Last night I began the journey into the final-final piece of this age by J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fall of Gondolin”, only making it into the preface by Christopher Tolkien. In it he made quite clear that he would be writing no further, nor editing any future works. Indubitably, his last work. His words, not mine. As I read it, it was amazing to me the emotional connection I had with a man I’d never met.
Christopher Tolkien, if you’re not a fan of the work like I am, is the third son, literary executor, and care-taker of the Tolkien-Estate. In his 94th year, he sees, inevitably, what we all see at that age. The end draws nigh. As I wondered at my heartache, it began to become clear that the lineage of such a humble, yet wonderful man, the last direct connection we have with the late J.R.R. Tolkien, means a great deal to me.
Why? One would be right to ask such a question. Is it because the man delved so deep into a world no one could see but him, and brought it to light? Or is it because, like many of the older generation, so much care and thought went into every painstaking pencil-stroke that we much cherish it, though we have but to open a screen? Is it because gentlemen of the highest-order, that is, like John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, are quickly fading like wind blown ash from a blazing fire?
I dare say it is all of them. There is a deep chasm in the heart that one cannot replace when considering the things this seemingly insignificant family has wrought upon this earth. I find vastness and depth of mind to be one of the greatest treasures the Lord created when He breathed life into our bones. So it stands to show why I also find the detailed worlds, the linguistics and the histories to be utterly fascinating and quite satisfying.
Thus I come to the title. Hobbits. What is it, as the simplest creatures of beloved Middle-Earth, that strikes my mind and heart so? Sure there are gods and wizards, some one and the same, and dragons and elves, and dwarves and any manner of fascinating creatures inhabit this world, so why Hobbits?
I think for me it is that they are much like me. While I am neither short, nor fat, nor a pipe-smoker, there is a common thread amongst us nonetheless. They are not a warrior people, nor do they seek long or large adventures. They do not harbor hatred, only a great fondness for the things of the earth that grow and bring beauty.
I am also drawn to the simplicity of their living. A tight knit community caring for one another and helping where help needs given. The outer world is a far-care for them, though it is not an unknown thing. In most cases, aside from the passed along heirlooms and some shiny things, what belongs to one, belongs to another. Generosity, oh how appealing this notion of generous living is.
I suppose there is a piece of this that strikes to my heart and hearkens me home to the land of deep, black earth, fields and farms surrounding as well. I love almost more than anything the smell of rich tilled earth, cut grass and fresh rain. The growing season and the squirming of worms along the walking path, over-hanging trees and the wind through the woods. It always whispered to me of secret things.
I suppose this is the heart of it. Home. Where at once can one feel both warmth and peace? Where do the secret things scream aloud? In the whispering breezes, the growing things of life, and the hearty meal. Home is what the hobbit does best, and it is a delight to me.
The Pen is Mightier.. 