These books are fundamental to me in so many ways that it is hard to get a handle on them and reduce my feelings to words here. Tolkien’s work is at the heart of my basic sense of storytelling. My mom read me the entire set during long car trips to visit my dad’s side of the family out in Minnesota when I was eight. So to me, they’ve taken on the character of the ancient epics, passed down from parent to child, told around the campfire (or in this case, the stationwagon). They are the basis of much of my conception of fantasy. In my world, these are the paradigms: Gandalf, Aragorn, the hobbits, all echoing forward into generations of future novels and stories.

I remember practicing a recitation of the names of the dwarves from The Hobbit. I remember drawing a picture of a Hobbit in the second grade, with hairy feet and short pants. I remember paging through the books time and again to my favorite parts: Weathertop, the Council of Elrond, the Mines of Moria (drums in the deep!), Galadriel and her gifts, Eowyn standing against the Ring Wraithe. I remember making sure my Lord of the Rings pillowcase (from the animated movie) was right side up, showing the Fellowship and Galadriel rather than the Black Riders and orcs.

I know that it has flaws. I will admit that when I re-read it now I skip over the poems and songs most of the time, and I do wish the ladies got a bit more to do. But I love it in spite of its flaws.