‘The Lord of the Rings’: Getting lost in Middle Earth and loving it

If I were to be marooned on a small, uninhabited island, what novel (assuming I had a choice) would I most prefer to have with me? Setting aside the logistics of basic survival, such as food, one would think that preoccupying oneself through the endless hours would be a primary concern. Of course, there would be adventurous hikes foraging or simply exploring the surroundings. But what would I do upon returning to camp? And since the imaginary island is small, all of its nooks, niches and crannies cannot remain fascinating indefinitely. With no rescue in sight, the reality of a most shattering circumstance presents itself – what would I do with all that free time? Just then, I remember that together with me were washed upon the shore an assortment of bags and backpacks. (Ooops! No volleyball, so there goes the famous mute companion. So much for living out Tom Hanks’ Castaway experience!)

Faced with such a challenging situation, I can think of no other novel but J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. Many other novels can and will undoubtedly entertain any castaway, but for how long? Undoubtedly, too, only until the last page is reached. After the book’s mystery is solved, so goes any subsequent interest to pick it up again. And promptly does the book evolve, under the prevailing circumstances, into a pillow at best, or at worst, fodder for the campfire. How many books have you ever given a second look, much less a second reading?

My own passion for this trilogy was first kindled by accident probably long before Peter Jackson even dreamed he would direct the three installments of one of the most awaited, most watched and most awarded book-based movie series of all time. It happened about 15 years ago in a small nondescript stall selling second-hand books. As is my habit in any bookstore, I gave the merchandise a quick once-over. And there they were, three books whose covers were tattered, with yellowed and dog-eared pages, in a box that had clearly seen better days and many owners. It was almost an act of charity to have purchased them to be nursed and mended back home. Only much later would I realize that these books fortified me more than I was ever able to repair them.

And so once home and after shaking the dust from the pages, I settled down to have a taste of The Fellowship of the Rings, the first part. I was immediately hooked. I took in the delicious prose and got taken by the seeds of what promised to be a grand adventure. But who wouldn’t be lured by a premise so preposterous and unlikely, whose hoped-for, as yet unknown, conclusion seemed so distant? For some devise, a seemingly benevolent ring, yet potentially capable of unimaginable evil and destruction, to be refused by a wise and old yet powerful wizard and later also by a mysterious but seemingly capable warrior, and yet be entrusted to a naïve and sophomoric creature who’s probably never taken more than a hundred steps away from his own doorstep. An impossible task for a hopeless, hapless hero. Throw in two bumbling assistants whose sole collective intent seems to be to prevent our hero from succeeding, and a third whose own heroics will surprise all. I knew I had a real page turner.

I will confess at this point that I missed quite a few details in my first reading of the book, so caught up was I in just soaking up the story. And grand indeed is the story, involving the potential annihilation of entire races and world domination. Grand too and wonderful are all the settings that Tolkien conceived: From the depths of the darkest mines to the heights of freezing mountains; from barren and bereft wastelands to the beauty and bounty of forest kingdoms. The richness in detail transports the reader to each scene so that I can see it, smell it and touch it. I was more than reading, watching from the outside looking in. I was a participant, a protagonist even. To experience the story’s events is almost inevitable for me as well as, I’m certain, for many who read this epic. As much because of the vividly laid-out settings as the character casting that evokes beyond kinship but oneness and unity with the holy cause itself. Suddenly the fate of that whole universe depends as much on me as it does on the story’s stalwarts! This claim might not sound so fantastic when it is realized that while the author painted an incredible canvas of scenes and populated it with arresting characters, he also weaved a tale that to me was seamless.

It begins quite simply and disarmingly enough. The prologue intends merely to introduce this race of creatures, the Hobbits, their circumstances and some of what they’re wont to do. Definitely no cliffhangers there, except maybe the part that narrates how Bilbo came upon the ring. On the whole, the reader gets merely enough in order to get into the main story sufficiently familiar with the initial main characters that he will encounter. This is much like watching some stage plays where the characters are introduced before the first act. It is only when one plunges into the first chapter that these caricatures begin to flesh out, each into his own quirkiness and particularities. A Long Expected Party, the title announces. The sort of party one might chance upon in any neighborhood on any lazy Saturday afternoon. And so it ensues, as all parties go. Until a prank by the birthday host startles everyone and initiates a fast chain of events that finds four unfortunate hobbits running not only for their lives but also for the deliverance of all creatures in that universe. Here begins a roller-coaster adventure through dark places and fantastic, and an introduction to the other main protagonists. Here too begins to insinuate a sense of urgency that does not ebb until the very end. Of course, along the way are occasions and retreats for rest and recovery that seem to work as much for the reader as for the weary travelers! No kidding! Yet there will be encounters that will evoke fear and even despair for the whole enterprise. Unfortunate setbacks from which no convincing and plausible recovery can ever be conjured by even the most patient and hopeful reader. And here, too, the reader’s empathizing with any of the characters produces an anxiety in him that must approximate theirs. Nothing fatal, of course.

And here is what I truly believe is the reason for this epic’s success, its humanity or humane-ness if you will, and its convincing relevance. Much has been read into and from this grand story. Entire philosophies and even Tolkien’s religiosity have been discussed. Many of these must make sense, of course. And someday I intend to take them up. But I remember a particular fact I dredged from somewhere that the seeds of this long and complicated epic sprouted from a father’s desire to weave a bedtime story for his children. And then it literally grew in the telling! How many countless fathers in the history of all time must have been badgered by insistent little imps for a story before putting out the lights? Well, that includes me. Whereas the beginning of my fanaticism for this story began as a quest for virtual and vicarious heroism, there were times when reading it evoked that comrade-in-arms warmth with Tolkien himself in that common desire to narrate a convincing enough tale to tell my own children. However, even if I now trash all the reasons I’ve discussed above in the cause of this book and all the accolades, I would still have enough to justify it. For as the children grew older, The Lord of the Rings later again evolved into a significant and bottomless well for animated and sometimes passionate family discussions and debates. We all grew up defending our own heroes, we all despaired at our low points, we all were fascinated at our particularly favorite marvelous locations, and we all rejoiced at our victories. Through it all, Tolkien was a very able assistant in my own quest to explain to the precocious minds of my own daughter Mariel and my son Tomas the evils of our own world, its challenges, its sometimes questionable standards of morality, and through all of these, and in spite of our own shortcomings, that sweet taste of victory in attaining our most fervent hopes and dreams. I salute Tolkien and I try to thank and honor him by telling all who care to hear of this wondrous tale that grew in the telling.