Tom Mellish OP Contributor

In the dawn of memory, 1974, my moth- er brought home a boxed set of four LP records from the public library. In- between night traffic and sleep, I listened with great delight to J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit,-end was transported out of our attic digs to Middle Earth. In the compa- ny of thirteen unlucky dwarves and a fourteenth lucky hobbit, I left the lone- lands of Eriador wherein lies the Shire, and Hobbiton. I made my way through the Trollshaws of William, Tom, and Bert, watching as they turned to stone under dawn’s first light—eventually making my way to the last Homely House of Elrond, in the valley of Rivendell. From there, I burrowed under the Misty Mountains, into the region of Wilderland, or Rhovanion as it’s called in the elven tongue. Across the great River Anduin, | found the house of Beorn, the skin-chang- er, cradled near the western eaves of the Mirkwood’s giant spiders’ web. Then, floating on a barrel, I escaped the elven halls of Thranduil, while the dwarves crouched, hidden, in the barrels. Finally the party and I arrived at the Lonely Mountain of Erebor, where we climbed its craggy side and searched for a hidden door.

It was the voice of Nicol Williamson— the actor who played Merlin in the movie adaptation of 1997's Spawn, and earlier, 1981's Excalibur—that brought the char- acters to life. His voice, bucolic, became conniving, and then hoarding as the jour- ney progressed. A scene that I will remem- ber to my grave is the pivotal chapter “Riddles in the Dark” where Bilbo Baggins challenges the creature Gollum, in the shadowy bowels of the Misty Mountain, to a contest of wits.

It was after listening to that record that I received my paperback copy of The Hobbit from a family member. On the cover illustration, Smaug lay upon his hoard of stolen treasure. Smaug, always on the periphery for me—doomed from the start—even though he was a dragon of magnificent proportions. I do not know if

the book-giver realized the extent of the influence they would have. I like to think they knew. But it’s enough to know that for whatever reason they had chosen the right story for me—it would lead to something that mattered.

I did not understand all of the words, so

I vaulted those hurtles, sometimes skip-

ping whole pages. I slowly came to realize the map of the Lonely Mountain was a treasure map. On the other map, mainly of Mirkwood, I traced Bilbo the Hobbit’s route. Whenever I became lost I'd flip to it in reference. In this way the story grew in me.

I was learning about Tolkien's fantasy world of Middle Earth at the same time as I explored the real world. Miasma-mind- ed, I was a purely sensorial creature, absorbing and processing. Rationally, I knew what was “real”, but in the same hand I was only able to handle a fishbow] of a neighbourhood. What lay beyond the blurred border of my periphery was beyond comprehension. The outside world had the same ephemeral proximity as Tolkien's.

It was around 1978 that Ralph Bakshi’s animated version of The Lord of the Rings was produced. Using the technique called “rotoscoping”: filming real actors and then animating overtop of the film. It engaged with a sense of realism to move- ment. It was the first time I had really seen the visual representation of the characters. From that movie I obtained a poster of Gandalf the Grey towering over two hob- bits. But I was left with a feeling of incompleteness, as the movie finished halfway, never completing the story.

That same time saw Rankin and Bass, known for their Christmas stop-motion TV specials, release an animated version of The Hobbit. Gollum, formerly a riddle- wielding shadow became a person devolv- ing into a frog. The movie’s Gollum was much more impressive, and had me immediately imitating the sickly quaver of, “Bless us and splash us, my precious.”

I read The Lord of the Rings for the first

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time when I was ten. Bilbo, Gandalf, and Gollum had returned, and suddenly there was this lush backdrop of a world—deep- er, darker, and more detailed. The ring was more than the ability to cloud the minds of others. The tone had changed, as though the author was saying that it was time to speak of serious things. It was daunting, and near impenetrable for my limited vocabulary. In that first reading I totally missed the relationship between Aragorn Elessar and Arwen Evenstar, the daughter of Elrond. I merged the nefari- ous Sauron with Saruman because the names were just too close. I was totally lost as to the relevance of the White Tree of Minas Tirith.

Slowly, the sepia borders of the Middle Earth map rolled back the confines of my mind’s eye. I surveyed, my baseline the first journey in The Hobbit. 1 took azimuth readings and got my bearings straight. One birthday, an illustrated map of Tolkien’s world, depicting a western coastline, came into my possession. | wondered what lay East. I wondered where the map ran out.

The 1976 calendar illustrations of Tim and Greg Hildebrandt filled in many blanks for me, putting faces to people, places to settings. Their picture of Merry and Pippin meeting Treebeard, the giant treant, hung on my bathroom wall for years. It was often through their eyes that I saw scenes like Eowyn facing off with the Lord of the Nazgdl. I meandered in The Complete Guide to Middle-Earth, not really knowing what was taking place. I never read the appendices at the backs of the books until recently, opening in greater detail the pages of Middle Earth's history.

I never read, or was interested in the posthumous Silmarillion until my adult years. After rereading the Lord of the Rings numerous times, I was burgeoning with questions. Then, with those questions, I delved and read of Iltivatar, the ancient being who created Middle Earth through the Music of primordial spirits named the

Ainur. I read of Melkor, the first Dar Lord, whose legacy of discord was carrie on by his servant, Sauron. All that ha been touched upon was fleshed out. | would never have picked up this “bible o Middle Earth” without having first rea the children’s book and then the trilo that I was led to. And so I have bee introduced to more of a wonderful fanta sy world than I had first believed possible,

Every couple of years I return to th Rings, and each time I grasp more of th stories depth. New facets are gleane every time, and the fog slowly clears revealing more of Tolkien's genius as a sto ryteller.

Last year I watched Wagner's opera Th Ring of the Nibelungs, whose tale entrenched in Norse mythology, influ enced Tolkien's story. The Lord of the Ring is loaded with social values, endearin friendship and resistance against corrup tion; all this from a book handed to me a a child, almost offhand.

This year I found an MP3 of Nico Williamson reading The Hobbit back i 1974. I turned down the lights and lis tened, smiling as riddles were told in th dark. Again, I was transported to the mys tical land I have come to love.

I am anxiously awaiting the Christma telease of The Two Towers, the secon instalment the Rings movies. I can clear! imagine the Company of the Ring battl to defeat the Eye of Sauron. It is cultural ly anchored in my psyche, exploring th mythology, folklore, and language of m people.

When you are considering what gift t give someone, consider The Hobbit. It’s dragon’s hoard more treasured than I c write. Written for the author’s own chil dren, it is for the child in everyone. Th book opens the door to a quest that lift the burdens off anyone’s shoulders, and i does not stop at one book, but froths an mushrooms. It is a reminder of what i essential and authentic; stuff that lasts lifetime.