Sauron in the Suburbs

There's often a lull in the air the week before the Fourth of July, with people appending their vacations to the holiday and leaving town early. This year's no exception, and coupled with some cooler weather, it's been a fairly pleasant few days--oh, except for Monday, the day I went to the grocery store and came back home to see one of my problem neighbors in the side yard of the building. I decided to cope with this by giving her a wide berth, so I drove around the block. Avoidance is sometimes the best strategy.

When I came back, lo and behold, she was still in the side yard, sitting on the step with her cell phone. Now, I could have gone in through the other door, but I didn't like the idea of doing so while she was hanging around. You never know, she might decide to walk into the building at the same time I was walking in with groceries, and I just didn't cotton to that idea.

So I decided to take a longer drive, really with no set purpose other than to give her time to clear out--yes, even with perishables in the back seat, a 30-minute drive out of my way seemed preferable to the chance of an encounter. So I drove out Tates Creek Road and into a subdivision I had noticed recently but hadn't visited. Years ago, I had done some copywriting for its sister development, but I had never actually visited this section of it--so call it a semi-professional interest combined with mild curiosity. I used to enjoy going on home tours and was frankly interested in seeing how the neighborhood compared with its sibling across the road.

Nothing, it seems, is without adventure these days, even a leisurely, spur-of-the-moment tour of south Lexington. I pulled into the neighborhood and noted the same large, elegant brick houses and meandering streets I was familiar with in the original development (and used to describe glowingly in advertising copy). It's a neighborhood of cul-de-sacs without any through traffic, a smaller version of its twin on the opposite side of the road. I drove slowly along the main avenue, turned off into one side street, then pulled back on and continued to the place where the street dead-ends next to a field. I was afraid I might have to turn around in someone's driveway until I noticed a final cul-de-sac on the right, just before the dead end.

I pulled in and swung the car around the circle, pausing at the end before pulling onto the main avenue. I was thinking how nice it must be for the people at the end of the street to be living next to undeveloped land. As I pulled out, I saw that a gray pickup truck was coming down the street toward me, going fairly fast.

You know what I was saying recently about things somehow seeming a little out of whack though you're not sure why? That truck coming toward me had that look about it. Partly, I think it was the type of vehicle it was, not something you'd typically see in the driveway of one of these manses, unless it belongs to a contractor or someone who comes to do yard work. Then there was the speed, as if the driver were in a hurry. Perhaps an early evening appointment to cut the grass? Could be, but what's the rush? I somehow thought the driver might be unfamiliar with the neighborhood, as I was, but for some reason was in a hurry. I pulled out of the way, and although there was no turn signal, the vehicle pulled into the cul-de-sac without giving me much room to spare.

Normally, I would have waited to make sure the truck was actually turning before I pulled out, even though there didn't seem to be many other places he could be going, but there was just something a little out of place about that truck rushing down the street, so I decided to get out of the way. I drove back out to the entrance road, where I encountered a jogger in yellow approaching the intersection at the same time I was. I stopped to let him cross, and I may have imagined it, of course, but I thought he looked a little startled. Perhaps my car doesn't look like the typical vehicle one sees in that neighborhood either, but it resembles a Prius to a casual eye, so I don't think it looked that unusual. Thus, though I had been in the neighborhood for only five minutes, that was long enough to have two slightly off-kilter experiences.

Turning left, I noted that I was on Saron Drive and said to myself, "Just add a 'u' and it makes "Sauron" (these myth people and their eternal Lord of the Rings references, you're probably thinking). I would have thought it anyway, but I was unsettled enough by what had just happened to say it aloud. It really does seem to me that I spend my days going from one odd occurrence to another. My neighbor had disappeared by the time I got home, but there was a young man I had never seen standing outside the building next door affecting what I would call a "studiedly casual" manner, so I spent a few minutes parked on the street thinking about everything that had happened before pulling in and starting to unload my groceries. It's a good thing I didn't really have many perishables (except for eggs, and I had nearly lost those when a car suddenly changed lanes in front of me on Tates Creek Road). Nevertheless, my eggs and my paper towels and my produce and I somehow arrived home intact (and not for the first time).

The episode reminded me of one of those Stephen King stories set in a suburb or a small town in which it's the strangeness of events playing out in a very ordinary setting that contributes to the feeling of suspense. Everything looks OK on the surface, but weird little things keep happening to turn normalcy on its head. It's also very much like a dream I had five and a half years ago about horse statues that turned into living horses in front of my eyes. It was the moment when what had seemed inanimate suddenly proved not to be that was so alarming: a sudden spark in the eyes, a slight movement of the head. Once they came fully to life, the bad part was over.

Where Have You Gone, Tom Bombadil?

I started re-reading The Lord of the Rings the other night--I don't know how many times now I've read the trilogy, but my copy of The Fellowship of the Ring is literally falling to pieces. The back cover and last few pages have come apart from the rest, and I trail tiny bits of paper crumbs every time I move the book. At this point, I should probably stop using my own boxed set as a reading copy and check the books out of the library, though it would also seem strange to read the story under a different cover and typeface. My own copies are almost as familiar to me as the back of my hand.

Why am I reading Tolkien? I've checked a few new books out of the library recently, but more often than not, I've been disappointed. I don't know what's gotten into some of our leading authors of late; they seem to be trying to reach for a meaning that escapes me, so I find myself going back to the classics or re-reading books I've already read. This isn't a real hardship, since I have a lot of books, but I'm sorry that some of the recent fiction hasn't seemed more compelling. Ideally, you keep growing with new authors and fresh stories in addition to revisiting old favorites, but some of the new work seems a little stale to me.

The Lord of the Rings is like comfort food. It's like sitting down with a big plate of macaroni and cheese or a bowl of popcorn: once you start, it's hard to stop. I was struck the last time I picked it up by how much happens in the first book that was left out of the Peter Jackson films. I think many fans were disappointed not to find Tom Bombadil and Goldberry in the films, for example, and while I would have liked to see them included, I understand the reason for leaving them out. So much happens in The Fellowship of the Ring that it probably would have taken a couple of extra hours (at least) to cover what takes place in between the hobbits leaving Hobbiton and the events on Weathertop. Mr. Jackson would probably have needed to make four films instead of three.

There's a part of me that would like to see Mr. Jackson go back into this material and do a prequel, even though I'm not quite sure how that would work. When I re-read the books last year, I remembered why the first one used to be my favorite: it's nonstop action, with so many incidents crowded into the story that it's like a thrill ride. There are the elves encountered in the woods of the Shire, Farmer Maggot, the evening at Crickhollow, Old Man Willow, Tom Bombadil and Goldberry, the Old Downs, and the Barrow Wights--and that's before the hobbits even get to Bree. The escape from the pursuing Black Riders is handled very effectively in the film, but that sequence takes the place of an entire stretch of other characters and incidents that you never get to see. Making a film requires different decisions of timing and sequencing than does writing a book, no doubt about it. Still, it would have been fun to see some of these other incidents come to life on screen.

Tolkien is best encountered, in my opinion, when you're curled up with a blanket and some hot tea. Even though it's May, we've had a cool spell that has actually made for just the right weather for LOTR. A chilly and rainy day outdoors creates prime conditions for letting your imagination roam in Middle Earth. If you're looking for a tea pairing recommendation, I suggest chai--and a little bit of chocolate or a couple of cookies to nibble on never goes amiss either.

Once More for Middle-earth

I don't know what you did on New Year's Eve, but I was in the middle of a Lord of the Rings home video screening, which seems as good a way to spend it as any. LOTR has always seemed to me to be a winter story, possibly because I first encountered it as a boxed set of books--including The Hobbit--as a Christmas present in my senior year of high school. I'm looking at it right now; although the books are threadbare from much handling, the box, with it shiny gold foil, is in good condition. It's covered all over with Elvish symbols that, now that I look at them, are not unlike something you'd see in Jung's Red Book, with their wheel shapes flowing around central stars and flowers. Very mandala-like, these devices are.

Of course, all of the movies have been holiday releases as well--but I'm thinking back now to my first introduction to Middle-earth all those years ago, when I spent most of Christmas break absolutely immersed in the books. I can see myself now in the small bedroom I shared with my sister, sitting up in bed, eyes intent on the page, completely absorbed in a world of Tolkien's making. I remember how strongly the characters, the settings, and the events of this strangely compelling other world impressed themselves on my imagination and how nearly impossible it was to stop reading.

I used to re-read the books periodically but fell out of the habit some years ago, though I think it may be time now to re-visit the tradition. It will be interesting to see how the intervening years, and Peter Jackson's films, have changed my reactions to the stories on the page. I've written recently about the ways in which Mr. Jackson's Hobbit films (especially the final one) seem to part company with the book, but his LOTR has always seemed remarkably close to Tolkien's vision.

In the three years since I bought the video trilogy, I've probably watched the movies once a year. Even in that time, my way of looking at them has changed from one viewing to the next. Interestingly, The Fellowship of the Ring, which was formerly my favorite part, no longer is--at least not in exactly the same way. I linger over scenes in the Shire, which used to seem merely a prelude to the action, and Rivendell, both of which I find it increasingly hard to imagine leaving on such a task as the hobbits had. The Shire, in its innocence, and Rivendell, in its elegance and otherworldly beauty, are of course as under threat as any place else in Middle-earth until the quest is done . . . but the feeling of safe harbor, ease, and peace is strong in both places.

I find myself mentally speeding the company through Moria and down the river to the place near the falls where the Fellowship breaks up. While this is a major break in the story, and a sad ending to the companionship of the nine, it's almost a relief to me to see Frodo and Sam slip off to the eastern shore. I now find myself enjoying the scenes in both The Two Towers and The Return of the King in which the remaining members of the Fellowship look for and are reunited with one another and become deeply involved in the affairs of Rohan and Gondor.

In reading the books, I always considered these aspects of the story less interesting, dealing as they do less with enchantment and more with strategy, politics, and the role of humans in events. Now, I find the people and their problems much more engaging than I did as a teenager, and the courage of not only Theoden's people but those of Gondor, along with the bravery of the companions who aid them, is very compelling to me. I like Theoden's seasoned, no-nonsense authority, Aragorn's valor and calm intelligence, Gimli's sense of humor, and Legolas's steady eye. I like the way the two younger hobbits, Pippin and Merry, seem to grow up in the course of their dealings with Ents, wizards, and warriors, while remaining essentially light-hearted and free.

While the quest of Frodo and Sam to destroy the ring is protracted and wearying (as in the books), the doings of the other characters, even though they involve a constant succession of either major battles or preparations for them, include many scenes of everyday life, love, jealousy, secret hopes, failings, renewed purpose, and tragedies of an all-too-human nature. The story in its latter stages becomes more character-driven than it was in the beginning. In the face of the big events taking place both in Mordor and the kingdoms of men, small incidents revealing the character of the players bring events back down to earth and are rewarding to watch.

One of my ideas about why this is so has to do with the fact that I don't see as much distance between the concerns of Middle-earth and those of the real world as I used to. Far from seeing it as an escapist fantasy, as I did as a teenager, I now see its contours as much closer to a map of the world as we know it. Like a true myth, LOTR gets its power not so much from its fantastic elements as from the way it resembles reality. It's a mirror in which we see ourselves reflected.