The Two Towers – J. R. R. Tolkien, 1954 ★★★

The Murky Middle

Any great trilogy would seem to require a strong middle piece, something that deepens one’s engagement with the material being explored.

So I’m struck at how J. R. R. Tolkien’s Lord Of The Rings trilogy manages to be so spell-binding despite the murky muddle of a middle piece that is The Two Towers.

It’s not that I hate Two Towers. Mostly it’s rather good. It’s quite entertaining and offers some involving storylines. In the marvelous film adaptation of the trilogy Peter Jackson directed, The Two Towers is the best installment. The novel brings you the finest extended battle sequence of the trilogy, the defense of Hornburg by the besieged humans of Rohan. It has the return of Gandalf (actually two of them, both suitably fantastic) and brings the Isengard/Saruman part of the story to a surprising and satisfying conclusion.

But that’s only half the book. The second half is where it meanders, as the story settles on two hobbits and their monstrous companion crawling through blasted moonscape of Mordor. Tolkien’s descriptive powers are in fine form here, as you feel the scrape of rock against your knees and hands. But it goes on like that for a while, with much soul-searching instead of plot. Middle Earth enthusiasts may well enjoy this, but I suspect it shakes out some readers just looking for a good story.

When we left Frodo Baggins and his party of adventurers in The Fellowship Of The Ring, they were in a desperate state, having lost their leader Gandalf and about to get overtaken by orcs. Sensing danger from within the party as well as from outside, Frodo and his faithful companion Samwise leave the others to fulfill their original assignment: Destroy the Ring that Frodo wears around his neck, which has the power to bring evil dominion over Middle Earth.

Meanwhile, two other hobbits, Merry and Pippin, are captured by orcs. The three remaining members of the Fellowship pursue them at an ever-growing distance. Worse news follows; an army has been amassed against the aging and befuddled king of a land of horse-riders who might otherwise prove valuable allies. All seems lost, but fortunes have a way of turning suddenly on Middle Earth.

Actually, those two above paragraphs are in the wrong order, as the part with Merry, Pippin, and the horse warriors comes before a second book that features Frodo and Sam. Tolkien apparently meant for Lord Of The Rings to come out as a single volume, and failing that, as six separate books. Joining the two middle books of this cycle (a. k. a. Book III featuring Merry, Pippin, et al. and Book IV featuring Frodo and Sam) proved more of a hard compromise than the joining of the other volumes, and left Tolkien reportedly dissatisfied. The joined Books III and IV create separate story arcs within The Two Towers that exist quite apart from one another, united only by Tolkien's disquisitions about Middle Earth lore which grow more recondite and tedious as they go on.

Much seems to center on a comment Gandalf makes: “Often does hatred hurt itself.” This comes into play for both the evil and the good characters of Tolkien’s trilogy, and perhaps draws upon the Christian message Tolkien is said to have infused into his saga. The notion of the Ring is one of power that corrupts, and it takes a heavy toll on all who come into contact with it.

Looking back at The Two Towers, I'm amazed at how much story there actually was. While I was reading it, especially the Frodo section, I really noticed the padding. There is a lot of trudging around the outskirts of Mordor here, with minute descriptions of plant growth and cliff angles. Much of this story concerns the character Gollum, who meets up with Frodo and Sam and with whom there is much pointless banter. When I read the line, near the beginning of the final chapter: "Frodo and Sam were plodding along with heavy hearts, no longer able to care greatly about their peril," it was the first time I could really relate.

Tolkien's experience as a soldier in the First World War are believed to have inspired the blasted, swampy landscape encountered by Frodo and Sam in their journey to Mordor. Image from a photo essay, "The Dead Marshes and WWI," found on ahistoryteacher.com.

Yet Book IV ends strongly, with a marvelously nasty encounter in the deeps of Mordor, and Sam finally emerges into something other than the dim-witted loyal boob he so often appears to be. Tolkien spends some time with various members of Mordor’s orc army to deliver both suspense and needed comedy. This doesn't make up for the drudgery of getting there, but I was surprised how much it whetted my once-drooping appetite for the next book, The Return Of The King.

Book III, the Merry/Pippin story, suffers from a bit too much fairy-tale fantasy in the form of some walking, talking trees, the Ents. The Ents return us to some of the happy woodland spirit from The Hobbit but at the expense of the deeper and more complex engagement served up by the rest of the Lord Of The Rings. As Merry and Pippin chatted up their leafy allies, I was getting uncomfortable Tom Bombadil flashbacks.

Still, Book III rallies nicely to present some serious action and some of the most exciting set-pieces of the entire saga. Even the Ents contribute to the overall positive experience by book’s end. It’s not only the battles that get your blood going, but the arguments between the various players and the sorting out of what is to be done. A sense of mission is restored, if not resolved.

I wasn’t as wild about The Two Towers as I hoped or expected to be, but I still found much to enjoy, especially in the wrap-ups of each of the two books within. The only problem remaining is you have to read another book before anything that happened in Two Towers makes sense.