This review is preceded by:
The Fellowship of the Ring ended with the undoing of the Company. Gandalf fell in Moria, Boromir revealed his temptation for the Ring, and Frodo made the difficult choice of resuming the quest on his own (until Sam insisted to come along, of course). Moments later an unruly herd of Orcs attacked them from every direction, and in separate directions did the Company members flee.
In any given narrative, a group’s separation, especially under dire circumstances, makes my heart ache. There’s always the possibility that one (or more) character won’t live to see a reunion. It’s harder still when it’s a character who has struggled and sacrificied much on their way back to friends, only to die not knowing how such friends have fared.
I feared it would happen to the hobbits. Four they were when they left the Shire, moving as one from land to land until allies joined in. But now two have gone one way, and two another. And hobbits, bless them, they’re such affectionate folk—devoted to each other like siblings bound by blood. No tragedy has yet happened to make this particular reunion impossible, thankfully. As I read on, I only hope that when Pippin, Merry, Sam, and Frodo come together again, they’ll all be living and breathing as on the day they set out on this adventure.
But tragedy has indeed befallen the Company. The opening chapter of The Two Towers describes the departure of Boromir, setting the tone for the rest of the series. That a man of his strength and standing lay lifeless, slain by Orcs in a place so close to his beloved Gondor, reminded the others of the gravity of their affair—of the unquestionable proximity of danger and the fragility of their lives.
Concluding that first chapter, I worried that the remaining pages would only bring darkness upon darkness. Yet Tolkien has generously relieved the reader, as even in the midst of perilous happenings has he weaved in light-hearted interactions and beautiful descriptions. Even while havoc is wreaked in Middle-earth I pause to smile at his writing.
In this part of the LOTR Reading Diaries, I continue to comment on those moments that have stood out to me the most. Book Three has so far been the longest, a sequence of enthralling events in which loyalties are tested, battles are fought by man and nature alike, and fortunes begin to shift. And this is only building up to a bigger, all-out war—a war that has become as much of my worries as it is of the characters.
Boromir, Captain of Gondor: Dying is his redemption
You might recall that in Part Two, I was left questioning Galadriel’s powers and true intentions after her first interaction with the Company. I wrote the following:
[…] if she is capable of reading their hearts, or at least sensing their inclinations, doesn’t that mean that she should have been able to detect Boromir’s evil temptations? If she did sense them, why did she not warn the rest of the Company? Either there’s more to Galadriel than she lets on (and than Aragorn knows), or she did not see anything suspicious at all. But this sets forth a contradiction regarding her powers, because later she reveals that she can “perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind.” This means she is capable of feeling evil. My only explanation in her defense is that she might have indeed seen in Boromir that temptation, but also a goodness of heart and the possibility for redemption.
My doubts are cleared in the chapter titled The White Rider. It’s the chapter in which Gandalf returns from the dead (as I knew he would) and, sitting with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli, discusses what has been and what can still happen. Informed of Boromir’s death at Amon Hen, Gandalf reacts by saying:
“Poor Boromir! I could not see what happened to him. It was a sore trial for such a man: a warrior, and a lord of men. Galadriel told me that he was in peril. But he escaped in the end. I am glad. […]”
Galadriel did sense his temptation. She also likely sensed that Gandalf was still alive, even after the Company had informed her of his fall at Moria. And now I understand what she did: had she warned Boromir’s companions of his inclinations, the Fellowship would have been corrupted there and then. The others would have turned on him, and Boromir’s long-standing reputation as a noble man and warrior would have been tarnished. There was still a long way for the Company to go, and she knew they ought to stick together. So out of grace and mercy, she withheld her knowledge and shared it only with Gandalf.
Galadriel told me he was in peril.
Boromir was a bigger threat to himself than to the others. If he had stayed alive and somehow made it to Orthanc with his companions, I do not doubt that he would have been easily swayed by the Voice of Saruman. It’s likely he would have betrayed them and joined Saruman in his hunt for the Ring, transgressing further against himself and sealing his own fate.
His death was his escape—an expiation and salvation. In jumping to Pippin and Merry’s protection, he died as honorably as he had lived before: as a warrior. He blows his horn, but aid arrives late. Aragorn finds him seated against a tree, injured. After confessing his attempt to take the Ring from Frodo, Boromir expresses regret and insists he has paid the price. Then he utters his last words:
“Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.”
Like Galadriel, Aragorn protects Boromir’s memory: he keeps the confession and last words to himself. Then with the help of Legolas and Gimli, he lies Boromir down on a funeral boat. The grey hood and elven cloak they fold and place beneath his head. They comb his long dark hair and array it upon his shoulders. The golden belt of Lórien remains round his waist, gleaming under the sun. His helm they set beside him, and across his lap they rest the cloven horn and the hilt and shards of his sword; beneath his feet they put the swords of his enemies. After singing a soft farewell, the three push the boat away, and away the river bears him.
There’s a significance in the placement of these objects. Closest to him are the things central to his character; to his identity as an adventurer (the elven cloak and hood) and as a warrior (the helm, the horn, and what remains of his weapon). The enemies’ swords go below his feet to symbolize Boromir’s superiority, even in death. While the Orcs were victorious in battle, it was ultimately Boromir who won, for by dying he has preserved his honor. The honor of his enemies, however, is beyond saving. Their victory is physical, whereas his is spiritual—moral.
The Captain of Gondor has earned a merciful death and a beautiful farewell.
Gandalf’s resurrection presents more questions than answers
The old wizard reappears sooner than I expected. I thought the separated Company would fend for itself a little longer, and that Gandalf would reappear to Frodo first. Yet he returns precisely at the others’ need. Dejected and disorientated, Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli are walking along the edge of the feared Fangorn forest, doubting each step they take in their search for Pippin and Merry. Had Gandalf not interrupted the search and redirected them, the three hunters would have failed to reach Rohan in time.
At Gimli’s request, Gandalf explains how he came out of Moria. He fought the Balrog on the bridge of Khazad-dûm, and when it broke they both fell into the deep, dark underworld of Moria—a depth unknown even to the most ancient Dwarves. Burned by the Balrog’s fire and at once chilled by the cold waters below, Gandalf still managed to pursue his enemy through caverns and tunnels, then up the Endless Stair, until they found themselves on the peak of Zirakzigil (a mountain above Moria). After a long struggle, Gandalf cast down the Balrog—though the effort largely consumed his strength. His body was broken, darkness took him, and he “passed out of thought and time” (which, I’m led to believe, implies he momentarily died). But then he was “brought back,” or resurrected, for his task was not done. Gwaihir the Windlord found him again, and Gandalf explains it had been Galadriel who sent him out to fetch him. Then to Lothlórien he was flown.
He certainly had a hard time finding his way back. But what interests me more is the transformation he seems to have undergone. Not only has he born again, but he’s also shed his former title and taken up Saruman’s, becoming Gandalf the White. I still don’t have a full picture of what the colors in a wizards’ order mean, but it’s known that a White wizard is superior to a Grey one. He also says:
“[…] I am Gandalf, Gandalf the White, but Black is mightier still.”
This has me wondering. In this quote’s particular context, he is speaking of the impending war and worrying about its potential destruction. That he follows this speech with a mention of “Black” (which, I assume, is a Black wizard) makes me question whether he means that Sauron, the Enemy, is also a wizard. It’s interesting because Sauron has never been directly described as one. He’s referred to as the “Dark Lord,” the “Enemy,” and the “Maker of the One Ring.” We’re told of his “will” and his “eye”—of his power over Men and Orcs alike. But we don’t know the exact nature of his powers, nor has it been mentioned how he classifies among the dwellers of Middle-earth. Is he a wizard—a Black one? Did he once belong to Gandalf’s order, as Saruman did? Does Gandalf have a history with Sauron, one we haven’t yet been told?
There’s more: what does Gandalf’s promotion to a White wizard entail? Besides becoming head of the Council, does he become more powerful magic-wise? So many questions, and so far no answers.
I have also noticed that his character is behaving differently. He seems calmer somehow, gentler in speech and more understanding (especially with Pippin, whom he mercilessly roasted in Book Two). He’s also more talkative; before, he used to retreat to a corner and think in silence, whereas now he voices his thoughts and shares them with whoever is listening. At the same time, however, he’s become more authoritative and imposing. For example, his confidence when confronting Théoden, and persuading him to fight despite his old age, is unmatched.
He has simultaneously mellowed and strenghtened in character. That is a curious thing.
In chapter eleven, The Palantír, Pippin and Merry discuss this change that they too have noted:
“Did you get any news, any information out of him?” asked Pippin.
“Yes, a good deal. More than usual. But you heard it all or most of it; you were close by, and we were talking no secrets. But you can go with him tomorrow, if you think you can get more out of him—and if he’ll have you.”
“Can I? Good! But he’s close, isn’t he? Not changed at all.”
“Oh yes, he is!” said Merry, waking up a little, and beginning to wonder what was bothering his companion. “He has grown, or something. He can be both kinder and more alarming, merrier and more solemn than before, I think. He has changed; but we have not had the chance to see how much yet […]”
I hope we get that chance. And while we’re at it, I hope to have some of my questions answered, for Gandalf has managed to become more enigmatic than he’s ever been.
In my previous post, I continued to analyze how the narrative so far aligns with Joseph Campbell’s popular structure, The Hero’s Journey. I predicted that Gandalf would return at a time of despair and danger, to offer the protagonist a reward in the form of wisdom or aid. He has fulfilled that role, but not for the benefit of Frodo—yet. The way I see it, the breaking of the Fellowship has branched the plot out into three mini-narratives, each with its heroes. That makes Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli the heroes of the Rohan storyline; and indeed at a moment of despair has Gandalf reappeared, rewarding these heroes with direction.
Given the wizard’s habit of disappearing, I believe there will come a point in which he leaves the Company again. Whether it will happen before or after the three hunters and the two hobbits reunite with Frodo and Sam, I cannot tell. But again I predict that he’ll reppear to Frodo at his most desperate point, likely during Campbell’s ordeal stage. Also referred to as the belly of the whale, that is the moment in which the hero has to face his greatest fear (for Frodo, it’s entering Mordor to destroy the Ring), a moment in which he’ll possibly hit rock bottom or witness something severely unpleasant.
I’ll have to keep reading to find out.
Sauron’s defeat might be self-inflicted
Though mighty and feared, the Dark Lord has not exactly demonstrated good leadership yet. For two reasons, I’m inclined to believe his demise will be largely self-inflicted:
1. He doesn’t think like his enemies
Sauron is an entity so consumed by ambition that it simply does not occur to him that someone would refuse to wield the Ring. In his mind, an item this powerful can only be desired; it is inconceivable that it should be destroyed of its bearer’s own volition. This makes him narrow-minded, causing him to rely on the false conviction that his enemy will act as he would himself.
“[…] Indeed he is in great fear, not knowing what mighty one may suddenly appear, wielding the Ring, and assailing him with war, seeking to cast him down and take his place. That we should wish to cast him down and have no one in his place is not a thought that occurs to his mind.”
—Gandalf (Chapter 5: The White Rider)
Sauron is aware that a hobbit carries the Ring. He also knows that Minas Tirith is kept by stout rival men who would vanquish him should they come to bear it. He has thus dispatched his forces to that land instead of using them to guard his own, because if he were the Ring-bearing hobbit, equipping the mighty men of Minas Tirith with the Ring is what he would have done to win the war and seize the Dark throne. Indeed, Gandalf, the rest of the Company, and the Riders of Rohan are headed to Gondor’s capital—but to fight off those forces. The Ring heads East, to Mordor—something Sauron’s mind is unable to foresee. That, Gandalf says, is his weakness: projecting his own logic onto others.
Without the ability to see past his cunning, Sauron is bound to make one wrong move after another.
2. He hasn’t subdued Saruman
Saruman’s relationship to Sauron was never an alliance.
In The Fellowship of the Ring, during Elrond’s council, Gandalf mentions that the former White wizard had “studied the arts of the Enemy” and grown gradually more fascinated with his Ring-lore and schemes. The idea of joining the Dark Lord as an ally did occur to him at first, but soon a more appealing notion began to take form: that he can compete with Sauron for the Ring and dominion over Middle-earth. This fascination led to imitation: with time, Saruman too began to breed Orcs and send armies of them to pursue the Company.
By the end of Book Three, it is revealed that the black orb in the Company’s possession is a palantír that Saruman once used. This means that for a certain duration, the wizard was under Sauron’s direct influence—making him a servant of the Dark Lord, even if he still dreamt of rivaling him.
And rivaling him he can.
I think until now, Sauron has underestimated Saruman’s power. As chief of the wizards’ council, he was already mightier than Gandalf—and his might didn’t waver as he succumbed to evil. It is told in Chapter 4 (Treebeard) that his Orcs, the Uruk-hai, are a blend between regular Orcs and Men. This makes their breed larger, sturdier, faster—and, unlike Mordor’s Orcs, capable of withstanding the sun. After capturing Merry and Pippin, the Orcs of Saruman fought Sauron’s, and the former were victorious. Beyond Orcs? The wizard possesses a Voice that can sway even the strongest at heart, and a competitive spirit that doesn’t rest.
You might ask: but Heba, didn’t the Ents destroy most of Saruman’s Orc army during their attack in Book Three?
Yes, but I think Saruman can still act. I see before him two possibilities:
Possibility #1: he will somehow escape the Ents’ scrutiny. That’s the more unlikely course of action, given that Saruman, deprived of his staff, is trapped in the Orthanc tower with only Wormtongue and a mysterious third character (whom I think is a spy) for company. Supposing he does, however, it would require of him time and effort to rebuild an army. Yet given his wisdom (he wasn’t chief of the wizards for nothing), I won’t be too surprised if it is later revealed that Saruman has supplemental forces that have lain dormant until an emergency. His current situation certainly counts as one.
Possibility #2: he will succumb to Gandalf’s will, obeying his order to stand back. Saruman will be taken out of Orthanc and into Gandalf’s company for a while. Perhaps it is while being escorted somewhere else that he will manage to escape and betray him again.
Either way—what Saruman will do after escaping I cannot tell for now. His goal is finding the Ring before Sauron. I think it possible that with the help of spies he will discover the Company’s plan to destroy the Ring in Mordor, and in Mordor will fight Sauron for its possession. Evil versus evil.
Of course, I could be wrong about everything I just wrote. But I do have a feeling that, in one way or another, Saruman will cause Sauron trouble. Not having subdued Saruman at the earliest signs of disobedience (i.e. Saruman no longer using the palantír and reporting to the Dark Lord) will come back to haunt him.
Thus a combination of leadership flaws and compromised trust may contribute to Sauron’s defeat.
Ents are the most fascinating Middle-earth creatures (so far)
A discussion on Book Three would be incomplete without expressing my appreciation of Ents (which, by extension, is an appreciation of Tolkien’s vast imagination and exquisite worldbuilding). Ents are not mere creatures, but evidence of Middle-earth’s extensive ancient history. They are safekeepers of a distant past no longer remembered even by the oldest living Elves, even when, choronologically, Elves existed before them. If there’s a race that ought to be saved in this war, it’s the Ents; saving them is, in many ways, saving Middle-earth and all that it’s ever been.
They are introduced in the narrative at a very opportune time: Pippin and Merry have managed to escape the Orcs that captured them and, lost in the wide and dark Fangorn forest, are in need of direction.
They found that they were looking at a most extraordinary face. It belonged to a large Man-like, almost Troll-like, figure, at least fourteen foot high, very sturdy, with a tall head, and hardly any neck. Whether it was clad in stuff like green and grey bark, or whether that was its hide, was difficult to say. At any rate the arms, at a short distance from the trunk, were not wrinkled, but covered with a brown smooth skin. The large feet had seven toes each. The lower part of the long face was covered with a sweeping grey beard, bushy, almost twiggy at the roots, thin and mossy at the ends. But at the moment the hobbits noted little but the eyes. These deep eyes were now surveying them, slow and solemn, but very penetrating. They were brown, shot with a green light. Often afterwards Pippin tried to describe his first impression of them.
“One felt as if there was an enormous well behind them, filled up with ages of memory and long, slow, steady thinking; but their surface was sparkling with the present; like sun shimmering on the outer leaves of a vast tree, or on the ripples of a very deep lake. I don’t know, but it felt as if something that grew in the ground—asleep, you might say, or just feeling itself as something between root-tip and leaf-tip, between deep earth and sky had suddenly waked up, and was considering you with the same slow care that it had given to its own inside affairs for endless years.”
What an introduction. It’s reminiscent, in its effect, of Glorfindel’s first appearance in The Fellowship of the Ring (which I reacted to in Part One of this series). There’s something so captivating about Ents, and I’ve been struggling to put my finger on it. Perhaps it’s their slowness. We’re so used to being fast-paced, particularly in our day and age, that encountering someone, even if fictional, who unapologetically approaches the big and basic things with a deliberate slowness comes as striking. And perhaps it’s their fierce protectiveness over nature; more so how they and the forest are one, for Ents are “made of the bones of the earth.” Still as trees some of them have become, hardened by years of inactivity. A threat directed to the forest is felt deep in their being; an attack on it is an attack on them, and as Book Three has demonstrated, they readily fight back when opportunity presents itself. Their slowness becomes a terrifying, fast ferocity. Ents who “become hot” are wild, unruly beasts.
Perhaps it’s this alternation that has drawn my interest in them: they keep to themselves, in peace and unbothered to rush anything said or done, but turn into intense, staggering creatures when what they love and hold dear is threatened.
And they happen to be effortlessly hilarious. Treebeard’s interactions with Merry and Pippin—lifting them off the ground and placing them each on one shoulder, asking them not to interrupt him as he speaks, otherwise it’ll take him ages to finish, making sure the hobbits know they are “a hasty people” every time one of them talks—are so endearing. And the most interesting part? The Ents used to think hobbits were only legend, and, at the same time, hobbits thought Ents were only legend. Their encounter was something out of a fairy tale for both sides.
Nevertheless, the Ents remain a sad species. Since the disappearance of the Entwives, they have settled in the forest with all hope lost; they have for a long time now been deprived of their companionship and, unable to reproduce, the survival of the race itself is endangered. The Ents’ interference and attack on Isengard was much needed, but I hope this is the first and last contribution they make to the ongoing war.
Middle-earth must not risk losing its Ents.
Before I wrap up this post, I’d like to very briefly discuss a couple of more points—two matters in the story that are worthy of our attention:
» Pippin is a precious Company member and I’m invested in his character
I once read a one-star review of The Fellowship of the Ring on Goodreads (gasp, I know), in which the person complained that the hobbits all sounded and felt the same. I have to disagree. In Part One, I dedicated a section to a short analysis of Sam’s character. He stands out from his companions for his unrelenting devotion to Frodo, as well as a noticeable fire in his personality; he stands for no injustice and reacts right away.
I have not yet discerned how exactly Merry differs from the other hobbits, but Book Three has brought Pippin’s virtues into the spotlight. He is inquisitive, yes, but that’s not necessarily a negative quality. The Palantír chapter makes use of his unsatiable curiosity: had a different character used the magical orb, as Gandalf states, the consequences might have been worse—if not irreversible. This incident is, I think, a revelation. Of what, I cannot tell yet. But Pippin has resisted the power of the palantír for a reason. It can be an indication of some personal strength—some unique quality—that the hobbit possesses, and which might be useful in other occasions.
Pippin is trouble, I don’t deny it. But he’s the kind of character whose trouble-making is more endearing than frustrating, and as we’ve seen, it can even be beneficial. I really like his character and hope to see more of him in action.
» Legolas and Gimli have a heartwarming friendship
When I discuss LOTR with someone, I notice that Sam and Frodo’s friendship tends to get the most attention. But Legolas and Gimli have something special going on. I remember how they stood at odds when the Fellowship was formed after Elrond’s council, how past grievances between Elves and Dwarves came surfacing in their very first interaction, as each felt the need to spring to his species’ defense. The Quest forced them to coexist, and this forced coexistence has allowed a beautiful friendship to slowly but surely flourish.
As they are now, the two defy odds and expectations. If an outsider is to read some of their interactions in Book Three, they’ll think the two have been friends since childhood. I especially love how, during the battle at Helm’s Deep, they challenge each other in Orc-killing—and Gimli, with just his axe, manages to bypass Legolas’s kill count by one. Legolas takes it well, expressing his admiration of the Dwarf’s skill. I hope that they both survive the Quest, because they’ve made a pact to travel together and visit each other’s prized locations in Middle-earth: Gimli wants Legolas to see the Glittering Caves of Helm’s Deep, while Legolas wishes to take him to Fangorn Forest. It’s a beautiful promise—because, more than anything, it’s a promise to remain friends.
Memorable quotes from Book Three
“There are some things that it is better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.” —Aragorn
“[…] I have spoken words of hope. But only of hope. Hope is not victory.” —Gandalf
“The treacherous are ever distrustful.” —Gandalf
“The wise speak only of what they know.” —Gandalf
“Do not be hasty, that is my motto.” —Treebeard
“I am not altogether on anybody’s side, because nobody is altogether on my side, if you understand me: nobody cares for the woods as I care for them, not even Elves nowadays.” —Treebeard.
And that’s all for Book Three, which I’m inclined to call my favorite so far. It has seen dark moments (Pippin and Merry’s abduction by the Orcs; the battle at Helm’s Deep) but also hopeful ones (Gandalf’s return; the introduction of the Ents; a renunion among Company members), and I fear that as we near the latter stages of the Quest, we’ll have fewer of the hopeful and more of the dark ones. I really want to be wrong about this.
Book Four, I expect, explores Frodo and Sam’s side of the story. I can’t wait to see what the two hobbits were up to while their friends lived through the moments I just reviewed.
Until next time,
Heba
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