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labingiHere are some more random thoughts up to roughly Helm's Deep: the Dealing with Mistakes Edition.
(LOTR spoilers, if anyone cares...)
Aragorn
Original (pre-Viggo) Aragon often gets described as too perfect, and I see why. I don't find him a super fascinating character either, but I had not clocked how protracted his inner struggle is over leading the fellowship after the fall of Gandalf. He has multiple iterations of the "we must do without hope" idea, which, in Tolkien's philosophy, is a clear sign you're not thinking properly. Admission: In an earlier entry on this, I unwittingly quoted Bakshi (facepalm)!
He recurrently talks about how his decisions as a leader have gone wrong--and he's not totally wrong about that. He fails to track what's going on with Boromir, fails to keep track of Frodo (and Sam). Interestingly, he loses Frodo and Sam, in part, because he decides to climb the Emyn Muil to check things out from its famous vantage point, and that's not a bad decision in itself, but it is explicitly driven, in part, by ego, by his desire to sit on the seat of kings, and that seems not accidental. Later, against Legolas's advice, he chooses to rest rather than keep chasing the Orcs, which may have quashed their chance of actually catching the Orcs.
That's a lot of struggle with fallibility, and it's fairly easy to miss because it's minor. It's minor because Aragorn operates from a place of good intention and time-tested knowledge and morals. This makes me think of karma as a seed that may or may not fall into fertile soil. Each of those little losses of hope or imperfect decisions would carry karma (in a Buddhist frame), but they don't fall into fertile soil because Aragorn has--to torture the metaphor--been consistently cleaning the shit so there's nothing for them to grow into.
Boromir
On the other end of the fellowship spectrum, I had also not fully realized how realistic (and therefore scary) Boromir's fall is. I have a hard time seeing people behaving badly, and it was harder when I was younger. Thus, I have always found Boromir's attack on Frodo viscerally unpleasant, which is not a criticism of the writing; it just means that I've tried rather hard not to think about it too much. It startled me on rereading how short it actually is. His literal attack is little more than one lunge and a few angry lines--and then he sees what he's done and he's sorry.
Now, the lead-up is really long, going back to before we ever meet Boromir. And he struggles valiantly to restrain his increasing impulse ask that the Ring go to Gondor (or to him). That would, of course, have been his preferred path back in Rivendell. Galadriel tempts him with it in Lothlorien. And even in his showdown with Frodo, he's still trying to be diplomatic.
I have been there--I expect most of us have about something--in that place where we have a fixation on something and struggle incredibly hard to restrain ourselves and do the "right" thing, not fully believing it is the right thing, until finally we snap and say or do things we cannot take back and will forever regret, even if it's only one sentence. I have been there multiple times and will carry the scars and the culpability for the rest of my life. Devastatingly realistic.
On Forgiving Hasty Words
One of the things that's really touching about Tolkien's philosophy is the space it makes for human weakness. This surprises me a little in a Catholic philosophy because, at the end of the day, it's still asserting that some folks screw up so badly that they've lost their chance for grace and will be the equivalent of damned for eternity (or at least till the end of Arda). But the small errors are easily and persistently forgiven. One example is Gimli and Éomer's quarrel of whether Galadriel is an evil enchantress or not. Despite Gimili's taking it (I would say) rather too seriously, they do some good old fashioned conflict resolution and make it up pretty swiftly.
More interesting to me, however, is Celeborn, who is counted among the Wise. And yet, the very first line we get out of him is nattering about how Dwarves are nothing but trouble and they should boot Gimli out. He gets immediately corrected (by his wife), and being Wise, takes the correction just about as immediately and apologizes. I think it's a very interesting choice to introduce a character who identified as ancient, noble, Wise, etc. by showing him making a mistake and showing how (quite readily) he owns it.
I wish that our current society could embrace the simple reality that sometimes people say stupid things, and we have to apologize, accept apologies, and move on. We've really lost that skill (at least online).
Extra points to Celeborn for telling Boromir that he ought to be less dismissive of "old wives" and their "tales."
Randomness
It is often said that Frodo has no sexuality, but I don't think that's strictly true. He has a very strong, immediate reaction to multiple amazingly beautiful women he encounters. That could be cultural training, you (may) say. I think his speech patterns to them are and maybe some degree of social... unbalance that he doesn't show with men. But his response to them is so strong and instantaneous that I find it hard to explain as totally a cultural construction; it feels like it has some component of innate feeling. My two cents.
Here's an admission I don't make every day. Peter Jackson did something better, and it is the introduction of Théoden, not the really obvious makeup change part, but the part where the script takes seriously the death of his son and shows him grieving. In the book, his transformation is so near instantaneous and total it feels like a novella's worth of character development shoved into a chapter.
Finally, it must be said I find large parts of this book a bit boring. That's partly because I know the story, so "and then this happened!" isn't inherently thrilling. A lot of it is plot with little character. I understand why people bog down. But I think this is also a reminder, in a world that is weirdly skewed today between dreck and demands for perfection, that a brilliant story is not necessarily brilliant on every page--or just in a style that is particularly accessible to us as individual readers. It is still worth sitting with these works, and not just classics but newer works too if we can get some sense of what to stick with. (Asphodel once advised me to stick with Trigun, the '98 anime, through all the boredom and annoyance, and I did and I will be rewarded for the rest of my life.)
(LOTR spoilers, if anyone cares...)
Aragorn
Original (pre-Viggo) Aragon often gets described as too perfect, and I see why. I don't find him a super fascinating character either, but I had not clocked how protracted his inner struggle is over leading the fellowship after the fall of Gandalf. He has multiple iterations of the "we must do without hope" idea, which, in Tolkien's philosophy, is a clear sign you're not thinking properly. Admission: In an earlier entry on this, I unwittingly quoted Bakshi (facepalm)!
He recurrently talks about how his decisions as a leader have gone wrong--and he's not totally wrong about that. He fails to track what's going on with Boromir, fails to keep track of Frodo (and Sam). Interestingly, he loses Frodo and Sam, in part, because he decides to climb the Emyn Muil to check things out from its famous vantage point, and that's not a bad decision in itself, but it is explicitly driven, in part, by ego, by his desire to sit on the seat of kings, and that seems not accidental. Later, against Legolas's advice, he chooses to rest rather than keep chasing the Orcs, which may have quashed their chance of actually catching the Orcs.
That's a lot of struggle with fallibility, and it's fairly easy to miss because it's minor. It's minor because Aragorn operates from a place of good intention and time-tested knowledge and morals. This makes me think of karma as a seed that may or may not fall into fertile soil. Each of those little losses of hope or imperfect decisions would carry karma (in a Buddhist frame), but they don't fall into fertile soil because Aragorn has--to torture the metaphor--been consistently cleaning the shit so there's nothing for them to grow into.
Boromir
On the other end of the fellowship spectrum, I had also not fully realized how realistic (and therefore scary) Boromir's fall is. I have a hard time seeing people behaving badly, and it was harder when I was younger. Thus, I have always found Boromir's attack on Frodo viscerally unpleasant, which is not a criticism of the writing; it just means that I've tried rather hard not to think about it too much. It startled me on rereading how short it actually is. His literal attack is little more than one lunge and a few angry lines--and then he sees what he's done and he's sorry.
Now, the lead-up is really long, going back to before we ever meet Boromir. And he struggles valiantly to restrain his increasing impulse ask that the Ring go to Gondor (or to him). That would, of course, have been his preferred path back in Rivendell. Galadriel tempts him with it in Lothlorien. And even in his showdown with Frodo, he's still trying to be diplomatic.
I have been there--I expect most of us have about something--in that place where we have a fixation on something and struggle incredibly hard to restrain ourselves and do the "right" thing, not fully believing it is the right thing, until finally we snap and say or do things we cannot take back and will forever regret, even if it's only one sentence. I have been there multiple times and will carry the scars and the culpability for the rest of my life. Devastatingly realistic.
On Forgiving Hasty Words
One of the things that's really touching about Tolkien's philosophy is the space it makes for human weakness. This surprises me a little in a Catholic philosophy because, at the end of the day, it's still asserting that some folks screw up so badly that they've lost their chance for grace and will be the equivalent of damned for eternity (or at least till the end of Arda). But the small errors are easily and persistently forgiven. One example is Gimli and Éomer's quarrel of whether Galadriel is an evil enchantress or not. Despite Gimili's taking it (I would say) rather too seriously, they do some good old fashioned conflict resolution and make it up pretty swiftly.
More interesting to me, however, is Celeborn, who is counted among the Wise. And yet, the very first line we get out of him is nattering about how Dwarves are nothing but trouble and they should boot Gimli out. He gets immediately corrected (by his wife), and being Wise, takes the correction just about as immediately and apologizes. I think it's a very interesting choice to introduce a character who identified as ancient, noble, Wise, etc. by showing him making a mistake and showing how (quite readily) he owns it.
I wish that our current society could embrace the simple reality that sometimes people say stupid things, and we have to apologize, accept apologies, and move on. We've really lost that skill (at least online).
Extra points to Celeborn for telling Boromir that he ought to be less dismissive of "old wives" and their "tales."
Randomness
It is often said that Frodo has no sexuality, but I don't think that's strictly true. He has a very strong, immediate reaction to multiple amazingly beautiful women he encounters. That could be cultural training, you (may) say. I think his speech patterns to them are and maybe some degree of social... unbalance that he doesn't show with men. But his response to them is so strong and instantaneous that I find it hard to explain as totally a cultural construction; it feels like it has some component of innate feeling. My two cents.
Here's an admission I don't make every day. Peter Jackson did something better, and it is the introduction of Théoden, not the really obvious makeup change part, but the part where the script takes seriously the death of his son and shows him grieving. In the book, his transformation is so near instantaneous and total it feels like a novella's worth of character development shoved into a chapter.
Finally, it must be said I find large parts of this book a bit boring. That's partly because I know the story, so "and then this happened!" isn't inherently thrilling. A lot of it is plot with little character. I understand why people bog down. But I think this is also a reminder, in a world that is weirdly skewed today between dreck and demands for perfection, that a brilliant story is not necessarily brilliant on every page--or just in a style that is particularly accessible to us as individual readers. It is still worth sitting with these works, and not just classics but newer works too if we can get some sense of what to stick with. (Asphodel once advised me to stick with Trigun, the '98 anime, through all the boredom and annoyance, and I did and I will be rewarded for the rest of my life.)
