"A Wide World"

Bilbo is “presumed dead” by the hobbits of the Shire, but it was only the journey of life, which took him to places his friends and neighbors could not imagine. 

When Gandalf returns to visit Bilbo, much later, he has some words of wisdom: “Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself?  You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit?  You are a very fine person, Mr Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!” 

 

Truly, the world is large (however much our technology seems to shrink it), and we may find – even if our purposes do not always master the unfolding of events – that our journeys take us to astonishing places, and that the daunting scale of the world merely allows for great adventures, the likes of which we had never imagined.

Image: http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/space/earth-from-space.html

 

[This concludes my coverage of The Hobbit.  I plan to explore The Two Towers next.]

Beauty at a Distance

“The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower…”


After the adventure at the Mountain is concluded, and Bilbo returns to Rivendell, the elves wake him from sleep with their singing – and their words are intriguing.  In truth, the burning stars could be flaming hells if the elves could see them up close – and the moon would be a dusty stone, rather than a flower.  Yet seen from a distance, the stars will not burn those who look upon them, and the moon is bright and smooth and luxurious.  So it may be with tales of adventure; to come near to such peril could be overwhelming and frightening, but to hear the tales, from the distance of someone’s imagination, or after the passing of years – that could be a joy and a wonder. 

Yet we may also hope that there are some sights, and some adventures, that are as beautiful and delightful in intimacy and nearness as when seen across some vast and unbridgeable distance.

“But our back is to legends and we are coming home…”  The story of The Hobbit is coming to a close.

Image: AnnaLee Pauls

Subtle Magic

One of the marvelous things about Tolkien is his ability to invent and describe subtle forms of magic – forces that are reminiscent of the real world, yet delicately strange.  The trees of Lothlórien provide a good example.  In the chapter of that name, Legolas says, “There are no trees like the trees of this land.  For in the autumn their leaves fall not, but turn to gold.  Not till the spring comes and the new green opens do they fall, and then the boughs are laden with yellow flowers; and the floor of the wood is golden, and golden is the roof, and its pillars are of silver, for the bark of the trees is smooth and grey.”
 

 

 

Perhaps my favorite example of this “subtle magic,” though, is the description of the Mirrormere outside Moria:

“They stooped over the dark water.  At first they could see nothing.  Then slowly they saw the forms of the encircling mountains mirrored in a profound blue, and the peaks were like plumes of white flame above them; beyond there was a space of sky.  There like jewels sunk in the deep shone glinting stars, though sunlight was in the sky above.  Of their own stooping forms no shadow could be seen.” 

After reading Tolkien, the nature of our own world seems more magical, the forests more luminous, the stars more haunting.  Maybe it is just a dream.  Or maybe it is an ancient song, an unbroken memory, a kind of subtle magic.

 

 

The Memory of the Land

In “The Ring Goes South,” Gimli the dwarf says, “we have wrought the image of those mountains into many works of metal and of stone, and into many songs and tales.”  The landscape of Middle-earth is certainly a powerful force in the minds of the book’s characters.  Yet, nature in the story is not merely a static object, but a living force.  It is something that feels and remembers.  The connection is, of course, particularly strong in connection with the elves.  Gandalf observes, “Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the Elves, if once they dwelt there.”  Legolas actually hears the stones lament the vanished Elves: “deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone.”

In real life, we may think the landscape remembers us – but usually because we have damaged it so severely that we can see its lingering scars.  In Middle-earth, it is the life – perhaps even the soul – of nature that speaks and remembers, not just its broken bones.