There And Back Again: A Poet's Tale

Introduction

*Warning, heavy LOTR spoilers for both the films and the books.

I first encountered Lord of the Rings on the big screen. Peter Jackson's adaptation of the beloved fantasy series captured my imagination like no other film could. To this day, Lord of the Rings remains my favorite film series of all time, and Return of the King is my favorite single film. In truth, I am a Lord of the Rings fanatic. My family quotes the films as naturally as breathing and my marriage gift to my twin brother Lord of the Rings scented candles. The point is, I am a Lord of the Rings fan through and through. There is, however, an unfortunate mark against my unending LOTR fandom. Until a couple of weeks ago, I had never read the books by beloved author and legendary literary figure, J.R.R. Tolkien. *GASP* "WHAT, HOW CAN YOU CALL YOURSELF A LOTR FAN?!" I know, I know—allow me to explain.

I first read the Hobbit in fifth grade. The book captivated me. When I finished it, I left the classroom unannounced and wandered through the halls of my elementary school in a daze, as if I had been given access to a new level of reality. I was starstruck, but still too young to read and fully appreciate the Lord of the Rings. As a freshman in high school, I finally started my journey through its pages. I would abandon The Fellowship of the Ring twice that year, but perhaps that was my own fault. The book moved too slowly for me at the time—likely because I already knew where the plot was headed, having watched the films three or four dozen times by then. Fast forward to my senior year of college and I still had yet to complete the series. I realized that if I wanted to read Lord of the Rings, I would have to buckle down and commit to it once and for all. So, after I graduated, I decided to make LOTR my next read. Over the following months, I journeyed through the fields of the Shire, the depths of Moria, the heights of Lorien, the fields of Pelennor and Rohan, the forests of Fangorn, and the dark crags of Mordor, all the way to the fires of Mount Doom. These are some of my thoughts along the way.

The Journey

Though I had started the journey twice before, reading The Fellowship felt different this time. Perhaps this was because I was committed to finishing the series, my dedication enabling me to see the book in a new light. Whatever it was, I was invested. I decided to read 50 pages a day, and I kept that commitment quite seriously. I found that, unlike my usual 60-70 pages an hour, Lord of the Rings required a level of slow appreciation that limited me to 40-50 pages an hour. This grated on me as time went on. Let's just say I have never been more convinced that I have the attention span of a goldfish. As an avid reader my entire life, I had just finished an English degree, reading hundreds of pages per week out of a multitude of books, but there was something about the slow, pondering—yet wonderful—descriptions and style Tolkien used that held me back from my usual feverish pace. This was, perhaps, for the best. While it did leave me somewhat unhappy at my slow progress, I felt I had embarked on a journey—my experience reading was similar to the slow and perilous progress of the very fellowship that I followed. It was hard work—and that felt right.

Unlike Brandon Sanderson's epic storytelling in Mistborn and The Stormlight Archives, or Frank Herbert's all-encompassing worldbuilding in Dune, Lord of the Rings felt fully formed, but not fully realized by the reader. I was led through a land that held so much more than was revealed in the pages. My mind ran wild with the possibilities of this world. I found myself immersed in thoughts of elvish beauty and dwarvish resilience—the wisdom of wizards and the valor of men—and behind it all, the unstoppable tenacity, faith, and will of Hobbits. I was being led by a guide through a land he knew well, with only a glimpse of the vast world his tale took place in. It felt as if Tolkien had journeyed from the Shire to the Shores, and told only a single tale of many that he himself had been a part of in his time in Middle Earth. The world was alive—if I put down the book, it would go on, unhindered. That was Tolkien's magic. He created not a canvas on which to tell a story, but a world with a story to tell—one that took me beyond the cozy comforts of home.

As Bilbo said, "It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no knowing where you might be swept off to...

The Road goes ever on and on,

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

And whither then? I cannot say."

Praise and Observations

The world Tolkien created is incredible. From the vast forests of Fangorn and Lorien to the stronghold of Helm's Deep and the White City, Tolkien captured my imagination with his descriptions. Many find Tolkien's descriptions boring or overly elongated, and while I do think that there are places where this is the case, much of the description is indicative of someone who has truly seen the world he is describing. Tolkien clearly desired the beauty of that shining vision to be just as vivid to the reader as it was to him. His pure dedication to contrasting the ugly aesthetic of evil orcs and the inspiring and glorious aesthetic of the elves—the towering beauty of Lorien and Minas Tirith, and the desolation of Minas Morgul and Mordor—reveals Tolkien's attitude when writing the series. He wanted to present a true battle between good and evil, one that reflected his faith.

Tolkien revealed his faith in many ways throughout the series—far more than I could include here—but one that particularly struck me was his use of the transcendentals, Truth, Beauty, and Goodness. These have been historically understood by Christians as the three main things that all creation, especially humans made in God's image, seek. We ask, 'what is real, what is right, and what is lovely?' Tolkien endeavors to give us answers. Every evil in his epic trilogy warped truth, goodness, and beauty in distinct ways, from Saruman's twisting of truth with his voice to Sauron's single-minded thirst for evil dominion and the orc's destruction of the beautiful and ancient forest of Fangorn—but The Ring itself may be the best example. Its ability to twist and warp goodness was unmatched and would have conquered even the likes of Gandalf or Galadriel if given the chance. In the end, innocence was the greatest defense against its power. Purity of purpose and knowledge through the Hobbits and their simple-mindedness overcame evil.

The hobbits had a form of blind faith. When Frodo asks Sam, "what are we holding onto?" Sam simply replies, "That there is some good in this world Mr. Frodo. And it's worth fighting for." To the Hobbits, it really was that simple. They understood that the presence of goodness in their world—much of which they had enjoyed in the protected havens of the Shire and Rivendell—imparted to them a measure of responsibility to protect that goodness for those they shared their world with—for men and elves, for one another, and for generations to come.

Though it may seem an odd comparison, while reading, the Hobbits embodied to me the quote by Ronald Regan, "Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction. We didn’t pass it on to our children in the bloodstream. The only way they can inherit the freedom we have known is if we fight for it, protect it, defend it, and then hand it to them with the well-taught lessons of how they, in their lifetime, must do the same. If we fail to do this, then you and I may well spend our sunset years telling our children and our children’s children what it once was like... when men were free." In fact, this connection reminds me why I so thoroughly enjoyed the true ending to the series.

The Unspoken Ending

While there is much more I could say about the journey the Fellowship shared and the world that Tolkien created, I will save further observations for future posts, save one.

One of the most poignant differences between the books and the films was the ending. Rather than the triumphant return to a free and happy Shire depicted in the films, Frodo, Sam, Pippin, and Merry return to a Shire mired in the muck of Saruman's influence. The Fellowship has one final battle to undergo, and this time, it's for the very home they sought to protect on their journey through Middle Earth. Only after freeing the Shire from Saruman's filth and watching Grima Wormtongue end his master's life does Frodo arrive at last at the Grey Havens, having protected the land he loved most dearly—his home.

I absolutely love this ending, not because Saruman gets his just deserts or because the Hobbits become heroes to their own people, or even because it's a 'happy ending'. I love it because it's Tolkien's call to action. No matter what evil lurks in the world abroad, we have an opportunity to take what we've learned on our journey and use our knowledge and strength to save, protect, and endure. When we return from our adventures abroad, we are better equipped to guard and preserve our homes and people from corruption and destruction. Tolkien is telling us through contrast that saving Middle Earth was every bit as important as saving the Shire—in fact, neither could have happened without the other. Middle Earth could never have been saved if not for the Hobbit's bravery in leaving their home, and they couldn't have rescued their home without the lessons they learned on their journey. Tolkien is telling us to let the journey shape us, and let us, in turn, shape the place and people we return to for the better. Then, and only then, may we pass into the west, to the Grey Havens, satisfied—not because we achieved greatness for ourselves, but because we gave ourselves in service to others, and were much the better for it. That, Tolkien says, is true heroism. The journey doesn't skip from Mount Doom to the Grey Havens. First, we must return home. To slightly alter Tolkien's famous poem:

The road goes ever on and on,

Back to the door where it began.

And we must follow if we can.

Conclusion

When I finished The Lord of the Rings for the first time—and wiped the multitude of tears I had shed in the final few pages from my eyes—I donned my Lord of the Rings sweatshirt, took up my walking stick, started my Lord of the Rings playlist, and walked into the west toward the setting sun. I don't know how far I went or how long I walked, but the sun sunk below the horizon as my thoughts took me among elven trees, green fields, and white cities. When I turned back, the moon shone down on the streets as the final song "into the west" ended and I stood at the doorway to my own hobbit hole once again. I took the final step in and said, "well, I'm back" just as Sam had at the end of the epic tale. I was inspired. Inspired to make a difference—to pursue Truth, Goodness, and Beauty, to accept my responsibility to embody and defend the Transcendentals, and to have faith enough to persevere against the forces assembled against them.

Despite everything I learned from the series and its alternate ending, both the films and the books ultimately concluded in the same way—with Frodo's final rest as he sailed into the West and Sam's return home. So, in the spirit of the Grey Havens and the return to the Shire, I wrote "Journey to the Grey Havens".

Journey to the Grey Havens

When tear-stained hands

Had no further page to turn

I took up my walking stick—

Not knowing where I would be swept off to.

I journeyed for an age,

Elven-song echoing in my ears,

As I followed the setting sun

Into the West.

A great wind blew from the East

And when at last the sun dipped below

The sweet horizon

I turned and made for home.

“There and back again,” I sang

As the thrill of twilight rolled over the earth,

Stars and moonlight guiding my final steps.

“Well, I’m back.”

And I dreamed that night

Of a sight unseen.

The grey rain-curtain of the world

Turned to silver glass—

Rolled back! And beyond,

White shores, and a far green country

Under a swift sunrise.

There I laid my head

Released my burden

And found

Rest.