Because everyone loves a good story
Exciting News about a Kindred Site
Hi there, friends! Are you hankerin’ for a new blog post by yours truly but don’t want to wait until Friday to get one? Well, have I ever got good news for you: you can read one of my brand new articles on a wonderful website called Transpositions!
You may not have heard of this UK website before, so let me assure you that they are like-minded, brilliant, and oh-so-helpful when it comes to combining Christianity and creativity. In fact, the website is affiliated with the Institute for Theology, Imagination, and the Arts, which already sounds divine. Their website explains that “the Institute is part of St Mary’s College, the School of Divinity at the University of St Andrews. Founded in 2000, the Institute is a flourishing and convivial academic community that fosters innovative interdisciplinary research.” As you can see even from this tiny snippet, they are all much more educated than I am, which is why I’m honored that they chose to publish my article this week.
If you have some time, I think you would enjoy perusing articles from the perspective of all sorts of creative humans: architects, authors, painters, sculptors, and more. These articles emphasize the connection between art and theology, which I find engaging and refreshing. They even have articles on Lewis, Tolkien, and Wonder Woman!
Before I get too carried away with my promotion of this excellent site, let me simply invite you to start by heading over there to read my article called “Bird by Bird: Anne Lamott’s Advice in the Fiction of Lewis and Tolkien.” I hope you enjoy it!
Stage Ten: The Road Back
Vacations, sunsets, great books, delicious meals: we’re told that all good things must come to an end. How disappointing, right? For the hero, even the Special World of the adventure must come to a close eventually. But how does the hero return home? Via the Road Back.
As we’ve looked together at the Hero’s Journey, he or she has made a long and arduous voyage from the Ordinary World, into the Special World of the adventure, and then into the Inmost Cave where the ultimate Ordeal was faced. Phew! That was a lot of work. But now that the hero has enjoyed a few moments to savor the Reward of the battle, it’s time to make a choice: will he or she stay in this Special World or return home?
Why Return?
There are stories in which the hero stays in the world of the adventure, like Ariel in Disney’s “The Little Mermaid” (although her heroism is very doubtful). At the end of the story, she chooses to remain in the human world with Eric, the prince she’s been stalking since the opening credits. However, endings like this aren’t as common; usually, the hero heads back to the starting point. Why is this? I think it’s because we like to feel a sense of completion, of coming “full circle” in a story. If the hero stays in the world of the adventure, we’re left wondering what happened to the folks at home and the problems that were introduced at that stage of the story. Also, a true hero doesn’t usually undergo an adventure for himself alone. Often, he has gone through all this in order to gain something that will rescue the ones he left behind.
Example from C.S. Lewis
In C.S. Lewis’s Prince Caspian, the adventure comes to a close as Aslan offers a way home for the Pevensie children and the foreign Telmarines. The Pevensies are more or less obligated to go, but many of the Telmarines also choose to be returned to the land of their heritage from long ago. Aslan has created a magical door that will transport any who walk through it back to where they belong. Despite the difficult goodbyes (who would ever want to leave Aslan?), this is a quick and simple Road Back.
Another example is in Lewis’s The Magician’s Nephew. Digory and Polly have been tricked into being transported to another world—a newly-created world. While there are definitely dangers in this world, the situation that Digory left behind is actually much worse. He lives with a selfish, conniving uncle and a mother who is dying of an illness. The new world, however, is full of interesting creatures ruled by a kind-hearted cabbie. It could have been tempting for Digory to stay there and savor the safety. However, his greatest wish was to return home and offer some life-giving fruit to his dying mother, which is just what he did. For him, the choice was clear: he took the Road Back even though it would be difficult.
When Return Isn’t Optional
Sometimes the hero doesn’t even have a choice about whether or not to embark on the Road Back. Instead, as Christopher Vogler points out, she may find that the evil which she battled has regrouped and returned. She may be chased out of the Special World by a pursuing band of henchmen or an angry villain. Maybe the world itself starts to fall apart, forcing the hero to flee for her life. No matter the motivation, this scene is vital in propelling the adventure from a momentary lull back up to the energy that brings it home. If, like me, you often find yourself snoozing about two-thirds of the way through a movie, this is the part that should wake you up—should. Or it’s just time to admit that we’re old and can’t start a movie after 7:00 P.M. anymore. Dismal.
Anyway, in order to escape, the hero may need to utilize different allies and tactics. He may try to run faster and fight harder, but he may also choose to hide in disguise or use magical gifts to throw the pursuer off his trail. Regardless of the method of flight, one thing is certain: he has outstayed his welcome in the Special World, and it’s time to head home.
Example from The Hobbit
Thankfully for poor old Bilbo Baggins, he is not pursued out of the Special World of his adventure. He’s been through enough already, the poor chap. Instead, he finally gets the chance to do what he’s been longing to do since the first moment he set out for the Lonely Mountain: he gets to head back to the Shire. “’Our back is to legends,’” he says, “’and we are coming home.’” [308]
His Road Back is not nearly as quick as Aslan’s magical door. Instead, he travels for a while with the elves, Beorn, and Gandalf. After leaving the elves at their home in Mirkwood, Bilbo and Gandalf accompany Beorn back to his house where the three of them pass a cozy Christmas season. When they’re all rested up, Gandalf escorts Bilbo all the way back to the Shire. The road was long, and Bilbo is ready for some rest. But is he prepared for the next stage of the Journey, that of Resurrection?
Today’s Question: Think of a story in which the hero takes the Road Back. Was the hero forced into it, or did he or she go by choice?
Sources:
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
The Acorn and the Oak
Today I wanted to post something out of the ordinary: an extensive quote from one of my favorite authors in one of my favorite books. If you’re expecting something about Aslan, think again; this quote is by Elisabeth Elliot in her phenomenal little book, Passion and Purity.
If you haven’t read it, you simply must. It’s a beautiful look at how Jim and Elisabeth let God set the course for their relationship, but it has so much to say about our daily pursuit of God as well. For example, the section below is based on one of the most difficult and beautiful promises in the Bible: “‘Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.'” [John 12:24] Read on to see life through the eyes of a precious grain of wheat who bore much fruit, indeed.
Passion and Purity Chapter 38
The growth of all living green things wonderfully represents the process of receiving and relinquishing, gaining and losing, living and dying. The seed falls into the ground and dies as the new shoot springs up. There must be a splitting and a breaking in order for a bud to form. The bud “lets go” when the flower forms. The calyx lets go of the flower. The petals must curl up and die in order for the fruit to form. The fruit falls, splits, relinquishes the seed. The seed falls into the ground. . . .
There is no ongoing spiritual life without this process of letting go. At the precise point where we refuse, growth stops. If we hold tightly to anything given to us, unwilling to let it go when the time comes to let it go or unwilling to allow it to be used as the Giver means it to be used, we stunt the growth of the soul.
It is easy to make a mistake here. “If God gave it to me,” we say, “it’s mine. I can do what I want with it.” No. The truth is that it is ours to thank Him for and ours to offer back to Him, ours to relinquish, ours to lose, ours to let go of–– if we want to find our true selves, if we want real Life, if our hearts are set on glory.
Think of the self that God has given as an acorn. It is a marvelous little thing, a perfect shape, perfectly designed for its purpose, perfectly functional. Think of the grand glory of an oak tree. God’s intention when He made the acorn was the oak tree. His intention for us is “…the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ.” Many deaths must go into our reaching that measure, many letting-goes. When you look at the oak tree, you don’t feel that the “loss” of the acorn is a very great loss. The more you perceive God’s purpose for your life, the less terrible will the losses seem….
There must be relinquishment. There is no way around it. The seed does not “know” what will happen. It only knows what is happening– the falling, the darkness, the dying…. The acorn does what it was made to do, without pestering its Maker with questions about when and how and why. We who have been given an intelligence and a will and a whole range of wants that can be set against the divine Pattern for God are asked to believe Him. We are given the chance to trust Him when He says to us, “…If any man will let himself be lost for my sake, he will find his true self.”
When will we find it? we ask. The answer is, Trust Me.
How will we find it? The answer again is, Trust Me.
Why must I let myself be lost? we persist. The answer is, Look to the acorn and trust Me.
Source: Elisabeth Elliot, Passion & Purity (Grand Rapids: Baker Book House Company, 1984), cuttings from 163-166.
Stage Nine: Reward
You know that feeling when you finally finish something nearly impossible? When, at long last, you’ve completed a task that took forever or you’ve made it through something you were dreading? Of course you do. If you didn’t, I’d worry that you never left your couch. The real question is, what do you do afterward?
A Job Well Done Is Its Own Reward, but a Good Party Never Hurts
I can think of loads of examples myself, but the biggest one that comes to mind is FABA. That’s the Fine Arts Banquet and Auction held by the school where I taught for 11 years. 
It is by far the biggest, most in-depth event of the year (think full-scale dinner theater, live music, big silent auction, and formal atmosphere, all run by a small Christian school). My (self-appointed) job was to write a full-length play during the summer and then help direct the play during the school year. Needless to say, it was a lot of work.
But like many things that are hard work, the payoff was amazing. The cast and crew always did a phenomenal job, and the audience adored the performances. 
Granted, it helped that half of the audience was made up of the students’ families, but still. Afterward, in celebration, I would usually sleep the peaceful slumber of someone who is floating weightless in a sea of carefree bliss. 
And then we would have a cast party: food, awards, and hanging out. Last year we even celebrated by buzzing my husband’s hair into a mohawk. Now THAT was rewarding.
Rewards for the Hero
Stage nine of the Hero’s Journey is that of Reward. In the last stage, the hero faced his or her greatest fear in hopes of gaining this reward. The hero may even have died and returned, either literally or figuratively. But now the Ordeal is over, and it’s time to celebrate!
Christopher Vogler discusses several common types of Reward scenes, including a campfire where the spoils of battle are enjoyed or a love scene where the hero finally wins the lady’s heart. No matter what the Reward scene looks like, the important part is that the hero finally gains what he or she set out to find. “Treasure hunters take the gold, spies snatch the secret, pirates plunder the captured ship…. A transaction has been made—the hero has risked death or sacrificed life, and now gets something in exchange.” [184] The Reward could be pretty much anything that the hero needed in order to save himself, someone he loves, or maybe even the world, and now he has taken it.
Older and Wiser
Think back to your own Ordeal and Reward that you remembered
at the beginning of this post. I’m sure you celebrated your victory with vigor and gusto at first. But when you reflected on it later, how had the ordeal changed you? For me, each play developed me as a writer and a thinker. My later plays tended to have more meaning and symbolism than some of the earlier ones. The process of directing also matured me as a person. As in, I think it took years off my life and gave me gray hairs that I will undoubtedly find if I ever stop getting highlights. And you know what? That’s ok. Those were years well-invested, not wasted. Also, that’s why God created hairstylists.
For the hero in an adventure, the Reward can come along with many other kinds of changes, Vogler says. For example, the hero experiences initiation into an elite group of survivors. She gains new perceptions or knowledge through the Ordeal. She may be able to see through deceptions that had duped her earlier, or she may experience self-realization and epiphany, seeing inside and around her like never before.
Example from The Hobbit
After surviving the Battle of Five Armies, Bilbo Baggins is a changed man too. Well, a changed Hobbit, anyway. He is well deserving of his reward, but he doubts that Thorin will have forgiven him for stealing the coveted Arkenstone and giving it to the “enemy” in hopes of keeping peace. However, Thorin has been mortally wounded in the fight, so his last conversation with Bilbo is one of forgiveness and blessing. Thorin passed through the Ordeal and was changed, too, but he did not experience the resurrection of a hero.
Thorin’s death finally frees everyone to share the treasure as it should have been in the first place. Everyone gets a portion, even Bilbo. After the experiences he’s just been through, though, he hardly wants any treasure. For one thing, how is he supposed to carry it all back to the Shire? Because, of course, that’s what he’s been longing for all along. He takes two small chest of gold and silver and starts off on his long road home.
Today’s Question: Think again of the Ordeal that you faced. How did you celebrate your Reward in the end? And (for bonus points) how did it change you?
Source: Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Stage Eight: The Ordeal
“The simple secret of the ordeal is this: Heroes must die so they can be reborn.” (159) This is a familiar theme in adventure stories, but when it’s done well, that makes it more powerful rather than less. I have a theory about why this is the case, but I’ll make you wait until the end of this post to find out what it is. (Hey! No skipping ahead.)
Defining the Ordeal
Last week we watched as our hero approached the Inmost Cave—the place of the most dangerous faceoff thus far. Now we see the hero facing what Christopher Vogler calls The Ordeal. He defines the Ordeal as “the moment the hero faces his greatest fear. For most people this is death, but in many stories it’s just whatever the hero is most afraid of.…” (175) It could be Indiana Jones being locked in a tomb with venomous asps, Luke Skywalker discovering his own face inside Darth Vader’s helmet, or Winston Smith facing torture by rats in 1984.
This is no small task; in fact, the Ordeal often does bring death, at least in some form. The hero doesn’t literally have to die at this stage in the story. He or she may appear to die, may witness someone else’s death, or may cause someone else’s death. The death may even be even emotional or symbolic. The point is that the Ordeal will be costly, and the audience needs to see that.
Crisis vs. Climax
So what, exactly, is this Ordeal? One clarification that Vogler points out is that “[the Ordeal] should not be confused with the climax of the Hero’s Journey…. Let’s call it the crisis to differentiate it from the climax, (the big moment of Act Three and the crowning event of the whole story).” (160-161) In other words, the crisis and the climax aren’t necessarily the same thing.
If that just threw you for a loop, then don’t feel bad; I’m right there with you. I think there are many stories that do combine the crisis and the climax, but Vogler is simply depicting one common version of the adventure storyline. He is also quick to remind writers and readers alike that the steps of the Hero’s Journey are not immovable laws but flexible guidelines. If you want to tell a story that combines the hero’s death and resurrection with the climax of Act 3, then go for it!
Example from The Hobbit
For example, in The Hobbit, I feel like the crisis and the climax do coincide. Tolkien doesn’t make a big deal about the slaying of Smaug (unlike Peter Jackson’s movie). Instead, he focuses our attention on Bilbo’s plight and the Battle of Five Armies for the treasure under the mountain. During this climactic battle, Bilbo puts on his ring of invisibility but is knocked unconscious. The battle ensues, and tragic losses are sustained on all sides. When it’s finally over, no one can find Bilbo. They have almost given him up as lost when Bilbo wakes up and calls out to a man who was sent to look for him. Bilbo, the burglar-hero, is alive again!
Why Death and Resurrection?
So why is it important for the hero to experience death, whether her own or someone else’s? There are many reasons, but I’ll mention two: first, death and resurrection change the hero. “Heroes don’t just visit death and come home. They return changed, transformed.” (160) Most heroes are flawed at the beginning of the adventure. Maybe they’re slowed down by fear, tainted by bitterness, or shackled with selfishness. They may battle these flaws throughout the story, but sometimes flaws can be eliminated only in death. An author may choose to purify his hero in this way, resurrecting her to a future and a heart that have been refined by fire.
The second reason it’s important for the hero to experience death is that death and resurrection resonate with every audience.
Consider, for example, Gandalf, the Blue Ranger, and Jesus. That may seem like a scandalous or sacrilegious list, but hear me out.
In The Fellowship of the Rings, we watch Gandalf plummet to his death, the whip of a Balrog wrapped around his ankle. In the new Power Rangers movie, the Blue Ranger is killed by the villainess, Rita Repulsa. (I do realize the name is corny and the movie is meh. I’m just going for variety of example.) But, as you probably know, these heroes are resurrected later on in the story, to the shock and delight of characters and audience alike. I’m sure you can think of countless more stories with a death/resurrection sequence, so my question is this: why is it so common and yet so powerful?
My answer is Jesus. Consider this story: in Act 1, a Child is born to a virgin mother, grows up to do miracles, and is loved by some and hated by many. In Act 2, differing opinions about His deity reach a crescendo, and He is nailed to a Roman cross to die as a heretic. But in Act 3—oh, in Act 3—Jesus steps out of His tomb, not with a little extension added to His finite years of life but as the embodiment of eternal life itself. And, as is true in all good adventures, this victory is not His alone but ours as well. He has willingly gone through death and has come out the other side, opening the door and leading us through our greatest fear and into glory. Hallelujah!
Tolkien’s Eucatastrophe
Now, I plan to write a post about Tolkien’s On Fairy Stories all by itself in the near future, but for the moment, let me simply reference his idea of eucatastrophe. He coined this word to mean a “good catastrophe, a sudden joyous ‘turn’” of events. (22)
He observes that “the Birth of Christ is the eucatastrophe of Man’s history. The Resurrection is the eucatastrophe of the story of the Incarnation. This story begins and ends in joy….There is no tale ever told that men would rather find was true, and none which so many skeptical men have accepted as true on its own merits.” (23)
This, as I mentioned at the beginning of the post, is why the theme of death and resurrection is so common and yet so moving. Eucatastrophe has been etched on our hearts since Adam and Eve, and all stories that contain it are pointers and tributes to THE Death and Resurrection story.
Conclusion
There is MUCH more I could have said about this stage of the Hero’s Journey. In fact, I probably should have made this a two-part article, but I didn’t want to test your patience. If you do want more information about the “elasticity of emotion,” the hero fighting his own shadow, the hero “cheating death” with the help of Allies, or even the supposed psychological side of this stage, feel free to read The Writer’s Journey. It will be time well spent, I assure you.
Regardless, I think the best takeaway from the Ordeal stage is the link between our desire for stories with resurrection and the Gospel, or Evangelium, itself. We all long for a happy ending not just in stories but in reality, and because of the Gospel, we can have it. As Tolkien says, “The Evangelium has not abrogated legends; it has hallowed them, especially the ‘happy ending.’” (24)
Today’s Question: Can you think of an example of a powerful death and resurrection Ordeal in a story you know?
Sources:
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. On Fairy Stories. http://brainstorm-services.com/wcu-2004/fairystories-tolkien.pdf
A Claim That Demands a Response
“…The whole story of the world—and of how we fit into it—is most clearly understood through a careful, direct look at the story of Jesus.” [1]
No matter who you are or what beliefs you hold, you must feel that this is a bold statement. To some, it seems too brash, too narrow, too conveniently Christocentric. To others, it is a bedrock truth, although it may have become so through a long and difficult struggle. But to skeptics and believers alike, this statement is bold and sweeping, leaving no room for exception or addendum. Life—my life and your life—makes the most sense when we view it in light of Jesus’ life.
This is the premise of Timothy Keller’s book, King’s Cross. If I’d started with the title of the book, you may have thought it was about the London railway system. And as interesting as that book would be (so long as it included Platform 9 ¾), it probably wouldn’t have been penned by Tim Keller, a Presbyterian pastor in Manhattan. Instead, King’s Cross is about those two words as they relate to the life and death of Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. “Mark’s account of Jesus’ life is presented to us in two symmetrical acts: his identity as King over all things…, and his purpose in dying on the cross….” [2]
The King and the cross. These two facets of Jesus’ life are not peripheral, nor can you be neutral about them. The Gospels describe Jesus as King—not just King of the Jews but King of Kings and Lord of Lords. If this is true, then this King would deserve your allegiance and your obedience. The Gospels also describe Jesus’ cross—not an unfortunate end to a benevolent life but the foreordained, willing slaughter of God Himself. But even more importantly, the cross is shown to be not the end but the beginning. The Gospels show Christ resurrected in power, returning to bring hope and healing both then and now.
If this is true, then this cross has the power to change your life forever.
So what are we supposed to do with these claims from the book of Mark? How do the King and the cross relate to you and me? Keller answers this way: “Mark wants us to see that the coming of Jesus calls for decisive action. Jesus is seen as a man of action, moving quickly and decisively from even to event. There is relatively little of Jesus’ teaching in the Gospel of Mark—mainly, we see Jesus doing. Therefore we can’t remain neutral; we need to respond actively.” [3] What are we supposed to do with the King and the cross? In a word: respond.
In his book Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis explains the three possible responses to Christ: condemn Him as a liar, pity Him as a lunatic, or worship Him as Lord. In his short but excellent essay, “What Are We to Make of Jesus Christ,” he expands on this same idea, saying, “We may note in passing that [Jesus] was never regarded as a mere moral teacher. He did not produce that effect on any of the people who actually met him. He produced mainly three effects—Hatred—Terror—Adoration. There was no trace of people expressing mild approval.” [4]
To see the life of Jesus accurately is to realize that you must respond. You cannot stay neutral; He did not intend for that to be an option. You may reject Him. You may fear Him. But for those who have been given the grace and boldness to respond in worship, the King and the cross will transform this life and the next. When we begin to experience that, we will see how beautifully his life makes sense of ours.” [5]
Sources:
[1] Timothy Keller, King’s Cross (New York: Penguin Group, 2011), x.
[2] Ibid. xiv
[3] Ibid. xiv
[4] C.S. Lewis, “What Are We to Make of Jesus Christ” from God in the Dock http://www.christasus.com/letters/cslwhatarewetomakeofjesuschrist.htm
[5] Timothy Keller, King’s Cross (New York: Penguin Group, 2011), x.
Stage Seven: Approach to the Inmost Cave
Woo-hoo! We’re past the halfway mark! I didn’t tell you when we were AT the halfway mark because that’s always a little disheartening, at least in workouts. (You mean I get to do the same amount of work that just nearly killed me, but with way less energy? Oh, goody.) So you, my friends, are MORE than halfway done with the Hero’s Journey! Don’t poop out now!
Last week we saw how the hero began to encounter Tests, Allies, and Enemies. But despite the risk of these encounters, the hero has not yet reached the ultimate test. No, this ultimate test still lies ahead, and to reach it, the hero must undergo the Approach to the Inmost Cave.
Setbacks while Approaching the Cave
If the Tests of the previous stage were difficult for the hero, the Approach should be even harder. Christopher Vogler explains that “heroes may have disheartening setbacks at this stage while approaching the supreme goal. Such reversals of fortune are called dramatic complications.” (152) Perhaps the hero’s secret weapon turns out to be ineffective. Maybe the team realizes they’ve gotten bad information. In the character department, it’s possible that the allies are afraid to step it up from “supportive friend” to “mighty warrior” status. The hero may even end up completely abandoned. “Though [these setbacks] may seem to tear us apart,” Vogler says, “they are only a further test of our willingness to proceed. They also allow us to put ourselves back together in a more effective form for traveling in this unfamiliar terrain.” (152)
If the Inmost Cave is where the greatest battle of the adventure takes place—whether physically or otherwise—then the approach to this Cave is a vital time of preparation. The hero has much to learn, acquire, decide, and prepare. Let’s consider a few examples.
Examples of Approaching the Cave
In Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back, Luke Skywalker has been training with Master Yoda by running around a swamp and levitating rocks. He starts to feel pretty cocky about his new skillz, so he foolishly disregards Yoda’s counsel in order to “save” his friends. However, the impetuous little twerp steps right into Darth Vader’s trap. As he flies to Cloud City, he is approaching the Inmost Cave.
In Fahrenheit 451, Guy Montag is a “fireman” whose job it is to burn houses in which books are hidden. He’s been wrestling with the morality of his job, weighing the value of knowledge and free thought against the blissful ignorance of mindless entertainment. He knows a crisis of decision is coming, and it drives him to crazy behavior. He fakes an illness to avoid going to work. He reveals his own stash of hidden books to his brainless wife. He reads poetry to his wife’s equally-brainless friends. And he contacts the only ally he knows: a fearful old man that he’s only met once. But craziest of all, he decides to go back to work. Little does he know that, as he rides the fire engine to that night’s condemned house, he is riding to the Inmost Cave.
The Hobbit Is Approaching the Cave
By this stage, Bilbo and his companions have made it to the cave—the literal cave in which the dragon, Smaug, sleeps with the treasure that belongs to the dwarves. After they find the door, Bilbo volunteers to sneak a peek at the situation inside. Now, I think that Bilbo’s taking of the Arkenstone (Thorin’s most sought after gem) may fit in the stage called Reward or Seizing of the Sword, but that isn’t until two stages from now. Remember, these are common components of an adventure, not a formula to plug a plot into. The author can scramble or omit stages however he pleases, especially if he is J.R.R. Tolkien.
In The Hobbit, the inmost cave seems to be the literal cave full of treasure. However, the hardest part is not simply finding it (although that took more than half the book) but claiming it beyond dispute. Bilbo pulls a tricky maneuver and hands the Arkenstone over to the elves and men in hopes that this leverage will bring peace and avoid war. It doesn’t. Although Thorin and Company have claimed the cave, they have not yet faced the true Ordeal.
Today’s Question: Think of an Approach scene in an adventure story you know. What makes this an effective prelude for the Ordeal that follows?
Sources
Vogler, Christopher. The Writer’s Journey: Mythic Structure for Writers, Second Edition. Studio City: Michael Wiese Productions, 1998.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. New York: Ballantine Books, 1937.
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