"The Bridge of Khazad-dûm" - Jacob's Thoughts

So I really should give a longer chance for you guys to catch up, and I swear after this post, I will; but "The Bridge of Khazad-dûm" is one of those high stakes, action-packed, why-folks-read-Lord-of-the-Rings type chapters that I've been dying to get to since we started this project, so I just couldn't wait.

But now that I'm actually here, where do I even start?  I suppose I'm firstly curious as to what's the proper pronunciation of Khazad-dûm (Ben?); I assume the "dûm" is pronounced the same as the "Doom" that is repeated throughout this chapter (that's how it's pronounced in the films, anyways), as a way to foreshadow the doom awaiting them without being quite so obvious about it.  The actual "û" itself (called a "u-circumflex," according to all-knowing Wikipedia) is used in French, Friulian (an Italian dialect), Kurdish, Turkish, Welsh, and Masovian (a Polish dialect).  Given Tolkien's academic interest in philology generally and the languages that influenced Old English specifically (as shown by his famed work on Beowulf), I'm pretty sure he intended either the French or the Welsh; if the former, then "û"(as used in "jeûne") approximates the English "oo" sound in "doom"--though not exactly, which probably has the intended effect of lending an air of exoticism, antiquity, and other-worldliness to these dark proceedings.  But if the latter, then "û"sounds closer to the "i"-sound in the English "it" or "pin."  If such is the case, then the proper pronunciation is something like "Khazad-dim," which would serve to emphasize how "dim" the light literally is in Moria, how dim their chances of escape, and how dim their hopes after the fall of Gandalf. 

Probably both pronunciations are implied: the "dim-"ness of their hopes and the "doom" that pursues them are collapsed into one with that brilliant "dûm."  Knowing Tolkien's linguistic proclivities, I wouldn't it past him.  (And while I'm thinking about it, just what language is everyone speaking in LoTR?  We hear about all the Elvin tongues and the Dwarvish and etc, but what is the default language that everyone talks with each other?  Surely not the Queen's English, despite all the poems rhyming, right?  Is there some sort of Middle-Earth Esperanto everyone just seems to know, some lingua franca that helps folks communicate across races?  Ben?  It's just so interesting to me that for the purposes of the narrative, everyone seems to speak in this normalized, modern, British English, while entire new languages and writing systems are invented wholesale by Tolkien when he wants to sound exotic; this is all to say that that little "û" really stands out as a rare instance when he inflects his 20th-century English with its ancient sources in LoTR).

But all this dry academic discussion (like so much intellectual pontificating) is really just a mask for what I actually want to talk about in this chapter: the problem of suffering.  In the next novel we will of course learn what happens to Gandalf, but I have to assume that for many first time readers in 1954 (and I'm also currently split between Eric and Ben as to whether a novel's first duty is to its first-time readers--Eric's camp--or to what it reveals to faithful re-readers--Ben's camp), that Gandalf's sacrifice surely felt like an out-of-nowhere gut-punch, a sudden signal that none of your favorite characters are safe (especially decades before George R.R. Martin).  What was the point of that?! some of them surely shouted.  Why did he have to sacrifice himself?!  Yes, we will find him purified and exalted when we next encounter him as Gandalf the White, but we will also learn of the great pains that had to pass through to get there.  If memory serves, a cheap, easy resurrection that robs death of its meaning this is not.

I guess what I'm getting at is this, and it's something I've been thinking a lot about in my own life: what we want isn't to live a life free of pain, no--we read The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings precisely because we want Bilbo and Frodo to get out of there domestic little Hobbit holes and have some adventures!  No, no, we can put up with almost any pain as long as there is a reason for it; Nietzsche said, "He who has a why to live can bear almost any how." It's not that we don't want the pain, it's that we want the pain to be worth it.

By The Two Towers, everyone's pain--Gandalf's, the Fellowships', the reader's--will have proven at least partially worth it.  But there is no guarantee of that now, at the end of this here chapter.  For Tolkien's master stroke here isn't so much that he sacrificed Gandalf (there have been Christ-figures as long as there have been stories)--no, it's that he delayed for an entire novel, in agonizing, unresolvable limbo, the question of when, even if, the pain will finally be worth it.  Just like we all usually do.  For a Fantasy series, that is brutally real.

"The Ring Goes South" - Ben's Thoughts

I'm not entirely sure what to write about in this chapter. It serves mainly as a transition between the comfortable planning of "Council" and the horrors of "A Journey in the Dark" and what comes after. The Fellowship is created and pitted against the elements, which it is hinted are empowered by Sauron or perhaps by some cruel anima of their own, and comes off the worse. The chapter is a showcase of personalities, as each member of the Fellowship (except for Merry, who is completely and predictably shafted) gets their moment(s) in the sun to add input, ideas, and otherwise emerge as singular personalities. The banter between members is quite lovely, actually, and is the highlight of the the chapter. I'll run through some of the members' moments later in the post.

But first, my promised rebuttal to Jacob's heretic notion that Tolkien is somehow anti-pastoral! Blasphemy! What Jacob is searching for, I believe, is that Tolkien is not a Romantic. Indeed, this chapter highlights just how cruel nature can be, from the birds (likely spies of Saruman) to the ceaseless cold you can almost feel creeping into your bones as the Fellowship trudges south to the snow and potentially other things on Caradhras. And this is not the first time that Tolkien has underscored the idea that nature is not something that brings joy in every circumstance: to this point we've been confronted with the ancient anger of the Old Forest, the frustration of the Midgewater Marshes, and the bleak hostility of the Ettenmoors. No -- a Romantic Tolkien is not. Finding oneself in or being rejuvenated by Nature is not one of his major themes in LOTR, not by a long shot.

But Tolkien is quite consistent in his philosophy, I feel. He advocates a simpler lifestyle -- one that is removed from the machinelike order of Mordor or Isengard; one that is most obviously exemplified by the Hobbits in the Shire, but is brought to the fulness of essence in the character of Tom Bombadil.

Yes, I know -- you thought we had left old Tom behind (he won't be referenced again until the very end of "Return of the King"), but I must drag him back into the spotlight to make this point. Tom is "Master." He is in complete control of the Nature that surrounds him -- Nature that is itself harsh, cruel, and predatory. And yet he chooses to surround himself in that Nature, not ruling over it by forcing it into constricted forms as Sauron would do, but instead coexisting and yet not submitting to it. In the same way, the Shire, with its cultivated fields and simplified lifestyle, is idealized (although Tolkien is not shy about pointing out the faults in this society as well; nowhere is perfect, he seems to be saying) and set forth as what should be protected and saved from the terror in the East. The Elves, especially those in Lothlórien (which we will meet in a few chapters) live in this same way -- in the trees themselves, in fact. They do not eschew the protection of technology and warfare and magical protection, but instead coexist with it, lord over it, but do not subdue it in the process.

This chapter shows a different philosophy in the form of the departed Noldor who settled Hollin under the leadership of Celebrimbor (the original forger of the Rings of Power). The stones themselves seem to lament their short-sighted outlook: "they are gone". Their forgings and delvings availed them nothing, and in the end they had to flee Middle-earth. Tolkien depicts the Noldor in this way throughout his works: concerned with craft and smithying, they subdue the materials of Arda (Tolkien's name for the world) but are never satisfied with what they have created (a less destructive mirror of Sauron's philosophy of order and control). Compare that with Tom's existence -- one of constant cheer and delight in what is encountered in the natural world around him and those who enter his sphere of influence, but from a position of powerful deity who could control, if he so wished, but chooses instead not to.

I don't want to get ahead of myself, but of course Tolkien undermines these ideals throughout the text as well. Tom is presented as someone who cannot bring about a greater good because of how he has chosen to exercise power. Likewise at the end of LOTR, Frodo cannot find satisfaction in the pastoral simplicity of the Shire, and must seek transcendence elsewhere (of course, this is just as likely a metaphor for death).

Thus, all in all, Tolkien is not advocating Romanticism, but a brand of pastoralism, where man should be in contact with Nature but also exercise benevolent control over it. This is the lifestyle that Our Heroes are sacrificing for (well, some of them, at any rate). His love for Nature and the dominion of Man, ideally in perfect balance, shines through in the text's quiet moments, as when Frodo recites one of Bilbo's poems in "Three is Company":

Upon the hearth the fire is red, / Beneath the roof there is a bed; / But not yet weary are our feet, / Still round the corner we may meet / A sudden tree or standing stone / That none have seen but we alone. . . . 

We'll wander back to home and bed. / Mist and twilight, cloud and shade, / Away shall fade! Away shall fade! / Fire and lamp, and meat and bread, / And then to bed! And then to bed!

As mentioned above, the chapter is something of a showcase for the personalities of the members of the Fellowship and the other main characters, particularly the new characters. Pippin manages to make more comments of astounding stupidity, not least of which is his comment that it was not fair that Frodo and Sam got to go on this awesome quest and they were stuck in Rivendell. Elrond gets to be wise and somewhat mysterious; his comments suggesting magical foresight were very interesting to me. In this day and age of fantasy books with increasingly complex and well-defined magic systems, Tolkien's rule-less system of suggestion and innate knowledge employed by the Elves in particular is both intriguing and frustrating. I'll be sure to keep a close eye on how Tolkien treats Galadriel's magic when we are introduced to her later in the text. Elrond's comment about how the Shire is not free from peril demonstrates that he knows something of what is happening there already with the influx of Saruman's agents. Bilbo manages to get in a few licks, as well, and Tolkien perfectly conveys both his age and his love for Frodo. It's heartwarming and tear-jerking to see him try to pass off his most prized possessions as relics for which he has no further use, all for Frodo's benefit and protection.

On the new characters: Gimli's stalwart personality and love of all things Dwarvish is front and center, what with his comments to Elrond and his waxing poetic over the nearness of his deep roots in Khazad-dûm. Likewise, Boromir emerges as a resourceful and invaluable contributor to the party as he essentially takes charge after the snowfall on Caradhras. He remains ridiculously arrogant, however, what with his comments about "doughty Men" and "lesser Men". You can practically see him flexing his muscles for the benefit of the Hobbits as he talks about how the "strongest of us" must force a path through the snow. Legolas, sadly, is defined only by his race: his comments all revolve around being an Elf and the history of the Elves.

I have to end on Sam, however. He has some beautiful moments: regretting the lack of rope, for one, which genre-savvy Sam realizes will be needed a chapter down the road and beyond; and his thoughtful comment about how fairy tales never address what comes after: "Ah! And where will they live? That's what I often wonder." LOTR is a tale that fully addresses the consequences of the choices made by the characters throughout the book with its bittersweet denouement. No doubt we'll address this more in "Return of the King," but I always appreciated those final chapters. Frodo and Bilbo are irreparably changed by their experiences bearing the Ring; Frodo especially is unable to return to the simple life because of his trauma. Sam, too, will undergo a similar journey; while he will be showered with blessings of property, prestige, and posterity, after the death of his wife he will follow Frodo across the sea. Although the journey to Valinor is likely a metaphor for death, as I mentioned above, it is at once a cop-out and an acknowledgement that at some point, we can never truly learn about what comes after.

Leave it to Sam to say something profound in such simple terms.

"A Journey in the Dark" - Jacob's Thoughts

Gandalf is what stood out to me most in this chapter.

Yes, there's also the rich, immersive atmosphere of the mines of Moria (indeed, "The Old Forest" is already a forgotten memory); and there's the mounting sense of dread as they delve deeper into places where unnamed horrors far "fouler than orcs" reside; and there's the admittedly-awesome action sequences with the Wargs, as well as that Lovecraftian tentacled creature--all the more unnerving in its lack of a name--that snags after Frodo first (a fact so frightening in implication that Gandalf will scarcely acknowledge it), then traps them inside a place so dark and dreary that even battle-hardened Aragorn is wary to enter; and to top it all off is the insinuation that dear Frodo's wound has not healed as completely as we were maybe led to believe, for he now senses more keenly the evil things hidden in the dark--as well as his sense that something is following them--which narratatively is effective in ratcheting up the tension in a chapter where, frankly, not much happens.

Because let's face it: not a whole lot actually occurs in this chapter.  Putting aside a couple short action sequences and that very palpable, primal fear of the dark, not much really happens.  I don't mean that as a knock against this chapter, on the contrary: it speaks highly of Tolkien that I never once found myself skimming (not even during the poem!) throughout a chapter that doesn't feature much more than movement from point A to point B.   I even felt bad for Sam when he had to say goodbye to Bill the pony--hardly a figure I'd gotten invested in.

Of course, these chapters are about so much more than mere movement from A to B--there is also the wonderful character development; for besides the aforementioned forebodings about Frodo's wound, we also get to see the beginning of the rivalry between Gimli and Legolas (as they trade barbs about which side first ruined relations between the Elves and the Dwarves), which as we all know will ultimately blossom into one of the most delightful bromances in fiction.  But for my money, far more interesting (and subtle) is Gandalf's character development in this chapter--and his foreshadowing.

His power up till now has mostly been hidden--the Shire folk who didn't know better had always just assumed him some eccentric "conjurer of cheap tricks" for example.  Through his frequent absences in both The Hobbit and Book I of Fellowship we began to sense that he's a figure of some importance away on more pressing matters, and his presence on major counsels, and his intimacy with important-sounding people, begin to confirm our suspicions of his prominence; but we've rarely gotten to see him in real action.  We are told about his thrilling escape from Saruman, and he tells Frodo of how he added the flourish of the horses on the waves that wiped out the Dark Riders, but we are never shown him doing any of these things!  The full extant of his power remains shrouded in mere rumor and hearsay.

Someone please correct me if I'm wrong, but this is the first chapter where we begin to actually witness Gandalf the wizard in action.  In that fight against the Wargs for example, we are told of how he appeared to grow larger than his usual stature--in fact, when he utters his terrible threats against the Warg leader, one senses that Gandalf has the ability to back those oaths up.  Likewise, as the Fellowship comes before that password-protected magic door, we casually learn how Gandalf has memorized every spell in every language of Middle-Earth going back ages.  Suddenly this wizard's intellect expands before us in all its staggering magnitude.

(On a side note, the reveal that "speak friend and enter" is just a password-hint from a more trusting, innocent age, far from feeling cutesy, instead had for me a deep melancholy about it, as a marker of how long and how far their world has fallen into darkness).

Once inside the darkness of Moria, one quickly gets the sense that if it were not for Gandalf, the entire Fellowship would be irremediably lost--and not just cause Gandalf is the only one with a light source (itself rather startling).  The man has knowledge and skills far beyond all of them combined, such that he begins to feel like the lynchpin of this entire Quest.  Now that we have a taste of Gandalf's abilities, we are well set up for both the believability of his battle with the Balrog in the next chapter, as well as for the gut punch of his loss by the end.  It is as though we are now given a glimpse of his powers just in time for them to be snuffed out, and thus feel the full extent of that loss for our poor heroes--though I'm also genuinely curious as to how much savvy readers of the '50s sensed that this, the beginning of Gandalf's arc, had still to be completed in the novels to follow.  For one can't just simply hint at Gandalf's full power without any follow-through--this Chekov's gun, while about to be taken from the stage, still needs to be fired.

"The Ring Goes South" - Jacob's Thoughts

I would like to respectfully dispute Ben on a comment he made during "The Council of Elrond," wherein he mentions "the benevolent pastoralism that Tolkien seems to cherish most about the Hobbits and the Elves."  For on the contrary, a theme that I've been tracing in this series--one I first noted clear from the first chapter but that has slowly become more apparent as we've continued--is specifically the anti-pastoral elements implicit within Lord of the Rings.

We had noted right off the bat how the Shire, though Tolkien clearly harbors affection for its residents, is certainly not presented as some sort of Edenesque sanctuary as one would expect from such a pastoral realm, but rather is filled with the petty, small-minded, and even the cruel.  The Old Forest too, for all of that chapter's manifold faults, also features a darker Natural world, even one not under the explicit influence of Sauron.  While Nature is certainly celebrated in this series (from Tom Bombadil's and the Elves' harmonious relationship with it to Frodo's longing for mountains), nevertheless nature is never actually romanticized as intrinsically virtuous, good, or rejuvenating--a clever inversion of the traditional English Romantic model of Wordsworth and Coleridge with which Tolkien would have been familiar.

This chapter especially foregrounds this anti-pastoral, un-romantic conception of nature as morally neutral at best.  For we see spying birds flying against the wind, every woodland critter a potential ally of the Dark Lord.  The vindictiveness of Caradhras, too, presents a nature that, even as it has no active affiliation with Sauron (or with anyone really), can nevertheless be a hindrance and an enemy.

Of course, none of this is to say that Nature is inherently an enemy in this series, either; for example, Strider is the one who identifies the eery stillness of the silent forest as a sign of something ominous and wicked.  That is, when Nature herself is silenced, then something has gone horribly wrong (such was Rachel Carson's intention with the title of her famed anti-DDT screed Silent Spring).  Nature has as much a right to exist as anyone living creature in Middle-Earth--but also like every creature in Middle-Earth, there is never any guarantee that Nature will be an ally or an enemy.  Nature is neither intrinsically benevolent nor inherently evil in the world of Lord of the Rings, no--Nature is morally neutral.  Respect her, yes, but don't count on her for help or goodness.  (Always good advice when one goes out hiking).

Now, that all said, I will agree with Ben on another intriguing element of these chapters, that "Sauron is all about gaining knowledge, rule, and above all, order."  The panoptic, NSA-esque, surveillance state nature of the aforementioned birds flying against the wind is another great example of how Sauron seeks to exercise total control over the realms under his influence, enlisting all living things as spies one against another in a sort of Orwellian nightmare (one wonders if Tolkien had read then-recent 1984), refusing to allow any potential enemies of Sauron's state to escape the watchful eye of Big Brother.

Contrast these totalitarian tendencies of Sauron against Elrond, who delivers the following parting words to the Fellowship:

"'The ring bearer is setting out on the Quest of Mount Doom.  On him alone is any charge laid...The others go with him as free companions, to help him on his way.  You may tarry, or come back, or turn aside into other paths, as chance allows.  The further you go, the less easy will it be to withdraw; yet no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will.  For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts, and you cannot foresee what each may meet upon the road.' 

'Faithless is he that says farewell when the road is darkness,' said Gimli. 

'Maybe,' said Elrond, 'but let him not vow to walk in the dark, who has not seen the nightfall.' 

'Yet sworn word may strengthen quaking heart,' said Gimli, 

'Or break it,' said Elrond."

For Elrond, the Fellowship must never be compelled to continue their Quest--they must all proceed of their own free will and choice, fully cognizant of their freedom to quit at any time.  Otherwise, if they act only under compulsion, how are they any better or different than Sauron?  One recalls that scarcely a decade before LotR was published, Stalin was able to stave off Hitler's invasion through a policy of shooting all deserters--which has a sort of brutal logic, for if you have a 90% chance of dying against the Nazis but a 100% against your own government, then you'll take your chances against the Blitzkrieg.  This compulsion is part of what helped the Allies wear down the Third Reich; but it is also what allowed Stalin to remain in power post-war and starve to death twice as many Ukrainians as Hitler murdered Jews.  In the battle between Hitler and Stalin, there was no functional difference between the two.

Tolkien recognizes this, and communicates that wisdom in the mouth of Elrond by refusing to supplant one form of tyranny with another, but rather ensures that Sauron's defeat is accomplished by free men only.

We've barely touched on Tolkien's religiosity, but I feel his Christian faith may actually be relevant here, for, believe it or not, this same principle of voluntary military service is present within the Old Testament of the Bible:

"And the officers shall speak further unto the people, and they shall say, What man is there that is fearful and fainthearted? let him go and return unto his house, lest his brethren’s heart faint as well as his heart." (Deuteronomy 20:8)

In the supposedly-barbaric Law of Moses, if anyone is "faint of heart," they are excused from the battle, no questions asked, no bridges burned, for everyone else is barely a notch away from fainting in fear as well.  Or, as Elrond would say, "no oath or bond is laid on you to go further than you will.  For you do not yet know the strength of your hearts."  I can't help but hear this same Jewish voice in Elrond's mouth.

But these topics of warfare, tyrants, and misery are all so dark and dreary; how about I finish with one of the more hopeful moments of the chapter?  As usual, it is by the Hobbits:

"What about helping me with my book, and making a start on the next? Have you thought of an ending?" 

"Yes, several, and all are dark and unpleasant," said Frodo. 

"Oh, that won't do!" said Bilbo, "Books ought to have good endings.  How would this do: and they all settled down and lived happily ever after?" 

"It will do well, if it ever comes to that," said Frodo. 

"Ah!" said Sam, "And where will they live?  That's what I often wonder."

As someone who has spent the better part of the past decade myself not knowing exactly where I live either--not merely where I pay rent or work or go to school, but where I'm from--I can say alongside Sam that "that's what I often wonder" too.

The Council of Elrond - Eric's Thoughts

The flaw of this chapter is the sheer volume of names and irrelevant detail. Tolkien used this chapter to information-dump his mythology. Names never heard before by the reader sprout up, never heard of again (if I remember correctly) for the rest of the story, unless the reader reads the appendices and the Similarion (which when Tolkien published LOTR was not yet available).

As a result, I began to skim. Who are all these elf-lords? Elendil who? Keep in mind a first-time reader still hasn't even met Boromir or Legolas or Gimli. Just a ton of new names, even for one who long ago read the Similarion and recently the Hobbit. Reading this chapter was similar to reading through War and Peace, when the sheer mind-boggling amount of names in the first chapter overwhelms. Now, about 200 pages into War and Peace you finally start to figure out who is who, but still, no reader likes to be confused. Modern authors know better to slowly introduce one character at a time, especially if the character will prove important later on.

Now, something I was considering when reading was whether there is any benefit to all of this folklore. On some level, the large amount of backstory and material shoves the reader's face into the dirt and forces them to accept that this fantasy-world is real. By boring readers with the genealogy, ironically enough I think it increases the realism of the story. You certainly feel that this Ring business has been a lengthy affair by the end of the Council. But I still think cutting the fluff and lineage stuff would have been for the best. Readers at this point believe in the story, so I think the benefit derived from lineage and history just ultimately detracts. Reference a name or two, and maybe a little backstory, but what occurred here was overly excessive.

Another lingering question  that "we" (maybe I just posed the question?) posed earlier on is whether Gandalf is an idiot. Letting Hobbits be chased by Dark riders certainly almost cost the good guys everything. So now we hear the explanation--that Gandalf ran off to Saruman instead of personally warning Frodo.

I still take the opinion that Gandalf was an idiot--on some level he concedes this, as he regrets his decision to go to Saruman. Trusting in a "fat-inkeeper's" letter to get Frodo going just doesn't make any sense. He suspects the black riders are hunting Frodo yet relies on a letter. We don't have a USPS post office yet with first-class certified mail, and so warning Frodo would be my first priority, and then I would go to Saruman for help. Of course, had Gandalf done the smart thing, we wouldn't have had a high stakes chase scene. So structurally it was important to eliminate Gandalf. I get it. But I still think Gandalf showed very poor judgment!

The confrontation between Saruman and Gandalf is delightful. Especially when Gandalf describes, just as summary, how Saruman went on and on about how the ends are what are important, not the means. And Gandalf retorts by asking tiredly whether Saruman dragged him all the way out here just to here that Mordor-drivel. Brilliant.

I read Jacob's post about how this chapter serves as a logical proof as to why the ring needs to go to Mordor. I agree that that's what this chapter is. The text states they can either hide it or destroy it. They eliminate the throwing-it-into-the-sea possibility by noting that it will only delay the problem. Boromir foreshadows his coming fall by suggesting that there was wisdom in Saruman by utilizing the ring to win. Elrond and Gandalf knock that possibility out of the park by pointing out it will only create a dark lord. Therefore, the only possibility is to destroy the ring.

A pretty ambitious plan. A lot of things could go wrong. I almost wonder if there wasn't wisdom in how Tolkien draws this chapter out so that the reader's wits feel tired from all of the names, and so that when the characters suggest taking it to Mordor, the reader is too tired at this point to put on this thinking cap and point out that that is a very stupid plan. By this point, the reader is willing to accept any plan just to escape from this chapter.

"The Council of Elrond" - Ben's Thoughts

Reading this chapter with the foreknowledge that Frodo volunteers to take the Ring to Mordor at the end is somewhat depressing for me. He's so calm and happy at the beginning, secure in his belief that the wise folk of Rivendell are going to take this burden from him at any moment and leave him in peace to explore the valley and lead his life the way he wants to lead it. His interest in exploring the "pine woods" on the far side of the valley is the worst of it. Oh, Frodo, why didn't you go explore those woods while you had a chance?

Of course, it almost seems like Frodo is set up from the beginning to play this part, as Jacob alludes to. Right from the start, Elrond sits Frodo up next to him in a place of high honor, has everyone look at him, and tells the story of how brave and forthright the stalwart Hobbit was in getting the Ring this far. Plus, he already is the custodian of the Ring and there never seems any question about him giving it up to another individual (look especially at how much Gandalf and Elrond leap all over Boromir when he insinuates that he himself, or someone in the Council, should use the Ring as a weapon). Far from an "inevitability" due to the lack of other options, as Jacob writes about, I really believe that Gandalf and Elrond had the final outcome of the Council worked out from the get-go, with all the talking as just a formality to appease those on the outside. A cynical view, perhaps, but surely Gandalf wasn't really astonished at Frodo volunteering. What other choice did he have?

There are two main mini-narratives in this chapter that command the reader's attention. A third but obviously less important tangent is Glóin's story about the doings of Dáin's kingdom and the Dale-men. It serves to highlight the growing unrest in all of Middle-earth. The response of Sauron's messenger to Dáin's comment that his thoughts were still his own -- "For the present" -- is wonderfully sinister. Saruman explains Sauron's motivations a little bit later on in the chapter, and this comment seems to fall in line with that quite well: Sauron is all about gaining knowledge, rule, and above all, order. Sauron was originally a Maia tied to Aulë, the Vala of smithing, craftsmanship, and metallurgy. It makes sense that Sauron would be fixed upon structure and organization. These traits, taken to an extreme, go against the benevolent pastoralism that Tolkien seems to cherish most about the Hobbits and the Elves. Rules are good, and are generally for our protection and guidance, but when taken to a fascist extreme, are stifling and ultimately destructive. Of course Sauron, already at that extreme, would want to stifle the oft-unruly thoughts of the "lesser beings" he wished to bring under his sway.

Other than those choice tidbits dealing with Sauron's modus operandi, Glóin's narrative serves to foreshadow Moria, coming along in a few chapters. All of these names would be a bit confusing to a first-time reader, even one that had The Hobbit under his belt (I remembering being very confused about the apostrophe for emphasis over Glóin's name the first time I read the book. What was that little mark there for? It wasn't there in Hobbit!) Tolkien doesn't stop to explain these things; instead he continues at a breakneck pace through the Dwarven lingo (but oddly providing a "Shadow of the Past, Part Deux" recap of other parts of the history of the Second Age). On the other hand, the brief summary of the history of Gondor and Arnor serves as a good two-page preview of the Appendicies, and actually serves as a pretty good substitute for the reader not interested in tackling supplemental materials.

The chapter's real strengths lie in the narratives of Boromir and Gandalf, and then the denouement of Bilbo's rejected proposal to take the Ring and Frodo volunteering in his place. There is a lot of padding around the edges of the rest of it. As I mentioned before, I feel that Gandalf and Elrond -- or, if you prefer, Tolkien himself, as the writer -- knew how the chapter had to end right from the start, and everything that was said to get to that point was just a means to that end. The inevitability of it all doesn't do the chapter any favors, so these mini-stories are helpful in keeping the reader's attention.

Boromir's is quite interesting, simply because he is completely clueless as to anything happening outside of Gondor, and as such presents a completely different perspective on things that we haven't received before. Right off the bat, Boromir is clearly offended by Elrond's description of Gondor as a failing Númenorean kingdom, even though he himself is not a direct descendant of Isildur and is from a corrupted line. His pride and arrogance are palpable in his description of Gondor's efforts to stem the tides from Mordor: "By our valor . . . thus alone are peace and freedom maintained in the lands behind us." And this is said as if he hadn't just listened to Glóin's story about war mustering on the borders of the Dwarven kingdom and messengers openly proclaiming their connection to Mordor openly marching up to the gates of Erebor.

Tolkien does an excellent job of revealing a lot about Boromir's character and his relationships with his family and others around him in this single chapter. The supernatural dream (a much more bombastic vision than Frodo's; perhaps a different Vala is taking interest in the affairs of Gondor) that Boromir shares with the Council was sent several times to Faramir, Boromir's younger brother, and only once to Boromir, and yet Boromir basically gives Faramir the shaft and steals his quest, gallivanting off to find Imladris even though the message was sent to Faramir first and most. Makes you wonder what would have happened to the Fellowship if Faramir, instead of Boromir, had been sent. Also telling is that both brothers went to their father, Denethor, to interpret the dream. 

Boromir, of course, probably thought that he would be the one to wield the Sword that was Broken; naturally it comes as a shock that not only is the sword spoken for, but it's bearer claims to be the heir of Isildur himself. The gulf that stands between Aragorn and Boromir is truly vast at this point; when Aragorn tells Boromir that "little do I resemble the images of Isildur and Anárion as they stand carven in the halls of Denethor", he is speaking from experience -- he has seen these statues in person and in fact served Denethor's father, Ecthelion, under another name before Boromir was even born. In contrast to Aragorn's quiet confidence, Boromir acts like the kid who won't shut up in class: he constantly brings up his belief that Gondor protects everyone there -- but after every boast, Elrond gently reminds him that there are others who fight and that Gondor is not the only thing holding Sauron back.

Gandalf's story is more straightforward, and is notable mainly for the introduction of our secondary antagonist, Saruman "of Many Colours" (I can't recall if that particular point is every brought up again, but certainly it's not important to the story, so I wonder why Tolkien dwells on it so much here. Although it does give Gandalf the nice understated zinger: "I liked white better." Speaking of dropped plot points, the ring on Saruman's finger (and his proclamation that he is "Saruman ring-maker") is never brought up again; nor is the fact that Gollum is apparently rescued by Sauron's forces rather than escaping on his own. That in particular is impossible to square with Gollum's later appearance and abject hatred of Sauron). The confrontation between the two wizards makes me wonder; how did Gandalf get so easily taken in by Sauron, when he was able to hold off the Black Riders with a flashy-light battle on Weathertop? Is Saruman the White just that much more powerful than Gandalf the Grey?

A final note on Saruman's history: it does make a certain degree of sense that Saruman would be taken in by Sauron's philosophy of knowledge, rule, and order. Saruman, like Sauron, is a Maia of Aulë, concerned with rock and metal and craft. Saruman was the first and most powerful of the Wizards to be sent to Middle-earth by the Vala to combat Sauron, but he was also the first to give up the agenda of traveling from group to group to lift spirits and inspire courage, and instead settled in Orthanc, tending to his own affairs and consolidating power (although still nominally on the side of the good guys as the leader of the White Council) nearly 400 years before this point. What's really amazing is that Gandalf et al didn't figure out Saruman's plans sooner. The "Wise" indeed.

My final note is on Frodo's acceptance and Elrond's little speech (which is totally ruined by Sam's appearance, by the way -- I know Sam volunteering thematically had to be snuck in here, but still; it just kills the moment). It really is quite beautiful, the silence that fills the room as each Council member contemplates the question: "Could I take the Ring to Mordor?" As Jacob noted, there's an inevitability to Frodo's decision. But it is not a hopeless one. As Elrond describes, in words that are useful for us all in hard times, the choice to destroy the Ring rather than the easier westward road "is not despair, for despair is only for those who see the end beyond all doubt. We do not. It is wisdom to recognize necessity, when all other courses have been weighed, though as folly it may appear to those who cling to false hope."

"Many Meetings" - Eric's Thoughts

‘Yes,’ Gandalf said, ‘I am here. And you [Mr. Frodo Baggins] are lucky to be here, too, after all the absurd things you have done since you left home.’

That’s certainly one way to put it, Mr. Gandalf.

One thing I would like to note is my visualization of Elrond before I saw the movies. In the movies, Mr. Smith from the Matrix plays the wise old elf. I always thought that part was miscast. Besides really dry acting, I envisioned a fatter, almost Santa Claus like figure with white silver hair and a curly beard. Lord of the Rings describes Elrond as neither young nor old, which I’m not sure fits the Santa Claus description, but I may have got the Elrond visage from my old days reading the Hobbit, when the description may have been less or I just imagined him differently. Who knows. So when I saw Elrond in the movies, I was like, WTF?

This chapter also reminisces the Old Hobbit days, through the dwarf-lord Gloin. We learn a little bit about what’s been going on at the Lonely Mountain, and learn hints about the disaster that precedes our story at the Mines of Moria. Indeed, Tokien writes that Bombur being so fat now that it took six young dwarves to lift him. I’m envisioning a Baron Harkonnen sort of figure, with a jolly face when I read that.

Of course, the iconic moment of this chapter is the shadow that passes between Frodo and Bilbo when Bilbo asks to see the ring. I’ve read Ben’s and Jacob’s thoughts on this moment—Jacob preferring the movie moment and Ben preferring the book. C’mon guys, can’t you see that they both work for what they are? A movie moment really couldn’t convey the shadow that came between them, that it’s Frodo’s perception of Bilbo that’s manipulated by the ring. As for the movie, I think it was a perfect moment to insert a shocker; I for one will admit that I jumped Bilbo’s face went scary.

Skipped the poem again. I have yet to read a Lord of the Rings poem all the way through. I love the poems because it makes me feel like I’m making real progress in the story when I skip them. Additionally, poems create a lore that add to the realism of the book. The effect of the poems is meta: by having characters recite poems, by having Bilbo write a book within a book, since those actions are so normal and real, it facilitates the illusion that the characters are real. It seems that poems or songs in a fantasy novel are bread and butter. Perhaps that is the reason the meme has stuck around? Readers can always skip the poem, but the fact that it’s there lends credibility to the story.

One thought I had was that the poem sessions would certainly be at home in Colorado or Washington. The text almost suggests that the Elves are merely tripping on high quality food and music, Count of Monte Cristo style.

And Frodo! Can’t you go anywhere without perving over other men’s women? It seems like you wake this young Hobbit up and the first thing he does is stare at somebody else’s wife. Is this really the person we’d trust with carrying a deadly ring to the land of Sauron himself? Frodo, son, you’ve got to have better discipline than that if you’re going to be carrying the most dangerous chattel known to man. Seriously.