Melodramatic Prologue to Umunhum II
One evening Sam came into his study and found his master looking very strange. He was very pale and his eyes seemed to see things far away.
"What's the matter, Mr. Frodo?" said Sam.
"I am wounded," he answered, "wounded; it will never really heal."
But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that Sam recalled that the date was October the sixth. Two years before on that day it was dark in the dell under Weathertop.
--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Umunhum, Part One
I've been nervous all week, shaking whenever I think about setting foot on that mountain again. Finding the corners of the bedroom where I once shook. Looking in the secret places around the base where I used to hide. I briefly contemplated an end to my own story on the mountain itself, but that feeling has passed.
It seems like one of those episodes of Doctor Who, in which the Doctor runs into one of his former selves, completely aware of how and when his earlier incarnation will die, but unable to say one word, offer any warning. That person from the past, himself, is dead, and though he may be able to revisit the location of his demise, he may never revisit the time. It, too, is dead, at least to him. It has to be.
I don't know what will happen. I've already had one momentary burst of emotion, prompted by nothing more than thinking about the place, seeing it again, hearing in my memory that lonely whine of a spinning antenna that has long since been dismantled. Before Umunhum, I think I knew very little about things like hate, or rage, or betrayal, or fear, true fear, the kind that leads nine-year-old children to become invisible, physically and emotionally.
I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I will be able to write about it. I wonder if it's best to just put it away, like the empty buildings on the mountain itself, which are scheduled for demolition. I wonder if, like Sam, I will come back, or if, like Mr. Frodo, I will sail even further away from everything I know, everything I love, everything that built me back into some semblance of a human being after I left that place, that mountain of doom.
"It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded," said Merry.
"Not to me," said Frodo. "To me it feels more like falling asleep again."
"What's the matter, Mr. Frodo?" said Sam.
"I am wounded," he answered, "wounded; it will never really heal."
But then he got up, and the turn seemed to pass, and he was quite himself the next day. It was not until afterwards that Sam recalled that the date was October the sixth. Two years before on that day it was dark in the dell under Weathertop.
--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Return of the King
Umunhum, Part One
I've been nervous all week, shaking whenever I think about setting foot on that mountain again. Finding the corners of the bedroom where I once shook. Looking in the secret places around the base where I used to hide. I briefly contemplated an end to my own story on the mountain itself, but that feeling has passed.
It seems like one of those episodes of Doctor Who, in which the Doctor runs into one of his former selves, completely aware of how and when his earlier incarnation will die, but unable to say one word, offer any warning. That person from the past, himself, is dead, and though he may be able to revisit the location of his demise, he may never revisit the time. It, too, is dead, at least to him. It has to be.
I don't know what will happen. I've already had one momentary burst of emotion, prompted by nothing more than thinking about the place, seeing it again, hearing in my memory that lonely whine of a spinning antenna that has long since been dismantled. Before Umunhum, I think I knew very little about things like hate, or rage, or betrayal, or fear, true fear, the kind that leads nine-year-old children to become invisible, physically and emotionally.
I don't know what will happen. I don't know if I will be able to write about it. I wonder if it's best to just put it away, like the empty buildings on the mountain itself, which are scheduled for demolition. I wonder if, like Sam, I will come back, or if, like Mr. Frodo, I will sail even further away from everything I know, everything I love, everything that built me back into some semblance of a human being after I left that place, that mountain of doom.
"It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded," said Merry.
"Not to me," said Frodo. "To me it feels more like falling asleep again."
posted by Chazzbot at 8:11 AM
5 Comments:
C,
Don't fret it. Everything will be OK and you'll enjoy yourself and others. I'll be right there with you to enjoy it as well. That part of your life is over now. No more "Doom" on the mountain. ONly peaceful serenity and the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees which are slowly reclaiming the site.
You're a better man now, I'm sure. And I look forward to meeting you tomorrow.
--Basim
Thank you for that, Basim. Despite my personal experiences on the mountain, I have never been anywhere like it and it will be incredible to see it again.
Sir Charles,
Loved the little intro; wished there were more of it to read. The piece you did about Umunhum and hummingbirds remains one of the best things I think you've ever written, and this falls right in line.
I'm reading this piece as if you were actually writing it as a prologue to a memoir, and in that spirit, I offer the following: I would cut the references to Doctor Who--at least for this section. You've already opened up with LOTR, and to bring in another sci/fi title so quickly is going to throw a reader off. That paragraph is beautiful in its confusion and labyrinthine discussions of time and fate, but it can easily be rewritten to focus on, say, an older Frodo running into the younger version of himself, unable to tell that boy what fate befalls him.
My .02, anyway--discard it as you see fit.
Hope the trip goes well!
Can you enlighten me on what the "mountain" is you refer too?
See the link to part one at the top of the post.
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