Goldberry and Tom

There are not that many female characters in The Lord of the Rings, and their roles are somewhat limited in scope.  Nevertheless, it is possible to provide a reading of these women, elves, etc., that is more complex and even more feminist than one might expect.  Consider, for example, the case of Goldberry, a river spirit in the form of a woman, and her relationship with Tom Bombadil (who is himself an ancient spirit rather than a normal man).  At first glance it is easy to consider Goldberry a stereotypical “lady of the house.”  She is doted on by Tom, to be sure, but is she merely an idealized, subservient, and ultimately imprisoned wife?  Or is there something deeper and more dynamic in their relationship?

On the one hand, Goldberry describes Tom as “the Master of the house.”  However, the hobbits call him "Master," too.  And “In The House of Tom Bombadil,” as the chapter title puts it, one does not find a representation of a bourgeois abode.  It seems to me that the house is not Tom’s property, but rather a magical extension of himself.  After all, when Frodo asks Goldberry whether “all this strange land belongs to him,” the River-daughter replies, “No indeed!... That would indeed be a burden… The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves.”  Tom’s “mastery” is a knowledge of songs and earth-magic, a connection with and a compassion for the life-force of the world.  By extension, it seems unlikely that Tom would assert rights of “property” over his house – or, for that matter, over his "wife".  The house is Tom – and in many ways, it is Goldberry, too.  Goldberry reminds the hobbits, “Heed no nightly noises!  For nothing passes door and window here save moonlight and starlight and wind off the hill-top.”  Goldberry is not a prisoner of the house – she has chosen to live within the protection it offers, as she has chosen Tom.  When she tells the hobbits to “Fear nothing!” it is presumably because of Tom’s magical powers, but one gets the sense that Goldberry, even on her own, would be a woman without fear.

And consider their interactions with one another: “Then Tom and Goldberry set the table; and the hobbits sat half in wonder and half in laughter: so fair was the grace of Goldberry and so merry and odd the caperings of Tom.  Yet in some fashion they seemed to weave a single dance, neither hindering the other…”

Goldberry may sleep in the house, but she lives in the wider world, which is the authentic expression of her true nature.  When the hobbits looked out a window on a rainy day, “there came falling gently as if it was flowing down the rain out of the sky, the clear voice of Goldberry singing up above them.  They could hear few words, but it seemed plain to them that the song was a rain-song, as sweet as showers on dry hills, that told the tale of a river from the spring in the highlands to the Sea far below.”  And when they say farewell to her, it is out in the hills: “There on the hill-brow she stood beckoning to them: her hair was flying loose, and as it caught the sun it shone and shimmered.  A light like the glint of water on dewy grass flashed from under her feet as she danced.”  Goldberry is as free as Julie Andrews in the opening of The Sound of Music.

Tolkien may not have been the world’s most radical feminist, but he created an ancient-seeming world where – unexpectedly, and perhaps anachronistically – certain kinds of feminism seem possible, natural, and vibrant.  Goldberry isn’t subservient – she just loves Tom, as she loves the natural world that Tom so dramatically represents.  In fact, I could not find a single reference in the chapter to Goldberry as Tom's "wife."  She is strong and free and confident – and undaunted by a partner that happens to be one of the most powerful spirits in Middle-earth.  Their relationship is an expression of a spontaneous, yet abiding, affection.  It may be an idealization when set beside the realities of our world, but it is rather beautiful one all the same.