"Pork-pie peril" and a plot-loop on the Barrow Downs?

Since my earliest readings of The Lord of the Rings, I have felt that there is "something wrong" with the Barrow Wight episode in the chapter "Fog on the Barrow Downs" (FotBD). 

At first, there was just my vague awareness "doesn't seem to work" as well as the rest of the book; that it fails to make an impact. 

There is a nagging sense that the Barrow Wight forms an (almost) redundant, potentially detachable, "plot-loop" - and perhaps an instance of what I sometimes call needless-, or "gratuitous-, or "pork pie-" peril (i.e. the piling-on of peril-upon-peril) - of the kind to which too-many movie-makers are addicted. 

This is the hobbit's second potentially lethal peril of the journey - the first being the encounter with Old Man Willow in the Old Forest. But, in contrast to the Barrow Wight episode, The Old Forest chapter seems to work superbly.

The reasons now seems clearer to me. In the first place FotBD is too abbreviated, too short, too summary in its nature. FotBD lacks the process of incrementally drawing the reader into the hobbit-perspective on events, which was so well achieved in the Old Forest. 

After entering the Old Forest, there are some eight pages before the hobbits are trapped by Old Man Willow; during which there is a lot of dialogue, the stages of the journey is vividly described, and several sub-episodes are distinguished.

By the time they meet Old Man Willow and mortal peril afflicts the hobbits, we are well prepared for it; and the dangers are themselves depicted in detail from the hobbit's point of view as they develop. Such as increasing feelings of hostility from the trees, difficult terrain, frequently getting lost, being funnelled in the direction the hobbits most wish to avoid, encroaching inexplicable sleepiness, and Frodo's falling insensible into the river Withywindle.   

But after entering the Barrow Downs there are less than four pages before Frodo is captured by the Barrow Wight and awakes inside the Barrow. 

During these pages, the hobbits' journey is described externally, and with much less detail than for the Forest, there are just one exchange of two lines of dialogue. There is a good section concerning Frodo's separation from the others, and his increasing fear and confusion - but somehow this does not quite suffice. 

In short, the peril seems to come upon them too fast and without enough length of preparation for the reader to feel and see it "in real time" and from the hobbit perspective. 

Another problem is in picturing the Barrow Wight itself: "a tall dark figure like a shadow against the stars" having two eyes lit with a pale and cold light. 

This just isn't enough information for me to work-with! Then, after Frodo has awoken inside the barrow; the Wight stays out of his sight, After hearing an evil incantation by the Wight; Frodo sees only a long arm, reaching around a corner, walking on its fingers towards a sword intending to kill Sam.

(Which reaching around a corner, seems to me rather an absurd way to conduct a ritual sacrifice!) 

Then, after a well-described inner struggle; Frodo suddenly grabs a sword and hacks-off the hand at its wrist - after which everything goes dark; so that we do not "see" the physical consequences on the Wight. 

Only after a page later and following the rescue; Frodo thinks he sees the severed hand wriggling like a wounded spider on a heap of earth... It would (surely?) have been more engaging to see that hand immediately after Frodo had chopped it! 

Furthermore; this is the second time in just two days that the hobbits are rescued from mortal peril by Tom Bombadil. 

Rescued in a broadly-similar fashion, and only a few hours since Frodo last saw Bombadil. 

Such repetition seems obviously unsatisfactory. 

As to why this chapter is deficient; it may be related to the section having been among the earliest-written by the author - yet (according to The History of Middle Earth) very little revised, by comparison with the other early-written parts. 

The "Barrow Wight" chapter of HoME Book 6 "The Return of the Shadow" is consequently less than seven pages, including notes; because of this fewness of significant revisions. 

It may also be contributory that in its original sketched-conceptualization, Bombadil's rescue from the Barrow Wight was the first time the hobbits actually met him, before returning to his house. 

(The escape from Old Man Willow having been a consequence of merely the effect of a song, overheard coming from the unseen and unknown voice of Bombadil who happened to be passing nearby.) 

However, this merely leads to the question of why the chapter was not more-extensively worked-over during revision; and one can only assume either that Tolkien did not see any problem, or else other narrative factors were perceived more important.  

Anyway; I have now answered to my own satisfaction the structural why - despite several superb passages I would certainly not wish to be without - FotBD has always failed to make the strong impact made by the rest of Fellowship of the Ring.  

Tolkien's subcreated world is Not a modern "myth"

Tolkien's subcreation - his Legendarium as a whole - is often described as a modern "myth" or its mythic qualities are emphasized. I do not think this is correct, because of a quality of myth that seems essential, but is distinct from the situation with Tolkien's work. 

I will first describe what I regard as an essential attribute of a myth - which is that a myth is distinct from any specific expression, and particular "version", of that myth...

While, on the other side; Tolkien's world is ultimately rooted in his own work: his own rather specific words and the actual published structure. 

"Fuzziness" - imprecision - seems to be a characteristic of a myth; such that the specific form in which a myth is expressed - e.g. its exact words - does not seem to matter very much. It is as if the myth has a life of its down, and the words or images by which a myth is presented are not its origin; but serve some secondary purpose, as reminders or pointers. 

The two great myths of England are King Arthur - including Merlin; and Robin Hood and his Merry Men. 

When I think of either of these, no specific version comes to mind; and indeed I find that none of the versions of these myths is very satisfactory. 

For instance, whenever I decide to read one of the Arthur accounts - whether historical (Geoffrey of Monmouth, Layamon, Malory) or a modern description, novel, story, TV programme or movie - I am often overwhelmed with a kind of irritation at their inadequacy; and end-up quitting, bailing-out before I have gone very far. 

The best I can hope for is odd and brief hints, images, phrases, or gestures; that imply rather than depict the mythical - and many versions lack even this. 

I also find the "explanations" of myth to be unsatisfactory - and when a myth gets decoded or unpacked, and its supposed underlying meaning is described - this too always distorts the "reality", and again often evokes a rather strong sense of rejection, or even revulsion. 

So what is the myth? On the one hand it is nebulous, indefinable; on the other hand the particular feeling and expectation that it evokes is quite precise. 

If I am engaging with some version of Arthur I seem to have a pretty clear grasp of what I am looking for and what is valid - even if I could not say just what that is. 

But really, the situation with respect to myth is not really unusual. After all - much the same applies to such everyday and real-life matters as our attitude to a place or nations, or loving a particular someone. 

A real myth is a kind of "miniature" or "model" of something in real life. The situation is just that any specific "model" we make of reality, is really just that: a model; whether it is made of words, pictures, or theories. 

A model is made by leaving-out almost everything, and only including a few things - so it never captures real life, always distorts it; and indeed the relationship between the model and the real is itself indefinable. And the number of ways that any actual model is wrong are innumerably large.    

Unless we have some way of knowing reality directly, and without intermediary communications such as words, images, stories, or other models; then we cannot ever know it At All. 

At bottom, our ability genuinely to live in a relationship with this world depends on the ability to know directly and unmediated; and we need to decide, each for himself, whether or not this direct knowing is actually real and actually happens.

By this account a myth that "works" and is not a fail or fake, works first for one person at a time - no matter how national (or international) it may supposedly be; and secondly by a direct, person-to-person sharing of that myth. 

And this situation is the bottom line "collective" mythic reality, towards which any particular version of a myth may gesture - or not.

From the above, if the argument is regarded as valid; it seems that Tolkien's world is not a myth-proper; but a literary creation. 

The essential depth and relevance of Tolkien's work is not, therefore, the same as that of a myth-proper - although of course there are similarities and overlaps, "mythic qualities" in Tolkien.

This not-myth nature of Tolkien strikes me as significant, because there are malign tendencies that want instead to declare Tolkien's work a myth, with the implication that new "versions" - in other media than literature, and by other authors than Tolkien - validly add-to, re-shape, and re-interpret that myth...

And even, potentially, that these "re-imagined" versions may be equally valid expressions of the "Tolkien myth". 

In a nutshell; when Tolkien's world is regarded as a myth, then Tolkien himself and his published work are nothing more than the first and oldest expression of a universal and universally-accessible myth. This line or reasoning would justify - indeed already has "justified" - an "open-season" of commercialization, exploitations, subversions, and inversions of Tolkien's work.