There and back again

I think it’s time for me to reread “The Lord of the Rings.”

Colder weather and darker days always seem to fit with Tolkien, and the books take me back to a simpler time, when my brother and I would try to one-up each other with Middle Earth lore (read: trivia) in the back seat.

When I first read the books, I was 11, and I wanted to read them because my older brother did. I enjoyed them without recognizing the parallels to World War II or the clear Christian allegory. No, what captivated me was the age-old story of the plucky underdog, the one who was called and accepted the mission, who finds support in a ragtag group who have their own motivations for joining a seemingly lost cause.

In the end, of course, good triumphs over evil, but not without great sacrifice from our hero. Both the hero and to the whole world around him suffer great damage, and the victory needs every ounce of support possible, especially from unlikely sources. Even then, no one can ever go back to the world the way it was before evil became ascendant.

This, of course, is the plot of hundreds, probably thousands, of tales.

For me, what set it apart was the writing — I have never been so frightened of a book as I was at age 12, reading about the Black Riders following Frodo alone in my bedroom in an otherwise dark house — the world-building, even the variety of languages Tolkien created.

Now sometimes I just want to go to a place where good and evil are clearly delineated, where the foot soldiers of the enemy can be dehumanized because they are not actually human. But maybe not; even the orcs in the book are tired and hungry and acting under duress.

Besides, Tolkien’s Middle Earth includes characters very recognizable from our own world: The leader on the good side, who is turned to evil by promises of wealth and power, promises that, of course, turn out to be empty; the would-be hero, who attempts to use evil means for good and ends up realizing his folly too late; the good steward, who administered his city ably and cared for his people, but went mad with grief when loss touched his family too closely. Even the ancient Ents, who had been around long enough to see everything, and, initially at least, intended at first to sit the war out, because nothing really mattered.

It’s no accident that Tolkien made his heroes little people, who want nothing more than to be left in peace to enjoy their second breakfasts, followed closely by their elevenses. Gandalf the Good, who becomes Gandalf the Great in sacrificing his life for his friends and their mission, tells our hobbit heroes that it is up to them, the homely people who know nothing of the counsels of the great, who will decide the fate of the world.