Day Twenty-Six: Khazad-Dum (Doom! Doom!)

A busy week has put me several days behind in my posting, but we’ve been reading along at a good clip and are actually nearing the end of Fellowship. Though I’m sorry I’ve not kept up with the daily discipline of reflecting on our reading, in some ways, it’s also enjoyable to reflect on several days’ worth, especially when the chapters read are so very different from one another.

I often think of Tolkien as the master of description. There is something beautifully precise and careful about the way he weaves together his narrative. Although you trust that he knows his plot through and through, and will carry the story through exactly as it needs to go, you never sense he is in a hurry to rush to the finish-line or sees any moment as superfluous, even if it doesn’t seem to immediately serve the needs of his plot. That languorous but purposeful pacing doesn’t seem to work for all readers, although those of us who love Tolkien love him for it.

With all that said, there are moments when you realize he can also beautifully pace a tense, dramatic scene, and “The Bridge of Khazad-Dum” is one of those places. My husband thinks it’s one of Tolkien’s best chapters anywhere, and I think he may be right. Certainly it is a pure joy to read, building tension step by painful step as we traverse with the Fellowship through the darkness of Moira, Gandalf in the lead, the light of his staff shimmering as he leads them ever onward, trying to remember the twists and turns of this deep and ancient place.

What makes it all even more ominous is that Tolkien gives us, early in the chapter, a broken glimpse of what happened to Balin and his compatriots. Given that they’ve just discovered Balin’s tomb, it’s unnerving when Gandalf finds some torn and faded pages scribbled with writing, which he attempts to decipher so they can hear the story of what happened. The company learns, to their sorrow and horror, that Orcs had descended upon Balin and his faithful companions. The story that Gandalf pieces together, in broken bits and pieces, recalls terrible drumming sounds in the deeps of Moria, a sound the Fellowship is sickened to hear not long after Gandalf finishes reading.

Reading the recurring “doom, DOOM!” in a relentless, booming way (getting a little louder as I went) lent music and suspense to the chapter (and made my husband give me a big thumbs up at the end). Lest we miss the ominous notes of the written history: “they are coming,” and “we cannot get out,” JRRT has Gimli and Legolas repeat those very words just a few minutes later, as the Fellowship realizes they are trapped. It looks as though history is about to repeat itself.

Blessedly, the company has Gandalf with them. His determination that they will survive, and his willingness to face the ancient terror of the Balrog, is inspiring. The chase across the bridge makes your heart hammer. I read “Fly, you fools!” with my best wizarding roar. Then the bridge cracked and plunged Gandalf into darkness and the rest of our heroes fled.

S. has heard us talk about LOTR so much already that she has an inkling that Gandalf will return, plus I confess I slipped and said something fairly definitive. Still, she’s read enough good stories (many of which echo Tolkien) that I don’t think this was a terrible spoiler. My favorite comment from her in this chapter was when she astutely observed that, knowing Tolkien, he probably wrote the entire history of Balin and company and only gave us little tidbits of it in the disintegrating journal.

Days Twenty-Four and Twenty-Five: Into the Darkness

Wargs and walls and watchers…oh my! Things got pretty dangerous over the two nights we journeyed with the Fellowship into the darkness.

No one, save perhaps Gimli, is too enthused to be journeying into the underground mines of Moria. Even Gimli is more curious to see what he’s only heard of in dwarf-legend, and to try to find word about the fate of his kinsman Balin, than to actually spend time there. Given the dangers all about them, however, they don’t seem to have much choice.

Aragorn seems curiously reluctant. JRRT gives him a touch of a prophetic voice here when he warns Gandalf that he thinks Moria will be a particularly difficult place for him. Given Gandalf’s wizarding strength and the fact that he is the only one of the Company who has ever been in Moria (though it’s been many years, and he entered a different way) I think this is Tolkien’s way of gently alerting the reader to be on edge.

We stay on edge throughout this chapter, except for a brief, almost comic interlude near the hidden doors of Moria. We’ve stumbled on hidden doors in Middle-Earth before (if you remember your Hobbit) but this one is a bit different. The scene has always been one of my favorite moments in Fellowship, when Gandalf confidently tries every spell he can think of (even re-arranging words in the ones he’s tried already) only to have to sit down in defeat and fume quietly while Pippin says things like “why doesn’t he DO something?” After the wizard has tried every spell he knows, he suddenly bursts out laughing and comes up with the password – so simple and obvious that it cheers his heart, and ours too, to realize that once upon a time the world of Middle-Earth was not such a dangerous place.

It’s outside the walls of Moria that we get our first inkling (if you’ll forgive the pun) of tension between Gimli and Legolas, though Gandalf begs them to put those old Elf-Dwarf differences aside in the name of unity. It’s also outside the doors that we meet a gruesome unnamed creature (later identified of the Watcher in the water) who uncannily goes for Frodo (coincidence? Gandalf thinks not) and makes them all scramble for the doors, leaving half their gear outside. Along with Sam’s pony Bill, who fortunately was blessed by Gandalf before this happens, giving us hope that he gets away.

The Watcher scene once again puts me in mind of Star Wars – remember the scene where Luke gets pulled down by something tentacled into the murky waters of the garbage disposal? So many scenes in Tolkien have their echoes in later stories (S. keeps thinking of Harry Potter parallels) that it makes you realize again how deeply important Tolkien’s additions to the cauldron of story were and are.

On into the dark we go….all the way to Balin’s tomb by the end of the chapter.

Days Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three: The Ring Goes South

Leaving behind the warmth and comfort of Rivendell, the Fellowship heads south on a cold December morning. JRRT again subtly underlines the nature of the Ring by making it the actor in the chapter title: “The Ring Goes South.” It almost sounds as though it sets out by itself. Since they’re headed by a circuitous route toward Mordor, it’s almost a certainty that the Ring does feel the “pull” of its master. The reluctance comes, not from the Ring, but from the one who carries it and all those who accompany him. Their commitment is strong, but it’s sometimes hard work to convince your feet to do what your heart knows is right.

Part of the enjoyment I get from blogging about our read-through is that I get to ponder the physical act of reading itself. Reading aloud is one of my greatest pleasures, and really the only kind of “performance” art I enjoy doing (though I perform for a very small audience, which is part of why introverted me can relax and enjoy it)! I was realizing anew, as we pushed through this chapter, how physical surroundings and other factors can affect our ability to enter fully into what we’re hearing. We had one night where we read outside on our sidewalk, something we sometimes do on lovely summer evenings, but there were talkative people across the street and some folks setting off small fireworks somewhere close by, which proved highly distracting. Not to mention lightning bugs! We did a little better indoors the next evening, as the Fellowship tackled the snowy and forbidding Caradhras, but S. was fretting about a deadline for some artwork she was entering into a contest (she was working on it while we read) so not the most ideal listening mode there either.

It’s also interesting to read a chapter so steeped in weather opposite to what we’re experiencing: we shivered through the bitter cold and snow of the mountain while living through July. Tolkien leaves it open as to whether or not the sudden snowstorm, unexpected that far south and that low down the mountain pass, is thrown at them by their ultimate enemy Sauron, lesser enemies who may be freelancing, or if the mountain itself is not somehow roused. That’s one of the most interesting notes in Tolkien for me – the idea that living things (trees, rivers, mountains) have a life of their own, quite apart from us.

There are an awful lot of leaders in this band of sojourners. The fact that sometimes they have differences of opinion soon becomes clear, when we learn that Aragorn and Gandalf were of two minds about whether or not to try the mountain pass. By the end of the chapter, the mountain has defeated them, so it looks like they will need to try Gandalf’s dark and secret way…the way no one wants to speak or think about.

Days Twenty and Twenty-One: Meetings (Reprise), Fellowship Formed, Partings

I realized that my reckoning of our reading days was off by one. Day Nineteen (now transposed here as Day Twenty) was actually the day we finished reading “Many Meetings,” the chapter that details the time at Rivendell prior to the Council. It’s important because readers are delighted to discover, along with Frodo, that Bilbo is there. That’s how he ends up at the Council – he’s been staying at Rivendell, more or less since he left Hobbiton many years ago, with one brief adventuring foray into Dale – enjoying his peaceful old age and working on his book.

It’s Bilbo’s presence, more than any of the other delights of Rivendell – safety, comfort, food, fire, song – that will make it hard for Frodo to leave. I think Elrond knows just how hard that’s going to be for Frodo, which is why he asks him again, some time after the Council, if he’s absolutely sure that he is willing to bear the responsibility of the Ring. Frodo affirms his decision, bless him, even though you know his heart must be quailing.

They all end up staying in Rivendell for quite some time, about two months, while scouts go out to discover news of the shadow’s spread and to ascertain if the Riders managed to escape still intact or had to slither off, formless, back to Mordor. It would seem that the latter is true, at least for eight of the nine, which gives us some breathing room. Autumn turns toward winter before the Nine Walkers are ready to set out.

Yes, I did say Nine Walkers. Elrond, in his wisdom, decides to pit Nine against Nine. He says somewhat ruefully that even if he had a great host of Elves, as in the Elder Days, it wouldn’t much matter, because it’s not might they need now, but secrecy and speed. They’re not trying to start a war, though they’re almost sure war is inevitable, they’re trying to find a way to get Frodo and the Ring into Mordor, undetected, for his merciful errand of destruction.

S. was curious to find out who Elrond picked for the team, so to speak. Frodo and Sam were decided at the Council, and we’re relieved to discover that Gandalf will be accompanying them too. In addition to these two hobbits and the wizard, there are two men, Aragorn (whom S. says she still thinks of as “Strider” for now), and Boromir of Gondor. Aragorn announces that he does plan to eventually help Gondor – his sword has been re-forged for that eventuality – but that for now, at least for many hundreds of miles, he and Boromir will travel with the company of the Ring. Gimli, Gloin’s son, represents the dwarves, and Legolas, whose father Thranduil long ago put a company of adventuring  dwarves in jail, will represent the elves.

That leaves two spots open. I had forgotten how hard Pippin lobbies that the last spots go to him and to Merry. He’s as persistent as a puppy, and it’s Gandalf (who has a tendency not to underestimate the hobbits) who persuades Elrond that perhaps loyalty is as good as any other reason to name someone to the Fellowship. And so it is decided. And so the company sets forth, after Bilbo and Frodo have some parting words. Bilbo gives Frodo his mail shirt and his weapon, Sting. It’s a touching moment, recalling as it does their love for one another and the nostalgia of Bilbo’s own adventuring days, but it doesn’t lapse into sentimentalism, perhaps because we recognize that Bilbo is clothing Frodo for battle.

Day Nineteen: (A Long Day) at the Council of Elrond

I would have guessed that we’d divide the Council of Elrond chapter into at least three or four nights, but yesterday found us on a long day-trip. Perfect travel weather for a road trip, and we all agreed we’d push on through the Council chapter. Reading it in one day (though we took breaks between some segments) was challenging and fun; it also gave us some opportunities to unpack the back story a bit as we lunched in a tiny little town we wandered into after missing a turn.

I’m pretty sure that this is the kind of chapter that contemporary writing teachers would tell writers to avoid writing, more’s the pity. Too much talk, not enough action for the current zeitgeist. Tolkien gives us lots of exposition through dialogue, though he does change things up a bit by having different people speak in turn, adding to the unfolding of the story of the Ring up to the present. (My husband reminded me that they tried to up the action quotient in the Jackson film version, by having Gimli try to hammer the Ring and destroy it. I suppose that is a dramatic visual of the frustration they’re all feeling toward the end of the chapter as they discuss what to do with this indestructible, evil object.)   

As a read-aloud, I found this chapter somewhat challenging because there were long, long passages to read in the voice of one character, and then I’d need to make a sudden switch. My voices tend to have very subtle differences, and sometimes I had to make a conscious effort in my head to remember to slow down the cadence and lower the tone when Gandalf was talking, for instance. So many Elf-lords interject various comments into the proceedings that I sort of gave up trying to differentiate, though I tried to invest Elrond with a bit more authority. I need to work on my Legolas. Boromir has a touch of bravado. Dwarfs sound gruffer and grittier; Hobbits speak higher (especially Frodo, whose voice I tend to make light and thin). Strider is grave and noble but speaks more quickly than Gandalf.

Everyone gets a turn here, and almost everyone has something surprising to share. If the stakes weren’t so high, and the concern over the Ring so deep, it might almost be comical the way each person keeps piling news onto the heap, and not much of it is good. We’ve been fighting the good fight in Gondor, but things are looking grim, and by the way, I had a strange dream about a sword and a halfing. What? There are halfings here? And the sword that was broken? And you’re sure you’re Isildur’s heir, Aragorn? What? And a Ring? You mean, it’s really THE Ring? We didn’t know that! Are you sure? Well, why didn’t you do something sooner? What? You were imprisoned, Gandalf? By Saruman? But we thought he was on our side! And he’s raising an army to equal Sauron’s? Well, at least we captured Gollum. What? You mean he escaped? Alas! And Frodo’s been chased here by Nine Riders, so the Nazgul have been let loose again? Are we sure they’re not dead? Too bad, but perhaps it will take them a while to regroup. And by the way, is there some way to get rid of this Ring? Couldn’t we give it to Bombadil or chuck it into the Sea? No? So it has to be destroyed, and it has to be destroyed in the fires of Mt. Doom in Mordor? That’s really not good. Who’s going to manage to get it there?

I love that Bilbo, at the age of 128, offers to try to finish the story he inadvertently “started” – though as Gandalf points out, the Ring’s story is much older than Bilbo, and the Hobbit came into it late. Everyone appreciates the offer though, knowing that Bilbo means it from the bottom of his heart, even though he’s really not quite up to adventuring anymore.

Frodo’s “I will take the Ring…though I do not know the way,” may be one of my favorite lines in the entire story. I almost can’t read it without choking up with emotion. Such great humility and courage in the face of such overwhelming darkness.

Day Eighteen: At the House of Elrond

Last night’s fireworks display prevented our usual late night reading, but I’m behind posting and thought I’d take this sunny Saturday to catch up.

The night before last found us tackling chapter 1 of book 2, “Many Meetings.” The meetings take place at Rivendell, “the Last Homely House east of the Sea” (all capitals are Tolkien’s). When Frodo wakes up, he’s a little fuzzy on how he actually got there, but fortunately he’s able to get the whole story from Gandalf.

Yes, Gandalf! At long last, the Hobbits meet back up with him, and though he at first sounds curmudgeonly and tells Frodo his behavior has been “absurd,” relief quickly wins out. He admits that he is, in fact, impressed that Frodo and the others have made it this far. Frodo is quick to praise Strider for his help. Gandalf lets Frodo know a bit more about Strider’s past, and Frodo is in awe to discover more of Aragorn’s real history. Awe is a state Frodo will continue in as he roams about Rivendell and sees how many great and mighty people are gathered there.

For the moment, however, he is just happy to be safe, and to have Gandalf once again at his side. Sam has been faithfully watching over him for much of the past four days – that’s how long he’s been asleep. We understand that his escape was a very near thing, and that what he escaped was, in fact, far worse than death. Gandalf earnestly explains that if Frodo had slipped under the power of the Ringwraiths – for we discover here that Ringwraiths are what the Nine Riders actually are – he would have become like them, in thrall to Sauron, and experiencing torment at his hands. Gandalf tells Frodo that he has resisted the evil of the splinter of the knife for much longer than many bigger people might have.

Tolkien does something here he doesn’t do often – he gives us a glimpse of a character’s thoughts that the other characters are not privy to. When Gandalf looks closely at Frodo, he notes there is a new kind of “transparency” about him, especially of the left hand. And he worries. “He is not half through yet…” he says to himself, and he wonders to what end Frodo will come, an end that even Elrond can’t foresee.  “Not to evil, I think. He may become like a glass filled with a clear light for eyes to see that can.”  It is one of our first real indications of just how much this quest may cost Frodo in the end. While it’s worrying, there is also something beautiful in the image. A wearied Frodo, worn down to his essentials, will be like a glass filled with light.

Day Seventeen: "Fly! Fly! The Enemy Is Upon Us!"

Peril catches up with Frodo and company at last, but not before they run into yet another friend. An elf named Glorfindel has been sent from Rivendell to look for them. He’s been tracking them for quite a while, and lets them know that Gandalf had not yet reached Rivendell when he left it nine days earlier. He also lends the exhausted Frodo his white horse, a steed who can outrun the horses of the Black Riders. It’s a good thing, because the full contingent of Nine Riders catches up with them at the Ford.

The pace of these passages seems to match the wild and pounding gallop of the white steed. It’s almost impossible to read the chase scene without a quickening of your heart, thus a quickening of the words. We rush with Frodo toward the hope of safety, our hearts pounding with the peril and terror of the Riders behind us. We ache with tired Frodo who hates the fact that he feels compelled to stop, that the lure on the Ring he carries is so hard to fight. And we thrill when he turns toward the pursuing enemy, raising his small voice in the face of such big evil: “By Elbereth and Luthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!”

The white waves crashing in moments later would seem to be a direct response somehow to those brave words. As the water roars and foams in a frenzy, pulling the Riders away from Frodo, he has a strange fancy that the waves look like white horses themselves. He sees “a shining figure of white light” before he faints.

Side note about white horses: there are an awful lot of them in fantasy literature, aren’t there? White horses and white stags! S. thought of the little white horse last night (not surprising, since we just read that wonderful novel by Goudge) and of course there is this white horse that Frodo rides, these white horses in the water, and later on, Shadowfax. There’s the white stag in Narnia, whom the Pevensies are chasing when they move back into their own world, and the brightly lit patronus stag and doe of Harry Potter. I’m sure there are plenty of other white animals I’m not thinking of at present…