“They saw that he had some wits, as well as luck and a magic ring—and all three are very useful possessions.”
One of the best known and most loved children’s fantasy books, The Hobbit was written by J.R.R. Tolkien, based on the ongoing and ever-evolving tale he was devising for his own children as bedtime stories.
Like the larger books that followed it, The Hobbit opens by showing us a world of simple pleasures, of porch-sitting and pipe-smoking and afternoon biscuits and song and laughter and unplanned conversations with friends. A world worth defending from evil, whether it comes in the form of trolls or goblins or giant spiders. A world that inspires its cowardly protagonist, Bilbo Baggins, to be a hero in spite of himself, to outwit the corrupted hobbit Gollum and stand toe-to-toe with the fearsome dragon Smaug.
It was with this idea of existential contentment in mind that I read through the famous fantasy story for the umpteenth time, and I was frequently struck by the author’s penchant for pulling back from his grand adventure with all its wizards, elves, dwarves, and skin-changers, and their quest for a horde of gold, to maintain a balance between that side of us that craves the excitement of a journey into the unknown and the other side that wants to relax with a cup of something warm and talk about it (the balance between Bilbo’s Took side and his Baggins side).
I was also paying attention to Tolkien’s worldbuilding methods as I’d like to nail down why I (and many others) feel such a deep, enduring connection to Middle-earth while other epic fantasy works tend to fade from memory over time (even though I enjoy many of them). I will hopefully be embarking on another trip through The Fellowship of the Ring (1954), The Two Towers (1954), and The Return of the King (1955) soon, and will continue to observe his methods then, but while reading The Hobbit I was constantly aware of the sense of history imbued into the marginalia. The casual references to old lore unfamiliar to the reader, the discoveries of ancient weapons and relics forged eons ago, Gandalf’s frequent desertion of his party to tend to other, undisclosed matters. In this way, the texture of Middle-earth becomes as prominent as the personalities of Bilbo or Gandalf or Thorin or Bard. This is a living, breathing, evolving world. Knowing that, to some degree, this was all connected in Tolkien’s mind, and not just improvised bits of flavor text, also helps to fortify the reader’s comprehension of the immensity of the author’s creation.
I chose to reread The Hobbit because I was going through a stressful season of life and needed something comforting (and because my wife wants to watch the Middle-earth films), and I can say that it really came through for me. It was a warm, enjoyable read once again.