Gimli gets depth by standing up for the Lady of the Wood. You can tell it is rare that a dwarf if complimentary of an elf.
And while Gimli and Legolas aren't three dimensional at this point, the lack of focus on them merely focuses Aragon's change from a Striding Woodsman to a king. The other two trust Aragon's judgment. And while characters in fantasy novels certainly seem to always want to fight just because someone said something a little offputting (Gimli threatening Eomer because he said he heard rumors about the Lady that she might be evil), Aragon seems to have a little bit more sense by stopping the fight.
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