Books are nothing until they’ve been read. Once read they combine with a reader’s soul to form an element a new element. Depending on the quality of the book—and of the soul—that new element may be as common as carbon dioxide or as rare as platinum. As I read Lord of the Rings I felt my heart, my lungs, my very veins filling with an unknown but precious element that shone brilliantly with a warm, bright light. The Lord of the Rings is not easy reading, but there is a rare quality in it that richly rewards. The book contains a rareness in language, in friendships, in quality of men and women that makes you dream of a world better than the one in which we live.
The language of the book may be the biggest stumbling block for modern readers. The book was written back in the 1930’s when the contemporary language was notably different from todays. On top of that it emulates poetic language of decades earlier. Once you break the ice, and your brain starts to dance with the rhythm of the language, you find yourself yearning for its beauty. When you put the book down and emerge into the contemporary world our current spoken language comes off flat and grey, like a thin gruel. In an encounter between Gimli the Dwarf and Eomer, a ranking rider of Rohan, we see the beauty of the language in play. A woman (the elven queen Galadriel) has been insulted by Eomer. Gimli the Dwarf—in spite of the fact that he is surrounded by 100 of Eomer’s mounted men—leaps to defend her honor. Instead of, “You effing take that back!” and “You effing make me,” we get:
The Rider looked at them with renewed wonder, but his eyes hardened. ‘Then there is a Lady in the Golden Wood, as old tales tell!’ he said. ‘Few escape her nets, they say.
‘Then Éomer son of Éomund, Third Marshal of Riddermark, let Gimli the Dwarf Glóin’s son warn you against foolish words. You speak evil of that which is fair beyond the reach of your thought, and only little wit can excuse you.’
Éomer’s eyes blazed, and the Men of Rohan murmured angrily, and closed in, advancing their spears. ‘I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground,’ said Éomer.
Near the end of their encounter, after things settle down, Gimli and Eomer still speak dangerously, but with mutual respect and some humor:
‘And I will come, too,’ said Gimli. ‘The matter of the Lady Galadriel lies still between us. I have yet to teach you gentle speech.’
‘We shall see,’ said Éomer. ‘So many strange things have chanced that to learn the praise of a fair lady under the loving strokes of a Dwarf’s axe will seem no great wonder. Farewell!’
This language, even between enemies, bounds as gracefully as deer across green fields.
Perhaps an unintended way that the Lord of the Rings is fantasy is the nearly unbelievable friendships we see throughout the book. In a world of digital isolation where people have never been more “connected” yet more lonely, the friendships witnessed in Lord of the Rings are the things dreams are made of. Watching Sam Gamgee walk into the lake, in spite of his inability to swim, in order follow his master, Frodo Baggins, is deeply moving. He would rather die than not follow and support his friend. Legolas the elf and Gimli the dwarf—natural enemies—form an unbreakable bond. They—the tall and graceful and the short and powerful—fight side-by-side always keeping an eye out for the other. Their friendship isn’t fully proven until both travel into environments terrifying to one and pleasing to the other simply to please the other. It was the caverns at Helms Deep for Legolas and Fangorn Forest for Gimli. The list of dedicated friendships and devoted alliances goes on and describes how beautiful a world can be when people care deeply about others.
In a world today where the phrase “quality of character” has little or no meaning, it was soul-satisfying to read of a world full of grace and nobility. Aragorn, Elendil’s heir, who easily accepts the lowly name of Strider (among others) from those who don’t who he is, has men willing to follow him, unasked, into the caves of the dead. Once there he is able to push aside his fear and command the dead to follow him into battle. All of this because his heart is pure. The quality of his being lifts the men around him. To ride and fight with him–and to possibly die with him– is to ride and die with beauty and meaning.
There is Galadriel, the Elven Queen. Her name strikes fear and wonder among those who have not met her. It strikes love and respect among those who have. Gimli was as wary as any might be when he entered her realm. When he left he had three hairs of her head given to him as offered gifts when he had only asked for one. Her grace and noble nature had him devoted to her for the rest of his life.
To watch the seemingly silly Merry and Pippin respond to the noble natures of Theodin, King of Rohan, and Faromir, the noble son of a less noble Steward of Gondor, rise to heroic acts in spite of their childish size and mischievous ways shows the penetrating influence that quality in human nature can have.
The Lord of the Rings is a magnificent reading experience. Unlike the typical page turners that can’t be put down, this book demands more of the reader. The language is not common and you must rise to meet the challenge. Diamonds and emeralds are not common, either, yet their beauty is worth the difficulty in obtaining.
The friendships experienced in the book don’t have me wishing I had a friend like that, but that I could be a friend like that.
It’s the noble qualities found in so many of the characters that takes the book over the top. These aren’t shallow Sunday School lesson type good guys, but well-developed characters who you never tire of believing in.
The theme of this story is the classic good vs evil. What makes this story stand out isn’t that good won, but that we see why good won. People of such high quality of character and who are so devoted to the welfare of others are going to push the darkness back. The Lord of the Rings is the fantasy of fantasy—the one fantasy to rule them all.