The Great Tolkien Reread: Fog on the Barrow-Downs

"The Barrow Wight" by Michael Herring, 1981

'No!' said Frodo; but he did not run away. His knees gave, and he fell on the ground. Nothing happened, and there was no sound. Trembling he looked up, in time to see a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars. It leaned over him. He thought there were two eyes, very cold though lit with a pale light that seemed to come from some remote distance. Then a grip stronger and colder than iron seized him. The icy touch froze his bones, and he remembered no more.

Having had their fill of songs, folksy rhymes, and the charms of Goldberry, the hobbits continue on their journey in this chapter. And basically instantly run into more mortal peril. This time, what should (again) have been a straight shot to the East Road instead finds them trapped by a barrow-wight, a creature who has infested one of the many burial mounds scattered across this part of the countryside, and who ropes them into its plans for ritualized murder.

There's a strong connection here to the history of Middle Earth as Tolkien has laid it out in various ancillary materials, and as he will go on to spell out later in the book. The barrow mounds are all that remains of the kingdom of Arnor, the northern kingdom established by the survivors of Númenor after they played their part in the defeat of Sauron at the end of the Second Age. After the fall of Arnor (at the hands of the king of Angmar, whom Frodo will have a fateful encounter with very soon) survivors of its royal line became the Rangers, whom we will soon meet in the form of Strider/Aragorn (this is alluded to by Tom Bombadil when he shows up to rescue the hobbits, because once again, Tolkien cannot keep from hinting at what's coming next in the story, even if the hints are opaque to everyone but himself).

Within the chapter itself, however, this is the bit of Middle Earth worldbuilding that feels closest to, and most nakedly taken from, English history. The standing stones the hobbits pass on their journey, the burial mounds themselves, even the grave goods the hobbits are arrayed with by the barrow-wight, all seem taken from a specific, real-world cultural context. To take but the most famous example, the Sutton Hoo excavation took place in 1938, and Tolkien would absolutely have been aware of it and of similar discoveries. It's such a distinctive cultural reference that I remember being a bit baffled by it as a young reader. Having grown up outside of the UK, much of the chapter's detailing felt opaque to me, and yet I was able to sense that here was something that stood a bit aside from the rest of the novel's worldbuilding, more its own thing than a part of the greater tapestry.

Another aspect of "Fog on the Barrow-Downs" that makes it feel a bit separate from the novel's story is that it is straight-up horror. We've had elements of horror already in the novel—chiefly the Black Riders—but here we find Tolkien operating purely in that mode. It's a very specific type of horror, too, a kind of Hammer Horror-style schlock about monsters that lurk in old tombs and the risks one runs when excavating the past. The details of the story—the barrow-wight dressing Merry, Pippin, and Sam in the clothes and jewels of the old kings and laying them out with a sword across their necks; Merry waking up after his rescue believing himself to be one of the kings and even remembering the moment of his death—all feel taken from a pulp magazine rather than the folklore and mythology Tolkien drew on for most of his worldbuilding. It's interesting to consider that this sort of writing, too, could have inspired him.

The horror tone is particularly appropriate for a chapter in which Frodo makes a sort of breakthrough in his relationship to danger. So far in the story, Frodo's reaction to mortal peril has been to run and panic. In the tomb of the barrow-wight, he comes to terms with what his life now is, and what he has to become in response.

There is a seed of courage hidden (often deeply, it is true) in the heart of the fattest and most timid hobbit, waiting for some final and desperate danger to make it grow. Frodo was neither very fat nor very timid; indeed, though he did not know it, Bilbo (and Gandalf) had thought him the best hobbit in the Shire. He thought he had come to the end of his adventure, and a terrible end, but the thought hardened him. He found himself stiffening, as if for a final spring; he no longer felt limp like a helpless prey.

This is the core conceit that Tolkien has envisioned for hobbits, all the way back to The Hobbit. And it is, of course, an image of Englishness that disseminated throughout both world wars—simple, hardworking people, often preoccupied with their stomachs or with local gossip, who will nevertheless rise up in the face of danger or evil, and do their parts. It should go without saying that this is a simplified fantasy, and to Tolkien's credit, there is throughout The Lord of the Rings a thread of pushing against it, and finding its exceptions—if only to burnish the halos of the characters who live up to it.

Even in this chapter, in which Frodo finding his courage is necessary for the continuation of the story, Tolkien does not treat his rising up as inevitable. There may be something in the souls of hobbits—or of Englishmen—that gives them courage in hard times. But for each individual, finding that courage is a crucible, one that Frodo endures in this chapter.

At first Frodo felt as if he had indeed been turned into stone by the incantation. Then a wild thought of escape came to him. He wondered if he put on the Ring, whether the Barrow-wight would miss him, and he might find some way out. He thought of himself running free over the grass, grieving for Merry, and Sam, and Pippin, but free and alive himself. Gandalf would admit there had been nothing else he could do.

The Ring is, of course, playing a part in this temptation. It wants to leave the barrow-wight's lair (and it also wants Frodo demoralized and guilty, and thus more susceptible to its and Sauron's appeals). So the fact that Frodo chooses to stay and rescue his friends is not merely an expression of his innate hobbit courage, but of his ability to withstand the Ring. It's our first indication of the form that his courage will continue to take throughout the book. All four hobbits will become greater than they were at the beginning of the journey, and all of them will be faced with physical danger and find themselves equal to it. But Frodo is the one whose courage will be chiefly moral, guided by mercy and a sense of justice.

Next time: On March 24th, "At the Sign of the Prancing Pony" and "Strider" bring us back to civilization. Yay?

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