Oh precious hobbit! I had forgotten how much I love you. This is going to be less of a review and more of me just saying stuff (which is…different than usual?).
Ok so when the topic of a LOTR readalong came up on twitter, I was all Of course I will do this thing, because I used to re-read the series every Christmas. Since I fell into the internets, I don’t think I’ve re-read a single book (damn all of your eyes) and I wanted the chance to at least revisit these dear old friends.
And then I totally forgot we were doing this. And then Eva would post updates and my memory would jog and then it would roll over and take a nap and then early last week I was doing some things I didn’t want to be doing that didn’t really need doing and The Hobbit fell into my hands as a happy distraction.
Except that I didn’t want to be reading it because guys, I KNOW WHAT HAPPENS! And I sighed and harumphed and fretted my way through about half the book and then I forgot how irritated I was and then I was suddenly done and I want to go to there again. Because the hobbits, they are so sweet and Tolkien is so good and even when he’s rambly and scenic I can’t hate him at all. There is something deeply satisfying about these books, like eating something that is both tasty and healthy.
And we all know that I am a giant fantasy suck, and that even when it’s garbage I will love its face. But my indescriminate love of dragons and magic swords and shit doesn’t detract from the delight of reading really very good dragons and magic swords and shit. I take it for granted that Tolkien’s world is fantastic, and forget how fantastic it is until I’m in it again. The merry romping trip there and back again has enthralled me, and braced me for the longer and darker journey into Mordor (some one please save me. I am dorking out pretty hard here).
Also, I am over the moon about one day reading this to my babbies, and I was reading it aloud in my mind the whole time and it’s like Tolkien writes to be read aloud in a way that few authors do now (I think Rowling is one of them), and my only concern is how I’m going to get past the part where the trolls start calling each other ‘boobies’ without my kids latching on to that scene and running around screeching ‘Booby yourself!’ at their unwitting playmates. Maybe I will have to read the book to their playmates, too.
Come live in my backyard, Bilbo. I want to invite you to tunnel my hill, but there is no way I can phrase that without it sounding unspeakably drrrrty.
Ten caterpillars, my friends.