LOTR Musings 8/2/04

I've found myself writing about Tolkien's themes from time to time in various fora and in email correspondence with other Tolkien enthusiasts. I've discussed the obvious themes of folks who would otherwise be enemies banding together to oppose a common foe and of ordinary folk called to heroic deeds. We've talked about entire wars for the simple sake of diversion so that the smallest among them could creep deep into the enemy's stronghold and capitalize on his one true vulnerability: his inability to comprehend that others might think differently and seek to destroy him by destroying his prize rather than wielding it. I've always been drawn to the notion that it, by definition, was the smallest and weakest among them who could achieve the goal, that their very insignificance provided them advantage, that appearances can be deceptive, and that even the jolliest folk, fond of the simplest pleasures can be formidable foes when stirred to action in a righteous cause. There is an accidental nature to heroism, and a strong moral conviction to do what is right can lead good but ordinary people into events for which they are wholly unprepared. Sam's speech in The Two Towers says it beautifully: "And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it when we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things that the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folks seem to have been just landed in them, usually--their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on--and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folks inside a story and not outside it call a good end. ...But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?" Through readings and partial readings over many years, I’ve found inspiration in Tolkien’s story and was a little taken aback when Frodo’s inability to return to his former life, forever changed by his experience, so resonated with me after seeing the third film. I was left feeling uneasy, if not unpleasant, as if, somehow the ending wasn’t quite as happy as I’d remembered. In "Tolkien: A Biography" Michael White so beautifully described what I was feeling when he wrote: "And it is this, more than any other aspect of the legend, that was derived most obviously from Tolkien's experiences of war. The sense that there is never a complete victory and that all triumph is always tarnished with loss is a powerful element in Tolkien's universe. Throughout the entire epic cycle, victory is always gained at a grievous price, success is always at least partly tempered with failure. A tinge of sadness, of fragility and impermanence underlies everything about Middle-earth." Of course, it is the same “fragility and impermanence” that underlies all life, and Tolkien was right, great gain often requires great loss. White touches on what seems to be the most consistent criticism of Tolkien’s epic, and that is his treatment, or lack thereof, of women and romantic matters. I suggest that the minimal romanticism in the story is less because of Tolkien’s Catholic propriety and a resulting lack of familiarity or comfort with romantic interaction (although this is clearly a part of it), and more central to the theme of ordinary matters of life becoming secondary to facing compelling overwhelming events. War was the domain of men and Tolkien’s few women excel, each in their moments, and some as equals rather than counterparts, from the powerful and wise rule of Galadriel to Eowyn’s Dernhelm, determined to fight along side her brother and her father. The thread of loss is woven through this theme of romance deferred or achieved at great price, notably in Arwen’s sacrifice of immortality for love of Aragorn, but most clearly in the sad consequences of the ents, ultimately defined by the loss of their entwives, left eventually almost without life and not even remembering why. Tolkien’s characters, for the most part, choose an intimacy of enduring great hardship or sacrifice together that transcends gender and sexuality, and although there is not much room for romance in his tale, it is, at it’s core, about love.