My reviews are certainly the very paragon of biased-opinion, based solely on my own likes and dislikes. This one is no different. So excuse me while I emphatically scream to the world how much this book rocks.
When I was eleven, I had a secret fetish. No, not one of princesses or puppies, glittery rainbows or prancing ponies, but a desire to live in a world where swordplay is common, and life stories are larger than, well, life. So I did. I’d escape there every time I’d look out a window, every time I’d be hunched over a school book. I still like to go there, to my private world. And this book helped spark it.
We all know the story of Middle Earth, thanks to the epic tales masterfully filmed by Peter Jackson. But it’s the precursor to these tales that I love the most.
The Hobbit, or, There and Back Again, has everything a riveting adventure should contain: Goblins, Dwarves, greedy men, elves, a dragon, and Gollum, our favorite little hobbit mutation. In the beginning of this tale, Bilbo Baggins lives a quiet, cushy life in Bag End, Shire. His only worry seems to be those lousy Sackville-Bagginses, relentless in their desire to attain Bag End for themselves… until Gandalf shows up. Pretty soon, Bilbo finds his home filled with presumptuous dwarves, a wizard, and a map to the dwarven ancestral home, now taken over by the fierce-some dragon, Smaug. When the morning dawns, he finds himself taking part in an adventure he wants nothing to do with, and through ventures both fantastic and captivating, awakens the Took side of his blood permanently.
Bilbo faces terrors he never thought to imagine, and struggles through discomforts barely tolerated. His story is a true tale of growth and the discovery of courage.
I can’t wait to see Jackson’ s vision for this most beloved book. I’ll be dialing my expectations way down, though–because what can possibly live up to the original picture you conjured up yourself?