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The Decay of Lorbanery

The island of Lorbanery reminds me a lot of a couple places in Middle Earth, initially and most notably of the Shire for its greenery and simple lifestyle. As I read on, though, and finding that Sosara and the rest of the island have fallen into decay, the image of Laketown came to mind. They aren’t in the same environment, and the people of Lorbanery are certainly less welcoming, but I found a connection between the rundown state of both, the pride they have for their home, and their fall from a place of greatness.

What I found most interesting was the difference in mentality between both struggling places. For Laketown, the inhabitants largely had a hopeful attitude toward their lives and their futures, holding onto the greatness they knew would come again, and that kept their will strong. For Lorbanery, they have nothing to hold onto, “They complain about bad times… they say the works shoddy, but they don’t improve it… everything’s the same to them; Everything’s grey” (Le Guin, 130). It’s interesting to see the difference in attitude for one place which had something to hold onto and another which seemingly does not.

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The Tombs of Atuan

A lot of aspects of the Kargad Empire were fascinating, but one thing that caught me off guard as I was reading The Tombs of Atuan was the development of The Kargs. In Wizard of Earthsea, they didn’t appear much (if at all, can’t confirm) after their failed invasion of Gont, but the characteristics I got from their presence was that they were a large, fierce, and advanced people, and their home, being a fearsome empire, likely reflected this. I was surprised to find that their empire is not as well put together as I was expecting. As the priestesses and wardens of the tomb journeyed through the kingdom to find their reborn priestess, we get to see the kingdom outside of the walls, and it seems very rural and decentralized. Atuan’s largest city, I believe, Tenacbah, is “No more than a flea to a cow” when compared to Awabath, having “ten hundred houses” (Le Guin, 14). The rest of the island is populated by small towns and villages in the hill country, and further past that, the poor folk live “In lonely huts in the valleys of the hills,” who, being so poor, “kept no count of days and scarce knew how to tell the turn of time” (15), so education must not reach many in Atuan.

Even the high priestess, as we later read, would be expected to “Fetch water in the summer when the wells ran low” (19), an arduous task that I wouldn’t think royalty would be doing. Beyond that, though, I’m surprised that the high priestess would have to worry at all about not having water, and that Atuan wouldn’t have some sort of irrigation system to provide water more efficiently. All of these things just surprised me, as someone who believed the Kargad Empire to be more advanced. This may only be Atuan, but if that’s the case, why is the homeland of their high priestess not as advanced as the rest of the empire?

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“The Balance”

Someone brought up the idea that magic is a give and take in our discussions this week, that when one casts a spell, it messes with the balance of nature, whether good or evil, and must then be countered to rebalance nature. Reading Senior’s article only further provided evidence of this idea through the idea of gift-giving, “Earthsea’s Equilibrium or Balance consists of a system of exchanges, a system which implies obligations and responsibilities for those involved because of the reactions and fluxions that any earlier action generates” (104), which establishes magic as a sort of gift which will have a reciprocation. I think it’s fascinating that this “Balance” is characterized as a sort of living being—Senior capitalizes it throughout the text, along with “Equilibrium.”

In the real world, the closest idea that I can think of which reflects this is the idea of karma, that what you do will affect what is done to you. But that is more of a self-related give and take than the Balance in Earthsea, which seems to be more nature-oriented and affects the world. So, does this only pertain to magic? Or if a person, say, cuts down a tree, does this affect something somewhere else in Earthsea? Ged stated once that he could not simply cause rain in one place without possibly causing a drought in another. Does all nature work like this, or just magic?

I think it’s also fascinating to look at the giving of names as the giving of a gift, as I have been viewing the protection of ones name as the protection of oneself against the outside world, and it still is in a way, but as Senior points out, giving your name “Is to render oneself completely… ‘it was a great gift Vetch had given him,’ for he ‘had given that gift only a friend can give, the proof of unshaken, unshakable trust’” (qtd. Le Guin 69, 106). And since gifts are “An extension of the giver, in fact often of his soul” (106), giving your name is giving your soul to another person. This isn’t really a new point I’m making, I just thought it was quite a nice thought.

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Kargad Vikings

Le Guin mentions that the Kargad Empire is a large empire, extending from the Northern Reach to the Eastern, and spread across different islands. It stands to reason, then, that the Kargs have two benefits to raiding and enslaving: they could use the resources provided by free labor, and, more importantly in this case, razing civilizations to the ground and removing the population in turn removes the civilization.

Raffield argues that the Vikings were active slavers but had different reasons for enslaving people. But ultimately, for whichever reason they enslaved, Vikings believed it to be “A form of ‘social death’, whereby the captive is robbed of their social identity and rendered as a ‘nonbeing’ in the eyes of their captors” (683) and it was “A by-product of more formalized warfare and conflict” (686). For Vikings, enslaving was strategic, and for the Kargs it is much the same. They don’t seem very intelligent to me given their response to Duny’s magic, but, as a people, they likely understand that more people in their capture means less people in opposition to them. 

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Beginning Earthsea

First interpretation of the world building of Earthsea compared to that of Middle Earth is that Ursula Le Guin is good at getting to the point… ehem… At first glance, Ged’s home is not much like the Shire in terms of appearance. It doesn’t necessarily feel as isolated, and she describes it as being near mountains and forests, which the characters within the world don’t seem to be too warry of. In fact, when under threat, they “Fled up the ravines and hid in the forest” (10). There are some similarities, though, namely I found that both cultures are peaceful, for in the same instance, Ged’s village was caught off guard by the attack as “There had been no weapons in the village but hunting bows and short knives, for the mountain folk of Gont are not warlike” (10). Similarly to the Shire, Gont does not expect war nor does it prepare for it.

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It’s hard to imagine Tolkien didn’t incorporate some of his trauma or life experiences from the war in his work, but it’s easy to understand that it may not have always been intentional. I think that may be why he was against a lot of the claims, simply because it wasn’t how he saw it coming together. It’s a lot like how we’ve discussed Tolkien putting himself in certain characters, like Frodo (which Livingston’s article actually increased my belief in), Gandalf, or Tom Bombadil.

WWI in LOTR

It is so interesting to me how Tolkien is against the idea that Lord of the Rings was a reflection of his experience in the first World War as one would assume going through something like that would influence your every move for the remainder of your life. I think that the article makes its best points about the mirroring of the war and the novels when talking about Frodo’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I remember the first time I watched all of the movies all in one day, it struck me just how sad and traumatizing Frodo’s experience was. When the movies are watched separately, it is not as obvious that Frodo is on a downward slope over the course of three movies, but watched all together, it really hit me. It is just as Frodo said, “It must be so, Sam, when things are in danger: some one has to give them up, lose them, so that others may keep them” (88). Just as Frodo had to give up the Shire in order to save the Shire, so did so many disillusioned soldiers have to give up their homes in order to save their homes. It just wasn’t the same home that they had left. I also think the “us” and “them” aspects of both things reflect very well. Tolkien drew out these differences dramatically in the orcs as they looked very inhuman. It makes it impossible to think how the two sides could ever reconcile. All in all, I agree with critics who say that although Tolkien may not have been cognizant of it, there are strong ties between the books and his experiences in the first world war. 

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The Artist Formerly Known as Sméagol

Livingston does a great job describing the connection between Tolkien’s experiences in WWI and The Lord of The Rings, especially in the PTSD that Frodo experiences once his journey begins to come to a close, PTSD from Weathertop, the ring, Shelob’s lair, and the journey as a whole. While I think all of this is well-founded and I largely agree with it, I couldn’t help but think of another character who exhibits similar symptoms throughout the story: Gollum.

Try to disagree with me when I say Gollum’s kind of messed up, in the head and probably the rest of his body if we’re being realistic here. As stated by the title, Gollum was once just the Hobbit Sméagol, not much unlike Frodo. And I think that it’s easy to forget or ignore that he is also a victim, a victim of the ring and of Sauron. But specifically, we see this as he guides Frodo and Sam through the Marshes and Shelob’s lair through the mountains and into Mordor. We see it when they encounter the wraith over the Dead Marshes, “Gollum would not move. He stood shaking and gibbering to himself” and by his volatile reaction to actually seeing the wraith (Tolkien, 783-784).

He also seems to have some sort of fear of the sunlight, which is likely just a symptom of his condition, along with his multiple personality disorder that the ring has brought on. But when he mentions his fear of “The Yellow Face” (capitalized no less) which can’t see him in the shadows, I was reminded of the visual of Sauron’s eye, thinking perhaps that’s what Gollum was thinking of (773). We know that Gollum was at one point in the hands of Sauron, or rather his servants. But we don’t know exactly how awful that experience likely was for him, we only catch glimpses of it. But I think he’s clearly experienced some very traumatic things over his life, just not in quite the same way as our friends Frodo and Tolkien.

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The faces in the marshes also reminded me of the aftermath of the Titanic sinking. Even the visual representation in the film interpretation of The Two Towers is reminiscent of it; pale faces of the dead, left to commemorate the tragedy which left them there. Just as the battle ground has long been erased by time, leaving behind only these faces, so too had Titanic. Cool connection!

The Marshes Response

This dangerous watery place reminds me of the movie Titanic. More specially, it reminds me of the fictional ending of Titanic. When describing the marshes, Frodo says, “They lie in all the pools, pale faces, deep deep under the dark water. I saw them: grim faces and evil, and noble faces and sad…all foul, all rotting, all dead” (628). I imagine this scene is similar to the experience of the tiny lifeboat that went back for survivors of the Titanic. After they had floated away, they realized they could fit more people so they returned to the site of the sunken ship. All around them were dead people, floating on objects but unable to survive in the cold ocean. I imagine their faces were just as pale and frozen in time since the water was extremely cold. Similar to the orcs, elves, and men in the marshes, the people from the Titanic had undergone and lost a battle fighting against others for their right to live on the lifeboats. A major difference of the two scenes is that the lifeboat found Rose whereas Frodo and Sam did not find any survivors of the historical battle. I imagine the look on Jack’s face when he started sinking to be quite similar to the grim faces in the marshes. In conclusion, the marshes seem akin to the end of Titanic as both places reek of death and sadness. 

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Hiding in Plain Sight

I’ll agree that it’s awfully convenient how villains in texts often seem to simply not see things that arguably should be obvious or easy to foresee. Such is the case with Frodo, Sam, and Gollum walking clear across the Dead Marshes up to the front door of Mordor, basically unchecked. But given how Tolkien describes the world around them and the behavior of the characters, it kind of makes a lot of sense to me here.

The marshes are a wide-open space, but they don’t seem to be very clear. Tolkien describes them repeatedly as cloudy, with limited light filtering through from the sun, and covered in fog and mist. Visually, the characters were “Lost in a shadowy silent world, cut off from all view of the lands about” (778), thus someone who relies on sight (Sauron) wouldn’t easily see them. The land is also incredibly smelly, one of the most distinctive features, which is likely what most protected the hobbits from being discovered by the wraith which, although coming close, did not discover them (783).

Another claim I would make is that as far as Sauron knows, there’s only one accessible way to enter Mordor, the Black Gate. He has that covered. In fact, given the incoming armies that we see in chapter 3, this is likely where most of his attention typically is, or, at least the attention of his servants. Gollum knows of a secret passage through Shelob’s layer, but we’ve established that Sauron long ago elected to leave Shelob unbothered, and likely therefore has no knowledge of such a passage.

And there it is, my take on why it actually works out that the Hobbits are able to relatively easily cross the Dead Marshes unseen by Mordor, they use the environment to their advantage (whether they realize it or not) and their journey through them may not be on Sauron’s mind.

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Fire and Wood - Great Halls of Old

Hume’s text on the hall’s of Old English poetry touches briefly on the issue of fire in relation to old great halls, something that reminded me of The Golden Hall of Edoras. In the chapter “The King of The Golden Hall,” the hall is described as “Dark and warm... long and wide and filled with shadows and half-lights” which largely seemed to be from the sporadic windows on one side of the hall. I think we examined this metaphorically as a representation of the evil lurking within, or the stain of poison affecting the noble Théoden, however, perhaps there was a literal reason for the lack of light. Hume explains that inhabitants of great halls in poetry treated fire as dangerous, which makes sense considering the halls were likely mostly built using wood. In the case of Beowulf, “Fire was the only force which the builders of Heorot feared ( Beowulf 778-8 2a) and it was indeed fire which destroyed it (81b- 5)” (Hume, 66). The Golden Hall is not much different, as a result, that may be another reason (definitely a more literal reason) for why there was little light in The Golden Hall. There was a hearth in the middle of it, away from walls or pillars, which is also reflected in Old English poetry, “The hall was pictured, for poetic purposes, as a circle of light and peace enclosed by darkness, discomfort and danger” (64). I think this also then supports the metaphorical take on the darkness of The Golden Hall, as Rohan and Théoden, two beacons of goodness, are surrounded by dark forces, namely Wormtongue and Isengard.

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I think this reaction represents something true with most characters in The Lord of the Rings, that they may not know of the world at large but are able to learn and change. Legolas is not a fan of caves, but it’s the love of caves from his close friend Gimli that sways him to see them. Surely if anyone can speak of caves the way that Legolas speaks of forests, they must have beauty in them. It’s a matter of opening up to new things that a lot of characters struggle with when venturing to new places. And, as is this case, it doesn’t hurt when your comrade is introducing the new things.

The Magic of Helm’s Deep

I was struck by the wide variety of character responses to Helm’s Deep. On one end, dwarves, as exemplified by Gimli, are extremely reverent, even offended by the casually pragmatic attitude of others. Gimli calls it “one of the marvels of the Northern World” and claims “there would be an endless pilgrimage of Dwarves, merely to gaze at them” (TTT 547). Given his description of the “immeasurable halls”, “gems and crystals and veins of precious ore”, and “glistening pendants”, one would think that all characters would at least be impressed by their natural beauty. However, from the descriptions Men give, it may as well be bare stone. All that is really mentioned by Men is “in the caves of the Deep are three parts of the folk of Westfold” (TTT 531) and when their forces fall back that “in the narrows they may hold back the enemy…and the air is wholesome there” (TTT 539). Admittedly, the descriptions of the caves from Men come from times when they are more focused on the immediate threat of death and invasion, but they only talk about it from a strategic position, even when Gandalf and Theoden decide to send people there. For the Rohirrim, the apparent beauty of the caves pales in comparison to its strategic advantage, both historical and at present. On the other hand, when first hearing of the caves, Legolas expresses distaste, saying “I would give gold to be excused…and double to be let out, if I strayed in!” (TTT 547). Once he actually sees them, though, “he was silent, and would say only that Gimli alone could find words to speak of them” (RotK 979). Elves generally do not like to be underground, so it is somewhat surprising that the caves are so beautiful as to impress Legolas, but not any of the Rohirrim. 

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Rohan

Legolas and Gimli both represent a recurring theme in Middle Earth of races not interacting much with one another and often clashing over different cultures. Legolas differs somewhat in that his disconnect from the Rohirrim seems to be a matter of indifference which comes across as very blunt when reading his interpretation of Rohan. He isn’t necessarily anti-Rohan, and doesn’t outright disrespect it or the people. But he doesn’t connect with it, such as prior to entering Edoras, as Legolas comments on the “short” history of Rohan, “Five hundred times have the red leaves fallen in Mirkwood in my home since then,’ said Legolas, ‘and but a little while does that seem to us” (630). However, Legolas doesn’t show disdain for the people of Rohan, and his indifference could be rooted in ignorance, as shortly after he states regarding the language of the Rohirrim, “It is like to this land itself; rich and rolling in part and else hard and stern as the mountains. But I cannot guess what it means, save that it is laden with the sadness of Mortal Men” (630). So we know that Legolas doesn’t know much about Rohan at all. We also know that despite this, he appreciates the land, which makes sense considering his attachment to nature, and thus in part appreciates the culture which shares this sentiment. 

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Sam is the one out of the four Hobbits who I think keeps them grounded. The others are more hyperactive or engaging in the world around them. Sam likes to keep things as safe and simple as possible, always taking care and paying attention to his companions. It’s a necessary role, one that the group likely wouldn’t survive (or would have less of a chance) without.

Sam says of Weathertop, “it makes my heart sink somehow” (FotR 189). His experience of the fort involved setting up camp. I think a large part of his apprehension is finding traces of activity where there should be none. Sam and Pippin are the ones to find “footprints not more than a day or two old…recent traces of fire, and other signs of a hasty camp…a small store of firewood neatly stacked” (FotR 188). Weathertop has a huge strategical advantage over all the land around it, due to its wide and clear views. Therefore, it is useful to many travelers, both good and evil. Sam considered it “with dislike, now that he had heard news of their enemies on the Road, only a few miles away” (FotR 189). Knowing that Weathertop, while abandoned by its original occupants, has been recently visited by an unknown party, and that the enemies are close at hand, greatly influenced Sam’s experience of Weathertop in a negative direction.

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It is interesting considering their lack of experience high above the ground. Aside from just being uncomfortable due to the unusual height, I think it’s also representative of their outlook on the world. Prior to these events, these Hobbits, much like the rest, experience their own world at their own level. Seeing the world from this height is like seeing the world from a new perspective, a world which includes much more than just your backyard.

Weathertop:  The Anti-Hobbit Home

The land of Weathertop is just as it says: a weathered fortress on the top of a mountain.  While many people in today’s day and age would want nothing more than to be able to reach the top of such a location and be able to witness the world on an incredibly grand scale, there are just as many who would wish quite the opposite.

Hobbits are, more often than not, quite sedentary beings, preferring to stay in and around the holes they call their home.  These homes are built low into (and sometimes even within) the earth as to create a sense of security and protection from both those who could harm them and the outside world in general.  When the average Hobbit has to stray away from this security, they tend to get anxious, wary, and homesick.  Who could guess that, when put in the exact reverse of their normal conditions, a Hobbit’s feeling of unease would increase exponentially?  That is precisely what Weathertop is.  Where a Hobbit hole is tight and secure, the fortress is wide and open.  Where the hills of the Shire provide private, comforting sightlines, the mountain supplies the widest view possible, both inwards and outwards.  These ideas are echoed by Frodo’s thoughts when he settles himself on the mountain, with him thinking, “They stood for a while silent on the hill-top, near its southward edge. In that lonely place Frodo for the first time fully realized his homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left him in the quiet and beloved Shire” (Tolkien 246).  These fears, however, are not unsubstantiated Hobbit paranoia as, immediately after thinking this, Frodo spots malicious black figures in the distance and, as the mountain so graciously allows, they spot him just as well.

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Weathertop by mithrialxx

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