The Lord of the Rings Revisited

Chapter 5: The Bridge of Khazad-dûm

Jacob's Thoughts (6/27/14)

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.

Eric's Thoughts (8/27/14)

Ok, so I said the last chapter was good, but this is a masterful chapter. It's the chapter where Gandalf dies, confronting the Balrog on the bridge.

It’s for chapters like these that we read books. Let’s break down what Tolkien is doing.

The chapter begins with momentum from a cliffhanger of a previous chapter, Balin’s death. Gandalf finds an old book with haunting fragments, describing Balin’s expedition into the mines. The expedition did not fare well, and the burnt out words and lack of clarity as to what went wrong makes the scene more eerie. It's a classic trope, but done really well here. The book foreshadows drums, and ends with the forlorn line, “We cannot get out, we cannot get out.”

Notice the language that Tolkien uses in creating his world: he references in the book specific halls that give the illusion that there is more to Moria than just the scenes described thus far. It’s little snippets like these that allow novels to have depth that go outside what the characters are actually experiencing, and make a book three dimensional. (Note that while the LOTR world-building is three-dimensional, the characters in LOTR so far are not three dimensional. At least not yet. So far we’ve had little thought from any character, and each of the Company are little more than caricatures. The only character so far with any semblance of depth is probably Strider, and the character of Gandalf is well-done, though two-dimensional, in his role as the wise wizard. Feel free to chime in Jacob and Ben whether you think I’m wrong about this.) 

In this chapter, I found myself wanting to read on, even knowing what happened. Unfortunately I don’t remember what I was thinking or feeling the first time I read this chapter. My experience this time was one of awe at how well the chapter was done.

So you’ll never guess what happens next. As foreshadowed in the book Gandalf finds, drums begin to beat, and Gandalf growls that they shouldn’t have been reading a book. One of the Company members suggests running, but Tolkien rules that possibility out by telling the reader the Company needs to stay and fight in the tomb (Gandalf notes that it would serve no purpose to flee into the darkness, although later that’s exactly what they do.)

A battle occurs next, which is very simplistic in its language. Orc heads are cleaved, arrows whine, and even Sam gets a kill, though is bleeding from a nasty scrape in the head. There are not blow-by-blow accounts here, and the scene is no less compelling for it. This is also where Bilbo’s gift comes into play, where an orc chieftain rams his spear into Frodo. Everyone thinks Frodo is dead. But Frodo declares himself not dead, and Gandalf notes that there is more to Frodo than meets the eye, like Bilbo. (A very Gandalf line that references the first book, and is a nice touch of consistent characterization.) I anxiously then was waiting for Aragon’s movie line, “That thrust would have skewered a wild boar,” and it did not happen until way after when the Company leaves Balin’s tomb and goes into the next chapter safely (Lothlorien). When it wasn’t said at first, I was actually disappointed, because I thought it was a good line. But lo and behold, when the Company is out of Balin’s tomb, Aragon says it in the Lothlorien chapter, and I was made whole.

Gandalf’s first confrontation with the Balrog happens offstage, and Gandalf describes that he was almost “destroyed.” How well done was that? This is the difference between a professional writer and an amateur, knowing what scenes to tell and what scenes to put in action, and what sequence to put them in. An often heard guideline for writers is to “show, don’t tell.” This is something that high school teachers teach without actually knowing what it means. In fact, high school teachers, and college professors, often get it wrong. Telling is actually a critical tool for a writer. There is nothing more important than the phrase, “Three days passed without event.” Guess why? Because otherwise scenes drag out without event, and the story becomes dull. One of the most difficult parts of writing is knowing what to show and what to tell. Now, maybe Tolkien could have written an okay scene from Gandalf’s perspective fighting, and then stagger back to the Company, but the scene becomes much more compelling when told from Company’s perspective: their leader, beaten and tired, growling that he needs to rest if all the orcs in Middle Earth were after them. (Gandalf, apparently, as shown by his short temper on the matter, is not one that is used to defeat.)  The Company is left in suspense, as is the reader.  While in the movies there is a wizard’s duel earlier with Saruman where Gandalf gets a sound licking, in the books Gandalf was taken by Saruman by trickery than an outright confrontation of power. (By the way, I digress, but what the heck is up with the names Saruman and Sauron? Tolkien really dropped the ball there. Soooo confusing to readers. I remember this confused me the first time I was reading the books, two powerful villains with such similar names.) So having Gandalf tell the confrontation, rather than experience it, is a very nice touch. Note that when Gandalf is telling the story, the scene is showing, so this isn’t necessarily a perfect example of knowing when to skip fluff with a simple sentence, but you know what I mean. I guess it’s a better example of sequencing, and how using a quick reverse-chrono switch you can create an even more compelling scene.

So then the Company runs, and crosses a narrow bridge that falls to infinity. And of course, it’s the iconic Gandalf confrontation with the Balrog. I’ve included all of the sentences I could find that describe the Balrog, which in the text is interspersed, so you can easily reference what language Tolkien is using to describe the beast. I think it gives a good example on how you want to use language to create imagery and dramatic suspense. It's clear that Tolkien uses a more classic (i.e. not modern) form of style to convey imagery, but it still works.

But it was not the trolls that had filled the Elf with terror. The ranks of the orcs had opened, and they crowded away, as if they themselves were afraid. Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. It came to the edge of the fire and the light faded as if a cloud had bent over it. Then with a rush it leaped across the fissure. The flames roared up to greet it, and wreathed about it; and a black smoke swirled in the air. Its streaming mane kindled, and blazed behind it. In its right hand was a blade like a stabbing tongue of fire; in its left it held a whip of many thongs.[. . .] The dark figure streaming with fire raced towards them. [. . .] His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. [. . .] The Balrog made no answer. The fire in it seemed to die, but the darkness grew. It stepped forward slowly on to the bridge, and suddenly it drew itself up to a great height , and its wings were spread from wall to wall; but still Gandalf could be seen, glimmering in the gloom; he seemed small, and altogether alone : grey and bent, like a wizened tree before the onset of a storm.

 [. . .]

With a terrible cry the Balrog fell forward, and its shadow plunged down and vanished. But even as it fell it swung its whip, and the thongs lashed and curled about the wizard’s knees, dragging him to the brink. He staggered and fell, grasped vainly at the stone, and slid into the abyss . ‘Fly, you fools!’ he cried , and was gone.

It’s here that we leave the fairy-tale land of the Hobbit behind, and realize that there may not be a happy ending to this tale.

Ben's Thoughts (9/1/14)

Doom is the word to use here, isn't it? From everything I know, the "û" is pronounced with the long "oo", making the word embedded in the chapter title itself.

A few quick matters before we get to the meat and potatoes of the chapter: Gandalf and the Balrog. The fight in the Chamber of Mazarbul is quite the example of a powerful but understated fight sequence. The Orcs do seem quite scary, even if they are just faceless mooks, and something about the "flat, toeless foot" of the troll is quite evocative as well. (Although it seems quite the cowardly troll to run off after just a little slash to the foot.) It's interesting to note that Tolkien again provides no description of Gandalf in combat (a far cry from the films, to be sure). I'll have to pay careful attention to Gandalf's sword-and-sorcery abilities after he returns as Gandalf the White in the next book. It seems that here he limits himself to the magical bolstering that is both his mission as a Maia to Middle-earth and the capacity of his Ring of Power that is carried with him unbeknownst to the rest of the company (or is it? I wonder if Aragorn was aware of that secret of Gandalf's).

The story of the Dwarves is very horrible. Again Tolkien manages to convey a lot by saying very little. Perhaps this "slashed book" tactic of telling very little and letting the readers fill in the gaps is the precursor of the "found footage" horror movies that are a dime a dozen today? "The Watcher in the Water took Óin" is one of the most horrible lines so far, both because we know Óin from The Hobbit, and because we know the Watcher from the last chapter. It's an old but powerful literary device to state things simply and allow the reader to fill in everything; thus we can imagine the defeated Dwarves, attempting to retreat up to the Eregion gate, only to find this horrible pool of water right on the doorstep and a Lovecraftian monster inside of it that eats one of the group when they try to ford the lake. Caught between the Watcher and the orcs inside; I don't know what I'd choose, but I suppose the Dwarves went with the orcs; in any case they returned to tell what had happened on that side of the Mines. "Valiant but foolish" is what Gandalf calls Balin's expedition. I think that sums it up nicely. Balin from The Hobbit never comes across as ambitious, but it would take a certain foolhardy ambition to ask Dáin, one of the only Dwarves who seemed to perceive the true evil hidden in Moria (see Appendix A), to take a group there to try and retake the Mines, when there have been no Dwarves in Moria because of the Balrog for hundreds (thousands?) of years.

Of course the big focus in the chapter is on the balrog, the monster that launched a thousand D&D campaigns. The giant demon-monster of the films has been so ingrained into my mind, that it's almost shocking to see how vaguely it is described in the books. Its first appearance in the Chamber after the Fellowship exits is interesting for several reasons, not least of which is the fact that it fits in the chamber at all. Just how big or small is this thing? Can it change its shape at will? Tolkien's descriptions of it seem almost fluid, and it makes one think of how powerful Maia in The Silmarillion often changed their physical forms when they needed to adapt to a different situation or needed to present themselves to weak-minded mortals in a different way. After all, the balrog is a Maia -- a fire-spirit likely in service to Aulë. Tolkien waffled on how many balrogs there were supposed to have been; in the The Silmarillion it is conveyed that they exist in large numbers, and in extant notes it is stated that there were alternatively only seven and huge numbers (even thousands). In any case, it's likely that the balrog here (goofily called "Durin's Bane" in Tolkien fandom) has a greater overt power than Gandalf, who is also a Maia (wielding one of the Three Rings, let us not forget) but who was in service to Nienna, a Vala who concerned herself with grief, mourning, and inner strength (which jives quite nicely with Gandalf's mission to inspire courage throughout Middle-earth in the face of Sauron's destructive power).

That mention of Sauron leads me to wonder what the balrog thought of Sauron? There's certainly no link between them; I'm sure Sauron would have loved to have had a balrog at his command, but this one seems content to relax in Moria and kill all passers-by and has no interest in exiting his lair to rain destruction on Sauron's enemies. If the Wise (the Istari and the leaders of the Elves) were aware or had suspicions of what had caused the destruction of the Dwarves in Moria, surely Sauron would have as well? (Although on second thought, it seems that Gandalf had only suspicions -- he exclaims "Now I understand" when he finally sees the monster.) In any case, the balrog would likely not want to bend its will to Morgoth's lowly lieutenant -- the balrogs were often described as Morgoth's personal guard, whereas Sauron was just another henchman who in the Third Age exalts himself in a measure greater than any could have foreseen. This duality between the evils of the balrog and Sauron are interesting -- one demands expansion, conquest, and subjugation, while the other slumbers until disturbed, and then surges forth with terrible force, but within the limits of its domain.

Anyway, back to the balrog in the chamber. I've always found it interesting how Gandalf can sense it in the chamber, how the balrog then "perceives" Gandalf and his spell, and how it then casts a counter-spell. Not only does this indicate that the balrog is more of an active force with a malevolent will of its own, rather than a chaotic force of nature, but it hints at a magic system existing beyond Tolkien's non-delineated supernatural powers possessed by Gandalf and other Maia. In this day and age of almost-too-clearly defined systems, there is something to be said for the mystery and ambiguity on display here. I suppose since we are never in Gandalf's head, it makes sense that we never know exactly how he does things. On the other hand it frustrates me to no end that there seem to be no rules on how things work.

Then the balrog appears at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm. It is described as a "man-shape maybe, yet greater." This makes me think it is simply the size of a man, but then Tolkien describes it swelling in size, or perhaps just of power, and that its "wings" (possibly just wings of shadow) stretch from wall to wall. I dunno, somehow I like the idea of a great power emanating from a smaller, man-sized figure. The balrog is such a compelling adversary perhaps because Tolkien leaves its description vague. It doesn't speak; it doesn't cackle or gloat. It doesn't even roar (like it does in the movie). It is silent and unspeakably malevolent.

Two final points. First, Aragorn immediately seizes the mantle of leadership after Gandalf's fall. "Come, I will lead you now," is one of the most powerful moments in the book for me, because it is done without hesitation. He almost knew what would happen and he was prepared. There is no doubt who the new leader will be; unless I'm forgetting something, Boromir does not even try to challenge Aragorn's knowledge and expertise in the next chapter. Aragorn finishes out the chapter with a bang ("Aragorn smote to the ground the [orc] captain that stood in his path, and the rest fled in terror of his wrath") and marks a transition point in the book as well. From this point on, he will go through a dynamic shift in character that is one of the best in LOTR.

Finally, Gandalf's fall. I don't have much to say that hasn't already been said, but I feel that "Fellowship" is probably the best of the three books because it deals with loss. Frodo's loss of the Shire, Boromir's spiral into madness, leaving Bilbo behind in Rivendell, and of course Gandalf's sacrifice. It brings home to the reader that there is real and great cost to this Quest. I almost feel like bringing Gandalf back not even a book later cheapens his death here, and I wonder why Tolkien wanted to bring him back and whether the book would have been better without him. I dunno. I'll probably address it more in "Two Towers." The chapter places a finality on the loss with the final words: "the drum-beats faded." What a great way to end the chapter.