'The Hobbit' by J.R.R. Tolkien

Written for J.R.R. Tolkien’s own children, The Hobbit met with instant critical acclaim when it was first published in 1937. Now recognized as a timeless classic, this introduction to the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, the wizard Gandalf, Gollum, and the spectacular world of Middle-earth recounts of the adventures of a reluctant hero, a powerful and dangerous ring, and the cruel dragon Smaug the Magnificent.

MY THOUGHTS: 
This is my choice in the Genre Classic category of the 2020 Back to the Classics Challenge. Of course it's classic fantasy, but it's been ages since I've delved into any of these Tolkien stories. I'd forgotten a fair bit. Bilbo, the homely hobbit, is gatecrashed in his cosy home by the Wizard Gandalf and thirteen dwarves, headed by their chief, Thorin Oakenshield. They insist that he accompany them on a perilous journey to take back their mountain full of treasure from Smaug the dragon, an evil squatter who stole it from Thorin's ancestors generations ago. Gandalf has decided that Bilbo is the perfect guy to be the group's 'burglar'. Perhaps 'reclaimer' would be more accurate, since he's assigned to steal it back for its rightful owners. Bilbo is understandably unwilling to go, but they're an impossible mob to refuse. So we're off on an adventure.

Even though we readers haven't visited Middle-Earth ourselves, it's written in such a way that we can draw from snippets of earth geography stored in our imaginations to fill details with our own colour. Here's a good line about architecture. 'On some of the hills were castles with an evil look, as if they'd been built by wicked people.' Or we're invited to use our knowledge of forests in descriptions of the great Mirkwood. 'There was no movement of air down on the forest floor, and it was everlastingly still, dark and stuffy.' With a few great lines, we're there on the quest with Bilbo and the dwarves.

Who can help but notice Gandalf's habit of going missing? Occasionally he drops a big announcement that they're now on their own. (With some nonchalant line like, 'Hey ho, I'm off because this isn't really my adventure, but I might join you down the track if I have time.') And other times he just pulls a disappearing stunt, leaving his friends scratching their heads and inquiring, 'Hey, have you seen him?' I know it's revealed further through the series that he has an excellent reason, but in this book it's left a mystery.

It's easy to pay Gandalf out, since the others are essentially clueless in the face of trolls, goblins, wolves and spiders. Yet his absence does enhance the plot, forcing them all, especially Bilbo, to scrape from the barrels of their own resources in desperation and save the day. It would be a far more tedious story with a powerful wizard on hand every step of the way. The Elvenking says, 'Farewell, O Gandalf. May you ever appear where you are most needed and least expected.' Well yeah, we get the impression that is indeed his modus operandi.

Deep underground near the goblin caves lives the pathetic, bulgy-eyed Gollum in his murky lake. I so enjoyed his high-stakes riddle-off with Bilbo. I'm one of those readers who can't help feeling sorry for this lonely, slimy character. I totally understand his despair at losing the one thing he has going for him in his miserable life. His ring was his protection and meal ticket. Even though the story doesn't divulge much at this stage, there's a sense that the ring has a sinister intelligence of its own. Perhaps it knows its future potential is limited with Gollum, so makes extra sure to sneakily slide off his finger. Super well played by the ring. A bit of an internet search reveals that Tolkien re-wrote this incident for the second edition published in 1951, to make Gollum's personality more consistent with that of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. In the initial 1937 version, Gollum wasn't as pathetic, hostile toward Bilbo, or attached to his precious ring.  

Racial tension adds a nice dimension to our sense of place. We have the droll, mercurial quality of the essentially good elves, in contrast to the more down-to-earth, plodding natures of the dwarves, whose eyes light up at the thought of treasure. 'Even decent enough dwarfs think elves foolish, which is a very foolish thing to think.' But has Tolkien written himself into a racial dilemma, with his creation of the goblins and orcs?

Here we have a race which is simply born bad, not to mention ugly. They have horrible stony voices, never make beautiful things, but are experts at producing ingenious gadgety ones, such as cruel torture devices. I'll be on the lookout for a 'good' goblin in the books to come, but somehow doubt I'll find one. If we're to take Middle-Earth as a sort of duplicate of our plain Earth, does this create some ethical awkwardness? I think we wisely refrain from considering this aspect as a mirror of earth in any way at all.  

At the ultimate destination is the mighty dragon Smaug, who won't give up without a fight. A dog in the manger at heart, he merely sleeps on the outrageous hoard of treasure he's stolen, and goes berserk when he realises one golden cup is missing from a mountain that would take a century to excavate. But Smaug has his Achilles Heel, or in his case something more like Dragon's Nipple. Without being too spoilerish, I found his destiny in this story a bit anti-climactic, after all the build-up.

The best of this book is, of course, its title character. Bilbo is a pocket-sized legend. At first I was indignant on his behalf, for being forced to risk his life for something he didn't care a rat's behind about - dwarf treasure in some distant mountain. I wondered if that was a major story weakness, in fact. A quest's main character with no vested interest in the stakes! Why should we care about a hero drawn into someone else's agenda? But pretty soon it becomes all about friendship and loyalty, as he realises he's fighting with his quick wit so his friends may enjoy the home comforts which are rightfully theirs.

He also has undeniable good luck. Bilbo has a great knack of stumbling over major gems while he's just strolling along. And I love how he delivers the dwarfs some sass when he think he's in the right. Even the great Thorin Oakenshield gets a bit of lip from the disgruntled hobbit.

What makes Bilbo most heroic is his value for the really important things in life, which are exceptionally ordinary. His head is never turned with greed, like certain dragons and dwarfs, because home comforts always retain their rightful place. He knows full well the sound of the kettle on his hearth and the sizzling of bacon and eggs can't be beaten. His new coat of mail is a wonderful tribute but he knows it looks silly. The Elvenking is spot-on when he says, 'Bilbo Baggins, you are more worthy to wear the armour of elf princes than many who have looked more comely in it.'

Maybe the crux of the tale is poor old Thorin's final revelation. 'If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.'

🌟🌟🌟½

Fictional characters and the gift of pianos

My kids and I all had piano lessons at some stage. As a 19-year-old still living at home, I purchased a whopping ancient second hand upright, totally untuned and weighing a tonne. I lived at home with my parents on a fairly large property with a twisty, rustic driveway, and the delivery guys' grumbles have stuck in my memory all these years. On the other end of the spectrum, my daughter far more recently walked inside with a light keyboard tucked beneath her arm, which a mate had lent her. The one thing we had in common was good intentions we failed to see through. Big or small, we never stuck it out to be as proficient as we'd like to be. (She's moved on to the ukelele now, which is far more to her liking.) 

But piano nostalgia sometimes takes hold of me, especially when they pop up in good stories. Recently I dug up a great romantic novella on my kindle entitled 'Mail Order Revenge' by Angela K. Couch. It was a lovely quick read about a mail order bride who went into her marriage with scary intentions to wreak havoc, but eventually softened toward her new husband. Just the sort of tonic I sometimes need to unwind and relax. What helped disarm the heroine, Elizabeth, was when the hero, Axel, purchased a surprise piano for her. They lived on a very remote property in the era of horse and carts, so it was no mean feat getting it there. She just melted when she found out. 

But Axel and Elizabeth definitely aren't alone. Their story set me thinking about all the piano gifts ever given by fictional characters. My word, has it ever occurred to you how many there are? When somebody from the pages of a book wants to make to meaningful present to somebody special, it seems as often as not they decide upon a piano! Wow, I've never given anyone a piano in my life, or ever received one either. Have you? So what is the big draw card for these heroes and heroines?          

My guess is it must be a combination of size and significance. The sheer magnitude of a such a present declares commitment far more than something like flowers or chocolate. And it's undeniable that the recipient is getting far more than a wooden frame and ivory keys, valuable as they are. It's the gift of music! Beneath proficient fingers, music is the language of the soul, and the preferred communication of angels. Hearts may be stirred and emotions primed for hours on end. Perhaps the giver has an ulterior motive in choosing a piano, hoping that the loved one will remember them, whenever they sit down to play. 

Here are five classic examples that spring to mind. As you read them, I'll ask you to look out for your favourite.    

1) Mr James Lawrence to Beth March

This kindly old gentleman's gruff mannerisms unintentionally scare the timid daughter of his next door neighbours. He deeply regrets it, because Beth's sweet face reminds him of a little girl he lost years ago, and he dearly wants to be friends. At first he extends her a permanent invitation to give his own neglected keys a work-out whenever she feels like it. But eventually he orders a brand new piano all of her very own to be delivered to her home. That's the catalyst that spurs timid Beth to give Mr Lawrence a warm thanks. And hence two different but equally lonely people bond over the gift of music. (See my review of Little Women.)

2) Captain William Dobbin to Amelia Sedley

This shy and awkward soldier is madly in love with his best friend's wife. When Amelia's family goes bankrupt, all of their household goods are sold off at auction. William secretly buys Amelia's treasured piano, just for the pleasure of sending it back to her anonymously. Amelia chooses to assume it was a final gift from her dead husband George, who we readers know was far too self-centered and cheap to dream of doing any such thing. Her piano brings her great comfort for years - until her horror and mortification when she discovers the real benefactor. She stops playing it, at least for a little while. (See my review of Vanity Fair.)

3) Frank Churchill to Jane Fairfax

This expensive gift is the cause of much misunderstanding. The young dandy buys it for his secret fiance, but she prefers that he didn't because of the embarrassing speculations it gives rise to. Emma Woodhouse for a start, imagines a scandalous situation in which the smitten husband of Jane's closest friend sends it to her. Emma talks herself into believing her own far-fetched suspicion. She even confides it to Frank, who plays along. He's highly amused, but neither of the young ladies are when they learn the full extent to which he has meddled with both of their emotions. He has a lot of smooth talking to do. (See my review of Emma.)

4) The previous tenant to the Nolan family

Overworked and underpaid, Katie Nolan certainly regards the piano in their new apartment as a special gift, although the poor lady who left it behind didn't really intend it to be. She simply couldn't afford to have it moved. She asks Katie and her family to please take great care of it for her, and explains that she couldn't resist the way it smartened up the appearance of the drab little room. Katie cleverly barters with an acquaintance for piano lessons in return for house cleaning. She makes sure her two kids both watch carefully, in order to squeeze in three students for the price of one. It pays off down the track for her son Neeley, who has talent enough to earn some good money from his skill. (See my review of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.)

5) The Ingalls family to Mary

Okay, this one is actually an organ, but I believe it fits this list anyway. I could've called it 'the gift of keyboards'. While Mary Ingalls is busy studying far from home at the College for the Blind in Iowa, her parents and sisters decide to chip in to buy her the welcome back home present of her dreams. Playing music is one of Mary's great passions, and they anticipate all the happiness it will bring her. Alas, their own delight is deferred when she opts to spend her holidays at the home of a friend instead. But it's all worthwhile when Mary comes home the following year and discovers what they've done. I believe this organ is still on display at the Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum The love and patience shared by Pa, Ma and the girls makes this my personal favourite. (See my review of These Happy Golden Years.)

So which is yours? Since they're all so good, I'd really like to know if there are any genuine stand-outs, or if they all get an equal number of takers across the board. So I'll do something different and ask you to please comment with your favourite of these five here or on social media. And soon I'll update this post with the results of my very informal poll. 

And as always, can you think of any others to add?    

'Cranford' by Elizabeth Gaskell

Through a series of vignettes, Elizabeth Gaskell portrays a community governed by old-fashioned habits and dominated by friendships between women. Her wry account of rural life is undercut, however, by tragedy in its depiction of such troubling events as Matty's bankruptcy, the violent death of Captain Brown or the unwitting cruelty of Peter Jenkyns. Written with acute observation, Cranford is by turns affectionate, moving and darkly satirical.

MY THOUGHTS:
I'm making this my choice for the Abandoned Classic category in the 2020 Back to the Classics Challenge. I almost finished it long ago when I studied it for Uni English as a teenager, but only read enough to pad out what I felt my essay required. At the age of 19, I thought it was all about a bunch of pompous old spinsters and widows in a poky old town, regretting missed opportunities and trying to enforce a snobbish pecking order. Well, I still think it's about a bunch of self-important senior women trying to maintain their social status. But I seem to have developed more of a tolerance for that sort of thing, perhaps because some of it has come home to roost. The themes of dwindling time and money really leaped out at me this time round.

The narrator is a modest young woman whose name is revealed close to the end as Mary Smith. Mary often stays with distant family at Cranford. Miss Deborah Jenkyns was an autocratic town leader who has recently died, leaving her far more gentle and nervous sister Matilda (or Matty) in charge of their household. Matty thinks she'll make a mess of things and shame Deborah's memory. But several of her bossy sister's former decisions turn out to have a negative impact on her own life, which is obvious to Mary but not to Matty. And Miss Matty pulls through on strengths Deborah never had, such as empathy and generosity.

The community is revealed as one of general poverty, but they're able to conceal it, and even make it fashionable with an unspoken pact to disapprove of 'lavish spending.' The ladies all consider their cost cutting a form of 'elegant economy' and pay out anyone lucky enough to be able to splash out a few bucks as vulgar and ostentatious. I have to laugh as I read their reasoning, since this sort of sour grapeism has even made its way into our 21st century budgeting over the years.

The story deals with layers of time. Mary the narrator is speaking nostalgically as she looks back to her youth when she stayed with Miss Matty Jenkyns at Cranford. During that time period itself, she helps Miss Matty delve even further back as they collate old letters and talk about the happenings of former generations. This really makes time feel like a set of Babushka dolls, in which we can't help finding ourselves stacked. And what goes around most certainly seems to come again.

Several memories for me were loaded with extra significance Gaskell definitely can't have intended, because the events in my mind were way in my past and her future. She was long dead and I hadn't been born yet. Reflecting on her girlhood during the Napoleonic war, Miss Matty muses, 'I used to wake up in the night many a time and think I heard the tramp of French boots entering Cranford.' I straightaway remembered my Dad talking about about his own boyhood in the early 1940s of South Australia, and saying, 'I used to wake up and imagine I heard German troops marching down the streets of Adelaide.' Nothing levels human experience quite like reading books.

I can't help noticing that when Elizabeth Gaskell pokes gentle fun at the old snobs, they still come out on the page as sort of lovable. Even the totally stuck-up Mrs Jamieson. In Jane Austen's merciless hands, the same ladies could be made to look ridiculous and even villainous. (Think Mrs Elton, young Mrs Dashwood, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.) Is there a lesson there for us readers? Maybe since we have a choice to choose the lens through which we view people, we should make an effort to see those around us lovable instead of abominable. That can sure be a hard ask though. 

Overall, it's not an exciting book, but a highly readable one if you like small town politics and the fusing together of different personalities. And it was said to have been Mrs Gaskell's own personal favourite. I'm guessing that might have been at least partly because of the many gentle teasing and humorous remarks she slipped in. Such as when Martha the maid says, 'I won't listen to reason. It always turns out to be what other people have to say.' This little book is worth reading for Elizabeth Gaskell's keen sense of humour.

🌟🌟🌟

'An Unreliable Man' by Jostein Gaarder

From the creative genius of Jostein Gaarder comes a beautiful novel about loneliness and the power of words.
Jakop is a lonely man.
Divorced from his wife, with no friends apart from his constant companion Pelle, he spends his life attending the funerals of people he doesn't know, obscuring his identity in a web of improbable lies.
As his addiction to storytelling spirals out of control, he is forced to reconcile his love of language and stories with the ever more urgent need for human connection.

MY THOUGHTS:
This is a most thoughtful unreliable narrator case, because we're warned at the outset in the title. Jakop is a lonely, middle-aged teacher with a weird pastime. He attends the funerals of total strangers, making up cockamamie stories about his brief but meaningful encounters with the dear departed in case anybody at the memorial services should inquire. People can't contradict him from their coffins. Although individuals often leave Jakop cold, he's addicted to hanging out in the middle of tight, extended family groups because there's something compelling about belonging. 'I doubt if I'm any fonder of people than the next man, but life has made me incredibly fond of families.'

As Jakob narrates his story, his own solitary past comes to light, including a history of being picked on at school. The younger Jakop bought into the shame which seems inevitable with victims of bullying. I've been there many years ago, and the memory is still strong. Forget all about any platitudes along the lines of, 'It shows more of a problem with them than it does with you.' We're closed to that sort of reasoning when we're in the thick of it. It's incredibly easy for young people to assume that since we're targets, our personalities must be seriously flawed. So apart from a brief unhappy marriage, this poor guy has been a fringe dweller at other people's events for years. He knows he's treading a delicate path with the potential to blow up on him at any moment, but so far so good.

Since he was a young boy, Jakop has one good friend named Pelle, and we have to read the book to understand the complexity of their relationship. Eventually a lady named Agnes meets the pair of them and begins to figure out what makes them tick.

Whoa, there are any number of themes for different reviewers to pick up on, depending how deeply we want to wade into linguistics, mythology, Christology and all the other deep and meaningful topics which ring Jakop's bells. Several of them went way over my head. For a simple reader like me, the best takeaway by far is that we are often far greater people than the social faces we present. As left of field as Jakop's creative coping mechanisms may seem, they help him plumb depths of his own personality that would never otherwise see the light of day. In fact, he often regards his different facets of storytelling as part of an entity which isn't himself at all.

I do get where Jakop is coming from. If you've grappled for years with the sense that you present an awkward, inhibited public face, you may think that any rebuffs are well deserved. Yet this book offers us encouragement to shrug in the face of rejection or indifference, and think, 'Perhaps this is the best face I can present right at this specific minute, but I know full well that what these people think they're seeing is not a fraction of all I am.' And then it doesn't seem to sting so hard. I've been giving quiet, shrinking souls the benefit of the doubt for years, and Jakop's story confirms that I'm on the right track. Our kindest response must always be, 'Just because I'm not getting the best of this guy (I hope), I'm sure there's bound to be more facets of him than I'll ever see.'

It's not my favourite Gaarder tale. (That is still The Solitaire Mystery, at least right now.) But Jakop is one heck of an unreliable narrator, who doesn't build himself up as a person many people want to spend time with. And I know enough now to think that Gaarder's one of those authors who'll be bound to deliver if we persevere, and sure enough, the magic worked on me the further in I was drawn. 

🌟🌟🌟½