This is a brief analysis of the chapter the Bridge of Khazad-Dum by one of my friends on a forum: The Hall of Fire. I decided to share this because I thought this is a truly thoughtful post and is worthy of much discussion. ( I hope this kind of thing is allowed here.) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- [FULL CREDIT: Passdagas the Brown a.k.a. Gandalfs Mother] I want to focus on Tolkiens masterful narrative style and use of language in this chapter to illustrate why I come uncomfortably close to worshiping it as holy writ. These are my impressionistic responses to the chapter, which I think are more valuable than anything more analytical I might say. Quote: The Company of the Ring stood silent beside the tomb of Balin. Frodo thought of Bilbo and his long friendship with the dwarf, and of Balin’s visit to the Shire long ago. In that dusty chamber in the mountains it seemed a thousand years ago and on the other side of the world. Long ago, a thousand years ago, dusty chamber, on the other side of the world, with references back to a previous adventure, adding a decidedly melancholic atmosphere to it all. These are simple sentences, with simple words, yet they pierce my history and adventure-loving heart like cold steel. A deep emotional moment happening deep under the Earth. These are the kind of stories that get my blood running. Quote: By both the doors they could now see that many bones were lying, and among them were broken swords and axe-heads, and cloven shields and helms. Some of the swords were crooked: orc-scimitars with blackened blades. The tension begins to build...slowly but surely. And I love how Tolkiens simple prose is shot through with little moments of evocative alliteration: blackened blades. In terms of Gandalfs reading of the record of the fortunes of Balins folk, I will stick to my previous assertion that my vulgar self can add little to Tolkiens words. This is a masterpiece of language and suspense-building. As Gandalf says, in reference to Oris account: I fear he had ill tidings to record in a fair hand... I have only praise to record in a rough hand. Though I will quote one of my favorite passages, which to this day connects me to the thinly-sketched Balin in a profound way: Quote: ‘...Balin lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirrormere. The first time I read that I felt struck by an orc arrow myself! All I could think about was What is this mysterious and evocatively-named Mirrormere? And why was Balin alone, looking into it? Whatever Mirrormere was, I felt a deep desire to look into it myself, danger or no. Quote: Doom, doom came the drum-beat and the walls shook. Just perfect prose. These drums in the deep make for great alliteration, but the images and sounds these simple words convey are astounding. The thought of being deep underground, in these ancient chambers revered by these ancient bearded warriors, and to hear drums pounding and echoing in chambers that are deeper still. Gives me the shivers just writing about it. Quote: There was a rush of hoarse laughter, like the fall of sliding stones into a pit; amid the clamour a deep voice was raised in command. Doom, boom, doom went the drums in the deep. More of Tolkiens perfect prose, shot through (like elf shot) with poetry (I always felt that Tolkiens best poetry was his prose!). I mean, laughter, like the fall of sliding stones into a pit. Has anyone ever conceived of laughter that sounds like that? To me, only Tolkien seems capable of imagining such a sound being associated with laughter. And again, those drums in the deep, likely mimicking the heart beats of the frightened company. Quote: A fire was smouldering in his brown eyes that would have made Ted Sandyman step backwards, if he had seen it. Love this little reference to Shire politics in the midst of horror. Quote: His broad flat face was swart, his eyes were like coals, and his tongue was red; he wielded a great spear. An author of lesser skill would have taken at least a paragraph to describe this imposing enemy. In one line, Tolkien achieves one of the best descriptions of a baddie across the six books. I hoped for so long to see this orc brought to life on the big screen, and was rather disappointed when PJ replaced him with a troll (though a great-looking one, I admit, and loosely based on the scaled arm that tried to get itself in earlier). Quote: Doom, doom went the drums in the deep. The great voice rolled out again. Love this repetition. Tolkien is almost like an orchestral composer in this chapter, directing his drummers to pound away at just the right times. Quote: Suddenly at the top of the stair there was a stab of white light. Then there was a dull rumble and a heavy thud. The drum-beats broke out wildly: doom-boom, doom-boom, and then stopped. Gandalf came flying down the steps and fell to the ground in the midst of the Company. ‘Well, well! That’s over!’ said the wizard struggling to his feet. ‘I have done all that I could. But I have met my match, and have nearly been destroyed. Frankly, I found this off-screen confrontation with the balrog (which we have not yet been introduced to) to be more powerful even than the ultimate confrontation on the bridge. My mind was roiling with questions about whatever it was that caused Gandalf the great wizard to be nearly destroyed. This mystery was further deepened by Gandalfs subsequent account: Quote: ‘As I stood there I could hear orc-voices on the other side: at any moment I thought they would burst it open. I could not hear what was said; they seemed to be talking in their own hideous language. All I caught was ghaˆsh: that is ‘‘fire’’. Then something came into the chamber – I felt it through the door, and the orcs themselves were afraid and fell silent. It laid hold of the iron ring, and then it perceived me and my spell. ‘What it was I cannot guess, but I have never felt such a challenge. The counter-spell was terrible. It nearly broke me. For an instant the door left my control and began to open! I had to speak a word of Command. That proved too great a strain. The door burst in pieces. Something dark as a cloud was blocking out all the light inside, and I was thrown backwards down the stairs. Chills. Period. Quote: I am afraid Balin is buried deep... More great alliteration. Balin...buried...deep. At this point, I very much feel like Sam does later on in Lothlorien. Like I am in an old song. Quote: Legolas turned and set an arrow to the string, though it was a long shot for his small bow. He drew, but his hand fell, and the arrow slipped to the ground. He gave a cry of dismay and fear. Two great trolls appeared; they bore great slabs of stone, and flung them down to serve as gangways over the fire. But it was not the trolls that had filled the Elf with terror. I am always bowled over by this bit. On my first reading, the image of great trolls bearing great slabs of stone was simply awe-inspiring. Like some evil inversion of Moses descending from the mountain with his slabs of stone. But then immediately afterwards, I am told that this awesome sight is not the thing that filled Legolas with terror. It was something else! Quote: The ranks of the orcs had opened, and they crowded away, as if they themselves were afraid. Something was coming up behind them. What it was could not be seen: it was like a great shadow, in the middle of which was a dark form, of man-shape maybe, yet greater; and a power and terror seemed to be in it and to go before it. I believe this is the moment when I decided that Middle Earth was real, and had existed in my mind since birth. For many years in my youth, I had often dreamed of an undefined shadow, moving towards me and sometimes trapping me in my bed with a great weight on my chest. This nightmare was coming to life as I read. Quote: ‘A Balrog,’ muttered Gandalf. ‘Now I understand.’ He faltered and leaned heavily on his staff. ‘What an evil fortune! And I am already weary.’ IMO, one of the best few lines of dialogue across all of Tolkiens works. My shoulders feel slumped in weariness just reading it. It reminds me of the near-universal feeling one gets when rather than raining, it pours. At the time, it was school exams, the death of my grandfather, social anxieties, etc. Without any deep psychological profiling, Tolkien placed me in the shoes of an ancient spirit of legend! Quote: Boromir raised his horn and blew. Loud the challenge rang and bellowed, like the shout of many throats under the cavernous roof. For a moment the orcs quailed and the fiery shadow halted. Then the echoes died as suddenly as a flame blown out by a dark wind, and the enemy advanced again. Horns, and many throats, and cavernous roofs, and dark winds. I am convinced that Tolkien was deeply inspired during this chapter - that traveling deep under the Earth with his pen sparked a fire in his creative soul, much like the dwarves sparked a fire that turned out to be their bane. In this way, the balrog represents to me the peril and promise of seeking answers in the dark - the blank spaces on the map. The heart desires it, and suppressing such desires can lead to boredom, mediocrity and depression. But following these desires too far, and too deep, can indeed awaken dangerous beasts. Perhaps Tolkiens own inclination to explore (and make up stories about) the blank spaces in Anglo-Saxon myth, language and history has a parallel here? Perhaps the world of Middle Earth acted as some form of a bane to his academic duties? Smile I doubt that was intended, but theres something rather psychologically powerful, in a nebulous way, about the balrogs, that leads me to a personal interpretation. This interpretation is strengthened by the fact that they are rather unique. Like the giant spiders, nothing quite like them appears in much of the Northern myth that Tolkien knew so well. ETA: Though they do remind me of some demons described in eastern myths. Certain old descriptions of the devil, among Magyar tribesmen, also have a balrogy feel... Quote: The Balrog reached the bridge. Gandalf stood in the middle of the span, leaning on the staff in his left hand, but in his other hand Glamdring gleamed, cold and white. His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings. It raised the whip, and the thongs whined and cracked. Fire came from its nostrils. But Gandalf stood firm. Someone on these forums once used the phrase mythic moment to describe a scene in PJs films. Id like to commandeer that phrase here. A mythic moment par excellence. Quote: The fires went out, and blank darkness fell. The Company stood rooted with horror staring into the pit. Anyone whos experienced profound grief knows about the pit. Whether it sits in your stomach or your mind, staring into it is usually the first stage of such grief. Quote: They stumbled wildly up the great stairs beyond the door, Aragorn leading, Boromir at the rear. At the top was a wide echoing passage. Along this they fled. Frodo heard Sam at his side weeping, and then he found that he himself was weeping as he ran. Doom, doom, doom the drum-beats rolled behind, mournful now and slow; doom! I am not a weepy fellow, but this passage did get me. The first time I read it, I was too shocked to fully process what had happened. But on subsequent readings, I often tear up. Not necessarily from grief at Gandalfs passing (as I know he will be back), but due to personal experience with the type of sudden, shocking loss that might lead one to not be conscious of their tears. Quote: Thus, at last, they came beyond hope under the sky and felt the wind on their faces. Can one count themselves among the living if they do not feel the wind on their faces when reading this? Perhaps, but its not the kind of life I want. Ill keep on climbing in and out of Khazad-Dums (both literally and figuratively) for as long as I live. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- linkie to the whole thread: thehalloffire.net/forum/viewtopic.php?t=3543&postdays=0&postorder=asc&start=0
Posted on: Sun, 02 Feb 2014 17:23:30 +0000
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