Tolkien Tuesday: "Reading "The Lord of the Rings": The Siege of Gondor"
Pippin finds himself enmeshed in the great gears of Middle-earth history in one of the most gripping chapters of "The Return of the King."
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Welcome to Tolkien Tuesdays, where I talk about various things that I love about the lore and writings of Tolkien, whether in a chapter reading or a character study or an essay. I hope you enjoy reading these ruminations as much as I enjoy writing them and, if you have a moment, I’d love it if you’d subscribe to this newsletter. It’s free, but there are paid options, as well, if you’re of a mind to support a struggling writer. Either way, thank you for joining me!
Having spent some time with the Rohirrim as they prepare to ride forth to battle–and having seen Merry borne by a mysterious rider named Dernhelm–we now switch back to another titanic chapter in The Return of the King, one in which young Pippin finds himself caught up in the titanic conflict enveloping Gondor. As Mordor unleashes its full might upon the lands of Men, the little hobbit finds that he is, in his own way, just as strong as any of his compatriots from the Shire.
Among other things, this chapter allows Pippin to see the many different types of Men that inhabit the city of Minas Tirith and Gondor more generally. On the one hand there are those, like Beregond and Faramir, in whom the wisdom of old runs mostly true. They are loyal and fierce and brave, and they hold true to the very best principles that motivate the descendants of Númenor. On the other hand are those, like Denethor, who allow themselves to be led astray by their own ambitions and by their own belief that their wisdom, corrupt as it may be, is what should rule the day. What makes Denethor such a tragic figure is the fact that he is a true descendant of Númenor in the worst way, in that he has isolated himself in his tower pursuing forbidden knowledge rather than paying real heed to the present.
Again and again in this chapter Denethor reveals once again why he is so ill-equipped to handle the strains of ruling Gondor in this perilous time, for while he is far more capable than he is shown to be in Peter Jackson’s films, the truth is that he has gone too far down the path of damnation to ever emerge from his own tragic narrative arc. Among other things, he faults his younger son for allowing the hobbits to go on into Mordor bearing the One Ring rather than bringing them to him so that he could take custody of both it and them. In upbraiding Faramir for failing to bring him the Ring, he betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of its nature and the effect it would have had on Boromir had the latter managed to take control of it. For all of his wisdom and all of the vision he has been granted by his control of the palantír, Denethor is still as blind as those others–particularly Boromir and Saruman–who foolishly thought they could bend it to their will.
Poor Faramir. All the poor man ever wanted was to be a good son to his father and a good son to Gondor, and yet all he receives from the former is disgust and an unfavorable comparison to Boromir. “Yes, I wish that indeed,” he says, asserting that he wishes that it had been Faramir rather than Boromir who had died. This is a terrible thing for a father to say to his only surviving son and, while Denethor will have cause to rue his words down the line, the truth is that he has let grief poison his heart and his mind. Of all the things he does in this chapter–including abandoning the city he’s supposed to rule and leaving his soldiers to fend for themselves–to me the fact that he would say this to his own flesh and blood to his face, even after all he has already sacrificed, is the most devastating.
In typical Tolkienian irony, however, Faramir ends up being the one who is closer to the wisdom of the Eldar and the Wizards and the men of Númenor of old. After all, it was his wisdom that led him to sending Frodo and Sam into Mordor rather than taking them to Minas Tirith, a decision that was really one of those turning points in the history of Middle-earth. More to the point, he is the one who manages to live into the Fourth Age, the only member of his immediate family to do so. Unlike his father, who was determined to cling to the old ways no matter what and could never see beyond his own limited vision (and that provided by the corrupted palantír), Faramir realizes that the days ahead are to be those of the King, a last great hurrah before the might and beauty of Númenor passes from the world forever.
Fortunately for Faramir, Pippin has the presence of mind to go seeking Gandalf. I’ve always thought that, of the four hobbits, it was Pippin that drew the short end of the stick when it came to deeds of heroism that would celebrated down the Ages–Frodo destroyed the Ring, Sam was key to Frodo’s efforts (indeed the Quest would have failed altogether if it weren’t for him), and even Merry was key to the destruction of the Witch-king of Angmar, stabbing him in the heel so that he could fall to the blade of the mighty Éowyn. Here, though, Pippin shows that he has the same inner strength as the other members of the company that set out from the Shire such a short time ago. Not only does he offer to stay with Denethor and give his life in the defense of the Steward and the City; he’s also wise enough to realize that his master has gone completely mad and must be stopped before he destroys Faramir along with everyone else. Unlike those who serve the Steward, moreover, he doesn’t let blind loyalty to an oath keep him from doing what is necessary to save the life of someone who shouldn’t be consigned to the flames.
While all of this is happening Tolkien also paints the horrors of battle in epic and gripping prose. Everything about these battles and skirmishes–from the description of the winged Nazgûl and their shrieking horror to the monstrous Grond crawling its way to the great gates of the city–inspires awe and terror in the reader. Ever since I read this book as a preteen I’ve loved the scenes of battle in all of their exhilarating detail and even now, so many decades later, I continue to find myself swept up in the power of it all.
It all culminates in the moment when the Witch-king of Angmar comes riding right up to the gates of Minas Tirith, so confident in his victory that he is willing to show the emptiness that lurks beneath his hood. No matter how many times I read this chapter, this moment always gives me chills, so compellingly does Tolkien describe this eldritch horror who has cheated death and now stands on the very precipice of victory for his dark master. The prose here is elevated, with the Witch-king speaking in a vernacular that evokes ages past and makes it clear to us as readers that this is indeed a power that can bring the very city down. Surrounded by the pall of darkness that his master has wielded and standing at the very demise of Minas Tirith, all seems lost.
Yet, for all of his victory, the Witch-king nevertheless finds himself confronted by none other than Gandalf, who stands firm even when the city of Minas Tirith seems poised to certainly fall. Perhaps it’s because I’m writing this on Election Day–when the very proud edifices of our democracy seem to be imperiled by the forces of fascism and darkness–but this whole scene hit me even more powerfully than it usually does. The sight of Gandalf, standing alone against certain darkness and defeat, is a powerful and timely reminder that there is always hope shining even in the midst of the nadirs of our lives. When he commands the Witch-king to “go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master. Go!” I get a chill. I don’t know how today will end up–I don’t know whether the seething forces of fascism and ignorance will win today or not–but I do know this. Gandalf has the right of it. We must always stare evil down whenever it raises its head. We must never bow and accept defeat, no matter how great the odds are against us.
Few chapters in the entirety of The Lord of the Rings manage to hit so many notes as “The Siege of Gondor.” We go from the abject moments in which the city is aflame to moments of stirring defiance and even potential victory as, at the very end of the chapter, the horns of Rohan ring out, bringing hope against all expectation, ready to sweep the monstrous regiments of Mordor before them. As time will tell, however, the battle for the future of Middle-earth has just begun, and there will be a great many more tragedies before the golden light of triumph will shine again. As so often in Tolkien, there is no true respite from the battle against those who would try to bring the world under their dominion. No matter how many times evil is defeated, it always finds a way to return.
Sound familiar?