In the story of the Tower of Babel a united humanity builds a vast tower to the heavens, but this tower is devised to proclaim the glory of Man rather than God, and so God scatters the people across the lands and waters of the Earth, dividing them with distance and the death of a unified language. Peoples are separated by their fractured voices, their inability to communicate, and so in their isolation they each evolve in their own way, each following their own cultural and linguistic path. A dozen, a hundred, a thousand… small islands of homogenous voices adrift in the vast sea of the world.
And yet those islands are now connected more closely than at any other point in history. Planes wing across the world in hours, and information flies far faster. Perhaps it's not so strange that we have a translation service called Babel Fish, as the deep waters between islands grow ever more shallow, ever more transparent.
Yet we all know things are lost in translation, that differences in culture, language and evolution breed confusion and divergence. A man travels to France and attempts to ask, in broken French, for the address of the Hilton in Paris… and unwittingly asks for personal access to Paris Hilton. Une erreur romantique terrible! Un embarras culturel! This is the difficulty of connection, of communication. We laugh at the hapless man's attempt to converse… yet how does one translate schadenfreude? How does one explain it? What is it we lose in translation?
A better question, though, might be this: what do we gain in translation? Literature, too, is opening to new vistas, new opportunities. Never before has the idea of a true World Literature been so possible, so close… and yet we often look no further than our own islands. Safe harbors, pleasant beaches… so familiar, so comfortable.
But just beyond, just over the last wave… there are whole countries of new voices, whole continents of new stories. There is much to be found, I think, in these stories, in finding something separate and strange. We seek newness, originality… where better to look than beyond our own borders?
Our stories are constructions of two related worlds: the reality of our little island (the world we see around us) and the fictions derived from it. That is, our stories come from the physical reality we face (the land, the city, the people…) and from the fictions others have built upon it. We are shaped by our stories, the stories of our islands. We draw from a common pool of myths and allegories. We draw from common stories and common tropes. Elements repeat, are transformed, and repeat again. The stories change, evolve, become new… a series of minor gradations, of small shifts and jumps.
Yet the babelfish can show us something new. Stories drawn out from other pools. Stories that draw on different myths, different metaphors, different dreams… they arise from a different evolutionary path. Something entirely new… and ripe for cross fertilization.
We have before us the possibility of a vast connected world of literature. We can find a writer like Haruki Murakami through a Russian like Gogol, or from South American magical realists like Marquez or Borges. Maybe we'll see some of ourselves, too, reflected in a line, an image. Yet Murakami comes, too, from his own island, from The Tales of Genji, from Musashi and Mishima, from Tanizaki and Endo and Oe. We can see that newness, that strangeness, in Murakami, and in Kobo Abe, and in…
And here we draw back to our islands. A world literature has started, one voice found in many, a voice that whispers to itself the words of new and strange stories… yet we do not often reach for it. We know a few names… but many great writers still lie undiscovered by us, or at least ignored. The waves look high and turbulent, and the beach so comfortable…
Chinua Achebe offered us the voice of a silent continent, an Africa that had been hidden beyond words. Or, rather, he showed us his Africa… and in so doing opened us to the voices, the possibility, of other Africas. And yet those Africas, those stories uniquely born from their own strange and wonderful evolutionary paths, will disappear if we make no effort to hear them, to listen to them. Those voices will be silenced, will be hidden by distance and a lack of curiosity, by those steep waves gorging themselves on our bright beaches.
Yet such wide opportunity exists beyond those waves… and it is an opportunity we could embrace. A chance to find something new in translation, a chance to transform our own stories. Why not let our own voices be shaped by the voices of Africa, the voices of Japan?
And these voices are out there, sometimes close at hand. If you are interested in such a search, the Dalkey Archive might be a good place to start. It is a press devoted to publishing, and preserving, great works of literature, both in our language (works both out of print and unknown) and in others. They publish interesting masterpieces from a variety of countries and a variety of languages, having faith in the possibilities of translation, in its regenerative and renewing power. In the words of Ezra Pound, "English literature lives on translation, it is fed by translations, every new exuberance, every new heave is stimulated by translations, every allegedly great age is an age of translations, beginning with Geoffrey Chaucer."
So what are your experiences with translation? The good, the bad, the ugly? The humorous? What do you think translations can offer readers and writers?
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 10
We're off to see the wizard, the wonderful wizard of... Oops, wrong story.
Strider
I think the opening here is a little stronger than many of the other chapters so far. We're a little more in the thick of things. Strider speaks with the hobbits, and again it's a game of hints, of offers and questions. It's nicely played, I think, keeping the tension high. He could have just come in and announced himself, but I think it would have come off a little preachy and dull. And it keeps an air of mystery around Strider, and I think that mystery is one of the pleasurable aspects of the story, particularly as he's slowly transformed from this fey Ranger, Strider, into the King of the West, Aragorn. I think proclaiming himself here would have ruined much of that. I enjoy the fact that he's somewhat sly and shifty here, and it adds a level of tension to a scene that might otherwise be too much talk and too little action (or conflict).
Strider also brings home a little more of the danger of the Black Riders. "They are terrible!... You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet." The same, of course, might be said of the reader, on account of some of Tolkien's choices in portraying the Black Riders and their pursuit. Yet for the next section their danger and menace is necessarily important, and so the task now is to build up that sense of menace, and the reaction of Strider, this mysterious and seemingly powerful stranger, helps sway both the hobbits and the reader.
And when Strider is about to share his story... he's interrupted by the arrival of the inkeeper. A simple little trick, but I think it adds a little tension. We're now left with a bit of a cliffhanger, wondering what Strider will tell us... yet the innkeeper has important news, too. I think it keeps both balls in the air at once, allowing them to play off each other and shade meanings.
The innkeeper bears a letter from Gandalf... a letter that was supposed to have been delivered months ago. Another little bit that adds tension, I think, along with the delayed opening of the letter. It could have simply been left for Frodo if he arrived... but the fact that the delivery failed creates a tension that filters through the scene, playing on the already built up mystery of Gandalf's absence.
The letter offers a vague explanation of that absence (more mystery), and also relates that they should have left the Shire long before they did. They are now late... and that lateness has greatly increased the danger. This ties in with that new menace of the Black Riders, setting up the conflicts to come, the increasing danger. It's a careful setting of mood and expectation.
We also see a hint of Aragorn in Strider, the majesty to be revealed: "He stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. Throwing back his cloak, he laid his hand on the hilt of a sword that had hung concealed by his side. They did not dare to move. Sam sat wide-mouthed staring at him dumbly." This deepens, I think, the mystery set about Strider, and also sets up an image of the tension that runs through the character of Aragorn: the hidden life of a Ranger, and the open life of Isildur's Heir, the open life of a King set to challenge Sauron. We see only a moment of the King, here, for now is still the time of the Ranger, the time of a guide. Aragorn can hold to this, in truth, until the breaking of the Fellowship.
Yet Strider is exceedingly worried about Gandalf's absence. What could keep him away? And there are hints, too, of Gandalf's hidden powers... and some foreshadowing hidden in the words of Strider: "But this business of ours will be his greatest task."
Merry returns, and with sudden news: Black Riders have come. He saw them, and then was overcome by some sort of spell... again falling into a sort of sleep. A bit of a motif growing here... the magical sleep of Old Man Willow, and then in the Barrow Downs, and in the tomb of the wight... and now here with the Black Breath of the Riders. Sleep as... what? Death? Capitulation? Loss of will and choice? The end of seduction (in the sense of sin)? Strider says that the Riders power is in terror... which holds throughout the novel, yet he also says they will not openly attack a house where there are lights and many people. Which seems odd... would they not do so even for the One Ring? What could stop them? Certainly their attitude has changed by the Return of the King, when they attack Minis Tirith. Is that a bit of deus ex machina? Their attributes and characteristics shift a little according to what is most convenient for the story? Or is it merely part of that finding out process, that sense of transformation and discovery that seems to accompany the story as Tolkien passes farther into it, as he delves more deeply into the heart of the story?
The chapter ends with a return to discussion about Frodo's silly song in the tavern... but in the end the humour is undercut by Strider, whose words are a return to reality, a warning of the dangers to come.
It's an interesting chapter... little action in the foreground, and yet a certain tension is carried through. A chapter of dialogue, of talk... and yet a number of techniques help keep the pace moving. Interesting choices... Tolkien does like having a lot happen offstage. Merry's run-in with the Black Riders could easily have been shown... but instead it's relayed to the reader in dialogue, in a chapter already heavy with such dialogue. There's a unity in that, I guess, and this format keeps the focus more tightly on Frodo. Yet it seems a fairly dramatic moment to happen off-stage. Interesting, really... and Tolkien does it a lot in the story to come, too. Anyone have thoughts on that?
Strider
I think the opening here is a little stronger than many of the other chapters so far. We're a little more in the thick of things. Strider speaks with the hobbits, and again it's a game of hints, of offers and questions. It's nicely played, I think, keeping the tension high. He could have just come in and announced himself, but I think it would have come off a little preachy and dull. And it keeps an air of mystery around Strider, and I think that mystery is one of the pleasurable aspects of the story, particularly as he's slowly transformed from this fey Ranger, Strider, into the King of the West, Aragorn. I think proclaiming himself here would have ruined much of that. I enjoy the fact that he's somewhat sly and shifty here, and it adds a level of tension to a scene that might otherwise be too much talk and too little action (or conflict).
Strider also brings home a little more of the danger of the Black Riders. "They are terrible!... You fear them, but you do not fear them enough, yet." The same, of course, might be said of the reader, on account of some of Tolkien's choices in portraying the Black Riders and their pursuit. Yet for the next section their danger and menace is necessarily important, and so the task now is to build up that sense of menace, and the reaction of Strider, this mysterious and seemingly powerful stranger, helps sway both the hobbits and the reader.
And when Strider is about to share his story... he's interrupted by the arrival of the inkeeper. A simple little trick, but I think it adds a little tension. We're now left with a bit of a cliffhanger, wondering what Strider will tell us... yet the innkeeper has important news, too. I think it keeps both balls in the air at once, allowing them to play off each other and shade meanings.
The innkeeper bears a letter from Gandalf... a letter that was supposed to have been delivered months ago. Another little bit that adds tension, I think, along with the delayed opening of the letter. It could have simply been left for Frodo if he arrived... but the fact that the delivery failed creates a tension that filters through the scene, playing on the already built up mystery of Gandalf's absence.
The letter offers a vague explanation of that absence (more mystery), and also relates that they should have left the Shire long before they did. They are now late... and that lateness has greatly increased the danger. This ties in with that new menace of the Black Riders, setting up the conflicts to come, the increasing danger. It's a careful setting of mood and expectation.
We also see a hint of Aragorn in Strider, the majesty to be revealed: "He stood up, and seemed suddenly to grow taller. In his eyes gleamed a light, keen and commanding. Throwing back his cloak, he laid his hand on the hilt of a sword that had hung concealed by his side. They did not dare to move. Sam sat wide-mouthed staring at him dumbly." This deepens, I think, the mystery set about Strider, and also sets up an image of the tension that runs through the character of Aragorn: the hidden life of a Ranger, and the open life of Isildur's Heir, the open life of a King set to challenge Sauron. We see only a moment of the King, here, for now is still the time of the Ranger, the time of a guide. Aragorn can hold to this, in truth, until the breaking of the Fellowship.
Yet Strider is exceedingly worried about Gandalf's absence. What could keep him away? And there are hints, too, of Gandalf's hidden powers... and some foreshadowing hidden in the words of Strider: "But this business of ours will be his greatest task."
Merry returns, and with sudden news: Black Riders have come. He saw them, and then was overcome by some sort of spell... again falling into a sort of sleep. A bit of a motif growing here... the magical sleep of Old Man Willow, and then in the Barrow Downs, and in the tomb of the wight... and now here with the Black Breath of the Riders. Sleep as... what? Death? Capitulation? Loss of will and choice? The end of seduction (in the sense of sin)? Strider says that the Riders power is in terror... which holds throughout the novel, yet he also says they will not openly attack a house where there are lights and many people. Which seems odd... would they not do so even for the One Ring? What could stop them? Certainly their attitude has changed by the Return of the King, when they attack Minis Tirith. Is that a bit of deus ex machina? Their attributes and characteristics shift a little according to what is most convenient for the story? Or is it merely part of that finding out process, that sense of transformation and discovery that seems to accompany the story as Tolkien passes farther into it, as he delves more deeply into the heart of the story?
The chapter ends with a return to discussion about Frodo's silly song in the tavern... but in the end the humour is undercut by Strider, whose words are a return to reality, a warning of the dangers to come.
It's an interesting chapter... little action in the foreground, and yet a certain tension is carried through. A chapter of dialogue, of talk... and yet a number of techniques help keep the pace moving. Interesting choices... Tolkien does like having a lot happen offstage. Merry's run-in with the Black Riders could easily have been shown... but instead it's relayed to the reader in dialogue, in a chapter already heavy with such dialogue. There's a unity in that, I guess, and this format keeps the focus more tightly on Frodo. Yet it seems a fairly dramatic moment to happen off-stage. Interesting, really... and Tolkien does it a lot in the story to come, too. Anyone have thoughts on that?
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 9
Ho! Tom Bombadil, Tom Bombadillo!
I admit, it cheers me up on grey and rainy days...
At the Sign of the Prancing Pony
Today's chapter starts with... info dump! Mega infodump at that! If you have a hankering for exposition, well, this is the chapter opening for you. Over two solid pages of pure information about Bree, its history, its people... and without any attempt whatsoever of rooting it in the present action. Very much the omniscient voice, here, taking a break from the story to provide an insightful lecture. Some of it we don't really need, and the rest could be worked in much more fluidly, I believe.
It also makes me think again of the overall chapter structures. Tolkien typically seems to like the slow opening, a chapter that starts in quiet and then builds towards tension and resolution... and then he looks to do the same thing again in the next chapter. It gives a certain contained quality, I think, to each chapter, a sense of each chapter as a story in and of itself. There's a nice structure to it, I think, a feeling that each chapter has its own meanings and importance. The trouble arises, I think, with some of these transitions. Exposition here, and lots of others where they're waking up, or eating breakfast. Somewhat lacking in hook, and forward motion seems to stall a bit... though the reader might still be riding the high of the previous chapter's conclusion, and so be willing to read on through the slow openings. Makes me wonder, though, if this habit continues, if the chapter structure reoccurs even in the heart of the action later in the story? (And makes me want to go look at patterns in my own writing, too...)
Post infodump, the hobbits finally enter Bree, after the gateman warns them of "strange folk" about. The hobbits take lodging at the Inn of the Prancing Pony, and then three of them adjourn to the common room to drink and to meet the locals (both hobbit and human).
And here we meet Strider/Aragorn for the the first time: a worn and weathered traveller who watches Frodo with keen eyes. And his introduction is framed by the warnings of the innkeeper that he is a mysterious ranger, strange and possibly dangerous. I think this is one of the key moments in the development of the story. Originally, there was no Strider, but rather a wild and rangerish sort of hobbit called Trotter. The difference in those two options is vast, and it is in this character choice that much of the story is shaped. With Trotter you'd have a continued hobbit-centric story, a quaint adventure about how hobbits interact with the great wide world, a la The Hobbit. With Strider, however, you have the whole history and mythos of the Numenoreans brought in, the very history of Middle-Earth. Strider, I think, as the hidden and true King of the West, is the key connection between the story Tolkien had started here (that is, a sequel to The Hobbit) and the stories (the history of Middle Earth) that he had been working on for decades (as laid out in books like the Silmarillion). He brings in the rise of Man and the fall of the Elves, the great Decline. So many of the later plotlines grew out of this moment, this choice: a hobbit called Trotter or a ranger named Strider? The right choice, I think, was made.
It's an introduction that is handled quite well. A mysterious stranger... benevolent or dangerous? And he seems to know far more than he should, which Frodo tries to ignore. Where could he get such information? The hints are played well, and contribute to the tension of the scene. Not only is Pippin doing something foolish, telling a risky story to a crowd... but Strider seems to know where the story is going, and that this story is not one Frodo would want to share at this time.
Frodo, looking to distract everyone, starts to sing a silly song. Interestingly, though, Tolkien acknowledges the silliness here, calling it a "ridiculous song" (though he still happily shows us verse after verse). And the silliness is undercut further by the ending... Frodo slips on the Ring and vanishes. An accident? Or something more? "Perhaps it had tried to reveal itself in response to some wish or command that was felt in the room." The power of the Ring shapes the scene, darkens it. Silly songs do not end well, here... Danger is everywhere and imminent.
Strider speaks again with Frodo, and again displays disconcerting knowledge, hinting at some understanding of the Ring. He wishes to see Frodo privately, as does the innkeeper, who has remembered some important news...
Again, the chapter is neatly wrapped up, though at least here some of the tension is being carried over - what will Strider say (and do)? And what will the innkeeper say?
I admit, it cheers me up on grey and rainy days...
At the Sign of the Prancing Pony
Today's chapter starts with... info dump! Mega infodump at that! If you have a hankering for exposition, well, this is the chapter opening for you. Over two solid pages of pure information about Bree, its history, its people... and without any attempt whatsoever of rooting it in the present action. Very much the omniscient voice, here, taking a break from the story to provide an insightful lecture. Some of it we don't really need, and the rest could be worked in much more fluidly, I believe.
It also makes me think again of the overall chapter structures. Tolkien typically seems to like the slow opening, a chapter that starts in quiet and then builds towards tension and resolution... and then he looks to do the same thing again in the next chapter. It gives a certain contained quality, I think, to each chapter, a sense of each chapter as a story in and of itself. There's a nice structure to it, I think, a feeling that each chapter has its own meanings and importance. The trouble arises, I think, with some of these transitions. Exposition here, and lots of others where they're waking up, or eating breakfast. Somewhat lacking in hook, and forward motion seems to stall a bit... though the reader might still be riding the high of the previous chapter's conclusion, and so be willing to read on through the slow openings. Makes me wonder, though, if this habit continues, if the chapter structure reoccurs even in the heart of the action later in the story? (And makes me want to go look at patterns in my own writing, too...)
Post infodump, the hobbits finally enter Bree, after the gateman warns them of "strange folk" about. The hobbits take lodging at the Inn of the Prancing Pony, and then three of them adjourn to the common room to drink and to meet the locals (both hobbit and human).
And here we meet Strider/Aragorn for the the first time: a worn and weathered traveller who watches Frodo with keen eyes. And his introduction is framed by the warnings of the innkeeper that he is a mysterious ranger, strange and possibly dangerous. I think this is one of the key moments in the development of the story. Originally, there was no Strider, but rather a wild and rangerish sort of hobbit called Trotter. The difference in those two options is vast, and it is in this character choice that much of the story is shaped. With Trotter you'd have a continued hobbit-centric story, a quaint adventure about how hobbits interact with the great wide world, a la The Hobbit. With Strider, however, you have the whole history and mythos of the Numenoreans brought in, the very history of Middle-Earth. Strider, I think, as the hidden and true King of the West, is the key connection between the story Tolkien had started here (that is, a sequel to The Hobbit) and the stories (the history of Middle Earth) that he had been working on for decades (as laid out in books like the Silmarillion). He brings in the rise of Man and the fall of the Elves, the great Decline. So many of the later plotlines grew out of this moment, this choice: a hobbit called Trotter or a ranger named Strider? The right choice, I think, was made.
It's an introduction that is handled quite well. A mysterious stranger... benevolent or dangerous? And he seems to know far more than he should, which Frodo tries to ignore. Where could he get such information? The hints are played well, and contribute to the tension of the scene. Not only is Pippin doing something foolish, telling a risky story to a crowd... but Strider seems to know where the story is going, and that this story is not one Frodo would want to share at this time.
Frodo, looking to distract everyone, starts to sing a silly song. Interestingly, though, Tolkien acknowledges the silliness here, calling it a "ridiculous song" (though he still happily shows us verse after verse). And the silliness is undercut further by the ending... Frodo slips on the Ring and vanishes. An accident? Or something more? "Perhaps it had tried to reveal itself in response to some wish or command that was felt in the room." The power of the Ring shapes the scene, darkens it. Silly songs do not end well, here... Danger is everywhere and imminent.
Strider speaks again with Frodo, and again displays disconcerting knowledge, hinting at some understanding of the Ring. He wishes to see Frodo privately, as does the innkeeper, who has remembered some important news...
Again, the chapter is neatly wrapped up, though at least here some of the tension is being carried over - what will Strider say (and do)? And what will the innkeeper say?
Friday, June 26, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 8
Back at it...
Fog on the Barrow-Downs
The chapter opens with a beautiful little bit, another strange sort of vision or dream, though perhaps it's real... Tolkien consciously casts doubt on how it is perceived.
"But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise."
Again we have the long lines, poetic and rolling, images built and slowly layered. Not so glib, now, but more and more the evocative language takes precedent within the story. A vision here... of what? The afterlife? His final trip across the sea? Unclear, but it is a hopeful image, a bit of light to shine through the darkness and fear yet to come.
The hobbits head off, away from Tom's home, but realize they did not say goodbye to Goldberry. Frodo laments, and his dialogue is one of those bits that rings poorly in my ear. Tolkien often uses a formal sort of dialogue, but I usually find it reads well, and fairly human, for all that. But occasional bits of speech sound pretty unlikely, such as this one, where Frodo slips into a sort of false rhymey style (not unlike Tom Bombadil, really): "My fair lady, clad all in silver green! We have never said farewell to her, nor seen her since the evening!" The similar line structure and rhythm, topped with the almost-rhyme of "green" and "evening", makes this bit seem awkward to me. And "clad all in silver green" seems rather odd for spoken dialogue, particularly as something said to the other hobbits, who know Goldberry as well as he does. It seems strange to highlight that bit of information here.
And the barrow-downs themselves, evocatively described, and again with the long line, the rhythmic and poetic description: "Eastward the Barrow-downs rose, ridge behind ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eyesight into a guess: it was no more than a guess of blue and a remote white glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to them, out of memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains." Imagery connected to history and the hobbits own knowledge, tied neatly together. And more of that imagery to create mood and danger: "and all those hills were crowned with green mounds, and on some were standing stones, pointing upwards like jagged teeth out of green gums." Not only is the imagery connected to a desired mood, but also to the action to come. The standing stones like jagged teeth in green gums... and the hobbits are about to be captured and swallowed by one of these barrows. The imagery, in a sense, prefigures the action.
The hobbits fall into an unnatural sleep, one they never meant to take (an echo of Old Man Willow, and a furtherance of the sleep=death metaphor, perhaps). Fog swallows the barrow-downs, making a mystery of the world, much like at the crossing of the Brandywine. Here, though, there is no happy ending: the hobbits are separated and become lost, and Frodo hear's only distantly the shouts of the others, shouts which seem to become cries for help.
Frodo collapses, and is captured by a barrow-wight, a "tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars." Its voice is "deep and cold", and its eyes too are "very cold". It has an "icy touch", and a "grip stronger and colder than iron". Four uses of "cold" description in two paragraphs... a hammer to drive home the point. There seems, to me, to be a very strong hint of the wraiths here: is the barrow-wight, perhaps, the key to the transition between the Black Riders and the Ringwraiths? The wight is cold and almost half-substantial here, a creature (or man) somewhere between life and death... much as the Nine Riders are (as we will soon learn). And the cold descriptions reinforce the idea of death, of this half-life.
Frodo awakes on a cold stone, and there is a cold glow, and his sleeping companions look "cold and unlovely". And then a cold murmur (a song), cold words, a cold curse which chills Frodo, and the first two lines of the song, the incantation, both have cold in them. And yet, oddly, it doesn't read too badly. The repetition works, I think, perhaps helped by the simpleness of the word. It's not a ten dollar word, doesn't protrude too much from the text. Certainly it helps create a little scenic motif here.
There's a few oddities, too, in this section. The other hobbits have been clad in white, and are surrounded by treasures, and adorned in circlets and gold chains and rings. The ring mention is interesting, and makes me think again of the ringwraiths, for it was the Nine Rings that made them into wraiths. Yet it still seems a little odd, too. We have to picture the fey wight undressing the hobbits... and then redressing them and placing these items upon them. It's an odd image, when taken practically, and hard to connect with the mood and mystery of the scene. A little silly, in a way, when you think of it. But Tolkien is careful (consciously?) of not mentioning the practical aspect of how this change must have occurred, but sticks simply to the ghostly image of how they now appear to Frodo.
Another oddity, the description of the wight coming for them: "Round the corner a long arm was groping, walking on its fingers towards Sam, who was lying nearest, and towards the hilt of the sword that lay upon him." An odd image, as nothing is given but the arm, and its movement, how it walks upon its fingers... a strangely disembodied image, as if the wight is nothing but the arm, a severed arm creeping toward them on its fingers.
And Frodo thinks about putting on his ring and disappearing, feels drawn to do so... another connection with the Ringwraiths, who create just such a pressure in Frodo - put on the ring, put on the ring, put on the ring...
"And the arm crept nearer"... not the wight, just the arm. Again the odd and disturbing image of the severed arm, bodiless and creeping. Frodo hews at the "crawling arm" (again disembodied, with no mention of the wight itself) and "the hand broke off". An interesting word choice, the use of "broke". It doesn't seem to fit with a sword, something cutting, but the use of that word helps reinforce the image of the cold, hard wight.
And then Frodo calls for Tom Bombadil, who seems almost magically to appear. Lightness returns, with Tom's songs and rhymes, and he dispels the wight and the darkness, light streaming in. Only the hand of the wight remains, truly severed now, yet still wriggling "like a wounded spider". An interesting use, again, of imagery foreshadowing action, with the seemingly disembodied arm coming before the actual severing of the hand.
Tom leads them free, and tells them to strip off the strange garb placed on them by the wight... and to run naked on the grass. Which the hobbits do. Really, Tolkien? Really? Is this quite the time to be frolicking naked in the grass? Quite the odd little moment, it seems to me. I suppose the intent is to highlight the return to innocence, to being fresh-born... but on the realist level it seems quite ludicrous. We barely escape a deathly wight... well, let us frolic naked in the grass! Because, you know, I always do that with my buddies after a tough day.
Tom brings them back their ponies... and brings them weapons, too, strong weapons that will be good for fighting agents of the Dark Lord. Yet this surprises the hobbits, as "Fighting had not before occurred to any of them as one of the adventures in which their flight would land them." This seems, on the face of it, a very odd statement. Yes, they're peaceable hobbit folk, but are they really all that naive? Even Bilbo, on his less serious adventure, had to fight. And they know the fate of the world hangs on their mission, and the Dark Lord hunts for them... and fighting never occurred to any of them? Seems a little strange, I think.
Finally they pass from the Barrow-mounds and reach the Road, and here a fear of the Black Riders returns, something they had almost forgotten. This strikes me in two ways: one, it's a good move on Tolkien's part, drawing the reader's attention back to the main plotline and the central conflict. And two, it helps show just how self-cointained these last chapters have been, and how little connection they have with the rest of the story. There's much that is wonderful in them... yet they have not been highly relevant, either.
And lastly they reach the town of Bree, and they recall the necessary subterfuge that must come: Frodo is to be Mr. Underhill, and no longer Mr. Baggins. This again focuses the story back on the main plot, the danger of the Ring - and those who hunt it. And the hobbits seek only "a door between them and the night."
Fog on the Barrow-Downs
The chapter opens with a beautiful little bit, another strange sort of vision or dream, though perhaps it's real... Tolkien consciously casts doubt on how it is perceived.
"But either in his dreams or out of them, he could not tell which, Frodo heard a sweet singing running in his mind: a song that seemed to come like a pale light behind a grey rain-curtain, and growing stronger to turn the veil all to glass and silver, until at last it was rolled back, and a far green country opened before him under a swift sunrise."
Again we have the long lines, poetic and rolling, images built and slowly layered. Not so glib, now, but more and more the evocative language takes precedent within the story. A vision here... of what? The afterlife? His final trip across the sea? Unclear, but it is a hopeful image, a bit of light to shine through the darkness and fear yet to come.
The hobbits head off, away from Tom's home, but realize they did not say goodbye to Goldberry. Frodo laments, and his dialogue is one of those bits that rings poorly in my ear. Tolkien often uses a formal sort of dialogue, but I usually find it reads well, and fairly human, for all that. But occasional bits of speech sound pretty unlikely, such as this one, where Frodo slips into a sort of false rhymey style (not unlike Tom Bombadil, really): "My fair lady, clad all in silver green! We have never said farewell to her, nor seen her since the evening!" The similar line structure and rhythm, topped with the almost-rhyme of "green" and "evening", makes this bit seem awkward to me. And "clad all in silver green" seems rather odd for spoken dialogue, particularly as something said to the other hobbits, who know Goldberry as well as he does. It seems strange to highlight that bit of information here.
And the barrow-downs themselves, evocatively described, and again with the long line, the rhythmic and poetic description: "Eastward the Barrow-downs rose, ridge behind ridge into the morning, and vanished out of eyesight into a guess: it was no more than a guess of blue and a remote white glimmer blending with the hem of the sky, but it spoke to them, out of memory and old tales, of the high and distant mountains." Imagery connected to history and the hobbits own knowledge, tied neatly together. And more of that imagery to create mood and danger: "and all those hills were crowned with green mounds, and on some were standing stones, pointing upwards like jagged teeth out of green gums." Not only is the imagery connected to a desired mood, but also to the action to come. The standing stones like jagged teeth in green gums... and the hobbits are about to be captured and swallowed by one of these barrows. The imagery, in a sense, prefigures the action.
The hobbits fall into an unnatural sleep, one they never meant to take (an echo of Old Man Willow, and a furtherance of the sleep=death metaphor, perhaps). Fog swallows the barrow-downs, making a mystery of the world, much like at the crossing of the Brandywine. Here, though, there is no happy ending: the hobbits are separated and become lost, and Frodo hear's only distantly the shouts of the others, shouts which seem to become cries for help.
Frodo collapses, and is captured by a barrow-wight, a "tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars." Its voice is "deep and cold", and its eyes too are "very cold". It has an "icy touch", and a "grip stronger and colder than iron". Four uses of "cold" description in two paragraphs... a hammer to drive home the point. There seems, to me, to be a very strong hint of the wraiths here: is the barrow-wight, perhaps, the key to the transition between the Black Riders and the Ringwraiths? The wight is cold and almost half-substantial here, a creature (or man) somewhere between life and death... much as the Nine Riders are (as we will soon learn). And the cold descriptions reinforce the idea of death, of this half-life.
Frodo awakes on a cold stone, and there is a cold glow, and his sleeping companions look "cold and unlovely". And then a cold murmur (a song), cold words, a cold curse which chills Frodo, and the first two lines of the song, the incantation, both have cold in them. And yet, oddly, it doesn't read too badly. The repetition works, I think, perhaps helped by the simpleness of the word. It's not a ten dollar word, doesn't protrude too much from the text. Certainly it helps create a little scenic motif here.
There's a few oddities, too, in this section. The other hobbits have been clad in white, and are surrounded by treasures, and adorned in circlets and gold chains and rings. The ring mention is interesting, and makes me think again of the ringwraiths, for it was the Nine Rings that made them into wraiths. Yet it still seems a little odd, too. We have to picture the fey wight undressing the hobbits... and then redressing them and placing these items upon them. It's an odd image, when taken practically, and hard to connect with the mood and mystery of the scene. A little silly, in a way, when you think of it. But Tolkien is careful (consciously?) of not mentioning the practical aspect of how this change must have occurred, but sticks simply to the ghostly image of how they now appear to Frodo.
Another oddity, the description of the wight coming for them: "Round the corner a long arm was groping, walking on its fingers towards Sam, who was lying nearest, and towards the hilt of the sword that lay upon him." An odd image, as nothing is given but the arm, and its movement, how it walks upon its fingers... a strangely disembodied image, as if the wight is nothing but the arm, a severed arm creeping toward them on its fingers.
And Frodo thinks about putting on his ring and disappearing, feels drawn to do so... another connection with the Ringwraiths, who create just such a pressure in Frodo - put on the ring, put on the ring, put on the ring...
"And the arm crept nearer"... not the wight, just the arm. Again the odd and disturbing image of the severed arm, bodiless and creeping. Frodo hews at the "crawling arm" (again disembodied, with no mention of the wight itself) and "the hand broke off". An interesting word choice, the use of "broke". It doesn't seem to fit with a sword, something cutting, but the use of that word helps reinforce the image of the cold, hard wight.
And then Frodo calls for Tom Bombadil, who seems almost magically to appear. Lightness returns, with Tom's songs and rhymes, and he dispels the wight and the darkness, light streaming in. Only the hand of the wight remains, truly severed now, yet still wriggling "like a wounded spider". An interesting use, again, of imagery foreshadowing action, with the seemingly disembodied arm coming before the actual severing of the hand.
Tom leads them free, and tells them to strip off the strange garb placed on them by the wight... and to run naked on the grass. Which the hobbits do. Really, Tolkien? Really? Is this quite the time to be frolicking naked in the grass? Quite the odd little moment, it seems to me. I suppose the intent is to highlight the return to innocence, to being fresh-born... but on the realist level it seems quite ludicrous. We barely escape a deathly wight... well, let us frolic naked in the grass! Because, you know, I always do that with my buddies after a tough day.
Tom brings them back their ponies... and brings them weapons, too, strong weapons that will be good for fighting agents of the Dark Lord. Yet this surprises the hobbits, as "Fighting had not before occurred to any of them as one of the adventures in which their flight would land them." This seems, on the face of it, a very odd statement. Yes, they're peaceable hobbit folk, but are they really all that naive? Even Bilbo, on his less serious adventure, had to fight. And they know the fate of the world hangs on their mission, and the Dark Lord hunts for them... and fighting never occurred to any of them? Seems a little strange, I think.
Finally they pass from the Barrow-mounds and reach the Road, and here a fear of the Black Riders returns, something they had almost forgotten. This strikes me in two ways: one, it's a good move on Tolkien's part, drawing the reader's attention back to the main plotline and the central conflict. And two, it helps show just how self-cointained these last chapters have been, and how little connection they have with the rest of the story. There's much that is wonderful in them... yet they have not been highly relevant, either.
And lastly they reach the town of Bree, and they recall the necessary subterfuge that must come: Frodo is to be Mr. Underhill, and no longer Mr. Baggins. This again focuses the story back on the main plot, the danger of the Ring - and those who hunt it. And the hobbits seek only "a door between them and the night."
Friday, June 19, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 7
I feel like I'm running a marathon. You know, without the muscle cramps or vomiting.
In the House of Tom Bombadil
The chapter opens with the hobbits meeting Goldberry, the wife of Tom Bombadil. One of the few female characters in the story, and, like most of the others, quite mysterious. And not human, or even hobbitish. While it's not made clear in the text of the story, source materials indicate that Goldberry is something much like a minor divinity, sort of a cross between a river dryad and a lesser god. A few hints only, as Frodo is reminded of Elven wonder, yet considers the spell she casts "less keen and lofty", but "deeper and nearer to mortal heart". Which, of course, suggests Goldberry is far from mortal herself.
It seems a bit of a theme in the story. Who are the female characters? We have Goldberry, we have Arwen (though she hovers, most often, just outside the story rather than within it), we have Galadriel. All mysterious, all a little beyond understanding, and none of them human. Only Eowyn plays a central role, and she is the only mortal female (I suppose I'm cruelly dismissing old Lobelia Sackville-Baggins). Interesting, that, and something we'll have to keep in mind once we reach Eowyn's part in the story.
The hobbits also learn a little more vague information about Tom Bombadil: he does not own the land (no one does), but he is its master. And of course more singing and rhyming, and a pleasant tucking in to sleep.
In the night, though, dreams... and these dreams help break up the sense of contented safety in Bombadil's house. Frodo has a vivid dream of a figure on a tower, surrounded by wolves and fell voices, and flashes of light... and a feeling of the presence of Black Riders. It's an interesting dream, not only because it breaks the mood of the chapter, but because it returns the reader's thoughts to the main plot, reminding them of the real danger while still off on this chance adventure in the Old Forest. A reminder of the Ring, and of those pursuing it... and again it seems a vision of Gandalf, with a staff that flashes light. A true vision, of a sort, as if Frodo were a seer. Is this a hidden gift of the ring? It's never really explained, I think, but it seems more than a dream. Perhaps the ring connects him with the Black Riders in some way... but I don't think this visionary sense returns much. A curious little bit of writing, overall.
Pippin has a fearful dream of creaking willows, of being once again trapped inside the great willow tree. Merry dreams of encroaching waters, of drowning. Both awake and are comforted, but both had fallen prey, it seems, to the song of the Forest. Sam, though, sleeps soundly, as if troubled by nothing. This recalls to me the last chapter, sort of in reverse. Where there he resisted the magical sleep (while the others failed to do so), here he can sleep naturally without being troubled by the strange and almost magical dreams/visions. Again, simple old Sam seems more immune to the strange charms of the magical world.
The hobbits enjoy more good food, and song and stories - yet this is balanced with that darker vision, too. We learn of the Forest and of Old Man Willow, and it's a description saturated with the sort of rich language we did not often see earlier in the story. It becomes ever more prominent:
"Tom's words laid bare the hearts of trees and their thoughts, which were often dark and strange, and filled with a hatred of things that go free upon the earth, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning: destroyers and usurpers. It was not called the Old Forest without reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of vast forgotten woods; and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers of the fathers of trees, remembering times when they were lords. the countless years had filled them with pride and rooted wisdom, and with malice. But none were more dangerous than the Great Willow: his heart was rotten, but his strength was green; and he was cunning, and a master of winds, and his song and thought ran through the woods on both sides of the river. His grey thirsty spirit drew power out of the earth and spread like find root-threads in the ground, and invisible twig fingers in the air, till it had under its dominion nearly all the trees of the Forest from the Hedge to the Downs."
Very evocative and moody. Dark, the language itself full of violence, full of slow anger. I love the diction here, how the word choices reflect what they seek to evoke. The "green" strength of the willow, reflecting both the height of its power and the nature of it, too. The same sort of double use is apparent in his choice of "root-threads" and "invisible twig fingers" as well. And there is a sense of creeping corruption, or seduction, until all is under its sway. Not so unlike Sauron himself, slowly seeking to pull all to him, bent to his will, sort of a thematic mirror in miniature.
And more darkness, a darkness that becomes foreshadowing with Tom's tales of the Barrow Downs: "Barrow-wights walked in the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains in the wind. Stone rings grinned out of the ground like broken teeth in the moonlight." Yes, Tolkien really does like the foreshadowing. A striking description, and I note the repeated use of "rings". A subtler sort of foreshadowing perhaps, the wights being creatures (once men, perhaps) who have fallen to darkness. There's a hint of the Ringwraiths (Black Riders) here, with the "rings on cold fingers", a warning of possibilities to come.
And again, though, a retreat to good food, to happy stories and Goldberry's songs. It's a back and forth chapter, really. In the direct action there is no real movement, no conflict or tension. It's a happy respite. Yet Tolkien confounds that simple happiness by interweaving the dark dreams and the dark tales. The imagery and language provide a certain tension, plus the hint of what is to come in the dangerous Barrow Downs. Necessary, perhaps, or this chapter might fall right out of the book for its limpness. We can only take so many songs and descriptions of food and cream.
The ending of the chapter, though, is troubling. Tom Bombadil asks for the Ring... and Frodo gives it to him. And the Ring has no effect on Tom, and indeed he laughs and plays a trick with it before giving it back to Frodo. It all seems a little silly, and also poorly chosen in terms of developing the dramatic tension of the overall narrative arc. Yes, it does give Tom Bombadil a certain majesty, making his character seem interesting... but to what end? Tom has little role to play in the overall story, and soon disappears for good. And the cost of this is to diminish the Ring and its danger, and that dynamic is the engine that drives the whole story forward. A fairly ineffective course for the story to follow, I have to think.
And it's compounded by Frodo, somewhat suspiciously, testing the Ring and playing his own prank - putting on the Ring and becoming invisible. And yet Tom can see him, again undercutting the power and importance of the Ring to no real effect. And what's more the whimsy of Frodo's use goes against his task, goes against the warnings of the missing Gandalf. The Black Riders are still pursuing them... why put on the Ring?
Tom then gives them a rhyme to sing if they need his aid on their journey the next day. Another bit of foreshadowing, though the danger is somewhat undercut by the silliness of the rhyme itself, or at least it's opening line (...Tom Bombadillo!).
A strange little chapter, in the end. Little happens, and it's a happy respite for the hobbits... except for the plague of dream visions and warnings which seek to play up the dangers to come, even while Tom seems to dismiss the power and danger of the Ring itself. A chapter a little at odds with itself, perhaps, a disparity shown at times in the shifting language, the movement from silly rhymes to dark and moody descriptions.
In the House of Tom Bombadil
The chapter opens with the hobbits meeting Goldberry, the wife of Tom Bombadil. One of the few female characters in the story, and, like most of the others, quite mysterious. And not human, or even hobbitish. While it's not made clear in the text of the story, source materials indicate that Goldberry is something much like a minor divinity, sort of a cross between a river dryad and a lesser god. A few hints only, as Frodo is reminded of Elven wonder, yet considers the spell she casts "less keen and lofty", but "deeper and nearer to mortal heart". Which, of course, suggests Goldberry is far from mortal herself.
It seems a bit of a theme in the story. Who are the female characters? We have Goldberry, we have Arwen (though she hovers, most often, just outside the story rather than within it), we have Galadriel. All mysterious, all a little beyond understanding, and none of them human. Only Eowyn plays a central role, and she is the only mortal female (I suppose I'm cruelly dismissing old Lobelia Sackville-Baggins). Interesting, that, and something we'll have to keep in mind once we reach Eowyn's part in the story.
The hobbits also learn a little more vague information about Tom Bombadil: he does not own the land (no one does), but he is its master. And of course more singing and rhyming, and a pleasant tucking in to sleep.
In the night, though, dreams... and these dreams help break up the sense of contented safety in Bombadil's house. Frodo has a vivid dream of a figure on a tower, surrounded by wolves and fell voices, and flashes of light... and a feeling of the presence of Black Riders. It's an interesting dream, not only because it breaks the mood of the chapter, but because it returns the reader's thoughts to the main plot, reminding them of the real danger while still off on this chance adventure in the Old Forest. A reminder of the Ring, and of those pursuing it... and again it seems a vision of Gandalf, with a staff that flashes light. A true vision, of a sort, as if Frodo were a seer. Is this a hidden gift of the ring? It's never really explained, I think, but it seems more than a dream. Perhaps the ring connects him with the Black Riders in some way... but I don't think this visionary sense returns much. A curious little bit of writing, overall.
Pippin has a fearful dream of creaking willows, of being once again trapped inside the great willow tree. Merry dreams of encroaching waters, of drowning. Both awake and are comforted, but both had fallen prey, it seems, to the song of the Forest. Sam, though, sleeps soundly, as if troubled by nothing. This recalls to me the last chapter, sort of in reverse. Where there he resisted the magical sleep (while the others failed to do so), here he can sleep naturally without being troubled by the strange and almost magical dreams/visions. Again, simple old Sam seems more immune to the strange charms of the magical world.
The hobbits enjoy more good food, and song and stories - yet this is balanced with that darker vision, too. We learn of the Forest and of Old Man Willow, and it's a description saturated with the sort of rich language we did not often see earlier in the story. It becomes ever more prominent:
"Tom's words laid bare the hearts of trees and their thoughts, which were often dark and strange, and filled with a hatred of things that go free upon the earth, gnawing, biting, breaking, hacking, burning: destroyers and usurpers. It was not called the Old Forest without reason, for it was indeed ancient, a survivor of vast forgotten woods; and in it there lived yet, ageing no quicker than the hills, the fathers of the fathers of trees, remembering times when they were lords. the countless years had filled them with pride and rooted wisdom, and with malice. But none were more dangerous than the Great Willow: his heart was rotten, but his strength was green; and he was cunning, and a master of winds, and his song and thought ran through the woods on both sides of the river. His grey thirsty spirit drew power out of the earth and spread like find root-threads in the ground, and invisible twig fingers in the air, till it had under its dominion nearly all the trees of the Forest from the Hedge to the Downs."
Very evocative and moody. Dark, the language itself full of violence, full of slow anger. I love the diction here, how the word choices reflect what they seek to evoke. The "green" strength of the willow, reflecting both the height of its power and the nature of it, too. The same sort of double use is apparent in his choice of "root-threads" and "invisible twig fingers" as well. And there is a sense of creeping corruption, or seduction, until all is under its sway. Not so unlike Sauron himself, slowly seeking to pull all to him, bent to his will, sort of a thematic mirror in miniature.
And more darkness, a darkness that becomes foreshadowing with Tom's tales of the Barrow Downs: "Barrow-wights walked in the hollow places with a clink of rings on cold fingers, and gold chains in the wind. Stone rings grinned out of the ground like broken teeth in the moonlight." Yes, Tolkien really does like the foreshadowing. A striking description, and I note the repeated use of "rings". A subtler sort of foreshadowing perhaps, the wights being creatures (once men, perhaps) who have fallen to darkness. There's a hint of the Ringwraiths (Black Riders) here, with the "rings on cold fingers", a warning of possibilities to come.
And again, though, a retreat to good food, to happy stories and Goldberry's songs. It's a back and forth chapter, really. In the direct action there is no real movement, no conflict or tension. It's a happy respite. Yet Tolkien confounds that simple happiness by interweaving the dark dreams and the dark tales. The imagery and language provide a certain tension, plus the hint of what is to come in the dangerous Barrow Downs. Necessary, perhaps, or this chapter might fall right out of the book for its limpness. We can only take so many songs and descriptions of food and cream.
The ending of the chapter, though, is troubling. Tom Bombadil asks for the Ring... and Frodo gives it to him. And the Ring has no effect on Tom, and indeed he laughs and plays a trick with it before giving it back to Frodo. It all seems a little silly, and also poorly chosen in terms of developing the dramatic tension of the overall narrative arc. Yes, it does give Tom Bombadil a certain majesty, making his character seem interesting... but to what end? Tom has little role to play in the overall story, and soon disappears for good. And the cost of this is to diminish the Ring and its danger, and that dynamic is the engine that drives the whole story forward. A fairly ineffective course for the story to follow, I have to think.
And it's compounded by Frodo, somewhat suspiciously, testing the Ring and playing his own prank - putting on the Ring and becoming invisible. And yet Tom can see him, again undercutting the power and importance of the Ring to no real effect. And what's more the whimsy of Frodo's use goes against his task, goes against the warnings of the missing Gandalf. The Black Riders are still pursuing them... why put on the Ring?
Tom then gives them a rhyme to sing if they need his aid on their journey the next day. Another bit of foreshadowing, though the danger is somewhat undercut by the silliness of the rhyme itself, or at least it's opening line (...Tom Bombadillo!).
A strange little chapter, in the end. Little happens, and it's a happy respite for the hobbits... except for the plague of dream visions and warnings which seek to play up the dangers to come, even while Tom seems to dismiss the power and danger of the Ring itself. A chapter a little at odds with itself, perhaps, a disparity shown at times in the shifting language, the movement from silly rhymes to dark and moody descriptions.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 6
This is one mean horse I'm riding...
The Old Forest
The chapter starts with Frodo being jarred awake in the darkness. There's no danger, but I think that sudden unease lingers a little, and foreshadows the mood of the chapter to come. Lots of other little harbingers to create a certain mood, an atmosphere that sets the scene. Fatty Bolger's fears, the "ominous" click of the gate (into the Old Forest) closing behind them.
This is followed by a conversation about the forest. Merry suggests the stories of fearsome goblins and monsters are not true, but rather that the trees themselves are alive, and can move and act of their own will - and do not like people, particularly at night. Which, to me, is oddly uncomforting. Way to buck up everyone, Merry. No, there's no goblins, just cruel trees... as they look around themselves in a seemingly endless forest of, you guessed it, trees. Though the hobbits take it very well... "'Is it only the trees that are dangerous?' asked Pippin." Um, Pip? There are a whole lot of trees... Luckily, though, there are various other "queer things" in the forest, so Pippin doesn't have to worry about just trees.
Yet here, also, Tolkien starts to make more serious use of his descriptive skills to create mood and tension. "Looking ahead they could see only treetrunks of innumerable sizes and shapes: straight or bent, twisted, leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched, and all the stems were green or grey with moss and slimy, shaggy growths." The description becomes more disturbing as it goes, as if they're sinking deeper into the gloom of the forest. Reminiscent, I think, of Mirkwood in The Hobbit. The hobbits have to wind their way through the "writhing and interlacing roots". I like that writhing, because it not only represents the appearance of the tangled roots but implies a sort of movement, a movement that reinforces the living and predatory nature of the forest itself.
The Bonfire glade provides a moment of relief, but Tolkien quickly closes that off, pushing them back into the stuffy gloom of the forest - the forest itself "drew close" and began "pressing on them". Do we take this literally yet? I don't think so... but the descriptions imply and hint at that sense of movement, of wilful intent. A clever construction of mood and atmosphere.
Another song... but here the song fails. No silliness, not now. "The air seemed heavy and the making of words wearisome. Just behind them a large branch fell from an old overhaning tree with a crash into the path. The trees seemed to close in before them." Tolkien uses "seemed" twice: a weak word, and yet perhaps fitting here, as he's playing that line between the idea of the living and moving trees and the fearful imaginings of the hobbits (and the reader), an illustration of how they feel rather than the direct reality.
This mood deepens and deepens... is the forest, the land itself, working against them, or only appearing to do so? We do not know, though we might suspect... "Then deep folds in the ground were discovered unexpectedly, like the ruts of great giant-wheels or wide moats and sunken roads long disused and choked with brambles." Giant wheels, impassable moats, sunken roads... all a little spooky, a little threatening. The language choices reinforce the mood, the sense of danger. The deep folds "choked" with brambles. They, too, are being choked off and driven, pushed in one direction against their will, the trees growing ever "deeper and darker".
They find themselves in the valley of the Withywindle River, its sides steep and unscalable... holding them in the one place they don't want to be. Yet there is, seemingly, a reprieve: "A golden afternoon of late sunsine lay warm and drowsy upon the hidden land between. In the midst of it there wound lazily a dark river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows, blocked with fallen willows, and flecked with thousands of faded willow-leaves. The air was thick with them, fluttering yellow from the branches; for there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing softly in the valley, and the reeds were rustling, and the willow-boughs were creaking." Beautiful... and dangerous, for it is a false respite. The danger is Old Man Willow, the greatest of the living trees, and he lures the hobbits to him and lulls them to sleep before attacking. Yet it starts here, with this first description before the Willow appears. Warm and drowsy... sunshine... wound lazily... the repetition of willow and willow leaves... the warm breeze... blowing softly... rustling reeds... It all serves as a sort of sleep song, Tolkien almost trying to hypnotize the reader, setting up the mood, the drowsiness, which he will so shortly begin to play on. Only the last bit, the creaking of the willows, might bring cause for alarm, a hint of danger.
Merry, Pippin and Frodo fall asleep... and only Sam does not. He feels something is wrong, resists... and ends up saving Frodo. Interesting to note, perhaps, that the three upper class hobbits fall prey to the magical song of the Willow, but Sam, lower class and seemingly simple, resists. A pattern starting?
This, of course, is the moment of Tom Bombadil's appearance. What to say about Tom? The mood changes immediately. Lightness and silliness returns. Tom, in many ways, seems like a character who would be more at home in the The Hobbit than in The Lord of the Rings. Songs and rhymes and silly wordplay...
And Tom, too, represents a certain ramdomness, another trait that seems less at home in this text than in Tolkien's previous one. For The Hobbit, essentially, was quite a ramdom story, at least until the end, where everything comes together and the elements build up and play against each other. But for much of the story, it is basically a sequence of random and separate adventures on the way to the Lonely Mountain. The Trolls, the goblin caves, Gollum, Beorn, Mirkwood... all sort of random, with much left to chance. The Lord of the Rings, however, is much more causally linked. Events build on one another. Actions create reactions, which create new actions, which cause... you get the idea. Here, though, Tom is a random element. Appearing out of the forest in the nick of time. Tom is his own master, fittingly enough, both in terms of the story (Tom is the Master!) and its structuring (his ramdomness and lack of relation to other story elements).
This chapter (and the next) seem to form a mingling point. The original style (the style of The Hobbit), with its playfulness and humourous interjections, with its simplicity and lightness, here becomes entwined with a newer and darker style, a more elegant and flowing style, a little denser, a little more conscious of mood and beauty. A change, I think, in the tone of the novel, that perhaps also represents the geographical shift in the narrative. The hobbits have left the Shire, homey and companionable, and have now entered mysterious and dangerous lands - the language, in a sense, reflects this. The world has suddenly broadened, and so has the language.
"Strange furtive noises ran among the bushes and reeds on either side of them; and if they looked up to the pale sky, they caught sight of queer gnarled and knobbly faces that gloomed dark against the twilight, and leered down at them from the high bank and the edges of the wood."
Not many sentences like that, I think, through the first five chapters of the novel. Some, who like a simple and more compacted prose, might find this new style overwrought, but I think there's something very much to be appreciated in it. It's certainly more ambitious, more atmospheric. I love bits like the "faces that gloomed dark against the twilight". That "gloomed" is both interesting and vivid, striking in its oddity. It offers both a visual sense and mood, as well as a sense of movement, "gloomed" playing off its similarity with "loomed". Very craftily done, if I may say so.
And yet here, still, the new style is leavened by Tom Bombadil, by his playful silliness. The shadow does not yet lie completely across the story.
The Old Forest
The chapter starts with Frodo being jarred awake in the darkness. There's no danger, but I think that sudden unease lingers a little, and foreshadows the mood of the chapter to come. Lots of other little harbingers to create a certain mood, an atmosphere that sets the scene. Fatty Bolger's fears, the "ominous" click of the gate (into the Old Forest) closing behind them.
This is followed by a conversation about the forest. Merry suggests the stories of fearsome goblins and monsters are not true, but rather that the trees themselves are alive, and can move and act of their own will - and do not like people, particularly at night. Which, to me, is oddly uncomforting. Way to buck up everyone, Merry. No, there's no goblins, just cruel trees... as they look around themselves in a seemingly endless forest of, you guessed it, trees. Though the hobbits take it very well... "'Is it only the trees that are dangerous?' asked Pippin." Um, Pip? There are a whole lot of trees... Luckily, though, there are various other "queer things" in the forest, so Pippin doesn't have to worry about just trees.
Yet here, also, Tolkien starts to make more serious use of his descriptive skills to create mood and tension. "Looking ahead they could see only treetrunks of innumerable sizes and shapes: straight or bent, twisted, leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched, and all the stems were green or grey with moss and slimy, shaggy growths." The description becomes more disturbing as it goes, as if they're sinking deeper into the gloom of the forest. Reminiscent, I think, of Mirkwood in The Hobbit. The hobbits have to wind their way through the "writhing and interlacing roots". I like that writhing, because it not only represents the appearance of the tangled roots but implies a sort of movement, a movement that reinforces the living and predatory nature of the forest itself.
The Bonfire glade provides a moment of relief, but Tolkien quickly closes that off, pushing them back into the stuffy gloom of the forest - the forest itself "drew close" and began "pressing on them". Do we take this literally yet? I don't think so... but the descriptions imply and hint at that sense of movement, of wilful intent. A clever construction of mood and atmosphere.
Another song... but here the song fails. No silliness, not now. "The air seemed heavy and the making of words wearisome. Just behind them a large branch fell from an old overhaning tree with a crash into the path. The trees seemed to close in before them." Tolkien uses "seemed" twice: a weak word, and yet perhaps fitting here, as he's playing that line between the idea of the living and moving trees and the fearful imaginings of the hobbits (and the reader), an illustration of how they feel rather than the direct reality.
This mood deepens and deepens... is the forest, the land itself, working against them, or only appearing to do so? We do not know, though we might suspect... "Then deep folds in the ground were discovered unexpectedly, like the ruts of great giant-wheels or wide moats and sunken roads long disused and choked with brambles." Giant wheels, impassable moats, sunken roads... all a little spooky, a little threatening. The language choices reinforce the mood, the sense of danger. The deep folds "choked" with brambles. They, too, are being choked off and driven, pushed in one direction against their will, the trees growing ever "deeper and darker".
They find themselves in the valley of the Withywindle River, its sides steep and unscalable... holding them in the one place they don't want to be. Yet there is, seemingly, a reprieve: "A golden afternoon of late sunsine lay warm and drowsy upon the hidden land between. In the midst of it there wound lazily a dark river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows, arched over with willows, blocked with fallen willows, and flecked with thousands of faded willow-leaves. The air was thick with them, fluttering yellow from the branches; for there was a warm and gentle breeze blowing softly in the valley, and the reeds were rustling, and the willow-boughs were creaking." Beautiful... and dangerous, for it is a false respite. The danger is Old Man Willow, the greatest of the living trees, and he lures the hobbits to him and lulls them to sleep before attacking. Yet it starts here, with this first description before the Willow appears. Warm and drowsy... sunshine... wound lazily... the repetition of willow and willow leaves... the warm breeze... blowing softly... rustling reeds... It all serves as a sort of sleep song, Tolkien almost trying to hypnotize the reader, setting up the mood, the drowsiness, which he will so shortly begin to play on. Only the last bit, the creaking of the willows, might bring cause for alarm, a hint of danger.
Merry, Pippin and Frodo fall asleep... and only Sam does not. He feels something is wrong, resists... and ends up saving Frodo. Interesting to note, perhaps, that the three upper class hobbits fall prey to the magical song of the Willow, but Sam, lower class and seemingly simple, resists. A pattern starting?
This, of course, is the moment of Tom Bombadil's appearance. What to say about Tom? The mood changes immediately. Lightness and silliness returns. Tom, in many ways, seems like a character who would be more at home in the The Hobbit than in The Lord of the Rings. Songs and rhymes and silly wordplay...
And Tom, too, represents a certain ramdomness, another trait that seems less at home in this text than in Tolkien's previous one. For The Hobbit, essentially, was quite a ramdom story, at least until the end, where everything comes together and the elements build up and play against each other. But for much of the story, it is basically a sequence of random and separate adventures on the way to the Lonely Mountain. The Trolls, the goblin caves, Gollum, Beorn, Mirkwood... all sort of random, with much left to chance. The Lord of the Rings, however, is much more causally linked. Events build on one another. Actions create reactions, which create new actions, which cause... you get the idea. Here, though, Tom is a random element. Appearing out of the forest in the nick of time. Tom is his own master, fittingly enough, both in terms of the story (Tom is the Master!) and its structuring (his ramdomness and lack of relation to other story elements).
This chapter (and the next) seem to form a mingling point. The original style (the style of The Hobbit), with its playfulness and humourous interjections, with its simplicity and lightness, here becomes entwined with a newer and darker style, a more elegant and flowing style, a little denser, a little more conscious of mood and beauty. A change, I think, in the tone of the novel, that perhaps also represents the geographical shift in the narrative. The hobbits have left the Shire, homey and companionable, and have now entered mysterious and dangerous lands - the language, in a sense, reflects this. The world has suddenly broadened, and so has the language.
"Strange furtive noises ran among the bushes and reeds on either side of them; and if they looked up to the pale sky, they caught sight of queer gnarled and knobbly faces that gloomed dark against the twilight, and leered down at them from the high bank and the edges of the wood."
Not many sentences like that, I think, through the first five chapters of the novel. Some, who like a simple and more compacted prose, might find this new style overwrought, but I think there's something very much to be appreciated in it. It's certainly more ambitious, more atmospheric. I love bits like the "faces that gloomed dark against the twilight". That "gloomed" is both interesting and vivid, striking in its oddity. It offers both a visual sense and mood, as well as a sense of movement, "gloomed" playing off its similarity with "loomed". Very craftily done, if I may say so.
And yet here, still, the new style is leavened by Tom Bombadil, by his playful silliness. The shadow does not yet lie completely across the story.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Blogging the Rings: Fellowship, Book 1, Chapter 5
The massive two day vacation is over. I only wish it had been a real vacation rather than a blog vacation, since I worked both days. My tears are melting holes straight through to the Land of Sadness...
A Conspiracy Unmasked
The hobbits take the ferry across the river into Buckland, and this is followed by a bit of exposition about the place and its history. It's even set out in the text with line breaks, a sort of This Is Exposition marker. I'm not sure I'm all too keen on it. It's a largish chunk of exposition, even without being highlighted. Tolkien wants us to have this information... yet most of it could probably be slipped into the text more subtly. And much of it isn't really needed. Some of his historical intrusions, I think, help set mood and tone and deepen the present moment... this one, however, doesn't, barring perhaps the final lines about the Old Forest drawing close to the hedge and how the Bucklanders lock their doors at night, which is unusual for Hobbits.
On the far side of the river the hobbits look back and see a dark shape... the shadowy form of a Black Rider is the guess. They have escaped... but only barely. I like this bit... and yet feel the tension could have been heightened, the risk played up a little more. The mushroom talk and exposition interlude has slowed things down quite a bit. The shape of the Rider is a nice little jolt... but they're safe now on the far bank, and the Rider can't cross. More, I think, could have been done with this.
They finally make it to Frodo's new home, carefully arranged with all his things to appear as much like his old home, Bag End, as possible. I think there's a wonderful little introspective bit here, where he sees his new place and wishes he really could stay and live here... but knowing he can't, and believing he must abandon his friends, and abandon them this very night.
And we can't escape without a song or two. This time a bathing song, along with horseplay. Silliness, and a very boyish sort of silliness. This is one of the moments that really reminds me how masculine the story often is, whether it be heroic manhood or boyish capering.
Next we come to the scene for which the chapter is named, where Frodo's friends reveal that they know his secrets and, what's more, they're going to be coming with him (whether he wants them to or not). The scene is also helpful in that we see a little more of Merry, the last of the major hobbit characters. We see he is the sharpest of Frodo's friends, and also the leader. And courageous, too, as he seems to best understand the danger they will face, and yet is still willing to follow Frodo. He definitely seems hardier than the typical hobbit.
There is, however, what seems to be a bit of a logical error in this section, one that I tripped over. It's suggested that Sam was their key informant, until he was found out, after which he wouldn't speak. The problem, of course, is that Sam was found out in the very first moment, when Gandalf made his initial explanations to Frodo about the Ring and the task ahead. So there could not have been a conspiracy amidst the friends yet, as there was nothing to conspire over. And if Sam clammed up after he was found out... he could not have shared anything at all. A minor thing, I suppose, but a little odd, for Tolkien was generally pretty meticulous with his timelines.
And another song! A good, marching sort of song for the beginning of an adventure. After this another curious point comes up. Merry suggests that the Black Riders could actually be there by now... and thus, the implication seems to be, that they could come at any time in the night. Yet Frodo decides to stay the night regardless, even knowing the importance of his mission (which makes the mushroom and bath shenanigans, in this context, seem a little silly). Again, this decision oddly undercuts the basic dramatic tension of the story. The Black Riders seem less dangerous merely for the lack of reaction they create in the hobbits.
Frodo does, at least, decide to eschew the roads on account of the Black Riders, deciding to leave through the Old Forest. Fatty reacts with fear to this, which serves as a nice hook for the chapter to come... yes, they can escape the Riders this way, but the Old Forest has its own dangers.
The chapter concludes with a dream that comes to Frodo. It's strange and evocative, and its eerie mood unsettles the reader, creating a sort of expectancy for the next chapter. The elements of the dream itself are interesting too... the tower, the flash of light and sound of thunder... I have a feeling these might be connected to Gandalf, but I cannot recall exactly. We'll see if this dream is given any more meaning as we go along. There's also the sea imagery, the calling of the sea... which is an interesting omen for the end of the story, sort of an abstract foreshadowing, while at the same time creating a foundation piece for one of the motifs that run through the narrative. The Sea... a mixture of victory and loss, beauty and sadness. An end, the final crossing, death... and the possibility of rebirth and new life, too.
Things get a little darker from here on out, I think...
A Conspiracy Unmasked
The hobbits take the ferry across the river into Buckland, and this is followed by a bit of exposition about the place and its history. It's even set out in the text with line breaks, a sort of This Is Exposition marker. I'm not sure I'm all too keen on it. It's a largish chunk of exposition, even without being highlighted. Tolkien wants us to have this information... yet most of it could probably be slipped into the text more subtly. And much of it isn't really needed. Some of his historical intrusions, I think, help set mood and tone and deepen the present moment... this one, however, doesn't, barring perhaps the final lines about the Old Forest drawing close to the hedge and how the Bucklanders lock their doors at night, which is unusual for Hobbits.
On the far side of the river the hobbits look back and see a dark shape... the shadowy form of a Black Rider is the guess. They have escaped... but only barely. I like this bit... and yet feel the tension could have been heightened, the risk played up a little more. The mushroom talk and exposition interlude has slowed things down quite a bit. The shape of the Rider is a nice little jolt... but they're safe now on the far bank, and the Rider can't cross. More, I think, could have been done with this.
They finally make it to Frodo's new home, carefully arranged with all his things to appear as much like his old home, Bag End, as possible. I think there's a wonderful little introspective bit here, where he sees his new place and wishes he really could stay and live here... but knowing he can't, and believing he must abandon his friends, and abandon them this very night.
And we can't escape without a song or two. This time a bathing song, along with horseplay. Silliness, and a very boyish sort of silliness. This is one of the moments that really reminds me how masculine the story often is, whether it be heroic manhood or boyish capering.
Next we come to the scene for which the chapter is named, where Frodo's friends reveal that they know his secrets and, what's more, they're going to be coming with him (whether he wants them to or not). The scene is also helpful in that we see a little more of Merry, the last of the major hobbit characters. We see he is the sharpest of Frodo's friends, and also the leader. And courageous, too, as he seems to best understand the danger they will face, and yet is still willing to follow Frodo. He definitely seems hardier than the typical hobbit.
There is, however, what seems to be a bit of a logical error in this section, one that I tripped over. It's suggested that Sam was their key informant, until he was found out, after which he wouldn't speak. The problem, of course, is that Sam was found out in the very first moment, when Gandalf made his initial explanations to Frodo about the Ring and the task ahead. So there could not have been a conspiracy amidst the friends yet, as there was nothing to conspire over. And if Sam clammed up after he was found out... he could not have shared anything at all. A minor thing, I suppose, but a little odd, for Tolkien was generally pretty meticulous with his timelines.
And another song! A good, marching sort of song for the beginning of an adventure. After this another curious point comes up. Merry suggests that the Black Riders could actually be there by now... and thus, the implication seems to be, that they could come at any time in the night. Yet Frodo decides to stay the night regardless, even knowing the importance of his mission (which makes the mushroom and bath shenanigans, in this context, seem a little silly). Again, this decision oddly undercuts the basic dramatic tension of the story. The Black Riders seem less dangerous merely for the lack of reaction they create in the hobbits.
Frodo does, at least, decide to eschew the roads on account of the Black Riders, deciding to leave through the Old Forest. Fatty reacts with fear to this, which serves as a nice hook for the chapter to come... yes, they can escape the Riders this way, but the Old Forest has its own dangers.
The chapter concludes with a dream that comes to Frodo. It's strange and evocative, and its eerie mood unsettles the reader, creating a sort of expectancy for the next chapter. The elements of the dream itself are interesting too... the tower, the flash of light and sound of thunder... I have a feeling these might be connected to Gandalf, but I cannot recall exactly. We'll see if this dream is given any more meaning as we go along. There's also the sea imagery, the calling of the sea... which is an interesting omen for the end of the story, sort of an abstract foreshadowing, while at the same time creating a foundation piece for one of the motifs that run through the narrative. The Sea... a mixture of victory and loss, beauty and sadness. An end, the final crossing, death... and the possibility of rebirth and new life, too.
Things get a little darker from here on out, I think...
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