I first read The Lord of the Rings the summer I turned
ten. My elder siblings had all read it, and I wanted to know
what it was all about. I remember spending one entire afternoon and early
evening sitting in a lawn chaise on our patio, continuing to read as the
sun went down and it got darker and darker, because I was in a hurry to
finish and find out what happened.

Bang! That was it; The Lord of the Rings was officially my
favorite book. And it has remained so.

I first read my siblings’ copy of the trilogy–the Ballantine
Books edition with the weird psychedelic covers. Oddly, I still have it.
Later, my mother gave me
(for Valentine’s Day, which was not usually an occasion for such things)
a boxed set of the trilogy in paperback. That was the one with a big
photograph of Tolkien’s head in profile on the back of each volume and
Tolkien’s own paintings on the front. I no longer have this set; I wore
it out.

Over a period of several years Mom got me my own hardcover
editions of The Hobbit (the green edition with the tooled
binding that comes in a matching green box) and
The Lord of the Rings (the boxed set with the Eye of Mordor on
the spine of each volume); and later, when they came out,
The Silmarillion and Unfinished Tales as well.
That’s one of the things about my Mom; she didn’t like that kind of
fiction, and was rather inclined to think it was probably garbage–but
she knew what I loved.

I took the whole set off to college with me, reasoning that at some point
in any given year I was going to want to re-read the whole thing. I find
it hard to remember precisely, but I expect that I probably re-read the trilogy at
least once a year from the time I was ten until after I graduated from college.

In the last fifteen years that rate has slowed down considerably. I last
read the trilogy in December of 2000; this December, I watched Peter
Jackson’s version of The Return of the King. And though it was
a grand spectacle, it just wasn’t right somehow; it didn’t satisfy. And
though in the ordinary scheme of things it would probably have taken
another year or two, the movie prompted me to pull
The Fellowship of the Ring down from the shelf. Late last
night, I finished The Return of the King (reading large snatches of
“The Scouring of the Shire” to Jane. And I was happy.

What first attracted me to Tolkien was, naturally, Bilbo’s and Frodo’s adventures.
What kept bringing me back was my realization that Tolkien had created an
entire world, with its own history and literature and languages, a world
nearly as complete and detailed as our own. And that was cool!

In his essay “On Fairy Stories,” Tolkien talks about the creation of such
a fantasy world as “subcreation,” as the activity in the exercise of
which we are most clearly created in God’s image. By that time I knew
just what he was talking about–because I’d seen him do it.

The way I read the The Lord of the Rings has changed
over the years. I remember racing through the first half of
The Two Towers, and the first half of
The Return of the King as fast as I could, because I wanted to
get to the part about Frodo and Sam. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli
got short-shrift. By the time Frodo and Sam got to the Cracks of Doom, I
was going so fast I completely missed what happened with Frodo and Gollum
and the Ring. And the Scouring of the Shire was a horrible shock–endings
were supposed to be happy. Let’s face it, I wasn’t a very careful reader
in those days.

The last two or three times through the trilogy I’ve made it a point to
read slowly rather than quickly–to savor the fine details and the bits
of landscape and the shadings of emotion, and the things that are present
simply because that’s the way Tolkien’s world is. When Tom Bombadil
escorts the hobbits on the way to Bree, he sees a hill that makes
him sad, though he won’t speak of the cause. We don’t know what memory the hill
evoked in Tom’s mind; it doesn’t come into the story.

Why does Tolkien tell us about Tom’s sadness? We think of history as
chronology, as a time line, but history is also geographical. Every hill
and every valley has its memories. And Tolkien knew that at that place
was a memory to sadden even the mercurial Tom Bombadil, and to have left
it out would have been to lie.

These days, ironically, I find that the chapters I cherish are precisely
those I skimmed on first reading: Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas chasing the
orcs across the fields of Rohan; the passing of the Grey Company through
the Paths of the Dead; the seige of Minas Tirith; the parley before the
Black Gate; the celebration on the Field of Cormallen; the Scouring of
the Shire. Some I read with laughter; some I read with tears; all I read
with great joy.

Of the books of my childhood, The Lord of the Rings stands
alone. Most of the books I loved as a child I’ve outgrown. A few I
remember with great fondness. Fewer still (notably the Narnia books) I
continue to read and enjoy. But only Middle Earth
has grown with me, deepening with every passing year.

Via Captain Yips, I’ve discovered the Reality Fuel 50 Book Challenge. The idea is to read 50 books in 2004, and blog about them.

I just went and counted the books I read and reviewed in 2003. I came up with a nice round number: 150.

I’m with the good Captain–“Slackers!“

I didn’t post last night because yesterday I took my four-year-old, James, to Disneyland for the first time.

If there’s anything neater than taking a sweet, well-rested four-year-old to Disneyland for the first time, I don’t know what it is. And he was definitely well-rested, because he didn’t know I was taking him anywhere until yesterday morning, and he didn’t know we were going to Disneyland until we got there.

But what about the other kids, you ask? Well, we took David to Disneyland for his fourth birthday; James was too little, and we left him with a sitter. And since David had gotten to have his own day at Disneyland we thought it was only fair to do the same for James when he got to be old enough.

Anyway, we had a blast. James is always good-natured and sweet when we’re out together; he has a real willingness to be happy that just can’t be beat. Plus, he’s one brave little kid.

That is to say, he wanted to go on the Matterhorn rollercoaster.

Even after he’d seen it, he still wanted to go on the Matterhorn.

Even after he’d realized how big it was, and how fast the cars went, he still wanted to go on the Matterhorn.

So we went on the Matterhorn, and he loved it.

Did I mention that he’s just 4 1/2 years old? I think I was six or seven before I went on the Matterhorn, and I was considerably more apprehensive–I seem to recall whimpering for help as we went down the mountain.

We got to the park when it opened at 10 AM, and we didn’t leave until after 4 PM, when James was finally and completely worn out, and ready to go. He scored only one whine for the entire day, and simply couldn’t have been a more pleasant companion.

Peeve Farm (where they raise peeves for show, not just as pets) has found an unusual cat that needs a home. It seems that the cat stares at its owner in a most unpleasant way.

Go take a look.

Ian notes that Opportunity, the second Mars Exploration Rover, has landed successfully, and that Spirit has been resurrected and is talking regularly with the MER flight controllers again. Huzzah!

All of which I knew, of course, but only because I go look at the JPL Website just like everyone else.

For those of you who’ve met me personally, and who thought, just maybe, just possibly, that you might have spotted me on TV in the back of the crowd of leaping, rejoicing, cheering folks in the control room at JPL….well, nope, I wasn’t there. You either had to be on the MER team, or be a big wig of some kind to be there. Arnold Shwarzenegger was there. So was Al Gore, which possibly disproves my point, but there you go.

Nevertheless, I do work at JPL; I’m one of the software engineers for the Deep Space Network–specifically, on the Uplink end of things. Consequently everything I do is multi-mission, that is, it supports all of the spacecraft tracked by the DSN rather than just MER. But I do feel a small touch of pride at the current goings-on on Mars, because every time they talk to one of the rovers, my software is involved. But even then, I work on just one system of many that are needed for successful communication.

Tracking and operating planetary spacecraft is a big job, and it takes a big team; and everybody on the team has to do everything right. And most of them have been quietly getting it right for so long that we tend to forget what a difficult service they are providing. So…here’s to everyone involved!

Congratulations to the MER development and flight teams: you done good! Congratulations to the Deep Space Mission System folks who developed the ground data systems used to generate spacecraft commands and process telemetry. Congratulations to the Navigation folks. Congratulations to the DSMS operators who keep the data flowing. Congratulations to the operators and engineers and maintenance folk at the DSN’s Deep Space Communications Complexes in California, Spain, and Australia.

When I first went to work on software for the DSN, my then boss (who was trying to talk me out of it) said, “Will, there’s no glory in ground systems.” And he was right, of course. But if there’s no glory, there’s a great deal of quiet satisfaction.

Ian’s recently lamented that if moving to Shanghai was a ploy to increase his blog stats, it hasn’t worked. I’ve got a solution for him.

Dude–you’ve just moved to Shanghai. But you’re posting, what, every couple of days? Sometimes only once a week. If you want to get your stats up, start posting every day!

I’m not talking about lengthy, detailed, analytical posts, mind you. You’re out and about every day in one of the most cosmopolitan cities in Asia, a place where the truly bizarre (from my point of view) is commonplace. If each day doesn’t provide you with some small but noteworthy observation or anecdote about life in Shanghai, you’re not paying attention. At the very least, I’m certain that the Assistant to the Copy Boy is committing unavoidable faux pas three or four times a day (you’ve got to start keeping a tighter rein on that kid).

So tell us what’s going on. I, for one, would be fascinated. Anyone who wouldn’t can go talk to Churchill’s Parrot.

The estimable Terry Teachout has just posted on the subject of comfort books, and not for the first time I wish he allowed comments on his blog.

He mentions a number of my favorites, including Patrick O’Brian and P.G. Wodehouse, though he says he doesn’t like Wodehouse’ short stories as well as his novels. I have to question whether he’s ever read “Uncle Fred Flits By”, one of the best (perhaps the best) comic short story I’ve ever read. And he mentions a number of other authors I might take a chance on.

But the one that floored me was Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time. I’ve heard lots of people rave about it, but I read the first three books (it’s a twelve-novel cycle) and frankly I can’t see it. The narrator is a non-entity, a mere observer, and the folks he’s observing are simply not that interesting. It’s the Eight Deadly Words: I Don’t Care About Any Of These People.

So tell me, Terry–what’s the attraction?

This is the first book of “The Chronicles of Prydain,” a five-book series
intended for younger readers which I first read in high school, and which
I’m now reading at bedtime to my almost seven-year-old, Dave. (In fact,
I’m reading it to him from the same copies I bought then.) He’s eating
it up.

A boy named Taran lives on a farm called Caer Dallben. He has no mother
or father; he’s being raised by Dallben the wizard and Dallben’s
assistant Coll. He’s not learning to be a wizard; he’s not even learning
the manly art of swordfighting, which is a great trial to him. Mostly
he’s learning how to grow vegetables and make horseshoes and tend to
Dallben’s pig, Hen Wen, none of which is terribly exciting. He yearns
for adventure, and to be a hero. Instead, he’s stuck being Dallben’s
Assistant Pig-Keeper.

Adventure has a way of seeking you out in books like this. Hen Wen is no
ordinary pig, but an oracular pig capable of telling the future. For
this reason she was once stolen by the dark lord Arawn, Lord of Annuvin.
Now Arawn is plotting once again to take over the
land of Prydain through his servant the Horned King, and he needs Hen Wen
to be sure of victory. As the Horned King approaches Caer Dallben, Hen
Wen runs away in fright. Taran chases after, and is soon lost–and has
two conflicting missions: he must find Hen Wen, and he must warn the High
King at Caer Dathyl that the Horned King is on the move.

I hadn’t read [btitle “The Book of Three”] in years, and never aloud
(It reads quite well aloud, I might add), and it’s been interesting to
revisit it. It’s much more clearly a juvenile series than I remembered;
Taran begins the series as an impetuous and foolish (if stout-hearted) boy,
dealing with the kinds of interpersonal problems boys are heir to; much
of the book is about how he learns to deal with these problems, and
thereby grows up. Indeed, the book hovers just on the edge of being
preachy without quite crossing the line–several of the other characters have no
compunction about rebuking Taran if he does something foolish or
inconsiderate, while others appear to be there mostly to serve as
moral exemplars (both good and bad).

Thus, the aim of the story is partly didactic: if Taran is to grow up to
be a virtuous, wise, and considerate man, he must first learn how–and despite
all the fantasy elements, growing up is the real story here. But though
didactic, the author isn’t heavy handed about it; and it certainly won’t
do Dave any harm to watch Taran mature into a decent human being.

Meanwhile, Dave is simply thrilled. It’s got a hero he can
identify with, and a villain with horns on his helmet, and sword
fighting, and amusing companions who say funny things, and lots of
excitement, and a pretty girl. We finished it up the night before last,
and last night nothing would do but to start the second book in the
series. More on that in a few weeks.

Because I often review books that are out-of-print, I’ve never worried about linking to Amazon.com or the like; but I begin to wonder. Would it make my reviews more useful if I provided on-line bookstore links?

If you’ve got an opinion, add a comment!

Bill Walsh is the copy desk chief at the Washington Post’s
Business Desk, and this is his book on proper style, which a friend gave
to me for Christmas. I always enjoy reading books on style, if they are
engagingly written, and this one surely is. Whether I actually learned
anything from it is unclear.