Middle Earth

Second breakfast

By that time the sun was shining; and the front door was open, letting in a warm spring breeze. Bilbo began to whistle loudly and to forget about the night before. In fact he was just sitting down to a nice little second breakfast in the dining-room by the open window, when in walked Gandalf.

The Hobbit (Chapter 2), J.R.R. Tolkien

I first met Bilbo, Gandalf and Middle Earth twenty years ago this month. Three of us were driving through the winding backroads of central California, on our way to the ski slopes. As we said farewell to the dark shadows of night, the dawn was shown to be misty, damp and mysterious looking. With a bit of awe, our driver Ralph whispered, "Doesn't it look just like Middle Earth?" The other traveler, my future husband, agreed. Suddenly the two of them were off into a world that was unknown to me. They talked for at least an hour about a battle with a Balrog (what in the world?), of a Bilbo and Smaug (strange names), and of hobbits and elves and dwarves. It was a lonely drive for me, a bit like listening to inside jokes, or sitting in a foreign country with no knowledge of the language. But, as the sun rose and brightened our journey, I had a moment of epiphany. I had been muttering in my mind about another set of books I had not read; this voice of insecurity surfaced often during this time in my life, reminding me of my inadequacy and my lack of education. "Obviously, anyone that is anyone knows these books." But suddenly the light turned on. "Wait a minute. This is another book I GET to read!" It was a huge revelation, and I was able to squash the dark voices that were telling me I was stupid. I can still feel the excitement and relief that burst upon me that morning.

As soon as I got home, I purchased The Lord of the Rings trilogy and The Hobbit, and I now associate the beginning of my true education with Tolkien's masterpieces. I devoured the books and, shortly after, returned to college. A year and a half later I married my husband, a lover of literature and history, and daily life became a chance for talking and listening about new things. I finished my college degree just before our first child was born but was confident that my adventure of learning had only begun.

The Hobbit took part in another significant moment in our family. One of our children struggled to learn to read, and in a family as book-obsessed as we are, it was a cause of (silent) concern. We waited, and worked, and trusted the process. We knew the skill had been conquered one night when we turned in late and noticed that there was a light on in the upstairs bedroom. Under a blanket, trying desperately to finish The Hobbit before we realized what was going on, was a very eager reader, gripped by the tales of Middle Earth. Tolkien was there, once again, to light one of the remarkable moments in life.

Now, when I see a long list of unknown titles or authors, I don't hear any shaming voices. I instantly wonder if the library carries the books of interest, and start analyzing our finances, wondering if the budget can bear another book purchase this month. It sure beats those dark voices asking, "Why didn't you read that when you were younger, ya' big loser?" Long silenced, the voices attempt to find fertile ground in other disguises, but they have been exposed for the liars they are. I have a pile of well-worn books, hiding under children's pillows or shelved in places of honor, to remind me of the day I said farewell. May I never look back!