Well, I'm glad I finally gave in and poked my head in here. I assumed I'd see poor reaper strung out over some hot coals while the elusive (but somehow always available for blame) "Tolkien fanboys" applied barbecue sauce and knocked back a six-pack of 1462.
(Have I got that date right? 'That was a proper 1462, that was')
Anyway, there has certainly been much more civilized discussion in this thread than I dared to imagine there might be. Well done, us! And congrats to Eric for re-opening it even though it did look a little dicey there for a while.
Now, I guess I belong to the "Tolkien fanboy" camp. I honestly think these are tremendous works of literary genius. The more I read them, the more impressed I get with the good professor's talent and vision and insight.
That said, the orcs at Cirith Ungol -- yeah, okay. It's pretty darn convenient, isn't it? It's got nothing on, say, your average Edgar Rice Burroughs novel ("What? You say you're the son of the Emperor of the nation currently at war with the nation the woman I love happens to be the daughter of the Emperor of, and she's this very moment sealed up in a high tower room to which you happen to know a secret passage to, and you're dissatisfied with your father's efforts to make war on her father's nation, which combined with the fact that you're in love with her, you'll help me free her, but fortunately you're not so in love with her that you'll stand in the way of my future marriage to her? Lead on!") but as a coincidence, it's a pretty big one.
There's a couple of ways to consider this, and which way one chooses probably says more about how one WANTS to interpret the books, rather than any inherent quality in the books themselves.
You could say, "divine providence" and make a case that the books are deeply infused with (and even largely about) the idea that grace works upon us all, and without it we can never truly succeed. The self-slaughter of the orcs is just one example of this (other candidates being Gollum, Bombadil and the Eagles) and so is an expression of Tolkien's point, rather than a failure of his imagination.
You could say that it's in fact perfectly logical and well-supported by the rest of the story -- orcs, they kill each other. A lot. Over very little.
You could say that it's just a failure of Tolkien's imagination -- he couldn't think up a good way to get them out of this little fix and so hand-waved a solution.
All three of those ideas have some merit to them -- the second one perhaps least of all -- but I'm not sure any of them are completely convincing. I mean, the idea that he just
couldn't think up a way for them to escape seems kind of unlikely, doesn't it? Given the other six million words of the text. But I don't think any of these reasons really provide a slam-dunk explanation of the text. It's problematic, no matter how you slice it.
As far as the delay of Frodo in getting out of the Shire -- that he (and to a lesser degree, Gandalf) make a serious error in judgement here does not to my mind make them less sympathetic characters (heck, if you had any insight into MY life, you'd see that I have no right to condemn other people for lapses in common sense) -- indeed, it frankly makes them MORE sympathetic, given where the story is about to take them. These bumbling rustics who have apprehension of how important they are in the scheme of things eventually make the right decision and actually manage to get the Ring to the Cracks of Doom. That Frodo grows so much and then at the end is unable to defeat the Ring's pull is pretty much the whole point of the book, says me.
LotR is a very strange book. There's nothing else much like it -- which is one of the reasons I like it so much. I find that I greatly enjoy many of the qualities that some people list as failings.
It rambles. Thank heavens for the rambles, and the endless descriptions! The story
takes time. It asks you to invest a great deal over the course of the book, but I certainly find the payoff worthwhile.
That characters appear and then disappear is again, one of the great attractions. And this is a quality I think that gets overlooked in a lot of modern criticism -- at least "pop" criticism (movie critics and suchlike). It's tempting to say that a story should only include such elements as are crucial to the plot. That elements that do not contribute significantly to the working out of the narrative ought to be dropped, as if brevity in story-telling were the prime virtue to which all other qualities should be dropped.
But "extraneous" elements serve an important purpose in a story -- they keep you guessing. As Tolkien introduces one character after another, you can never be quite sure who's going to turn out to be important and who isn't. The usual cues -- the amount of information given about the character -- don't work because Tolkien invests even characters who have almost nothing to do with the plot (Bombadil) with all sorts of dialog, description and so on. So you can't relax, sit back and expect the author to only tell you the important bits -- you have to work it out for yourself who's important and why.
Now, I do happen to believe that much of
Fellowship is what it is because JRRT didn't really know where he was going -- but I like that about it. It delights me because it puts me in the same position as the hobbits -- with no way to distinguish important from insignificant, ally from foe. I'm not sure he meant to do this -- I think it just happened as a matter of course of the way he was writing.
But I don't think that stories improve according to how much information that isn't essential to the plot gets removed.
Hamlet would shrink considerably, for example, but would it get better? I am unconvinced.
As for the songs -- again, I love them. I love the fact that in this world, when Boromir dies, his three friends spontaneously make up a long and involved song for his funeral. I want to live in a world where that happens!
But then I love musicals, so there you go. I do think Tolkien was an exquisite poet in the tradition of older Anglo-Saxon-based forms.
Okay, maybe I'm a raving fanboy unwilling to allow any criticism of my favourite book. But a couple of points in my defense:
I didn't drag in any marketing statistics. A quick look at popular culture over, say, the past thirty years simply has to dispel any idea that there's a necessary connection between what's popular and what's good. I'm thrilled that so many people appear to love a work that means so much to me, but I don't for a second take it as evidence that the work is any good.
I didn't call reapersaurus names. Not even "pettifogging hornswoggler", which I've always wanted to call somebody.
I didn't utterly reject the suggested errors in the book, and even admitted that one of them could be, in fact, a failure on Tolkien's part. Pretty broadminded of me, huh? Huh? Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Uh-huh.
I didn't try to claim some special status for the book. I think you can apply any critical stance you like to any work you wish to. The whole idea of critical theories is that each of them offers a different way to approach a work, and thereby offers new insights into the work and ourselves. Treating the work as a modern novel is every bit as valid an approach as treating it as an epic. That goes for the fanboys as much as for the "roasters". If it happens to seem less effective from one approach, well, that doesn't necessarily make it a worse book -- I'd be interested in seeing somebody offer up a work that succeeds as both an epic and a modern novel. Heck, throw in musical comedy, revenge tragedy and comic book! I got a copy of
Lankhmar: City of Adventure for anyone who can come up with a candidate that succeeds in all those categories.
And no,
Singing In The Rain doesn't succeed as a revenge tragedy, people. Perhaps if Gene Kelley had done a soft-shoe over Donald O'Connor's twitching, dismembered corpse...
