Books Read in 2001

Tolkien, JRR: The Lord of the Rings
Tolkien, JRR: The Hobbit
King, Stephen: Salem's Lot

Defoe, Daniel: Robinson Crusoe

Classic literature survives the ages. There's a reason for that; distinction. Whether it be artistically distinct, distinct in it's deeper meaning or distinct in its description. Robinson Crusoe is a Classic.

I picked Robinson Crusoe from a load of classics that I had bought cheap. I'm not sure what drew me to it; perhaps it was the latent adventure, perhaps it was the intrigue; how could a book, based mostly on a desert island, keep me occupied? Tom Hanks' Castaway didn't. Who was Man Friday? How did Crusoe get there? And where exactly is there? I started to read.

The adventure starts in Hull, from where Crusoe sets sail, much against his parents' will. This had me intrigued, being from that neck of the woods (if grimey northern cities can be compared to woods). I was immersed into Colonial times, a period of World history both triumphant and tragic. I sailed down the coast with Crusoe, exploring Africa, South America and the West Indies. All was going well, until that fateful event.

Having been exposed to numerous later tellings of similar stories, and having seen numerous films, it was all a little expectant. I knew he would struggle for food, shelter and health. I knew he would try to get off the Island. But even so, I was hooked. Time panned out between each simple event. Things we take for granted were were atomised into their most simple parts. But what deepened this was that the things that we couldn't survive with now, hadn't even been invented in Defoe's time. Crusoe couldn't have wished for a battery operated torch if he had wanted to. This not only highlighted the desperation of Crusoe's plight but also the fickle, materialistic society we live in. Throughout the book I imagined myself in that situation, theorised how I would survive, what I would do. It would be easy. But of course, it wouldn't. How ever much Ray Mears TV I had seen (incidently very little), I would be up the creek without a paddle, nor the means to make one.

And of course, the Savages. Looking at the time the book was written, it's not suprising that Man Friday would immediately be subservient to the White man, irrespective of his attire and obvious lack of power. This is something I have thought on since reading the book, and something that remains a mystery. Perhaps it is a metaphor for the treatment of slaves; the desperate situation of both, the balance of Providence's kindness on each, the reliance on each other, yet still, Crusoe is Master, Friday is servant. Perhaps poignant centuries later, but at the time was it mere normality. Still, a minor aside - once they are settled in their micro class-system, they operate well together and become dependant on one another (again, perhaps a reference to Defoe's dislike for slavery), and ultimately they suceed in their quest, to return to civilisation, and eventually Yorkshire!

An excellent book. The more I think about it, the more I see shreds of forward-thinking flaking of the pages. Perhaps it has been said before, perhaps I'll take a look, but this seems less a story of survival and more a story of breaking humanity and race-relations down to the lowest level, and highlighting the flaws in society not nature. But then I think, was he that smart? Yes, I reassure myself, I see all others as equals, why shouldn't he? But is that not just another case of, I'd survive on a desert island?

Tolkien, JRR: The Lord of the Rings

The simplistic, sugar-coated almost caricatured Hobbit out of the way, it was time to make the transition from Uncle to Nephew, enter the trilogy. No sooner had I put down the Hobbit, than I had picked up the Lord of the Rings. I had bought a omnibus edition, and intended to get my money’s worth. The book starts in familiar territory, a narrative set amongst the dancing, prancing, drinking and smoking Hobbits of the Shire (almost a pre-emptive parody of 21^st Century Britain), but I soon realise that this book is different. Note, this review may contain spoilers.

Akin rather to a chronicle of history (albeit an ‘alternative’ one) than a mere novel, rather crafted than written, Tolkien’s masterpiece is composed with such a depth and breadth of detail from the off there’s a part of you that not only wants to believe that Middle Earth is real, but also a part that feels this is acceptable and justified. It’s really no different to an account of the Middle Ages, and certainly no less detailed. There’s an index of names and places, family trees and a calendar. But that’s all ketchup to bacon sandwiches, necessary but not the main event.

So, on with the book. The story starts with an ending, of sorts, but also a beginning. The beginning of a new quest. The story is itching to get going on the quest, but the scene is set and Tolkien must have had endless patience to pad the beginning out. A padding, I must add, that is both vital to the story and entertaining. Characters are established, but most importantly a love for the Hobbits and their home. The quest commences, and is fraught with peril continuously, friends are made, a fellowship formed. Back-story is called upon frequently – every character is a detailed person, with relatives and friends (mostly Bilbo!) and a personal motivation to follow the quest. Again, the landscapes are described as though they existed in the remotest reaches of Scotland, often bringing images of Scandinavian myth and legend, or the barrenness of volcanic Iceland – places, I imagine, that were certainly influential in the crafting of Middle Earth. Throughout the journey, one is never offered the privilege of absolute distance, only allusions to very vast areas and journeys that take days on foot. But most importantly, the bond between these men (no women – this was the 50s), fighting on the side of good, becomes an evermore essential thread for the story. We see the friendship between Frodo and Sam grow to one of brotherhood, the relationship toward the hobbits as one of protector (especially Aragorn) and fatherhood and, almost subtly, a kinship between the peoples of all races (again, a particularly poignant and harrowing prediction of modern day society, where resilience against terrorism transcends race – perhaps a subconscious reason for the trilogy’s popularity).

As I progressed through the second book, the weight and influence of the ring become more prominent, to the point where it almost aches to read the book. Book one had left me with a grasped handful of interconnected stories, not simple branches of the same story, rather a hedge created from individual stories, now matured and seamlessly matted into a whole. As one story gets moving, we’re whisked away to another event miles away (assumedly!), eager to find out what happens to the first, but getting once again immersed in the second. Again, the landscapes are magnificent, as are the cities and citadels that occupy the spaces. A fort is not simply a fort, it’s Helms Deep, built in to the side of a mountain, never breached. Saruman’s Isengard is an immense monolith, completely contrasting the lush forests surrounding it. The gates of Minis Morgul are not gates, but manmade cliffs, impenetrable and incomprehensible. And it is in this book that we are introduced to another of Tolkien’s strengths, war. The battles are huge, handled at all levels of scale. Sometimes the action moves too fast and it becomes overwhelming, but that’s war, I guess.

Finally, on to book three, where the separate threads rejoin and the story comes to its finale (I avoid the word climax, as the ending is a series of climaxes, tying off all the loose ends, and putting everyone in their right place). The final battle between good and evil is not a swash-buckling affair between a tiny Hobbit and evil incarnate, rather it’s a battle of wills. Compassion is an interesting theme throughout, and is, too a large extent, the foundation of the book. This is manifest most cleverly in the form of Gollum. Though I try to stay away from finding references and metaphors within the book, I cannot help but feel that the place of Gollum on this line between good and evil, is a deliberate philosophy on the nature of conscience and the notion of rehabilitation over punishment – “It was pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand”. And, as is alluded to, it is pity that ultimately saved Middle Earth - a lesson that many a philosopher, has tried to portray. This can be seen equally clearly with the posthumous heroism attributed to Boromir, a good man, who sinned, repented and died. How often is that seen in fiction, in life? Whilst I’m on the subject of deeper meaning, it’s been batted about that much of the book is a set of references to religion. Personally, though I did see similarities, I choose not to see these as direct references, but rather as simply detail. Middle Earth is a complex society, and religion is just another societal parameter. It sits well with religion as we experience it in this world, and I seem to recall that Tolkien was a God-fearing man, but perhaps he just felt that religion went hand-in-hand with fellowship and good-nature – again, a much discussed philosophy. I think when you get to this level of detail, analogies are inevitable – indeed there are many comparisons with the real world, both societal and material. Why should this be any different? Well, I was getting close to the end, ‘we’ were getting close to the end. I shared the burden, and saw the single-mindedness with which the forces of good fought to the end. The emotional ending left me with a curious feeling; I missed Frodo and the others. And what saddened me further was the fact that I would never hear from them again. Alas, Christopher Tolkien has perpetuated the legacy, but without the same warmth – but what a pair of shoes to fill!

It’s neither possible nor sensible to compare this trilogy to any other book; the Lord of the Rings is the comparator. It is the yardstick by which every book since, and before, is measured against. Nothing has come close, nor likely ever will. This book defines epic, it is synonymous with adventure and the shining star atop the Christmas tree of fantasy, nay fiction.

Tolkien, JRR: The Hobbit

My first book of fiction purchased, perused and put away, I was ready to move on. And with the upcoming three-year epic film series, the Lord of the Rings, on the horizon, I decided my choice was made. There was, however, the book’s prequel – The Hobbit.

I had read the first page when very young, in a copy that my brother had owned, but could still remember it distinctly “In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit”. It had stuck with me since, and I had never known anything more. That weekend, I went back to my parents’ house and dug out that very copy, and started to read. I was hooked. Fantasy reading had never really appealed to me. Like Sci-Fi, I had relegated Fantasy to the realm of geeks and nerds – an opinion I am ashamed of to the day. My opinion changed that morning when I was submerged into that hole where the Hobbit lived, with his pipe and hairy feet.

I never imagined an imagination could create a world that could be packaged into a few hundred pages and transported to another imagination. I didn’t think it possible to read someone else’s mind – at least that’s what I thought I was doing initially. A few chapters in and I realised fiction held a much more valuable gem; the ability to give a reader a few pointers and for that reader then to fill in the blanks. I was totally immersed in Tolkien’s world of mountains, forests, trolls and elves. I’ve never been able to put a finger on how imagination is manifested, I guess that’s part of the paradox; imagination, once realised ceases to be imagination. Either way, I was there, I was in middle earth, and I was glad (except the hairy feet – I just didn’t like that). In some respects, one’s relationship with characters in a book, their qualities and faults, the experiences and tribulations become part of one’s own experience in a detached way, much like a tattoo. You share their vices and fears, when they fall, you fall, when they get lucky, you get lucky. Anyway, back to the book!

Everything about this book was flawless, characters were loveable, greedy, irritating, evil, grumpy, crabby and neurotic, like a 20^th century Snow White. The landscapes, as I’ve mentioned already, were engulfing. The level of detail appealed to every sense, the sheer difference in scale between middle earth and everyday earth, was like the difference between Yosemite and Sherwood Forest! This book introduced me to the concept of the quest, the spine of any fantasy novel, so many interesting events and meetings, though a little linear, still utterly captivating. And of course, that ring, the harbinger of novels to come, and worlds in the oven of Tolkien’s mind.

King, Stephen: Salem's Lot

After graduating from university, I found myself sitting on a bus with a record bag full of computer books. I found myself underwhelmed by excitement and anticipation. I ventured to delve into the world of fiction, stuck a stake in the ground, and chose Stephen King to immerse me into the world of the imagined through his early work - Salem's Lot.

I hadn't read fiction since my primary school years; I was under the impression that fiction was less valuable than fact; I felt I was wasting my time. But as my mind created images of yellowing vampires, Norman Bates-esque houses on hills and undead children floating in their pyjamas, the realisation of the enjoyment that my imagination gave me unfolded and uncrumpled in my mind. I was back on track. I was enjoying fiction again (I had read a lot when I was younger).

The book itself, I found unspectacular. The tension was raised occasionally, but the plot was mediocre and easily anticipated. It is King's second b

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ook, and he was very much in his infancy - with respect to major publishing - and it is down to this that I put my lack of enthusiasm. But it painted a picture, the characters were described well, but I couldn't get to grips with them. The environment - the sounds, atmosphere and settings - were all, sadly, cliché. But hey, it may just be that King created this mood. I need comparisons.