While we did touch upon Greco-Roman associations with trees
for a few minutes in class, I think we missed a major one that ties back to
Tolkien far more than the divine associations we addressed (Apollo and the
laurel, Athena and the olive, Zeus and the oak, etc.). For even beyond the
appearance of dryads (individual spirits of individual trees), the life of
trees is set apart from human life, delineating the two in a way that is not
entirely unlike Tolkien’s parameters.
For trees
are alive, certainly, but alive in a way that humans cannot perceive: you
cannot sit and watch a tree breathe, you cannot see a tree think, and humans
are not capable of sitting still long enough to watch a tree grow. There is
something unnerving about an entity that does all its ‘living’ behind your back
and this anxiety is in full view in the Old Forest. The trees there are “watchful”, lending the
place an oppressive air without showing direct signs of life. Their
consciousness is at odds with the hobbits and frightens them in a more
underhanded way than the Black Riders ever do.
Personally,
Old Man Willow scares me more than Shelob, Smaug, or any other monster in the Legendarium, and I think I can pinpoint
why in regards to this ‘alive without living’ paradox. We know we’re supposed to be scared of Shelob and we have good reason
to be: she’s huge, she’s poisonous, she’s homicidal (or hobbit-cidal, rather)
and she is in a shape that humans are accustomed to being afraid of. She
operates on the same plane of existence as her prey, pursuing them physically
through the caves. Old Man Willow, on the other hand, is more subtle. He lures
them in, and there is something infinitely more terrifying about an enemy that
makes you come to it of your own free will. Even more unsettling is the brief
exchange where Pippin, who has been half consumed by the tree, is the only one
who can relay its threat to “squeeze [Pippin] in two” (Fellowship of the Ring, 133). As Tom says, “his heart was rotten
but his strength was green” (Fellowship
of the Rings, 147): Old Man Willow’s power lies on a plane beyond human
perception, as does the rest of his ‘life’. He speaks, but cannot be heard
except by someone being forced into his realm of existence. He lives and plots and grows, but not in a
way we can see. And if something like that means us harm, it makes it much,
much harder to fight.
This halfway point, this living
without visible signs of life, is where I think we skipped over an important
theme in classical mythology: transformation into or imprisonment within trees.
In Greco-Roman texts, this is more often than not a sort of consolation, a
reprieve from life without actually dying, a transference of consciousness into
something beyond the range of human perception. Daphne is turned into the laurel
after she begs for a reprieve from Apollo’s pursuits. Her new form puts her
beyond the reach of even an amorous god, even though “sentit
adhuc trepidare novo sub cortice pectus”, “he [Apollo] still sensed her breast
trembling beneath the new bark” (Metamorphoses,
555). The nymph still lives, but is now operating on a plane that makes her
unreachable and alien. While it must be noted that this is not a punishment, there
is still a sense of fear and anxiety surrounding the transformation in most
cases, as it is only used in the most dire of circumstances. Another of Ovid’s
stories concerns Myrrha, who after an incestuous relationship with her father
begs for divine mercy and, rather than bear the shame of her deeds, is turned
to a myrrh tree, ever weeping the sap for which the tree is prized. Again, a
person is being put beyond the reach of human cares (though Myrrha still
delivers her baby and Adonis is born from a cleft in the tree), leaving behind
human consciousness for something deeper and slower, more akin to Treebeard’s
“long, slow, steady thinking” (Two
Towers, 64). However, emotion and signs of life are never truly put aside.
Daphne’s laurel leaves quiver in the wind and Myrrha weeps precious tears, for
though they are no longer human, even in this mythology there are always
reminders that trees are alive, thinking and feeling on a level apart from the
plain of human consciousness.
Perhaps
closer to Tolkien’s use of the scarier sides of trees is British and Celtic
mythological tree-human interactions. In several versions of the Scottish
ballad of Tam Lin, the defeated Fairy Queen snaps that “had [she] known what
this night [she] did see/ [She’d] have look’d him in the eyes and turned him to
a tree”[1].
This is explicitly a punishment (and a spiteful one at that) for Tam Lin has
been delivered from thralldom by his lady-love and is no longer able to serve
as the Queen’s ‘tithe to Hell’. However, the thread takes a turn for the worse
(away from transformation and straight into imprisonment, not only a threat but
a deed carried out) in Arthurian legend with Merlin’s demise.
A
bit of background: in some accounts of King Arthur and his court, Merlin’s end
involves being imprisoned in a tree by his student Nimue (or Ninianne,
Vivianne, and a few other variations on the name besides), who has learned his
secrets from him. In any case, in the version I heard most as a child, she
trapped him within a tree.
Now,
we’ve definitely seen that in
Tolkien: Merry and Pippin bound up in the roots of Old Man Willow. But Tolkien’s
version is (to me) more instinctually scary: for Nimue, the tree is a means to
an end. But, as said before, Old Man Willow is the one in control of the
situation in Tolkien, and his “grey thirsty spirit” strikes an intentionally
dissonant chord with readers because it is something beyond mortal perception,
something that we fear. We fear to be menaced by it, for we cannot fight it,
and we fear becoming it, for it is too far distant from what we know.
Note: My Ovid translation is a little
rough and done on the fly, please forgive any errors. It’s been a few years
since I did any huge amounts of Latin, but I think I got the gist of the line.
1 comment:
I really like the sense of utterly alien intelligence that lurks behind the threatening trees of Tolkien's world, and I agree that there's a real sense that Old Man Willow is far scarier than the orcs or Shelob and for an entirely different reason (of course, I also think Tom Bombadil is a maybe more terrifying than orcs as well, I might not be the best judge). I mentioned this in another comment, but I think Algernon Blackwood's "The Willows" is perhaps the greatest exploration of this menace that I've encountered. It's an almost Lovecraftian horror. The problem is not so much that the trees are arrayed against us, but that they are so alien to us that they might simply destroy us out of pique or by accident or to serve some unfathomable end. We might wonder about how this sort of horror fits alongside the far more comprehensible human evil of Melkor and Sauron, is it so terrifying because it's so distant from human affairs that we question whether we can even call it evil?
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