tavie.com

Parents and sister are gathered together on the couch watching a documentary on Tolkien, arguing about the origins of the One Ring. They are hilarious.

I will say this: if you've noticed, Fellowship of the Ring has been on my reading list (at left) for quite a long time. I'm nearing the end now, in the sense that the pages are now stacked thicker to the left than to the right. (They're in the Mountains of Moria.) And I will say this: he's a long-winded, pompous bastard. He's Bilbo Baggins if anyone ever was. I understand quite clearly, quite completely, my father's attraction to him as an author. I will give him this, that he seems (I hope) to recognize that he is Bilbo, but I think it is mental masturbation for him to write that the elves clamored to hear Bilbo's songs, that he was renowned as a bard, because, god, I find the songs boring.

And the pages and pages of repetitive description, I could do without. I would dearly love to take a blue pencil to this book and shave off a few hundred pages of description-- and I say "dearly love" because, despite my criticisms, despite my personal peeves, there is something to this book. There is something quite worth looking at. There is a vein of true, old-fashioned excitement, glorious and undeniable. Adventure to be had. Adventure shared by the reader-- albeit, the reader with mettle and determination. I'm seeing, hey, the quest as a metaphor for reading the book itself. Every once in awhile I'll hit a pocket of tedious prose, and the quest stands on the edge of a knife, but the reading will continue if the company is true.

Now, reread the above paragraph, and ask me who the hell I think I am to criticize Tolkien for being long-winded. Criticize not others, little me, lest ye be forced to look into the mirror of Galadriel yourself...

For there's a bit of Mr Bilbo in me, too, you know. I hope I don't get any ideas and try to make a break for it...

Why are you in Tavie's head? 9:55 PM | shower me with attention