Reading The Hobbit: A Warm Welcome or the ‘Doge’ of Esgaroth

The Master of Laketown is a fascinating and somewhat repulsive figure. He is, to put it bluntly, a politician to the core. He is also a wily merchant, grasping and eager for both material and social riches. His every action is derived from these desires, using everyone and every event to further his own personal power and wealth.

He is a cynic, inclined to believe the tale of the wood elves of the “wandering vagabond dwarves” over the claims of the company’s bedraggled leader, whatever his supposed patronage (TH 228). He believes what he sees. He believes in the coin he can count, and clink, and bite to feel the metal. Even so, he is a merchant, ever looking out for the next business venture, “giving his mind to trade and tolls, to cargoes and gold, to which habit he [owes] his position” (TH 229). Therefore, seeing the prevailing mood of the crowd, he accepts the dwarves and Bilbo at their word.

They are given pride of place at the feasts of town, prime accommodation, new clothing and care for their hurts. A festival atmosphere takes hold, and songs of old fill the air, proclaiming the return of the King Under the Mountain. Ever the opportunist, the Master preys on the dwarves sense of gratitude (which has been shown to be fairly questionable in previous chapters/posts) devising songs of “the sudden death of the dragon and of cargoes of rich presents coming down the river to Lake-town” (TH 231).

As time goes by and expenses build, the Master is overjoyed to outfit the Company and send them on their way. He either cuts his losses, sending them to their doom or places them in his debt anticipating lavish rewards.

Through it all, there is shown a great deal of pageantry and scheming which bears resemblance to another ruler of a floating city: the Doge of Venice. The political disposition of Esgaroth is remarkably similar: “[the town has] always elected masters from among the old and wise” largely for their economic valor rather than valor in arms. The position is given to the elite, and presumably also selected by the elite.

Like the later Doge’s, the position of Master is little more than a figurehead. He has wealth, and what power and influence that affords, but is surrounded by councilors and presides more at feasts than actual decisions. This is emphatically shown later in his complete lack of control upon the coming of Smaug.

Even so, reading this chapter, there is a great undertone of grandeur and corruption to the Master which makes him and his position very intriguing. There is a sense of ceremony as well as calculated charm about each of his actions. Reading of the final farewell at the “wide circle of quiet water surround by the tall piles on which were built the greater houses, and by long quays with many steps and ladders going down to the surface of the lake,” one can only be struck by the pageantry of it all with the Master and his councilors, the townsmen singing from the quays, and the flashing oars.  The scene immediately brings to mind the Dogal ceremony wedding Venice to the Sea.

It is known that Tolkien was greatly impressed by his visit to Italy, and much of Gondor may have drawn its inspiration from it. But it seems likely that that which was high and great in Italian culture, architecture and society made its way into the fabric of Gondor, which much that was dark and corrupt but also alluring in its grandeur may have found its home in Esgaroth.

Reading The Hobbit: Barrels out of Bond or Parenting Dwarves

As most of you probably know, I am an architect by profession. We are currently in the architect’s busy season, preparing documents for construction in the summer. Well this year has been particularly busy, and I’ve been working flat out for the last couple months. It’s a great sign that the industry is growing again. While I love what I do, I wish I had more time to explore the Perilous Realm and report my adventures. It has been a challenge to fit in work on WP, in terms of time, energy and inspiration; and so for anyone who cares about such things, I apologize for the delay.

However, the delay has been put to good use. I have to admit, that for the longest time, this particular chapter (and the next) has thrown me for a loop. The events are momentous and certainly demonstrate the immense growth of Mr. Baggins, but have failed to inspire a truly interesting application. Instead, I’ve taken to rereading and listening to this chapter multiple times, spending significant time thinking about it and basically coming up with nothing.

Now, at this point, my mind turned more to wondering why this was the case; an endeavor which ultimately lead to the topic of this post.

The problem I had was one of perspective (which I have been warned about in comments and by Tolkien in his writings and my own philosophy on his works). The Hobbit is, and will always be, at its core a children’s novel. It is enlightening and fascinating to investigate applications looking at it from the standpoint of Tolkien’s full corpus of work, but this also risks destroying the magic of the work as it is.

There is some validity to cross-legendarium applicability, but one must never forget the singular character of this work among all others. It is a children’s story, dropped within the larger realm of Arda’s history, and further it is a narrated story. This final distinction is paramount. The Hobbit grew out of the stories told by Tolkien to his own children. It is from this simple relationship between child and parent, story-teller and listener, that the structure of the tale is derived. It also holds the keys to how the tale may be approached by the more mature reader.

There is a great deal of hidden humor in these two chapters. They are filled with the sort of gently chiding humor anyone dealing with young children is sure to recognize (or anyone who has been a child themselves!). It may be seen as a sort of inside joke for future parents reading The Hobbit to their children.

By this, of course, I am referring to the guardianship of the dwarves by Bilbo.

Bilbo takes upon himself the role of parent or guardian, shouldering responsibility for the dwarves’ future. He could have run off, and found his own way. Though initially he rejects this notion because he is lost, he discovers in his wanderings in the Elven King’s halls the way out, and could have taken it for himself. But he does not.

Bilbo is left completely to his own devices, as was the case with Gollum and the confrontation with the spiders. He cannot rely on the dwarves for help, or even wait on Gandalf’s return: “if anything was to be done, it would have to be done by Mr. Baggins, alone and unaided” (TH 203).

He finds all of the dwarves, including Thorin. He discovers the hatch to the river culvert and devises a desperate plan. Luck is with him, and when the opportunity is ripe, he takes it without hesitation. He takes on the role of leader, of guide, of parent.

The dwarves “all [trust] Bilbo;” or at least that is stated by the narrator (TH 204). However, reading the meta-narrative, it is a selfish trust, a desire for a miraculous and painless out. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that good (whether it be faith, work or friendships etc) never comes easily. All good things have to be strived for.

In their insistence on a repeat miracle by Mr. Baggins, the dwarves exhibit a level of naiveté and selfishness that is very childlike.

Balin stops to ask Bilbo what is going on upon his release, perfectly mirroring the “Are we there yet?” “Why’s” or “How’s” of a child. There is no concern for the danger or the task at hand. He and the others must follow Bilbo and trust in his guardianship.

Once told the plan, the grumbling and complaints break loose. It takes Bilbo’s appeals to reason to calm and convince them, inviting them back to their cells to think of a better plan (TH 209). They grudgingly move forward with Bilbo’s idea, though not without many more protestations; particularly upon being stuffed in the barrels.

Bilbo rushes around, plugging holes, tamping lids and checking air holes, completely focused on the safety and comfort of his charges. Typical of any guardian, he forgets himself, and though free of a barrel, must suffer the cold and wet of the river journey.

Upon reaching LakeTown, Bilbo releases the dwarves, and what sort of thanks does he get? Next to none. The dwarves are freed, no longer in prison, free to move on with their quest, and solely through the efforts of the Hobbit. They grumble and complain, and many refuse a helping hand save Thorin, Fili and Kili. Their official thanks, voiced by Thorin, is couched in a “thanks, but” manner (TH 226).

It is only when they are fed, and clothed and warm that the dwarves show any appreciation for their liberator. Then they shower praise on him.

Both “Barrels out of Bond” and “Warm Welcome” express many of the frustrations and contradictions of caring for children and even being a child oneself. Reading them, I am struck by the learning potential implicit in these pages, both for the reader/parent and the listener/child. Here we are shown the virtue of patience, selflessness and care of the Hobbit, dealing with often ungracious charges. We are also given a parable on gratitude and one of the somber truths of the world that not all things come easily.

I see in these chapters both satire and instruction. It is meant to produce wistful recognition, as well as inspire some soul searching on our part. How patient are we? How gracious? Do we see the goodness in what others have done for us? Do we appreciate the blessings in life, even if they are few or hidden?

These are core questions anyone must confront during their life. In The Hobbit, and particularly these two chapters, we are invited to search our hearts to find the answer.

PS WooHoo happy 100th post to WP!…though real festivities will have to wait for the eleventy-first!

Wishing you a Happy Tolkien Reading Day!

Today posed a challenge, as I’m sure it does for every Tolkienite searching for the right way to celebrate. It is always interesting what I end up drawn to re-read on this particular day. The last couple years, I’ve taken to reading a chapter from my 50^th anniversary leather bound edition of LotR, about the only time I actually read from that copy. Last year was the ‘Bridge of Khazad-Dum’ and my initial thought was to read ‘Minas Tirith’ this year. But as often occurs, life got in the way.

I’ve been fairly well swamped the last couple months, today being no exception, and so got home desiring a bite-sized sampling of Tolkien to commemorate this day. I thought of my favorites: Leaf by Niggle, Of Beren and Luthien, The Fall of Gondolin, the Ainulindale and many others, but ultimately I settled on Tolkien’s poem ‘Mythopoeia.’

Unbeknownst to me starting to read, I had picked the perfect piece to sum up all that is Tolkien. I’ve read the poem before, and it’s always been a favorite of mine, but as I read it, I came to realize how well it describes Tolkien’s mission in writing, revealing the motivations which led to his beloved works.

‘Mythopoeia’ is essentially a poem about Man’s innate and God-given desire to describe (and even define) the world. However, that desire is thwarted by our own inability to express all that we perceive. In describing the world, in codifying life into words, we mythologize it. We sub-create, creating a shadow or mirror of the perceived through which only glimmers of the original Truth shine forth. We cannot possibly capture it, and to say that science gives the answer and the definitive story banishes the majesty and wonder around every corner. Myth expresses the desire in our hearts to know Truth, to see Truth and to tell Truth. It answers the yearning of our heart for the unknown, the mystical, the other. It uses the fantastical to define and illuminate the mundane, giving us eyes to see.

This is the great gift Tolkien has bequeathed us; Not only his great works of literature, but his call to recognize and follow the paths to Faerie in our own lives, and share them, however imperfectly, with others.

May you find joy wandering the paths of the Perilous Realm, and may you live to return and tell the tale. And so I say to you again, Happy Tolkien Reading Day, and I would like to know how you celebrated today!

Listening to The Lord of the Rings…Musical

http://www.lotr.com

For many years I have believed that music can be one of the most sublime forms of storytelling. Unlike most media, it easily goes straight to the core, displaying and evoking the raw emotion that is the bedrock of any good tale.

The same is true for musicals and opera. When done right, they transcend the bonds of story to evoke the spiritual and emotional Truths which underpin all events. Music at its best is pure distilled emotion, and though the literal content of the song(s) may not conform to their source, the spirit and beauty of the music will.

After many years neglect, I recently returned to a well-loved musical: “The Lord of the Rings” with music by AR Rahman and Christopher Nightingale and lyrics by Shaun McKenna and Matthew Warchus. I have never actually seen the production, just clips they posted on the musical’s website. From what little I’ve seen it must have been an awe-inspiring spectacle, but sadly it never really took off.

Thankfully, we have the recording from the London cast/production to listen to.

The music is wonderful, powerfully creating the sense of Middle Earth, as well as creating moments of sublime beauty. I’ll be the first to admit, however, music is a highly personal taste, but for myself, the music is perfect.

One of the odd things about listening to such an adaptation is the fact that the liberties taken are extremely easy to overlook. Granted this is helped by never seeing the production, but the direction of the story is still evident from the lyrics and songs themselves. This made me stop to think. It can be very hard at times to accept the choices Peter Jackson and Co. has made with their films; what makes this any different?

The answer lies in the evocation of emotion, personality and culture. This is what music is able to do so well, and why Howard Shore’s score for the films continues to define the soul of Middle Earth. Rahman’s score and arrangement does the same.

Rather than continue, I’ll share a few thoughts on my favorite tracks:

“The Road Goes On” takes its cues from Bilbo’s walking song, while also establishing the character and nature of hobbits in just a few short minutes. The same is also true of “The Cat and the Moon,” which is great fun to listen to and great fun to watch as well. It creates the perfect festive atmosphere, befitting a jaunty tavern song.

My two favorite songs musically are “Star of Eärendil” and “Wonder.” Both have transcendent moments of song which never fail to give me chills. With the addition of “Lothlorien,” these songs also weave in elements of Tolkien’s larger mythology as well as the major themes of despair and hope found in LotR.

Probably the best song, and one I love to sing along to, is “Now and For Always,” which recreates Frodo and Sam’s discussion of the Great Tales in the pass of Cirith Ungol. It is a poignant tune, and very simple, but does heavy lifting. This song uses this simple moment from the book to elaborate on the great friendship between the two hobbits, their mutual admiration and their codependency in the quest. It is also reprised briefly by Gollum, lending his conflict greater loneliness and sorrow.

I don’t usually review music, as the experience of it is often so personal and difficult to describe in words, but in this case I think it is well worth it. For any Tolkienite, we are always looking for ways to experience his works anew, to recapture the wonder and magic that burst into flame at our first reading.

Musical Website: lotr.com

Some clips of the production:

“Now and for Always” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2r_HgqohtM0

Clips from the whole musical, Includes “Wonder”, “The Cat and the Moon”, “Star of Eärendil”, “Lothlorien” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaHRFlPCtsU

PS. For Grey Haveners, there are a quite a few songs that might work for a future Sing a Long.

Reading The Hobbit: Flies and Spiders or Repetition as Interlacement

The Hobbit is not Tolkien’s first tale in Middle Earth, only the first published. It is a story devised apparently by the chance inspiration of the first jotted line “in a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit” (H 3). The genesis of the novel is well known, but the meta-narrative is only hinted at in the writing.

Tolkien’s writing is multi-dimensional; weaving many tales in and out of the primary narrative in a process Tom Shippey refers to as interlacement. Both the threads of each individual character’s story and the larger legendarium are woven into Tolkien’s tales. The process is highly developed in The Lord of the Rings, and grants that epic an elegance of depth which remains largely unique to all literature.

It may not seem fair to view The Hobbit, a book written for children, through the lens of Tolkien’s other works. And largely this is true, though difficult for any Tolkienite to achieve. It is more accurate to say that the reader should view Tolkien’s other work through the lens of The Hobbit.

The story of Tolkien’s heart was always that of the Silmarillion. He began its composition during the first World War, with “The Tale of the Fall of Gondolin,” which later found a home in The Book of Lost Tales. For the next twenty years, before the advent of the hobbits, he would struggle to develop and frame these tales, a herculean task he sadly was unable to complete in his lifetime.

By the time of the writing of The Hobbit, Tolkien had largely given up on Lost Tales as well as the great Lays and begun work in earnest on what would be the first definitive Quenta Silimarillion. It was Tolkien’s fondest hope that this epic would follow after The Hobbit, when his publisher and fans began clamoring for a sequel, but his hopes were dashed (Letters 17). And yet, even in rejection, Tolkien was not surprised, but generally pleased that readers found value in the tales at all, elevating them beyond his own personal musings (Letter 19).

The Hobbit begins largely outside the realm of Tolkien’s mythology, but as time passes is drawn further into its mysteries. It is possible; knowing the tales of the First Age would not be published or finished satisfactorily, Tolkien inserted small pieces in order that those tales would not be lost. In Bilbo’s tale, the interlacement of the events, places and peoples of the First Age lends depth to the narrative, as it does in LotR. Unlike its sequel, however, The Hobbit’s use of these tales is often fleeting and vague, hinting at a forgotten past, unknown in full, at least to Bilbo and the Narrator (at the time of its composition).

One of the most detailed examples of interlacement occurs in the chapter “Flies and Spiders” when Thorin is captured by the wood elves. At this point in the tale, there is a long section of exposition on the elves as well as the apparent enmity between elves and dwarves. There are “Light-elves and…Deep-elves and…Sea-elves…and the Wood-elves [who linger] in the twilight” (H 194). This passage is an astute distillation of the Vanyar, Noldor, Teleri and the Grey Elves.  Here, the reader is given a vision of “Faerie in the West,” a place of magic which elevates those who come to it (H 194).

Following this bit of sociology, Tolkien describes the palace of King Thranduil: a “great cave, from which countless smaller ones opened…[light] and [wholesome]…[both]…palace…and…fortress” (H 195). Then the long enmity between dwarves and elves is explained. Here, one of the most tragic and inflammatory events of the larger Legendarium is diffused through the lens of history and tradition, becoming a sort of dispassionate grudge, reminiscent of the great blood feuds of history in which the source of conflict is long forgotten and mythologized.

Long ago, the king of the Wood-elves “bargained with [the dwarves] to shape his…gold and silver, and had…refused…their pay” according to the dwarves; but the elves accuse the dwarves “off stealing their treasure” (H 195). The reader is left with no clear sequence of events, and so is left with each being equally to blame or even biased against the elven king, who has a “weakness” for treasure (H 195).  All of this colors the confrontation between Thorin and Thranduil; and while it does cast Thranduil in a particularly bad light, also does not release Thorin, who is determined to avoid any mention of gold.

In this simple meeting, between the leaders of two races, the conflict of far history is given concrete ramifications. As with feuds of history, it also establishes blame on both sides, not only in the original wars, but in their present dealings.

As The Silmarillion was not published until after Tolkien’s death, it is clear the tales of the First Age are meant to be seen and interpreted in light of the stories they are woven through. However, much may also be learned by turning this view around. Tolkien wrote his novels with full awareness of the larger Legendarium, and though it grew and changed throughout his life, it is firmly imprinted in each of these.

Tolkien is very methodical and precise in his writing, one has only to look through the Tale of Years and the precision with which he tracks the moon to see this. Therefore, though these represent the applications of this reader, the many apparent ties which bind his tales together may not all be coincidence.

The confrontation described between the Wood-elves and the dwarves is, of course, the tale of the forging of the Nauglamir and the treasures out of Nargothrond. There is truth to both narratives, unfortunately, and it may be argued each is equally to blame.

However, the meeting of these two men resembles the first meeting of Beren and Thingol very closely. Both mark the same cataclysmic meeting between races.  Though motives are different, the bearing of each participant is remarkably similar. In Thranduil is seen the same haughty, pretentious demeanor as Thingol. And in Thorin a similar sense of resolve and pride as Beren. The current scene is obviously quite light in tone, but reflects the same feeling of senseless pride, unfounded suspicion and simple greed. Yes, the current scene pits two characters which more resemble Thingol, and lack the heroism in love of Beren, but this meeting, as with many others, is simply the repetition of a formula. It is meant not only to allude to the far past through interlacement, but to inform the present pettiness through the gravity of the past.

Reading The Hobbit: Flies and Spiders or Proof of Faerie

In J.R.R. Tolkien’s seminal essay, “On Fairy Stories,” Tolkien works to define and codify the fairy-story.  The fairy-story is defined by its allusions to “Faërie: the Perilous Realm itself,” a task which must be approached with all seriousness (OFS 114).  They may pertain to fairies, but the import lies more in the revelation of the lands and their wonders themselves.

Tolkien rejects the notion of the use of dreams as a mechanism “to explain the apparent occurrence of [the fairy-story’s] marvels,” as such disavowals steal the reader of the satisfaction of the truth found in the imagined world (OSF 116). “Flies and Spiders” raises this question, and defiantly answers it, confirming the existing of Faërie.

The original lecture was given in 1939, almost two years following the publicaton of The Hobbit. It may seem odd then to look back on The Hobbit, through its frame of reference. However, this chapter in particular appears to play quite vigorously with the core theme of truth Tolkien finds at the heart of an authentic fairy-story. It may be such experimentation is nothing more; but it may also show signs of Tolkien testing and building his grand theory.

Crossing the enchanted stream, Bombur inadvertently falls in and when pulled ashore has fallen into a sleep from which none of the company can wake him.  He sleeps a fey sleep for days, if not weeks, “with a smile on his fat face” (Hobbit 170). He finally wakes, having lost all memory of their quest, but left with the memories of his vivid dreams. He dreams of fairies, or to be accurate elves, feasting in the wood. It is a powerful dream, like to real life, which persistently tempts return. Waking up to little or no food and the prospect of long travel on short commons ahead, Bombur bemoans his fate, exclaiming “Why ever did I wake up!” (Hobbit 174).

In what can only seem a jibe at the dream motif, in place of waking to discover the illusion of the dream, the company actually literally stumbles into it in waking life!

Desperate for food and the comfort of light, the company pursues the firelight in the distance. They see the elves “eating and drinking and laughing merrily” as if Bombur’s “dreams [are] coming true” (Hobbit 176). Filled with desire, the dwarves and Bilbo rush forward, and all falls into darkness. Despair sets in, and the reader may begin to wonder if this is an illusion like the dream, when the lights reappear in the distance.

This time, Bilbo only moves into the light. Immediately darkness falls and the hobbit is lost. He is found by luck “curled up fast asleep…having a lovely dream…[of] a most gorgeous dinner” (Hobbit 178). Again, this would seem to refute the reality of the feasting, when more light blazes more brightly than ever before nearby.

This time the dream appears fulfilled in full, “very much as Bombur had described,” and Thorin steps into the light. For a third time the company is plunged in darkness (Hobbit 179). Other than the smoke and ash of the extinguished fires, the feast seems little more than illusion.

The repetition of dream and apparent waking dream substantiate each other. They are reflections of both illusion/enchantment and reality. The dream recalls the unsubstantiated fairy-tale where all returns to reality upon waking. The three encounters with the elves reflect the true encounters with Faërie, the perilous realm. It is dangerous and unpredictable. Rather than feast and song, the company is confronted with the reality of distrust and wariness.

Even so, the reality of the elves may still seem a questionable subject. Their almost immediate disappearance, the ensuing darkness and enchanted sleep call into question the elves’ existance to begin with; they could be nothing more than illusion.

However, the truth is unequivocally found when the elves return and capture Thorin. The elven king interrogates him, asking “Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at merrymaking?” (Hobbit 198). This single question cements the prior stumbles into Faërie in reality. It does happen; it is not mere illusion or dream. The Perilous realm does exist, and it is truly perilous.

Again, in this instance, one can only feel Tolkien is playing with his own growing theory of the nature of the fairy-story. The fairy story must deal in marvels as truth, and “since [it] deals with ‘marvels’, it cannot tolerate any frame or machinery suggesting that the whole story in which they occur is a figment or illusion (OFS 117). Through the use of Bombur & Bilbo’s enchanted sleep, as well as the three encounters which follow, Tolkien has it both ways. He leads the reader back and forth, through dream and illusion, into physical light and darkness, but finally ends by establishing truth.

In these scenes, Tolkien restates the dream frame-work not only as an explanation of marvels, but as the precursor to those marvels.  He plays with the motif, demonstrating (as he did with the Ents) its true potential. It is the foil by which the marvels are to be seen and interpreted: not as the realm of fairies and good fortune and feasting, but the land of fey.

It is a gentle reproach for the typical children’s fairy-story. In place of the dream full of wonderful adventure, the dwarves are confronted by the grim truth. Tolkien demonstrates the frivolous and carefree nature of the dream motif: even if said dreams are dire, no harm comes to the dreamer, only waking. True encounters with the perilous realm are very different. One may enter, and maybe return, but he or she may not leave unchanged.

Reading The Hobbit: Flies and Spiders or Spectator no Longer

Though the finding of the Ring, and the riddle contest with Gollum are arguably the most famous scenes of The Hobbit as well as “a turning point in [Bilbo’s] career,” they are actually secondary to the momentous events of the eighth chapter, “Flies and Spiders” (Hobbit 81). Up to this point in the tale, Bilbo has been barely more than a spectator, at most a catalyst in the action, but almost never what could be considered a true protagonist, a true participant in the action.

In the confrontation with the Trolls, Bilbo’s quiet sneaking is highlighted, but desiring to prove his worth he attempts to pick William’s pocket and so is captured. This, of course, leads to the capture of the dwarves, who are only saved by Gandalf’s return as Bilbo looks on.

On the Goblin’s front porch, Bilbo’s shriek upon seeing the crack opening in the wall warns Gandalf of the coming danger. Subsequently, in their escape through the tunnels, Bilbo must be carried or be left behind, which indeed he is.

“Riddles in the Dark” marks the first time Bilbo is left to his own devices, with no hope of reprieve by Gandalf or any of the dwarves. He is forced to rely on his own ingenuity. It should be noted that he succeeds both in the riddle contest and in finding a way out through his wit and cunning and no small amount of luck rather than through force of arms.

Yet, other than this singular moment, Bilbo’s role has largely been that of a catalyst. He doesn’t take part in the action, he precipitates it (dictionary.com). This is about to change.

On the eaves of Mirkwood, Gandalf parts ways with the company, leaving Bilbo “to look after [the] dwarves for [him]” (Hobbit 161). He reasserts his confidence in Bilbo, stating that he “has more about him than [they] guess,” and that they will discover his worth in the journey through the wood (Hobbit 160). The company sets off, swallowed by the gloom of Mirkwood.

Even before the character defining events which end the chapter, Bilbo is given a more active role in the company. First, at the magic stream, he proves instrumental in the sighting of the boat and in being Fili’s eyes for its retrieval. Again, as in the Troll episode, he is recognized for his natural skills, having “the sharpest eyes among them” (Hobbit 166). Furthermore, Bilbo saves the situation when, after pulling hard on the rope, the boat flies across the stream and risks floating away. Yes, he needs Balin’s help, but this is due to his stature, and does not lessen the importance of the deed.

As occurs on the front porch of Goblin Town, Bilbo is again the first to notice trouble, when after reaching the further shore, Bombur falls into the stream. Here, for a short time, he slips back into his spectator or catalyst role, at least in terms of his function in the company.

Time goes by, and food runs short and tempers high, when Bilbo is coerced up a tall tree to see the lay of the land. Though his later report may be deemed the cause of the desperation which leads to future events, on another level this deed marks a subtle turning point in Bilbo’s character. Hobbits do NOT like heights, hence their preference for homes of a single floor (Hobbit 3). The hobbits’ unease in the talan in Lothlorien demonstrates this common trait: they “do not like heights and do not sleep upstairs” (LotR 335). Even so, granted with some shoving and prodding, Bilbo scrambles up the tree, finding his way up above the canopy and ends up reveling in the sun, the breeze and the sight of butterflies. Though not stated as such, this journey, both up and down the tree, defines a great act of courage for the hobbit.

Immediately following Bilbo’s depressing observation of the endless expanse of trees, the company sees a fire off in the distance. The setup is basically identical to that in “Roast Mutton:” the company is in dire straits, desperate and alone, and sees in the fire a hope of food and warmth. They have a clear understanding of the danger, particularly now having the prior experience of the Trolls for reference. The sequence of events follows the same pattern, except in this case the company enter the light of the fire three times, and are left in enchanted darkness each time.

This leads to the dwarves’ capture by the spiders, and Bilbo’s first act of violence. Despairing of ever finding the dwarves in the dark, Bilbo decides to wait till morning. Dozing off, by chance he discovers he is being bound in spider web. He beats off the spider and kills it with two strokes of Sting (Hobbit 181). It is a desperate fight, marked more by quick reflexes than skill. Yet this fight “[makes] a great difference to Mr. Baggins;” suddenly he is “much fiercer and bolder in spite of an empty stomach” and seemingly without a second thought sets out to find the dwarves (Hobbit 181). However, it is important to note that this is self-defense, the opening attack is by the spider, not Bilbo. He is changed, yes, but is more because he is forced to. He is a hobbit and that means a decent soul. He does not seek violence, but being of tougher stuff uses the tools/talents necessary to save those for whom he is now the solitary hope of salvation.

Bilbo finds the spiders’ lair, and as with the trolls, stops to decipher some of their speech. Again, their argument is almost a perfect reflection of the Trolls’: which dwarf to eat first, if they’re alive and which is juiciest. Bilbo comes to the moment “when he must do something” (Hobbit 183). Instead of acting the hero, rushing in with sword high, Bilbo, wearing the Ring, returns to known talents: stone throwing. He throws quite a few stones, killing some, but mostly enraging the giant spiders.

As in his dealings with Gollum, though now under much more dire circumstances, Bilbo relies on his intellect to achieve his goals. He goads the spiders with song, calling them Attercop, Tomnoddy, fat and lazy. Incensed, the majority of the spiders run off in pursuit of the hobbit, allowing him to return to loose the dwarves.

Bilbo remains alone, and is forced into the position of leader, being the only member of the company still whole and un-befuddled. He fights off the spiders, instilling in them a “[mortal fear] of Sting” (Hobbit 191). He leads and the dwarves follow. They escape, solely through the ingenuity and new-found courage of Bilbo.

Bilbo’s transformation into the protagonist of the tale, rather than the observer/recorder is now complete. It is a process of growth which leads to greater and greater self-actualization as Bilbo’s goals and actions slowly become more his own and at times lead the movements of the company.

These two tests, the Trolls and the Spiders, elucidate the growth of the hobbit as a character. The first serves to set a baseline of Bilbo’s skill, his courage and his relationship with the Company. In that case, Bilbo enters into the task unwilling, forced to test himself and eager to prove himself worthy of the company. He is scorned by them, and disposable.

In the second case, Bilbo has become integral to the party. He has impressed them with his luck and sneaking skills finding them outside the goblin caves. He is their eyes and ears. Though unprepared and surprised by duty, Bilbo finds it thrust upon him and accepts it. This test, he takes upon himself, ready and willing to use his skills not to prove himself but to save others. It is an instinctual act, unforced, executed in the only manner he knows how, which reveals the true mettle of the hobbit.

(“Flies and Spiders” is an action packed chapter, full of much applicability. It has always been one of my favorites, and was the original hook which cemented Tolkien as my favorite author. As such, this is only the first of three planned posts. This post marks the most obvious and therefore easiest application, which I decided to knock off first before getting to the “interesting” stuff. Enjoy!)