The Read Goes Ever Ever On ...

Tea: Blueberry with ginger.

Music: Alice in Chains, "Would?"

Time: Night.

I'm rereading Tolkien.

First, The Silmarillion. Now, The Hobbit. Next, the Lord of the Rings trilogy. After that, probably Smith of Wootton Major and Farmer Giles of Ham. Then I'll close out with his translation of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight (one of five versions I have of that poem), Pearl and Sir Orfeo. (I used to have Leaf by Niggle and The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, but no longer.)

I've read and re-read (and re-re-, re-re-re-, etc.) all of them. Why the latest return trip?

Because few writers pull me in the way Tolkien does. Most fantasy books leave me lukewarm at best, but his work (for lack of a better cliché) transcends the genre. He hits all the myth buttons (the orphan/son of a widow, the wizard guide, the Great Quest), but does so deftly. It's familiar, yet not dully so. And every time I read his work, I find something new.

So ... it's back to Esgaroth upon the Long Lake for me. Tomorrow might find me under the Lonely Mountain, or perhaps -- as night falls -- back in the Shire.

Just don't ask what I've got in my pocketsssess, preciousssss ...