Another Year of Bilbo Baggins

It has been a busy few weeks, as the weeks of September never fail to be. But in all the new things that are only just beginning, and all the old things we are returning to, it is important to celebrate the ancient traditions, like the birthday of a likewise ancient Hobbit.

Indeed, of all the reasons to eat good food, drink cheap ale, watch one of our favorite movies, and just have fellowship with one another, in our books, the celebration of Bilbo Baggins birthday is one of the best. 

 

To another year.

Three Worlds in a Day

 

"What had seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold."

 

~A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett

We read all that Sunday, till one book was finished and another begun. We read all that day, till the sun went down and the night lights turned on. 

I lived in three worlds that day, in the world of a fanciful child thrown into hardship, and then into the legends of Arthur through the short lived tale of an incomplete story. And then, when that was over, I peered over your page, and lived in yours.

Tolkien, Trees, and other Thoughts

I got distracted by the light dancing across my book as I was reading The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien this afternoon.

I love the tree outside my bedroom window, almost as much as I love reading in the afternoon. I love sleeping with the window open so I can listen to the hush of the leaves in the night. I greatly enjoy all the little critters that visit me outside my window, from the birds that come to sing in the morning, to the family of squirrels that sometimes come to gawk at my cat. It is also my favorite place to take a nap, there in the tree filtered afternoon-sun.

Tolkien was himself a great lover of trees. Thus, it is no small wonder that The Lord of the Rings pays such special attention to them. Indeed, the trees are the personality of most every landscape in Middle Earth, be they of the hostile or illustrious variety. They are the constant dwellers, watching over passersby and temporary inhabitants that come and go throughout the years, such a short while in the long life of a tree.

Tolkien himself had a tree outside his window once which he claimed helped inspire his story Leaf by Niggle, an odd and wonderful tale that feels altogether dreamlike. He wrote about this tree in the books original introductory note, saying

"One of (the tale's) sources was a great-limbed popular tree that I could see even lying in bed. It was suddenly lopped and mutilated by its owner. I do not know why. It is cut down now, a less barbarous punishment for any crimes it may have been accused of, such as being large or alive. I do not think that it had any friends, or any mourners, except myself and a pair of owls."

Altogether, leafing through these letters written by a mentor that I will never get to meet has been wonderful, even more so than I expected.

Reading through his rambles –regarding such themes as the struggles of procrastination in the face of productivity, his constant anguish at the regrettable busyness of his schedule, and the woe brought on by a book that doesn't want to get done, have all made me realize that maybe I know what I'm doing after all. Self-doubt is no stranger to even the greats.

I sometimes feel small in comparison, so un-heightened by time, so stuck in the scope of the present with a book that is only as old as the files containing it on my computer; a book that is still so unlived in. But knowing that someone I so admire has struggled with the same things as I am toiling with now brings me an unexpected sort of comfort. All this is mostly normal, after all; as normal as the life of anyone who takes up writing can ever be.

Tolkien barely dared dream that so many would share in his delight for his Middle Earth.

Books are wrought only with great pain and frustration, for the imagination rarely complies well with the limits of our vocabulary and the hampered frame of the page.

But once the wrestling is through, and the writer sits back and cries in wonder and fear at what they have created, the book becomes severed from them. As Tolkien wrote:

"(The) goal was reached at last. It is finished... (but) now I look at it, the magnitude of my disaster is apparent to me. My work has escaped my control, and I have produced a monster."

Sometimes the book fades away after that, collecting dust on a back shelf, thought about from time to time only by they that sired it, sometimes with fondness, sometimes with regret. But every so often, if chance allows, a book will fly away to other horizons, where it finds other shelves, from that of a publisher, to possibly that of a reader.

Who can ever know for certain how many shelves a book can make a home in, nestled in comfortably, as if it's already forgotten they that toiled for it before it could stand up on its own. But, the writer won't know: not where it goes, nor how shelves it comes home to; much less how many readers might find a semblance of home in reading it.

Indeed, no one can ever truly guess what might happen when you release a wild book onto the vast world.

For now though, it is much nicer to simply read under the shadow of a tree, and dream of the day when my own book will forget about me and find a home on the shelf of another.

Farmer Giles of Ham

Considering that Tolkien is, and has always been, my greatest inspiration, it should come as no surprise that I loved this book. 
Although it was far more lighthearted than some of his other stories that I have come to love (exp. Lord of the Rings & the Children of Hurin,) it's still filled with Tolkien's familiar voice.
It is rich with his simple kind of warmth and his witty sense of humor. It introduces yet another Dragon with a strong personality, an unexpected, and all together unlikely hero and, of course, an absolute brilliant adventure. 
There is just a golden comfort that sustains through every one of his novels that makes me feel at home. Rereading his books is like reuniting with an old friend or returning home after a long time away. 
 

Photo credit, like always, goes to my wonderful Dad. Check out his website here.

I also love the story behind the story. For those of you that don't know this, Farmer Giles of Ham is one of the stories Tolkien invented to entertain his kids. J.R.R Tolkien first came up with this fanciful fairy tale when his family was unexpectedly caught in the rain during a picnic. The family took shelter underneath a bridge and Tolkien invented the tale to pass the time. This just goes to show that the best things really do happen unexpectedly.