I've been bitten by the essay bug.
Jul. 17th, 2004 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabidsamfanI know I owe reviews and comments, several days worth now, but I keep reading and writing and... well... here:
“Well, I’m Back.” Sam and the Language of Story.
In one of Tolkien’s letters, he mentions the epilogue chapter where Sam is talking to Elanor and says that it is “universally condemned,” and so won’t appear. We get to read it, thanks to Christopher, in HoME (in two variants yet!) and while I love it very much for the glimpse it give us of the Gamgee family and Sam’s life, I find myself siding with the folks who didn’t want it included. But until recently – okay, yesterday – I hadn’t figured out why I felt that way. At least not in words. Writing my response to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
teasel suddenly gave me a clue.
You see, when Sam says “Well, I’m back,” he’s feeling a lot of things he has no better words for, and which, for once, the narrator has not felt the need to explain. But Sam’s best appreciation for words and language arises from his love of “tales” – of Story with a capital “s” – and it is that context where he has gradually learned the art of metacognition.
Remember the stairs of Cirith Ungol?
"Yes, that's so," said Sam. "And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually -- their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on -- and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same -- like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?"
"I wonder," said Frodo. "But I don't know. And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to."
"No, sir, of course not. Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours. But that's a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it -- and the Silmaril went on and came to Earendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We've got -- you've got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end?"
"No, they never end as tales," said Frodo. "But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended. Our part will end later -- or sooner."
"And then we can have some rest and some sleep," said Sam. He laughed grimly. "And I mean just that, Mr. Frodo. I mean plain ordinary rest, and sleep, and waking up to a morning's work in the garden. I'm afraid that's all I'm hoping for all the time. All the big important plans are not for my sort. Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, or course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: "Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring!" And they'll say: "Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave, wasn't he, dad?"
"Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot.""
"It's saying a lot too much," said Frodo, and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth. To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again. "Why, Sam," he said, "to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad? ""
"Now, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "you shouldn't make fun. I was serious."
"So was I," said Frodo, "and so I am. We're going on a bit too fast. You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: "Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more.""
"Maybe," said Sam, "but I wouldn't be one to say that. Things done and over and made into part of the great tales are different.”
The distinction between the “great” tales and tales “like Mr. Bilbo’s” is important to Sam, and when placing himself and Frodo into the context of the ongoing tale of the history of the Silmaril’s, he is quick to find himself awkward in it. That is “not for my sort”, he says, and then puts Frodo into the great story instead. Frodo, of course, puts Sam right in alongside himself, and we love him for it. But the distinction remains.
Sam doesn’t forget that conversation. It stays with him right to the Sammath Naur and the end of all things. There, at last, he accepts his place in the story.
"What a tale we have been in, Mr. Frodo, haven't we?" he said. "I wish I could hear it told! Do you think they'll say: Now comes the story of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom? And then everyone will hush, like we did, when in Rivendell they told us the tale of Beren One-hand and the Great Jewel. I wish I could hear it! And I wonder how it will go on after our part."
He expects to die then, although he doesn’t entirely give up hope, and as we know, his hope is justified, and he gets his chance to hear the tale that he thinks is “done and over and made into part of the great tales”. But the story hasn’t ended, yet. Beyond expectation, he and Frodo will have the chance to go “back again” as Bilbo once did. But when they do, they don’t find the Shire “all right, though not quite the same,” thanks to Saruman.
Still, Sam keeps working toward the happy ending. He cleans, and plants, and marries – doing all the things he hoped to do when his hopes were all he had of the Shire. And I don’t think he realizes until that moment in Woody End that Frodo is still entangled in the “great tale” of the Third Age – and that the end of that tale is both happy and sad.
Riding home with Pippin and Merry, Sam would have had a lot of time to see the trees he had planted, and to contemplate the choices he had made. By marrying Rosie, by having a child, he has bound himself to the “happily ever after” of Bilbo’s sort of tale, and now he is both blessed and trapped by those choices. He cannot regret that Frodo has chosen a different sort of ending for his own tale too much without blighting the gift that Frodo has given to Sam and the rest of the hobbitfolk – the end of an evil, the renewal of life, and the hope of the future are all too valuable to waste. The best that Sam can do is to take that gift, and use it as well as he possibly can. And so, like Bilbo, his road leads back to Bag End, back to a happy ending and home.
Perhaps the great stories don’t end with “Back Again,” but then again, perhaps they do.
“Well, I’m Back.” Sam and the Language of Story.
In one of Tolkien’s letters, he mentions the epilogue chapter where Sam is talking to Elanor and says that it is “universally condemned,” and so won’t appear. We get to read it, thanks to Christopher, in HoME (in two variants yet!) and while I love it very much for the glimpse it give us of the Gamgee family and Sam’s life, I find myself siding with the folks who didn’t want it included. But until recently – okay, yesterday – I hadn’t figured out why I felt that way. At least not in words. Writing my response to
teasel suddenly gave me a clue.You see, when Sam says “Well, I’m back,” he’s feeling a lot of things he has no better words for, and which, for once, the narrator has not felt the need to explain. But Sam’s best appreciation for words and language arises from his love of “tales” – of Story with a capital “s” – and it is that context where he has gradually learned the art of metacognition.
Remember the stairs of Cirith Ungol?
"Yes, that's so," said Sam. "And we shouldn't be here at all, if we'd known more about it before we started. But I suppose it's often that way. The brave things in the old tales and songs, Mr. Frodo: adventures, as I used to call them. I used to think that they were things the wonderful folk of the stories went out and looked for, because they wanted them, because they were exciting and life was a bit dull, a kind of a sport, as you might say. But that's not the way of it with the tales that really mattered, or the ones that stay in the mind. Folk seem to have been just landed in them, usually -- their paths were laid that way, as you put it. But I expect they had lots of chances, like us, of turning back, only they didn't. And if they had, we shouldn't know, because they'd have been forgotten. We hear about those as just went on -- and not all to a good end, mind you; at least not to what folk inside a story and not outside it call a good end. You know, coming home, and finding things all right, though not quite the same -- like old Mr. Bilbo. But those aren't always the best tales to hear, though they may be the best tales to get landed in! I wonder what sort of a tale we've fallen into?"
"I wonder," said Frodo. "But I don't know. And that's the way of a real tale. Take any one that you're fond of. You may know, or guess, what kind of a tale it is, happy-ending or sad-ending, but the people in it don't know. And you don't want them to."
"No, sir, of course not. Beren now, he never thought he was going to get that Silmaril from the Iron Crown in Thangorodrim, and yet he did, and that was a worse place and a blacker danger than ours. But that's a long tale, of course, and goes on past the happiness and into grief and beyond it -- and the Silmaril went on and came to Earendil. And why, sir, I never thought of that before! We've got -- you've got some of the light of it in that star-glass that the Lady gave you! Why, to think of it, we're in the same tale still! It's going on. Don't the great tales never end?"
"No, they never end as tales," said Frodo. "But the people in them come, and go when their part's ended. Our part will end later -- or sooner."
"And then we can have some rest and some sleep," said Sam. He laughed grimly. "And I mean just that, Mr. Frodo. I mean plain ordinary rest, and sleep, and waking up to a morning's work in the garden. I'm afraid that's all I'm hoping for all the time. All the big important plans are not for my sort. Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, or course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: "Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring!" And they'll say: "Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave, wasn't he, dad?"
"Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot.""
"It's saying a lot too much," said Frodo, and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth. To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again. "Why, Sam," he said, "to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad? ""
"Now, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "you shouldn't make fun. I was serious."
"So was I," said Frodo, "and so I am. We're going on a bit too fast. You and I, Sam, are still stuck in the worst places of the story, and it is all too likely that some will say at this point: "Shut the book now, dad; we don't want to read any more.""
"Maybe," said Sam, "but I wouldn't be one to say that. Things done and over and made into part of the great tales are different.”
The distinction between the “great” tales and tales “like Mr. Bilbo’s” is important to Sam, and when placing himself and Frodo into the context of the ongoing tale of the history of the Silmaril’s, he is quick to find himself awkward in it. That is “not for my sort”, he says, and then puts Frodo into the great story instead. Frodo, of course, puts Sam right in alongside himself, and we love him for it. But the distinction remains.
Sam doesn’t forget that conversation. It stays with him right to the Sammath Naur and the end of all things. There, at last, he accepts his place in the story.
"What a tale we have been in, Mr. Frodo, haven't we?" he said. "I wish I could hear it told! Do you think they'll say: Now comes the story of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom? And then everyone will hush, like we did, when in Rivendell they told us the tale of Beren One-hand and the Great Jewel. I wish I could hear it! And I wonder how it will go on after our part."
He expects to die then, although he doesn’t entirely give up hope, and as we know, his hope is justified, and he gets his chance to hear the tale that he thinks is “done and over and made into part of the great tales”. But the story hasn’t ended, yet. Beyond expectation, he and Frodo will have the chance to go “back again” as Bilbo once did. But when they do, they don’t find the Shire “all right, though not quite the same,” thanks to Saruman.
Still, Sam keeps working toward the happy ending. He cleans, and plants, and marries – doing all the things he hoped to do when his hopes were all he had of the Shire. And I don’t think he realizes until that moment in Woody End that Frodo is still entangled in the “great tale” of the Third Age – and that the end of that tale is both happy and sad.
Riding home with Pippin and Merry, Sam would have had a lot of time to see the trees he had planted, and to contemplate the choices he had made. By marrying Rosie, by having a child, he has bound himself to the “happily ever after” of Bilbo’s sort of tale, and now he is both blessed and trapped by those choices. He cannot regret that Frodo has chosen a different sort of ending for his own tale too much without blighting the gift that Frodo has given to Sam and the rest of the hobbitfolk – the end of an evil, the renewal of life, and the hope of the future are all too valuable to waste. The best that Sam can do is to take that gift, and use it as well as he possibly can. And so, like Bilbo, his road leads back to Bag End, back to a happy ending and home.
Perhaps the great stories don’t end with “Back Again,” but then again, perhaps they do.
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Date: 2004-07-18 02:52 pm (UTC)Essay bunny?! Oh, dear...