The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien This review was first appeared in The New York Times on March 13, 1938. New Books for Younger Readers
By ANNE T. EATONThis is one of the most freshly original and delightfully imaginative books for children that have appeared in many a long day. Like "Alice in Wonderland," it comes from Oxford University, where the author is Professor of Anglo-Saxon, and like Lewis Carroll's story, it was written for children that the author knew (in this case his own four children) and then inevitably found a larger audience. The period of the story is between the age of Faerie and the dominion of men. To an adult who reads of Smaug the Dragon and his board, won by the dwarves but claimed also by the Lake men and the Elven King, there may come the thought of how legend and tradition and the beginning of history meet and mingle, but for the reader from 8 to 12 "The Hobbit" is a glorious account of a magnificent adventure, filled with suspense and seasoned with a quiet humor that is irresistible. Hobbits are (or were) a small people, smaller than dwarves-and they have no beards-but very much larger than liliputians. There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large, stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. They are inclined to be fat in the stomach; they dress in bright colors, chiefly green and yellow; wear no shoes because their feet grow natural leathery soles and thick, warm brown hair; have long, clever, brown fingers, good-natured faces and laugh deep, fruity laughs (especially after dinner, which they have twice a day, when they can get it). Bilbo Baggins was a hobbit whom we find living in his comfortable, not to say luxurious, hobbit hole, for it was not a dirty, wet hole, nor yet a bare, sandy one, but inside its round, green door, like a porthole, there were bedrooms, bathrooms, cellars, pantries, kitchens and dining rooms, all in the best of hobbit taste. All Bilbo asked was to be left in peace in this residence, known as "Bag-End," for hobbits are naturally home keeping folk, and Bilbo had no desire for adventure. That is to say, the Baggins' side of him had not, but Bilbo's mother had been a Took, and in the past the Tooks had intermarried with a fairy family. It was the Took strain that made the little hobbit, almost against his will, respond to the summons of Gandalf the Wizard to join the dwarves in their attempt to recover the treasure which Smaug the dragon had stolen from their forefathers. Bilbo has an engaging, as well as an entirely convincing, personality; frankly scornful of the heroic (except in his most Tookish moments), he nevertheless plays his part in emergencies with a dogged courage and resourcefulness that make him in the end the real leader of the expedition. After the dwarves and Bilbo have passed "The Last Homely House" their way led through Wilderland, over the Misty Mountains and through forests that suggest those of William Morris's prose romances. Like Morris's countries, Wilderland is Faerie, yet it has an earthly quality, the scent of trees drenching rains and the smell of wood fires. The tale is packed with valuable hints for the dragon killer and adventurer in Faerie. Plenty of scaly monsters have been slain in legend and folktale, but never for modern readers has so complete a guide to dragon ways been provided. Here, too, are set down clearly the distinguishing characteristics of dwarves, goblins, trolls and elves. The account of the journey is so explicit that we can readily follow the progress of the expedition. In this we are aided by the admirable maps provided by the author, which in their detail and imaginative consistency, suggest Bernard Sleigh's "Mappe of Fairyland." The songs of the dwarves and elves are real poetry, and since the author is fortunate enough to be able to make his own drawings, the illustrations are a perfect accompaniment to the test. Boys and girls from 8 years on have already given "The Hobbit" an enthusiastic welcome, but this is a book with no age limits. All those, young or old, who love a fine adventurous tale, beautifully told, will take "The Hobbit" to their hearts. Copyright 1998 The New York Times Company
The Lion the Witch and the Whatever John Robson A certain portly theologian once called the modern mind, "a door with no house to it; the gigantic gate to Nowhere." And he hadn't even seen a Hollywood sequel. Filmmakers can't make classics anymore because they don't believe in Truth, and when they free-ride with "sequels" they remove precisely the moral elements that made the original a classic. And now there's a leaked memo from Harper-Collins about rebranding C. S. Lewis' Narnia chronicles to preserve the sense of enchantment, sell lots of stuffed lions, and maybe even produce new books in the series. But "no attempt will be made to correlate the stories to Christian imagery/theology. Folks, that talking horse (call him "Bree") bolted the stable long ago. The Narnia books are classics because of their compelling moral structure, overarching, Christian moral structure. The symbolism may be too arcane for our literary critics, but in the first book, Aslan voluntarily gives his own life to save the traitor Edmund. Sacrificed on a stone table in accordance with Deep Magic" going back "to the dawn of time," he returns from the dead in accordance with the magic that is deeper still, evil is overcome, and the stone table cracks. The table represents the Mosaic law (stone table; stone tablets Ten Commandments; get it?), and the guilty party, redeemed by innocent blood, stands for all us sinners. In Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace's own malignant thoughts and deeds turn him into a dragon. After he gets very lonely, Aslan appears and leads him to a pool, where he tries to peel off his hide and become a boy again. But under each hide is just more scales. Only when Aslan himself digs his claws and agonizingly rips off his skin is Eustace redeemed. If grace and free will are too obscure, how about water and baptism? Or Aslan being both lion and lamb? Lewis doesn't just preach morality and wonder (as do Harry Potter books). He grounds it in Christian theology, from Aslan's sacrifice, to Lucy learning no one is told what would have happened but anyone can find out what will happen, to Shasta being rewarded for a good deed by being asked to do a better one, to the ending from Revelation. In a beautiful scene in The Silver Chair, an evil sorceress tries to bewitch the heroes into accepting materialism: There is no transcendent world, only her dismal rock chamber and artificial light miles underground. They invented Aslan after seeing a cat, the sun after seeing a lamp, etc. My favourite character, Puddleglum, finally says if her world really is all there is, it's pretty shabby, since four addle-pates invented a better one in an afternoon. He declares that he will try to live like a Narnian, and follow Aslan even if there is no Aslan. (Then he stamps out the fire, and the stench of charred Marshwiggle breaks the spell.) How did the sophisticates miss all this again? As Keynes said, good and bad ideas matter more than people think. "Madmen in authority, who hear voices in the air, are distilling their frenzy from some academic scribbler of a few years back." So are madmen in artistic positions, in this case from post-modernism. To make a very long story very short, traditionalists say objective moral truth comes from outside man, usually from God. Modernists say it comes from within man. Postmodernists reply with some justice that you can't get objective morality there, so truth must not exist at all. That's what the cool people now believe. But it sure makes for dismal art. Partly modern art is a cry for help, for something hopeful to which to cling. Also, once you've said nothing means anything, you've said it all (and nothing). So you hurry back to trashing traditional values lest ennui overwhelms you. For whether its despairing message is true or not, modern art cannot enchant. As Huston Smith's Why Religion Matters says, "the religious worldview conforms to the most successful plot device ever conceived - namely, a happy ending that blossoms from difficulties necessarily confronted and overcome." Modernism can't guarantee a happy ending (there's no Aslan in Harry Potter) while postmodernism sneers "happy has no meaning." Waaaaaaaaaa! Of course, there may be no Aslan. But it would be odd not to wish there were and crazy to deny that Lewis said there was, no matter how much money you think you can make in the process. Anyway, I doubt the version where Aslan just dies and leaves Lucy and Susan weeping in the frozen dark will sell. Lewis may be wrong about the sun, but the postmodernists don't even have a lamp. Besides, there's nothing through that door to illuminate. Copyright Ottawa Citizen 2001 |