Book #141 of 2020:

The Two Towers by J. R. R. Tolkien (The Lord of the Rings #2)

This second volume of the epic fantasy classic continues the charm and adventure of the debut, with further settings, concepts, and character moments that have proved indelible upon both the literary genre that followed and myself as a young reader. This is my first reread in a decade, and I’m delighted by how strongly I react to rediscovering these familiar events afresh. The Entmoot, the rejuvenation of King Theoden, the Battle of Helm’s Deep, the duality of Gollum/Smeagol — there’s just so much wonderfully evocative writing within these pages.

Taken as a whole, however, this sequel feels like less of a cohesive project, with little connection between the two halves of its sundered narrative. The main plot of the trilogy concerns Frodo Baggins taking the One Ring into Mordor, but he and his companion Sam are nowhere to be found for the entire first part of this book — and when we do rejoin them, the rest of the cast gets similarly abandoned in their stead. Author J. R. R. Tolkien is talented enough that those early chapters seem fully compelling in the moment, but they essentially constitute a glorified subplot of the quest for Mount Doom. (Cutting back and forth between the storylines is one of the smartest choices in Peter Jackson’s film adaptation, although that still only masks the independence of these threads rather than resolving it.)

I could also critique some of the underlying ideologies behind Tolkien’s worldbuilding, as many have done over the years. In this novel in particular it’s hard to shake the impression that the swarthy orcs are a homogeneously evil bunch, predestined by their race to be a cruel and stupid people. And the representation of women is once again a letdown, with Eowyn little more than a name and the only other female presence the monstrous giant spider Shelob. These flaws matter because Tolkien matters; his patterns continue to influence the standard forms of this sort of tale, so it’s important to call out where they are not appropriate. These issues are also just basic weaknesses of his own text, which for all its depth would be even richer if the agency and nuance granted to its white men were extended to everyone else as well.

“Flawed masterpiece” strikes me as the fair label here, for it’s a work that I still love even as I pick it apart. The humor shines through to belie Tolkien’s dry reputation, and Middle-Earth remains a world that’s concrete in detail yet impossibly distant from our grasp. Chasing through it for the length of The Two Towers is a dream, despite all the faults.

★★★★☆

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