Book IV, Chapter 10: The Choices of Master Samwise
It’s strange -- part of me feels that I’ve been doing these posts forever, and another part of me thinks it’s bizarre that I’m now ⅔ of the way through the novel. Time is unpredictable like that, doubly so in 2020. Anyway, here we are at the end of The Two Towers, which concludes with Sam finally acting like the hero we expect him to be -- here’s John Howe showing Sam leaping into action with great purpose in defense of Frodo: http://tolkiengateway.net/w/images/9/95/John_Howe_-_Sam_and_Shelob.jpg
Sam’s heroism is classically his -- the narration notes that he doesn’t pause to consider if he’s motivated by bravery or loyalty or sheer, blind rage, he just acts. Sam’s instincts have been pretty good thus far, and it’s lucky he’s got them here. He’s not strong enough to bring down Shelob, but he is clever enough to realize she’s about to try to crush him under her bulk, and poises his sword perfectly to ensure that she is the cause of her own undoing. Sam’s instincts continue to play out in the singing of A Elbereth Gilthoniel, which he definitely doesn’t understand -- it’s Sindarin poetry he heard months ago, but either due to a fortunate memory boost or some supernatural intervention, it’s all here now and letter-perfect, allowing him to drive Shelob back with the name of Elbereth, whose light, shining in the Silmaril, is caught in the phial Sam holds out in front of himself like a flamethrower. This is where Tolkien’s long work of character description pays off -- it would be easy to write off Sam’s victory here as some expression of the strength of his will, since it can come across as a contest on that level. But I think we all now enough of Sam by now to credit this victory to something more pure and enduring -- love, if we can find no better word for it, and devotion to someone other than himself. Shelob’s solipsism is no real match for this kind of solidarity, and she knows it.
Sam’s lament before the dead body of Frodo is quite moving -- by now we’ve seen at least one major figure resurrected, so I’m guessing that even readers with no foreknowledge of the story would suspect that Frodo would bounce back somehow, but that doesn’t rob the scene of its emotion. Sam, of course, doesn’t suspect a resurrection -- if he did, he wouldn’t have left Frodo’s side. And think, too, of the depth of his despair -- he and Frodo were both convinced in their conversations with Faramir that perhaps the rest of the Fellowship were by now all dead. Here Sam kneels, next to Frodo’s still-warm corpse (as he thinks it is), and has to face the weight of the Company’s burden alone. When he begs Frodo not to go where he cannot follow, he is of course expressing sentiments that countless people have spoken as they face the death of one they love. But he is also pleading not to be left in charge of this enterprise -- Samwise Gamgee is a follower in the best sense of the word, ready to follow his friend into any danger and to be steadfast in support the whole way. For Frodo to have taken a path he cannot trace is unendurable. And yet he endures it.
Where does Sam find the strength to stand and continue the journey? From his own vow -- as he looks at Frodo thinking he’d come all this way “for nothing”, a voice enters his head, and he hears himself saying “I have something to do before the end.” This is a callback all the way to the morning after their conversation with Gildor Inglorion, when Frodo wonders if, having seen Elves, Sam is maybe happy enough to stay in the Shire rather than journey on. Sam makes this pledge, and Frodo tells him that Gandalf chose a good traveling companion. Here we are, as far from that sunny morning in a Shire meadow as we could be. And yet we are also in the same place -- Frodo and Sam next to each other, the sole people bound to the quest, with Frodo’s form now mutely, in death, asking Sam implicitly “will you give up the quest now, having seen all you have seen?” What is he to do, then? Trapped between two truths about himself -- the perfect follower who would go nowhere without Mr. Frodo and yet also the one who would keep his word and hold to their quest unshakeably -- Samwise finds the right response: see it through. The quest could have failed at so many points, but perhaps nowhere else so easily as here -- another five minutes’ delay, or worse, listening to the wrong impulse, and the Ring would have been in the hands of Shagrat or Gorbag almost immediately. I find Sam’s resolve here really inspiring -- that there are times when we are sure we cannot handle the responsibilities laid on us, and when we would rather follow than lead, but we find ourselves facing either the failure of something we believe in or else the obligation to carry it forward. Small brave acts like this are the real work of heroism for most of us -- I, at least, don’t often find myself fending off monsters with magical artifacts. But I know something about trying to carry on despite the deepest of despair. So, I’m glad you’re with us, Samwise Gamgee. Here at the end of the world.
Poor Sam, of course, isn’t cut out for this -- he’s spooked almost immediately, he has second thoughts, and then in a panic he puts on the Ring. Now, how on earth does this not bring every Nazgul and Orc in the area, along with Gollum, onto him inside of fifteen minutes? I think this is an “even Homer nods” moment since there’s no really good explanation from Tolkien. But if I have to create one, maybe it’s that Sam’s motives and heart are so pure that his interactions with the Ring don’t really corrupt his will here, not enough to send out whatever signal it would otherwise have sent? You’re making me work too hard for this, J.R.R. Anyway, he tries to steel himself for battle, expecting to fight these Orcs away from Frodo’s body, only to find he’s hesitated too long and must chase them. Thank goodness for a little hesitation there, since it means he doesn’t blow his cover, and he manages to learn the crucial fact that Frodo is alive, thanks to overhearing some chatter between Shagrat and Gorbag.
Now, to be honest, here’s where Sam probably would have been well advised to give up on Frodo -- he can’t get past the locked gate, Shelob is still around somewhere, every minute he keeps the Ring on is a danger, and really he ought to be making tracks for Orodruin instead of trying to find a half-dead friend who probably won’t be able to make that journey anyway. It’s noble of Sam to want to save his friend in this way, but is it practical? Perhaps, though, my theory about the Ring continues here -- that as long as he’s so fixated on the help of a friend, it’s not really screwing with him? I don’t love this theory, though -- Gandalf said he’d take it out of a desire to do good and that such intentions wouldn’t change the terrible outcome. Anyway, of course he doesn’t -- this is what makes him Sam -- but it’s not at all clear what’s going to happen next. And this is where we have to credit Tolkien with a great cliff-hanger -- one that Jackson doesn’t give himself in the film (Jackson concludes The Two Towers prior to Frodo and Sam even reaching Minas Morgul) -- since, unlike The Fellowship of the Ring, Tolkien’s narrator ends with a bang here, telling us that “Frodo was alive but taken by the Enemy.” There’s no hint of how Sam will get him out, or even if he will, and we’re forced to spend all of Book V wondering what on earth happened to Frodo, which is a great way to ramp up suspense in the third volume of the trilogy. For now, we’ll have to leave it there.
Speaking of third volumes in trilogies, that’s of course what awaits us -- not just the conclusion of the story proper, but also some really meaty and interesting appendices, all of which I will unpack for all six of you dedicated readers. :-) First, though, we need to follow Peregrin Took in his arrival at Minas Tirith in Book V, Chapter 1.