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 21st 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.
