Una historia de amor y amistad; un relato épico; lucha contra el mal; superación personal; magia; etc, etc, etc, y todo ello en un mismo libro.
Una obra de arte.

A story of love and friendship; an epic tale; fight against evil; personal growth; Magic; etc, etc, etc, and all in the same book.
A work of art.

Twenty-five years ago I'd have given The Lord of the Rings my highest possible praise. I came to Tolkien's masterpiece on my own, and that meant much to me at twelve. The only books that had been reached by me alone were books on mythology and horror. Everything else I read, from DH Lawrence to Hemingway to Dickens to Shakespeare (and this also included Dracula and Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde because they were "true" classics), was suggested and sanctioned by my mother (for which I will always owe her deeply).

But The Lord of the Rings was mine and mine alone.

It is easy to forget that The Lord of the Rings was not a pop culture phenomenon in the seventies and early eighties. It was a fringe book (at least in North America), something that was not yet considered a part of the canon, something that was not a name on every boy's lips (even if they were just getting to know D&D) let alone every child's lips. Sure it was respected and loved by those who knew it, but knowing it was not a foregone conclusion as it is today, and its audience was almost completely genre oriented. In my little community (my school and the blocks surrounding my home), I was the first kid to read it.

And that first reading was a revelation. Sure I'd read The Hobbit, but that didn't prepare me for the breadth and depth of The Lord of the Rings. Middle Earth in its grandest incarnation.

To create a fantasy world is one thing, but to breathe life into ages of that world, to keep all the pieces together with such magnificent detail and rigour, to create character after believable character and make us care about most of them, even poor Smeagol/Gollum, that is a literary labour of Hercules. And by pulling it off, Tolkien created the single most important manifestation of Fantasy that has ever and will ever be written. The Lord of the Rings has rightly been named a classic. It is part of the canon, and it deserves its place. It is entertaining, it is weighty, and it is loved by nearly all.

Aye...and there's the rub.

Its indisputable greatness has made it indisputable.

It has become dogma among fanboys and fangirls that the bastions of The Lord of the Rings are unassailable. Criticize Tolkien's work -- academically or otherwise -- and you put yourself in almost as much danger as a chatty atheist trying to engage in a theological discussion in a coliseum full of Jehovah's Witnesses (how many of those folks will make it into the afterlife? Isn't there a limit?).

Feminist critics point out the lack of women in The Lord of the Rings, and that those women who are present fulfill only the narrowest stereotypes. Éowyn's strength is dependent upon adopting male gender qualities, a typical stereotype of "powerful women in fantasy," and she is alone amongst the Rohirrim as a woman who can and will fight. All other women in her culture are present as a reason to fight rather than as integral parts of the struggle. Arwen's place (in the books, at least) as a maiden waiting for the hand of her king takes the "reason to fight" to even greater heights. And the only powerful female, Galadriel as the terrible, beautiful elven Queen, is too far removed from mortality and reality to be anything more than a mid-tale deus ex machina, thereby removing her from the realm of women and men and making her a pseudo-god whose power is allowed only because it is arcane and mysterious.

Post-Colonial critics have latched onto the racism inherent in The Lord of the Rings, pointing out the hierarchies between the races: from the "superiority" of the elves, to the "chosen" role of "European" Men of the West under the leadership of Aragorn, to the lesser races of Dwarves and Hobbits (the former are "lesser" because they are "too greedy" and the latter are "lesser" because they are children). Post-Colonialists look to the "orientalization" of Sauron's forces and the configuration of evil as an inherent quality of Orcs and "the dark folk." They point out Tolkien's family's history as a cog in the mechanism of English Imperialism, and his own birth in one of the most blatantly racist colonies of all, South Africa (while he did leave at three years old, his family's presence there at all suggests that some of the classic colonial opinions about the colonized "dark races" helped form the man who wrote these books), as possible reasons for this racism.

These criticisms further suggest, at least to me, that the archetypal source of all fantasy's entrenched racism -- even those books being written today -- is The Lord of the Rings. Those fantasy authors who have followed Tolkien consistently and inescapably embrace his configuration of the races (yes, even those like R.A. Salvatore who try and fail to derail this configuration) and the concepts of good and evil that go along with them, which leads to the stagnation and diminishment of their genre.

The fact is that these flaws do exist in The Lord of the Rings. They are present. They are easy to find. But few of Tolkien's rabid fans want to hear about them.

And even when the criticism is not necessarily suggesting a flaw in Tolkien's work but merely the presence of some subtext, the dogmatists react with rage and condemnation. A fine example of this is when Queer and Gender theorists point to the overwhelming relationships between men, and how the relationship between Frodo and Sam is homosocial, at least, and possibly even homosexual. The only true intimacy in the book occurs between the men, after all, and to ignore that fact is to ignore one of key components of why The Lord of the Rings is so emotionally satisfying, especially to young men.

Even faced with these ideas supported by convincing arguments, however, many fans either strive for ignorance or attack the messenger. This may have much to do with the worry -- unreasonable though it is -- that to admit that a flaw or something uncomfortable exists in any of these books, which so many people love so deeply, is to accept that The Lord of the Rings is neither great nor worthy of love.

But this is not the case.

I love The Lord of the Rings even though I subscribe completely to the post-colonial criticism, and see the merits in both the feminine and queer criticisms, not to mention the countless other criticisms and subtexts that are floating around.

The books are racist; they are sexist. They are not perfect. And I must criticize the elements of The Lord of the Rings that make me uncomfortable and deserve no praise. But my complaints and the complaints of critics make Tolkien's achievement no less great.

Tolkien created the most magnificent imaginary world ever conceived, and, for good or ill, Fantasy would be nothing today were it not for him. The Lord of the Rings is a triumph on countless levels, but it is not the word of God, nor should it be elevated to such heights.

I love The Lord of the Rings, but I love it with reservations. I love it because of its place in my personal mythology, its genuine originality, its creativity, its power, but I love it with my mind open to its flaws, and I refuse to make excuses for Tolkien or his work.

Twenty-five years ago I'd have given The Lord of the Rings my highest possible praise. Not today. But I am still willing to admit my love.

2024 Review
*loosely gesticulates while weeping*

I've been wanting to read LOTR over Hobbit Day since falling in love with it again, and I finally did it this year! I just love it so much. This reading was extra-special, not just due to the Hobbit Day timing, but because I read it after seeing The Lord of the Rings: A Musical Tale (review forthcoming on my newsletter). Seeing the tale performed live, all the ups and downs in one evening, was the very wine of blessedness.

This time through, I read the lovely editions illustrated by Alan Lee. He adds so much life through his pictures, though he does not sugarcoat the darkness nor let it overtake the good things. (I do wish a painting of the mallorn tree in the Shire had been included.) My long-loved paperback copy of LOTR is worse for the wear, though I cannot bear to part with it (The Two Towers is broken in the middle). I wasn't sure I would cotton on to this edition since I am Attached to my other copy, but I really loved it.

It is always bittersweet to finish reading this story. Farewell until 2025, I suppose!

2023 Review
And all the host laughed and wept, and in the midst of their merriment and tears the clear voice of the minstrel rose like silver and gold, and all men were hushed. And he sang to them, now in the Elven-tongue, now in the speech of the West, until their hearts, wounded with sweet words, overflowed, and their joy was like swords, and they passed in thought out to regions where pain and delight flow together and tears are the very wine of blessedness. (933)

I love Lord of the Rings a little bit more every time I read it. Sometimes I just can’t believe that a text of this beauty exists in the world! I feel that way about a few books, but LOTR has the benefit of being longer than most of them with more space for loveliness.

In my quest to re-read more this year, I have been marking favorite passages. I’ve found that I often pick up my favorite books to look up certain passages (see below) and have a hard time finding them, so page flags are my rescue.

Tolkien’s male characters draw me to this story over and over. They are tender, kind, gentle, valiant, greathearted, and virtuous. They say “I love you” to each other and call each other “dear.” They weep and embrace and sing and heal and love that which they defend more than defending it. They are gardeners, poets, servants, and friends. (Wait, that’s just Sam.) Their identities are not tied to their swords alone. Most of their page time is not given to violence. They dread war and loss, but choose rightly even unto death. I can tell on every page that Tolkien was deeply formed by close friendships with men who spurred him to virtue and excellence, and he honors them in these pages.

Tolkien’s women, the few of them who exist bodily in this narrative, seem a little more lifted from a medieval epic than real as characters. (At least Tolkien's ladies live a little more than Hostage [no other name given] in William Morris's The Story of the Glittering Plain!) But I couldn’t shake the feeling in this reading that Tolkien was working through his experience in the Great War. By the time he wrote this, he was a husband to a beloved wife and father to a little girl. And I don’t blame him for not wanting to put women at the center of this narrative, placing them in horrific moments of a battle-scarred imagination. Yet, he does anyway, working out a lifelong grudge against Shakespeare’s Macbeth with Éowyn and Merry ex machina against the Nazgûl. At the very least, none of the women are simpering, spineless, or sexualized. Heavens, can you imagine if he'd sexualized Gimli/Galadriel like the Hobbit filmmakers did with Kili and Tauriel? Spare us, good Lord.

Knowing that this text will always be there for me is incredibly comforting. I would love to live in the Shire, I thirst for a taste of Elvish hospitality, and I desperately want to apprentice myself to Ioreth.

BRB, going to cry over “The Houses of Healing” again.

-----

“He told them tales of bees and flowers, the ways of trees, and the strange creatures of the Forest, about the evil things and good things, things friendly and things unfriendly, cruel things and kind things, and secrets hidden under brambles.” (127)

“Leaf and branch, water and stone: they have the hue and beauty of all these things under the twilight of Lórien that we love; for we put the thought of all that we love into all that we make.” (361)

“So you live in holes, eh? It sounds very right and proper.” (454)

“Here Spring was already busy about them: fronds pierced moss and mould, larches were green-fingered, small flowers were opening in the turf, birds were singing. Ithilien, the garden of Gondor now desolate kept still a dishevelled dryad loveliness.” (636)

“‘For myself,’ said Faramir, ‘I would see the White Tree in flower again in the courts of the kings, and the Silver Crown return, and Minas Tirith in peace: Minas Anor again as full of old, full of light, high and fair, beautiful as a queen among other queens: not a mistress of many slaves, nay, not even a kind mistress of willing slaves. War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend: the city of the Men of Númenor; and I would have her loved for her memory, her ancientry, her beauty, and her present wisdom. Not feared, save as men may fear the dignity of a man, old and wise.’” (656)

“For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer. And so the rightful king could ever be known.” (842)

“His grief he will not forget; but it will not darken his heart, and it will teach him wisdom.” (851)

“It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots, and the soil of the Shire is deep.” (852)

“‘They need more gardens,’ said Legolas. ‘The houses are dead, and there is too little here that grows and is glad. If Aragorn comes into his own, the people of the Wood shall bring him birds that sing and trees that do not die.” (854)

“Yet it is not our part to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the succour of those years wherein we are set, uprooting the evil in the fields that we know, so that those who live after may have clean earth to till. What weather they shall have is not ours to rule.” (861)

“But Sam lay back, and stared with open mouth, and for a moment, between bewilderment and great joy, he could not answer. At last he gasped: ‘Gandalf! I thought you were dead! But then I thought I was dead myself. Is everything sad going to come untrue? What’s happened to the world?” (930)

“And no one was ill, and everyone was pleased, except those who had to mow the grass.” (1000)

“The first of Sam and Rosie’s children was born on the twenty-fifth of March, a date that Sam noted.” (1002)

“Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” (1007)

First Read 1978

Second Reading 1999

Third Reading 2023

I have reviewed the three volumes that comprise The Lord of the Rings — The Fellowship of the Ring, The Two Towers, and The Return of the King — each separately. This review of the work entire is to share my thoughts on where and how this work fits into our literary culture.

Tolkien’s cultural impact is undeniable. The Lord of the Rings became a touchstone to the Flower Power generation, when many a hippie scrawled the graffiti “Frodo Lives!” as a tribute to their obsession. In the 1970s, Tolkien’s work was behind the boom of heroic fantasy as a genre publishing phenomenon, as publishers rushed to find Tolkien clones to feed an insatiable market. Ralph Bakshi’s animated 1978 film, The Lord of the Rings, though it made a profit, disappointed fans, who had to wait for Peter Jackson’s trilogy of live action films a generation later before Hollywood elevated Tolkien’s work into a fully realized and lasting pop culture megalith.

What is often overlook about The Lord of the Rings, rather, is its literary impact. Tolkien was an officer in The Great War, and was clearly affected by that dramatic conflict. Yet he is rarely mentioned alongside the generation of writers who were shaped by that war and went on to shape 20th century literature. Hemingway, Cummings, Dos Passos, are all widely seen as being shaped by their experiences in the First World War, and their breaking away from the old romantic forms of literature is viewed as pivotal in shaping what literature would become in the 20th century. Tolkien’s war experience sent him on another path. He reinvented the romantic forms rather than abandoning them. The mythological epic that he created reimagined the old forms, keeping the romantic tradition alive and refreshed in a generation that had largely turned away from it in favor of Modernism. Though rarely acknowledged in academia, Tolkien rescued the romantic tradition and passed it on for the enjoyment of the children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren of the generation who abandoned it.

When a book defines a genre
There is nothing you can say anymore,
That will add or detract from the volumes and volumes
Of all that has been said before:
So a book review I'm not attempting,
Though the GR site is sorely tempting;
Just paying my respects from the bottom of my heart
And raising my hat to the Master of the Art.

I have read J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings probably (and this truly is but a very conservative estimate) at least fifteen or more times since my mid twenties (I did first attempt it at the age of twelve but my English language skills were at that time not sufficiently fluent to appreciate The Lord of the Rings for the masterpiece it is, so I am glad I gave up to try again later). And indeed, I have also never once perused The Lord of the Rings as an actual trilogy, as I have always considered it as ONE entity and a single reading period of time (mostly because I have never even remotely believed that The Fellowship of the Rings, The Two Towers and The Return of the King should in any manner be considered as stand alone novels in and of themselves and therefore that they really do require a perusal as one all encompassing work of epical fiction, and by the way, not as an allegory, as I have also and indeed never believed those critics who claim that The Lord of the Rings is supposed to represent an allegory against war or against National Socialism).

And indeed, and in my humble opinion, one does absolutely and yes without question need to read and approach The Lord of the Rings as an epic and to equally realise and understand that because it has been written by J.R.R. Tolkien like and as the latter (like and as an epic) it is for the most part very (if not even almost one hundred percent) plot driven with an abundance of specific physical (and yes sometimes very much minute) details (about Middle Earth, about both the positives and negatives of Middle Earth, about the threats that are both obviously and insidiously stalking Middle Earth and the many reasons for this) and therefore and definitely with much less of a deliberate emphasis on getting into the internal workings of the multitude of characters presented and depicted/described by Tolkien (by the author) within the pages of his The Lord of the Rings. And no, I am not in any manner saying or claiming that the characters of The Lord of the Rings are somehow unimportant or lesser, but simply and yes indeed, that like with the epical narrarives and stories of Antiquity and the Middle Ages, the tale of the threat of The Ring of Power, of Sauron's reawakening and restrengthening and of Frodo, Samwise, Gandalf, Aragon, Legolas and the rest of the Fellowship setting out on their quest to take the one ring back to Mordor to be destroyed in the volcanic fires of Mount Doom is much, is considerably more essential and necessary knowledge and information than detailed analyses of character and having the latter with nuance and psychology developed at the potential detriment to plot and storylines.

But furthermore, I also do very much and personally understand and appreciate that for some readers the vast amount of writing (and especially the myriad of inserted song like poems) can have the tendency to make The Lord of the Rings potentially or even actually much daunting and off-putting. However, I also do have to say and claim that I have actually only one time (and this the very first time I tackled LOTR in its entirety at the age of about twenty-five) read ALL of the poems (as well as the myriad of foot and endnotes) that are part of The Lord of the Rings and that whenever I do reread LOTR, while I always read slowly, deliberately and with appreciation of and for Tolkien's eye for detail and description, I also tend to skim and skip a goodly number of the inserted songs (but always do read and even sing my personal favourites such as the song of the merry old inn and the beautiful but heartbreaking lament for Boromir) and yes those parts of in particular The Two Towers section that I for one always find tedious and dragging (mostly when Frodo and Samwise are trudging through the marshes with Gollum, simply because I just happen to find the story threads that feature Aragon, Legolas and Gimli considerably more interesting, engaging and even sometimes a bit humorous). And while some LOTR completists and fundamentalists might well find my way of reading anathema and problematic (and perhaps even an insult to J.R.R. Tolkien's work and legacy), for me, coming to The Lord of the Rings selectively and occasionally if not even often skimming (and skipping) those parts that I am finding (and have always found) a bit tedious and dragging, this has also made me enjoy and appreciate Tolkien's oeuvre all the more and all the more lastingly (with me not only ranking The Lord of the Rings with five stars but also always being both willing to reread and indeed very much looking forward to rereading The Lord of the Rings ever two to three years).

I know 2020 is far from over - sigh - but I guess jokes's on me...
----
I don't care about my Goodreads Reading Challenge 2020. My challenge this year is to read this whole trilogy, mark my words!

Il viaggio della vita

Indescrivibile l'immersione in un mondo pulsante di vita e potenzialità di esistenze; di leggende che riverberano dal passato e si proiettano in epoche che mai vedremo né contempleremo neanche con la forza del pensiero.
L'abbandono del proprio nido famigliare, porto sicuro che protegge dai tumultuosi mari dell'ignoto, dischiude un mondo in continua evoluzione che muore e rinasce nel perpetuare dei secoli.
E si combatte il male con il poco che si ha, passo dopo passo e scelta dopo scelta, con la resistenza di chi non può e non deve scendere a compromessi; una lotta che logora nel profondo e si annida in noi, per ricordarci eternamente il prezzo della meta e l'importanza del percorso sostenuto per raggiungerla.

Assodato che Tolkien stesso rifiutasse allegorie e metafore di qualunque tipologia (la letteratura, in sé, non cela necessariamente fini morali o necessità di critica), la rielaborazione profonda e stratificata della mitologia nordeuropea - in misura minore celtica e irlandese - diventa esercizio della riscrittura di una personale epica capace di plasmare un mondo a sé stante, esistente tanto quanto il nostro: genealogie capillari e ramificate, lingue e pronunce, susseguirsi di ere e una mitologia interna, da cui la stessa storia attinge per mettere in moto la narrazione, sono tutte caratteristiche che rendono Il signore degli anelli un'opera cardine della letteratura, non ascrivibile nella comoda etichetta fantasy.
Se, per mia personale inclinazione, sono oramai quasi tre anni che considero Il libro Malazan dei Caduti l'opera fantasy preferita per modernità di prosa e contenuti affrontati, serve onestà intellettuale nel riconoscere a Tolkien l'indubbia paternità di stilemi all'interno del genere e, aspetto ancora più importante, un metro di paragone forse definitivo nella rigorosità del worldbuilding.
Pietra miliare.

4 ⭐

"Well, here at last, dear friends, on the shores of the Sea comes the end of our fellowship in Middle-earth. Go in peace! I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil."
- Gandalf

n  n
n  n
n  n
n  n

2.5

And so begins my avoidance of epic fantasy.

I like the story of LotR - I like the idea of it. I appreciate it's role in history, and the breadth and depth of Tolkien's world-building and involvement. (Though considering that it really is a take on Norse myth and all that, I sometimes wonder if we don't give Tolkien a little bit too much credit for creating the world.)

But, anyway - while I like the idea of the story, and the gist of it, my problem comes with the telling.

There are tangents and back-histories of people's father's fathers that aren't really relevant. And the poems - my gods, the poems. Written in another language that then had to be translated, taking up another 5 pages.

And with Tolkien begins the overly-descriptiveness of minutae that many writers of epic fantasy seem to think is necessary for world-building, but is really just odious.

Oh, I know I'm in a minority - a fan of fantasy who thinks Tolkien is not a god. Like I said, I give him credit for what he did, but I think he could've used some serious editing. Also, aside from the above, I *hated* the way the telling was broken up, where we went through a whole section of time from Sam and Frodo's perspective, and then went back and went through the same thing from everyone elses perspective. It wouldn't flowed so much better if the stories were more intertwined.

I can't fathom the people who love this book so much they reread it every year, but to each their own. I can respect that. But I found it a struggle to get through it just once - and that was with a prodigous use of skimming the find the plotline when he went off on one of his tangents.

Note for modern writers - just because you have some backstory, or some detail, that you have in your mind, doesn't mean it has to be written into the story. If it's not directly relevant to the plot, then let it go. Seriously. It's ok.

Even some fans of the book admit that characterization is a bit thin, and perhaps that's my biggest problem. Some people get lost in the details. They become enraptured in the world via these details, so that they feel like they can see and breath the world.

For me, I'm all about character. I need to empathize and care. This is my ticket into any book or movie. I ate up a book many didn't like - Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - precisely because I was enthralled and intrigued by the characters from the start.

But the characters in this book are, by and large, role-playing pieces in order to fit the raid, erm, story.


By the way, the only reason I came back to write a review on this is because I'm so tired of reading about how you have to read Tolkien because he's sooo wonderful.

I mean, great, if you love the books then I'm happy for you and I can see why people do like them - I really do, even though I struggled with them. But to act like it's some sort of blasphemy to not like them really irritates me. Which is why this is more of a half-coherent rant than a review. My apologies - but I don't think anyone is an idiot for liking the book, and I'm tired of hearing the implication that I'm some kind of idiot because I found it less than enthralling.

I wish I liked it more - I really do.

Anyway, it's really a shame, though, because if Tolkien had built the world and the ideas and given them to a better story-teller, then this could've been so much better. All the elements are there - it's just the telling is a drag. And, in some ways, that's exactly what Tolkien did - and perhaps that is his true legacy.

That said, I liked The Hobbit. Maybe it's because he wrote it for his children, or because he didn't feel the need to cram in so much academia and minutae, but The Hobbit just reads as a better story.

As I’ve already written three joke reviews of these books (which you can find here, here, and here, if you’re interested), it seems high time for me to sit down and actually write an earnest review.

I should say, first of all, that I am among the group of unfortunates who watched the movies before readings the books; so when I sat down to read The Lord of the Rings, I already knew the characters and the plot. No doubt that this negatively affected my experience of the books, for the movies followed Tolkien pretty closely. I should also say that I really do love the movies. I don’t think they’re cinematic masterpieces or brilliant works of art, but I enjoy them immensely nonetheless. Perhaps, in movies, I look much more for entertainment than for art; I don’t think Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or The Big Lebowski are wonderful works of art, but I do think they’re wonderful movies.

In books, on the other hand, I tend to look more for artistry than for entertainment. This may be just an old-fashioned or snobbish preference, but the fact remains that I know much more about how books are made than movies, so I can be a more intelligent critic. Plus, books have been around for far longer; some of the greatest minds in history have written books, and this necessarily raises the bar. So I think I’m not altogether unjustified in applying more critical standards to the books.

Let me sum up my opinion in one sentence: I think these books have serious flaws, and lovely merits. And I’ll try to tackle them in that order. Yet, it is easy, far too easy, to criticize Tolkien—so much so that I even hesitate to do it. But here it goes.

Tolkien is simply not a novelist. Being a novelist requires, not only that you are a good writer and have a fertile imagination, but that you have certain skills. Writing nonfiction is not good practice for fiction. In nonfiction, you write with only one voice and one perspective—your own. A novelist, on the other hand, must be able to dive deeply into diverse psychologies and personalities. To be a novelist is, in fact, very much like being an actor playing a role; writing nonfiction, on the other hand, is much more like being a politician delivering a speech.

Tolkien was not an actor. His characters (at least, his protagonists) are all remarkably similar. They are all terribly nice, polite, courageous, kind, gentle, good-hearted, and respectable. They only rarely get angry, and are never mean. They sometimes make mistakes, but most often are astonishingly competent. Although many of the characters come from different backgrounds and cultures—and many from different species—there is almost no infighting between the protagonists. In the movies, the characters often get frustrated, angry, or distraught; but the emotional tone is far more even in these books, and that tone is of quiet fortitude and good-natured bravery.

One of the things that I found most stifling about the books was the almost total absence of humor. There is whimsy, yes; there is silliness, sure. But there is no wit, no spice, no savor. And it’s not only that there isn’t any wit, but it’s that wittiness seems entirely foreign to Tolkien’s whole mentality; I can’t imagine Tolkien enjoying one of Wilde’s epigrams or Voltaire's satires. So by the time I reached the end of each volume, I felt a desperate need to laugh; and my joke reviews were, in that way, the most honest reviews I could have written. I felt like I had just sat through a very long concert of chamber music—which was very good music, after all—and needed a relief from the stuffiness and the seriousness.

There are many other criticisms that one could make of these books, but I'll try not to spend too much time on them. For one, they are far too boyish. I don’t mean that there aren’t enough female characters—there are many great books with few female characters—but that the books are written for boys. I’m saying this as a former boy who still enjoys a good superhero or adventure story, that it just got to be too much; I felt like I had to go read Pride and Prejudice or something as a tonic. Another obvious flaw is that the world Tolkien creates is, in many ways, lacking in dimension. There are several kingdoms, several types of creatures, and a long mythological history. But are there any religions? Is there any intellectual life? Are we supposed to simply accept that Aragorn is the one true king, and that his reign will be beautiful and just and wonderful? And what are the common people doing? How is their lot? In short, there’s an awful lot that is simply swept under the rug; and all vanity, intrigue, ignorance, and struggle, which for me characterizes almost all social and political life, is almost entirely absent from the world of our protagonists.

Much of Tolkien’s flaws as a novelist and a maker of worlds can be attributed to his oft-mentioned dichotomous understanding of good and evil. For Tolkien, good and evil are two points, fixed and immutable, and you are either standing on one spot or the other. Yes, some characters waver—Boromir is the prime example of this. But note that the reader is never unsure of what goodness is; the characters sometimes are tempted by power, but we are never in doubt what is the right and wrong thing to do in any situation. This is why the protagonists all sound and act so similarly—there isn’t much wiggle-room in Tolkien’s conception of goodness. And this is also why there isn’t any religious, cultural, or political tensions among the protagonists. Tolkien’s idea of goodness is uniform; the idea of pluralism, relativism, or even of uncertainly regarding anything moral, is totally foreign to Tolkien.

This struggle between pure good and pure evil also makes for bad literature. After all, the greatest works of literature are often riddled with ambiguity. Homer is exciting because you both root for Achilles and for Hector; Milton’s Satan is fascinating because he is so sympathetic, and yet so spiteful; and people will argue about Hamlet until the sun explodes. Even more humble examples show the importance of ambiguity: Mr. Rochester is charismatic, but also brutish and selfish; Mr. Darcy is an uptight snob, but sincere. I’m sure we could have a very interesting discussion about the likability of Holden Caulfield, Jake Barnes, or Jay Gatsby. But could we have that discussion about Aragorn or Gandalf? I don’t think we could, and that’s what feels so suffocating. Tolkien almost forces his view of the story upon us; there isn’t really much room for different interpretations (which is also partly why I wrote my reviews the way I did, to show how bottlenecked is all criticism of these works).

But on the level of pure writing style, Tolkien is far from incompetent. His prose is doughty, plucky, and pleasingly quaint. At his best, Tolkien’s writing has an oaky, rustic charm; but at his worst, Tolkien’s writing can be stiff and wooden. I found Tolkien’s descriptions of battles particularly soporific, probably because they often lacked concrete detail. Consider this passage, chosen almost at random:

The next day, though the darkness had reached its full and grew no deeper, it weighed heavier on men’s hearts, and a great dread was on them. Ill news came soon again. The passage of Anduin was won by the Enemy. Faramir was retreating to the wall of the Pelennor, rallying his men to the Causeway Forts; but he was ten times outnumbered.

That is, I think, a fair sample of the way Tolkien narrates battles. It has a nice ring to it, certainly; but it is neither strongly visual nor kinesthetic. It is devoid of concrete detail; it feels too much like I’m being told about the battle, and not enough like I’m there experiencing it. (As a side note, I was surprised that the battle scenes weren’t more impressive, given that Tolkien served as a soldier.)

Despite these flaws, the tone of these books does have a wonderful uniformity; it takes a lot of skill to maintain a single tone for such a long time, and Tolkien accomplishes it masterfully. There are no jarring transitions or incongruous passages, but all is of the same cloth. This makes reading these books often feel much more like reading an epic poem or a myth, than a novel. And, as I’d like to suggest, this is how these books should be read: as myths, not novels.

To complete my earlier statement, Tolkien is simply not a novelist; he is a myth-maker. As novels, I think The Lord of the Rings fail utterly; but as myths, they utterly succeed. Much of this has to do with Tolkien’s background in languages; as Manny notes, the names of the characters have been given so much thought, that they stick in the mind effortlessly, and yet retain a kind of exotic charm. (The only exception to this is Mt. Doom—I’m not sure why he opted for such a comic-book name.) Like characters out of an oral poem, the protagonists of these books are heavy, flat, and heroic. Aragorn would be just as much at home in the world of Beowulf as in Middle Earth.

I can’t exactly say why myths are so emotionally satisfying. Joseph Campbell attempted to answer that question in his Hero with a Thousand Faces; and, indeed, the plot of The Lord of the Rings corresponds very closely with Campbell’s monomyth. For Campbell, myths help us get in touch with our unconscious dream-world, to reconnect with that childlike sense of wonder and fantasy that is so often excluded from our daily lives. Well, I’m not too sure what lies at the heart of myths; but clearly something in these books speaks powerfully to many readers. We all love feeling like we’re heroes on a quest, fighting dangerous monsters at every turn, relying on only our own cleverness and strength. We all love beating the bad guys and experiencing the triumphant thrill of victory.

But in the end I didn’t love these books. They are interesting samples of modern myths; but what I think ultimately holds them back is Tolkien’s refusal to really confront the themes he is writing about. In Homer’s poems, killing is sometimes heroic, but death is always ghastly and horrible; in these books, Tolkien can write about the death of thousands of orcs and men without really coming to grips with the horror of the situation. He does not delve deeply into the nature of good and of evil, but takes them as givens. In short, I don’t think he lives up to his material; and that's a shame because his material is so interesting and rich. Tolkien the story-teller was not the equal of Tolkien the myth-maker.

As a parting thought, I’d like to suggest that Tolkien’s real gem was his first book: The Hobbit. Bilbo is a much more compelling protagonist than Frodo. And I think Tolkien is at his charming best when he is writing of hobbits, dwarves, and forgetful wizards. In The Lord of the Rings, I consistently thought his most silly characters were his best realized: Treebeard and Tom Bombadil were far more memorable than Legolas or Gimli. Paradoxically, when Tolkien was writing his most whimsical characters, the books seemed the most serious; nobody but Tolkien could have imagined Gollum in all his ghastly splendor. It is here that I think his real genius lay, and that is why I think The Hobbit is a better book—and doubly grand for being twice as humble.

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Just came across this review by Edmund Wilson, that I largely agree with:

http://jrrvf.com/sda/critiques/The_Na...

(The formatting is a bit dodgy.)

I read Lord of the Rings first when I was about eleven or so, and then stayed up all night at a hip boy/girl party in the bathroom with Nathan O. ... talking about ents and elves and whether Tom Bombadil was God. Yes, I was a geeky child. However, all these years later, the story has stuck with me.

First a warning: Don't read Tolkien if you don't appreciate true-omnicient-narrator-style epics. Tolkien isn't a master character builder: he leaves all that to the reader's imagination. The agony in the Aragorn/Arwen romance -- so blatant and operatic in the movies -- was a longing look on Strider's face at Rivendell, an odd comment from Bilbo, and a short no-nonsense Appendix. As with many of the themes in this work, the romance and deep character relationships must be picked from between the lines.

And there is so much between the lines here. The world of Middle-earth lives, utterly lives. Instead of tugging on what-ifs, this fantasy forces readers to imagine. Tolkien's work is the fullest realization of literary world building ever penned.

It is also sophisticated writing, drawing on older forms (epic, romance, tragedy). Tolkien doesn't waste time writing snappy dialogue: the story is too epic to dwindle to individual persons. However, voice shifts subtly depending on point of view: chapters dealing with hobbits contain much more dialogue and detail; chapters dealing with Rohirrim have a poetic rhythm reminiscent of extant Middle English works; chapters dealing with elves are magic and blurry and hard to wrap a mind around. These shifts in style, far from being a novice writer's oops, are intentional and serve as mass characterisation of races and groups. So, what Tolkien foregoes in terms of dialogue he replaces with style and action: a classic example of show not tell.

Having just spouted all that praise, I have to admit that all the criticisms are true: the story does resound with Luddite anti-industrial metaphors, overt Christian themes of salvation and spirit, a structural decision to include songs that doesn't quite work, and fantasy tropes that are now cliche ... now that everyone else has copied them, that is. The thing to remember is that this book started the genre: everything fantasy, from Philip Pullman to George RR Martin, exists in the shadow of this opus.

So, no, it isn't a popcorn read. Get over it. If you invest the time and spirit to read this work, you will be glad you did.