The Lord of the Rings

by J. R. R. Tolkien

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In a word: fantastic

In a sentence: a perilous quest to destroy the great ring of power and the forces of darkness in Middle Earth.

Synopsis: When the great ring of power is passed along to unassuming hobbit Frodo Baggins, it begins a sequence of events to change Middle Earth forever. Every realm of Middle Earth must come together lest good fail in all their lands, and hobbits have perhaps the greatest part to play of them all.

Reactions: I have never made a better decision than to re-read The Lord of the Rings during the hardest year of schooling I have yet to encounter in my 24 years. To read The Lord of the Rings is to be flung into Tolkien’s universe and swept away on one of the greatest quests ever written. It has been the perfect contrast to life, pandemic, and everything.

One thing I didn’t entirely either grasp, or perhaps recall, about LOTR from my youthly readings was the decay throughout the land of Middle Earth. The entire land is crumbling with age. This is a world that is stagnating in its lack of great leaders and faltering civilizations whose peaks have long since past. This likely comes from Tolkien’s experiences in WWI; this sense of stagnation and decay perceived throughout LOTR was how the world felt after the desolation and horror of trench warfare. The world came out smeared in shadow. Tolkien made a conscious choice to depict Middle Earth not in the glory of the elves and great men of Numenor but rather at the end of everything, in a great flux, tainted forever from the events of the tale, but never without hope.

It’s impossible to read this trilogy without being immersed in its unique and fascinating lore. The series is endlessly adorned with mythological references some obvious, some so subtle it makes the reader wonder whether if they wander into certain corners of the British Isles they could happen upon a glimmer of the magic of Middle Earth. I can attest to this reader that the British Isles are saturated with this magic. Not the glamorous magic of the elves (which perhaps could be found in France) or of dwarves (possibly found in Russia), but the pure wholesome magic of hobbits that makes flowers taller, sheep fatter, and home a more comfortable place to return to. This unassuming sort of magic is all around us and reading The Lord of the Rings brings it to life in the reader’s every day.

To those who have criticized that The Lord of the Rings is ‘dense’ (whatever that means) such is the sad fate of Tolkien’s era of British literature. I suggest you work on your stamina and don’t bother attempting Dickens.

Read if: you wish for a reading experience that will add a sprinkle of fantasy to the whole world around you.