Are You My Mother? No, Sorry, She's Dead

              

Are You My Mother? No, Sorry, She's Dead

   A part of me, and a fairly large part, at that, is very tempted to try and continue the conversation from the past two classes, about Tolkien’s female characters and whether or not his treatment of them qualifies as sexist. However, I feel that entering into a conversation in that direction will basically just lead to me talking in circles around myself, much as the discussion about the subject in class has tended towards the unproductive. I do feel, personally, that Eowyn’s character is worse off for how she ends the story—that handing in her sword to go garden is, in some way, a move that is predicated on the fact that she is a woman, and that I, personally, do not agree with this end for her. I recognize the counter-arguments against this position, and even agree with some of them, but my opinion, I don’t think, is likely to change. However, I also don’t think I could convince anyone who doesn’t find her character problematic.

            Basically, a blog post about this will go nowhere. With this in mind, the subject of my post will be about motherhood in Tolkien’s Legendarium, and in the Lord of the Rings in particular. To risk over-generalization, the mothers of Tolkien’s characters seem decidedly less important than do fathers. Looking solely at the Fellowship, there really aren’t any extant mothers—Legolas and Boromir’s mothers are both dead, leaving them with relatively distant fathers. Frodo’s parents are both dead, of course. Aragorn’s mother is (or at least was) alive, but he seems to have been influenced much more by his foster father, Elrond (allowing him to join in the time-honored heroic tradition of loving your sister (but this time it isn’t by blood, so it’s fine.)) The mothers of Gimli and the other three Hobbits don’t appear to be dead, at least, none of these four really have any character development in relation to their families—except, of course, Gimli’s hatred of Elves, which stems from his father, who at one point was held hostage by Legolas’s father. Essentially, none of the mothers of the members of the Fellowship really seem to have done very much.

            This arrangement is, of course, not unique to Tolkien. What is interesting, however, is how the relationships of the unseen mothers factor into living arrangements of some of the characters who are seen. Eomer and Eowyn are fostered by their uncle, their mother’s brother, after their parents die. Considering that the culture and language of the Rohirrim seems to be heavily influenced by Anglo-Saxon traditions, it seems worth noting that much the same happens with the archetypical Anglo-Saxon hero, Beowulf, who is also fostered in the court of his maternal uncle. The main elves that we see are related through the female line, as Galadriel was the mother of Elrond’s departed wife, Celebrian. Frodo may be related to Bilbo through both sides of his family, but he is closer on his mother’s side[1]. If one chooses to include the characters of the Hobbit in this examination, Fili and Kili are on their quest with Thorin, their maternal uncle[2].

            Basically, the bonds of motherhood seem to be crucial for understanding the upbringing of many of the main characters of the Lord of the Rings, which doesn’t seem like a shocking revelation. Who could have guessed that characters would be defined by their mothers? The ‘novelty’ of this, of course, lies in the fact that it’s principally the absence of these mothers that makes them remarkable. Are there even mothers in the story? Considering the relative scarcity of female characters, it isn’t difficult to go through most all of them. There are, of course, a good number of future mothers. Arwen will, of course, eventually have her children. Rosie has thirteen herself. Eowyn’s children aren’t, I believe, ever mentioned, but it can probably be safely assumed that she has them. As for characters who are mothers at the time of the story, we have Galadriel, who has had her child so long ago that she seems to have lost any conventional trappings of motherhood[3]. There is…Lobelia Sackville-Baggins? She has a child, although he doesn’t quite make it[4]. That’s about it for female characters. Goldberry exists, I suppose, although I think her and Tom have surpassed the need for children.

            There are, of course, many more examples of father-son relationships within the books, whether foster-father or blood relations (although a father’s chance of actually living isn’t much higher than the mother’s). There are, of course, reasonable arguments that can be made for this disparity in the mentioned characters and relationships. As was mentioned, I believe, in class, this is essentially a war story, something that Tolkien almost certainly would not have seen as particularly appropriate for women. The Lord of the Rings also exists as a quasi-medieval fantasy, and this necessitates a larger focus on the roles of soldier and general or king and prince, things that leave no place for women. These arguments could all certainly be made, and might even seem somewhat convincing at the time. I’m not here to say that they don’t have their place.

            I’m still troubled by them, however. I keep thinking about something that was said, I believe, last Wednesday in class. Tolkien was very fixated on making sure that all of the relationships he created having their designated children, so the story of the next generation can be told and their stories can be passed down. That’s fine—that is, pretty much, how life works. Sure, there’s something stiflingly heteronormative about the expectation that every relationship will settle down and produce a passel of babies, but I can’t blame Tolkien for being born in 1892 (I mean, I could, but I don’t think that would get me anywhere.) Arwen and Aragorn will have their children, and the story of Middle Earth will pass to those children, just as Feanor’s story passed to his seven sons[5]. I don’t, strictly speaking, have a problem with this.

            When this narrative trend is combined with the fact that the mothers of characters in the Lord of the Rings are basically nonexistent, however, it seems like a less welcome trend. It seems, almost, as though the role of many female characters within Tolkien’s legendarium is to have their children, who will do great things and proceed on with their own part of the story, and to then be unceremoniously removed from the story. This is maybe most blatant in the story of Feanor’s birth. After his birth, his mother, Miriel, says that “strength that would have nourished the life of many has gone forth into Feanor.”[6] She then proceeds to fade away and die, and Feanor, once he grows up, ruins literally everything. Sure, the death of a mother can provide excellent character motivation and the like—but it seems as though the most important events in any woman’s life are the birth of her children and her death.

            This same trend makes other stories, such as Aredhel’s abduction by Eol seem even worse (and, since she was literally abducted and held captive and raped (I don’t care if Tolkien says she was not ‘wholly unwilling’, any relationship that has the man ‘[taking] her to wife’ is not o.k.[7]), it’s pretty hard to do that.) She literally exists to bring about the fall of Gondolin through her child—her only significant actions are giving birth to Maeglin[8] and being killed by her ‘husband’ in front of her son[9].

I’m not trying to say that Tolkien is doing this on purpose, or even that this is some sneaking unconscious idea. Honestly, the same claim could be made of a lot of male characters—I’m sure Finwe was a mighty king and everything, but it seems like his most important act is to be killed by Morgoth[10] and thus inspiring Feanor to begin his streak of ruining absolutely everything. However, there are many fewer female exceptions to the idea that the only things of import you can do are have children and then die (and since there are a lot fewer female characters in general, Tolkien basically gets fewer strikes.) Are there female exceptions? Sure, Luthien admittedly does some pretty amazing things, and I think her child is probably incidental to getting the Silmaril back (maybe not in terms of the overarching story, but it works to a degree). To be sure, this is somewhat of a historical trend, and certainly not something that Tolkien alone is guilty of.  I have nothing against female characters having children, and I acknowledge that there is a long literary and mythological tradition of a mother’s death being an excellent motivation, or something to that affect. Just because it has a storied tradition, however, doesn’t mean that it’s good.

--OK

---

[1] Primula being Bilbo’s first cousin, while Drogo was his second. The Fellowship of the Ring, pp. 23

[2] Which ends spectacularly for everyone involved, of course. Poor Dis.

[3] I suppose she differs from the Virgin Mary in the respect that her own child is hardly mentioned in the book.

[4] Although I’m still inclined to rate Lobelia fairly highly as an exemplary female character since she, you know, has a personality.

[5] One of these fathers, it should be noted, did a much better job of not ruining absolutely everything. In fact, he fixed things. What a novel idea.

[6] Silmarillion, pp. 63

[7] Silmarillion, pp. 133

[8] Silmarillion, pp. 133

[9] Silmarillion, pp. 138

[10] Silmarillion, pp. 79

True Love Alone is Redemptive

When the array of (largely) dysfunctional relationships in The Lord of the Rings was considered last class, one of us put the matter succinctly, “Are we to understand that love alone is morally redemptive?” In view of the definition of love offered by Aquinas – inasmuch as he is a representative voice of the theological world Tolkien writes from – the question of whether love is uniquely salvific in Tolkien’s work will be considered through four relationships. In two of these – that of Sam with Frodo and Aragorn with Arwen – it is the case that the true love of one of these for the other is the cause of their salvation, not merely morally but entirely. In two other ‘loves’ – that of Eowyn for Aragorn and of Denethor for his sons – the imperfection of affection leads the relationship to a dead-end, figuratively for one and literally for the other.

Beginning then with a theological basis for what love must be in its fullness, Aquinas discusses love in the first article of the twentieth question in the first part of the Summa. Here, in light of the example of God’s love, Aquinas defines love as that which takes place when one “wills good to that other” according to their being other. In other words, the highest love that Tolkien inflects and tests in the relationships he forges is found when one desires the good of another strictly on the basis of the good of the other. Although their relationship is not one of the set in consideration here, the words of Faramir to Eowyn typify this kind of selfless gift and joy in the joy of another: “But now, were you sorrowless, without fear or any lack, were you the blissful Queen of Gondor, still I would love you.” In light of her being other – even if she were the Queen of Gondor – Faramir assures that he would desire her good, and this is perhaps the most concise statement of love in the trilogy. On the other hand, any hint of self-interest – when one is unable to count the good of the other as their own – is the darkening of love, and this imperfect affection is found throughout The Lord of the Rings as well.

            With this definition in mind, it is a simple matter to see the salvific work of such love in the relationship between Sam and Frodo. Even in total ignorance of the consequences and stakes of their quest, Sam offers with confidence his willingness to die with his master. So entirely given to achieving the good for Frodo, Sam gives himself entirely on multiple occasions that demonstrate to readers the sincerity of his willing only good: when he risks himself by bearing the Ring, when he carries Frodo up Mount Doom, the images of his working toward Frodo’s good are almost limitless. As a consequence, in reflecting on his quest it is as clear to Frodo as it is to us that without the love of Samwise his salvation from Gollum, Shelob, or even himself would have never been achieved.

            Likewise, the love of Aragorn for Arwen comes with a salvific effect, in which we see Tolkien’s conviction that true love is indeed redemptive. Though it is curious that Aragorn himself is rarely depicted in battle, the transfiguration from Strider to Aragorn is catalyzed by the news from Elrond that the fate of Arwen – her good – depends on the fate of the Ring. Admittedly, Aragorn had previously joined the Fellowship in order to seek the destruction of the Ring, but the change that takes place in him with this news is undeniable, and the effect of his heroism following this is indeed the salvation of Arwen when the Dark Lord is taken by Aragorn’s ploy and Frodo is cleared to destroy the Ring. Interestingly, the theme of the discussion on Monday was Immortality – yet this is precisely what Arwen gives up, even after she has been saved in part by the heroic love of Aragorn. This fact complicates our understanding of salvation as it emphasizes the distinction between moral redemption and evading death. Aragorn achieves the greatest good – because she lives, Arwen is given the gift of a choice to sail west or remain with Aragorn. The fact that she gives up her immortality reinforces our understanding of the effect of love – being given good by another without condition.

            The two examples of imperfect loves – Eowyn for Aragorn and Denethor for his sons – are as touchy as they are clear in their distinction from the loves considered above. In the first example, Eowyn’s ‘love’ for Aragorn is hardly morally redemptive, and this because it is not true love. Eowyn’s ‘love’ for Aragorn is conditioned on his reciprocity – notably, a condition absent in Faramir’s proclamation of his love for her – without which she has no recourse except to throw herself toward death (albeit her courage on Pelennor Fields being one of the noblest and most heroic endeavors of the work). Likewise – though without any of the pity or commendable traits of Eowyn’s struggle with her affections for Aragorn – the ‘love’ of Denethor for his sons is conditioned by his own pride, and when his expectations are dashed he too considers death his only option. Rather than consider the possibility of achieving a good for his son, who is not dead but very much alive, Denethor decides to bring them both into the flames. If Boromir, preeminently, and Faramir will not become the men he dreams of them to be, then they will be nothing. This, truly, is not love, and the redemption that takes place for Eowyn and Faramir are the work of the true selfless working for their good on behalf of another.

            The net of relationships that could be considered as demonstrating true love, dysfunctional affection, and everything in between, would only continue to show that the effect of true love in this work is redemption. Tolkien, and Aquinas, both lived in a world in which Love alone brought about salvation, and the loves of the men and women of this story in their truest forms are the cause of Middle Earth’s salvation.

-WK

Love and Recognition: Eowyn and Theoden

Eowyn's relationships are some of the most fraught in The Lord of the Rings.  Like all of Tolkien's characters, she Though the romantic relationships she does (or does not) have captivate our attention, her familial connections are also important.  Her only surviving family when we first encounter her are, of course, her brother, Eomer, and her uncle, Theoden.  The relationship between niece and uncle is particularly interesting.

Though Eowyn is Theoden's niece, it is clear that their relationship is closer than that of uncle and niece.  Not only does he call her sister-daughter but also daughter and even dearer than daughter.  This is in part due to the fact that Eowyn and Eomer's parents died when they were young, and Theoden raised them.  The maternal uncle is a very traditional stand-in for a father.  One might think of Beowulf's lord and kinsman Hygelac and Roland's relationship with Charlemagne in The Song of Roland.  It is very likely that the Proto Indo-Europeans used a system of kinship terms that did not distinguish between "father" and "maternal uncle."  The term sister-daughter used in the text by Theoden instead of niece highlights both the genetic closeness of the relationship as well as the parental-filial nature of it.  Eowyn's love for her uncle is also clear.  When she sees him under the influence of Wormtongue, she pities him.  Her love for her uncle is clearest during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields: "The knights of [Theoden's] house lay slain about him, or else mastered by the madness of their steeds were borne far away.  Yet one stood there still: Dernhelm [Eowyn's alias] the young, faithful beyond fear; and he wept, for he had loved his lord as a father."

Soon after this sentence comes one of the most tragic moments in The Lord of the Rings is when Theoden lies dying: "'Bid Eowyn farewell!' And so he [Theoden] died, and knew not that Eowyn lay near him."  In some ways it is sadder than tragic.  After all, Greek tragedies have their moments of recognition.  The audience might fear that Electra will not recognize Orestes, but she always will.  Sometimes this moment comes to late, as in Oedipus Rex, but that play hinges on the fact that wife and husband will see that they are mother and son.  In Greek tragedies, the moment of recognition is often the climax (as when Clytemnestra recognizes her son just before he kills her).  This revelation and recognition is integral to many happier stories as well.  In fairy tales, for example, the true identities of the characters are always revealed at the end: the stable boy is recognized as the king's son, the hero realizes that the magical animal that has been helping him is his mother under a spell, the old crone turns into a beautiful maid.  Mary Magdalene, Thomas, and the disciples on the road to Emmaus recognize the risen Christ.  These moments are necessary to complete the arc of the narration and to give closure to both the audience and the characters.  This is not always possible in the real world, however.  The truth is not always revealed at the ideal time.  Peter Jackson could not do it.  Instead he gives to Theoden the opportunity to realize Eowyn's sacrificial love and battle prowess and to Eowyn the validation of her father-figure.  (As an aside, this might be the reason that Eowyn's relationship with Faramir is only present in the extended version of the movies.)

This inability to realize that Dernhelm was Eowyn must mean that in between the time when Theoden's horse falls on him and he speaks to Merry, he was unconscious or at least unable to hear and see Eowyn reveal herself.  This moment, however, points to a more profound inability on the part of Theoden to recognize his beloved niece.  This can also be seen when Hama is advising Theoden about who should be regent while Theoden is away at war.  He has just named Eomer as his heir, but he "cannot spare" Eomer, "nor would [Eomer] stay."  None of Theoden's men volunteer to act as regent instead of going off to war.  He then asks whom the people trust.  Hama tells him that the trust "In the house of Eorl."  Theoden assumes this to refer to Eomer, but Hama corrects his lord: "'I said not Eomer,' answered Hama.  'And he is not the last.  There is Eowyn, daughter of Eomund, his sister.  She is fearless and high-hearted.  All love her.  Let her be as lord to the Eorlingas, while we are gone.'"  Theoden readily accepts this correction.  This shows that he agrees with the assessment of Eowyn's ability and aptness to lead his people.  Why did he not think of her immediately, then?  The most basic answer is that he was not able to recognize her.  In many ways, her place at court resembles that of Beowulf's Wealhtheow, the wife of Hrothgar.  Both are beautiful women with a noble bearing, closely connected with an aging and at times helpless monarch (even though Theoden comes out of his impotence when he is free of the influence of Wormtongue).  They are the gracious ladies who brink drink to the lords.  Both are greatly beloved of the king.  Theoden's blindness to the true potential of Eowyn seems to come from an inability to think of her outside of this context.  Even after acknowledging that she is as much a member of the house of Eorl as her brother, he does not consider that, like her brother, she might refuse to remain behind.  Theoden "cannot spare" Eomer, but as it turns out, Eowyn is the one he will need in battle.  She cannot save his life, but she does save him from the ignobility of being eaten, mutilated, and without a faithful retainer by his side.

This is not to say that he does not understand her at all.  When Aragorn has gone to the Paths of the Dead, Theoden perceives her concern and sorrow.  Her love for and worry about Aragorn make sense for a woman of her status at Theoden's court.  Perhaps he notices it because he expected it.

It seems then, that you can love someone dearly without understanding them completely.

-EKH

Brother-Sister Love—and no, I’m not talking about Egyptian royal family

The strong bond between mother and child is one that has been emphasized forever, as well as the child-father bond. In addition, the loving relationship between sisters is a highly prized one, as is the relationship between brothers. However the relationship between sisters and brothers is almost never mentioned, and certainly never advertised like the other relationships mentioned above—both in real life and Middle Earth.

            In modern day life as well as Middle Earth, these relationship statements hold true. The bond of brothers, like that between Boromir and Faramir, or even that of the whole fellowship is highly prized and venerated. This is also true in modern day life—look at the army, an institution that is mostly men, especially in the field, who refer to each other as brothers.  However, in the whole of The Lord of the Rings series, there are few platonic partnerships between man and woman—let alone one between siblings.

            A rare example of such a relationship is that between Éowyn and her brother, Eomer. From a young age, both had the opportunity to bond and grow close because of their parents death. They also both went through trials and tribulations together. Both cared for their sick uncle, Theoden, and both advised, fought for, and protected their king with a strict sense of love and loyalty. 

            Beyond the shared characteristics, Eomer and Éowyn arguably have one of the purest and strongest relationships and loves in The Lord of the Rings. This is evidenced by their actions to each other. Eomer almost went insane after finding his dead-looking sister on the battlefield after she had killed the Witch King and his beast. After realizing that she was alive, he stayed by her bedside, nursing her to consciousness and health. Eomer also defends Eowyn’s strength of heart and character to Aragorn, who is the King of Gondor. Even Aragorn comments on the love between the brother and sister, saying that Eowyn’s love for Eomer was stronger and purer and therefore a better reason to live and heal than her love for him.

            In this relationship, both Eomer and Eowyn benefit and prosper—they are better for it. The bond is a reason for both of them to fight, both of them to win and live. The relationship is all that got them through the premature deaths of their beloved parents, cousin, and uncle. Even when apart, like when Eomer was banished from Rohan by Grima Wormtongue, both continued to fight for each other, and what they believed in. 

            This relationship is the purest and strongest, especially when in comparison with other relationships between men and women—like Aragorn and Arwen. Though their relationship ends well and strong, the middle is difficult because Arwen begins to fade as evil spreads through Middle Earth. 

            In general, the love between siblings, or family members, seems to be stronger than that between romantic love. For example the friendship between Gimli and Legolas, which created bonds of friendship and ended the long animosity between dwarves and elves. This relationship, though slow to form, became extremely strong through battle contests and mutual enemies. The friendship grew to such a degree that after Aragorn’s death, Legolas went to the ships sailing for the Undying Lands with Gimli, who became the first dwarf to ever go. This friendship and bond of love caused an ages old hate and argument melt away, forging the path for elves and dwarves to become friendly once more—even though most had left on the Undying Lands boats.

            Another friendship that is strong and pure was that between Gandalf and Bilbo. Certainly unlikely, this bond began suddenly, but strongly as Gandalf remained the only one in Thorin’s Company for a long time that Bilbo trusted, liked, and felt comfortable around. This friendship led to the finding of the One Ring, and the eventual saving of Middle Earth.

            It is also worth noting that all of these bonds are between equals. Women in Middle Earth are infrequently discriminated against by men. In the case of Éowyn, she also trained as a soldier, but was chosen to stay behind and lead because of her royal blood—not her sex—and the fact that everybody loved her and not Eomer. In the case of elves and dwarves, both looked down upon the other, but Legolas and Gimli saw each other as equals from the beginning because of their respective social statuses and more importantly, their skill and love for battle.  The relationship and love between Frodo and Sam has not been mentioned because, while it is extremely important and pure, it is not between equals. Sam is Frodo’s gardener and servant of sorts, going so far as to address him as Mr. Frodo, rather than being less formal with just his first name. 

            Love comes in many shapes and sizes—The Lord of the Rings being no exception. With all the platonic love between family and romantic love between characters, it is difficult to label which relationship or kind of relationship is the most pure or the strongest. However, it is clear by the strength of the bond between Eomer and Eowyn, as well as the mutual respect between the two and the qualities they bring out in each other that the brother-sister bond is strongest and purest as it is a bond between equals who understand one another while still pushing the other to be better and to get through whatever difficulty lies ahead, to convince them to live for the other. That love, which does not weaken either party or cause problems, but rather strengthens each person and the world, shows that it is the purest and the strongest form of love. 

KH

The Swords in the Stone

Last class, we touched briefly on the idea of Frodo playing an Arthurian role by drawing Sting from a beam, in which Bilbo stabs Sting (Tolkien, Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter Three: "The Ring Goes South"). As seemingly plain as drawing a sword from an object is referential to Arthurian legend, I dispute that Sting is representative of the Sword in the Stone or that Frodo is representative of Arthur.

The clear Arthur parallel is Aragorn. He is the rightful king of a realm (Gondor or England), his true identity hidden. Upon his ascension, a new, glorious age is ushered in. He has a capital, a beautiful city. He has a beautiful queen beloved by the realm. Arthurian legend, whether the central figure of the particular tale is Arthur or one of his knights, is a romantic hero's journey. It is the story of the Man who became King, who drove back the enemy, and marries the girl (partially as compensation for his victory--Elrond insists upon Aragorn taking the throne of Gondor before marrying Arwen, which necessitates battling Sauron, and Leodegrance "giving" Guinevere to Arthur after Arthur fights with Leodegrance against King Rion, or Reince depending on the version of the legend). 

This makes the Sword in the Stone far closer to Anduril, not Sting. Beyond their possession by the king, it is the sword, in both cases, that demonstrates that the King is king. In Arthurian legend, it is indicated Malory's famed line: "Whoso pulleth out this Sword of this Stone and Anvil, is Rightwise King Born of All England". For Anduril, it is the sword that proves in the Paths of the Dead to the Oathbreakers that Aragorn is the heir of Isildur. The sword itself identifies the King, and the King would not be complete without his sword. 

Sting, on the contrary, does not identify a king. Frodo is a simple person cast into extraordinary circumstances--the Everyman hero archetype. His story is not that of the sword, the kingdom, and the fair lady. Sting does not identify a king, nor is it wielded by a king. That key element, even if it is drawn from a beam, makes it less of a valid candidate for the Sword in the Stone parallel. 

Anduril, however, has a sword parallel for itself, one that I think is more of a parallel than Sting's beam. Aragorn summons the Oathbreakers at the Stone of Erech using Anduril as proof of his lineage. He unfurls a banner, but it is Anduril that allows for him to have safe passage through the Paths of the Dead and which marks him as the King and Heir of Isildur (Tolkien, Return of the King, Chapter Two: "The Passing of the Grey Company"). Importantly, this act takes place at a large stone. The symbolism is clear. It is in this moment that Aragorn truly takes up the mantle of King and Heir of Gondor, when he comes into his own as King in deed rather than Heir in name and blood. Watching the scene in Jackson's adaptation, too, is dramatic, watching Aragorn become truly regal and commanding. Aragorn becomes King at the stone as much as he does at his grand coronation; similarly, Arthur becomes the King of England as much at his stone, with his sword, as he does when being crowned later.

Sting can then be considered a reference to another mythic hero's sword: Gram, the sword of Sigurd. While Gram has a direct parallel to Anduril, as it is shattered by Odin in battle with Sigurd's father and then reforged, Gram is originally thrust into the trunk of a Barnstokkr tree by Odin. Whoever draws it (Sigmund, Sigurd's father, ultimately), gets to keep it. There is no royal lineage associated with it; it is merely the finest sword to be held by mortal hand. Sigurd ultimately faces the dragon Fafnir with Gram reforged, and Bilbo faces the dragon Smaug armed with Sting (though he doesn't kill Smaug with it). The key part of the parallel, however, is that both swords are passed down to their son (or adopted son, in the case of Bilbo and Frodo). Unlike Anduril, which is stored for generations before being reforged, Sting is passed directly from Bilbo to Frodo, just as the (shards of, admittedly) Gram are given to Sigurd by his father.

None of these parallels are perfect, and the best answer is that Anduril and Sting are drawn from a blending of Gram and Arthur's Sword in the Stone. Both Anduril and Sting are influenced by both the Sword in the Stone and Gram, and each has elements not related to either. Each is a creation of Tolkien's, not a direct echo to a mythical sword. Yet Tolkien knew the myths of Arthur and Sigurd, and both of them would have influenced his creation of his own magic swords. Simply claiming that Sting is a parallel to the Sword in the Stone because of Bilbo thrusting it into a beam neglects a large part of it and more blatantly ignores the other Sword in the Stone reference. Frodo does not need a Sword in the Stone, because he is not a kingly hero. However, in the interest of making blanket statements for the sake of discussion, I believe that Anduril is closer in its function to that of the Sword in the Stone, and Gram is closer to Sting. 

-LTA