Fellowship a Fine Beginning to the Epic to End All Epics

As you may have guessed from my name, I am in fact a hobbit. At least, I like to reiterate the famous quote by Professor Tolkien, and I have always considered his first furry-footed protagonist to be my literary counterpart. I tend to think that there is more about me than people suspect. And if I could find some way to settle in the Shire, you’d better believe I would! It is through Bilbo that I found my way into Middle-earth, and The Hobbit will always occupy a sacred space in my hierarchy of beloved books. But I’ve already reviewed that tome, though it was my second review here and didn’t begin to do the book justice. One day I’ll rectify that, but for now, on to bigger and better things.

The other day I went to a local book sale and happened upon a 40-year-old paperback copy of The Fellowship of the Ring. It interested me particularly because of the warning on the back, drawn from the preface, in which Tolkien appeals to his fans to buy this edition of his book and not one of the many unauthorized versions floating around. “It seems to me a grave discourtesy, to say no more, to issue my book without even a polite note informing me of the project: dealings one might expect of Saruman in his decay rather than from the defenders of the West… Those who approve of courtesy (at least) to living authors will purchase [this paperback edition] and no other.” Tolkien’s eloquent wit here made it one of the best investments of 20 cents I’ve ever made. And why shouldn’t he have such a say in the distribution of his work? Tolkien’s accomplishment with The Lord of the Rings was monumental, and he had every right to feel possessive of it, even though Middle-earth soon grew to be a domain claimed by millions, many of whom were just as passionate about the material as the author himself.

I recently re-read Lord of the Rings, though of the three volumes, Fellowship is the only one I can in all honesty say I technically “re-read.” I read it myself in ninth grade, but with all the schoolwork surrounding me I didn’t have time to get bogged down in The Two Towers, the murky middle section that so often stumped its author. It took my dad three years to read Lord of the Rings to me. It took him two years to read The Two Towers. It was a combination of fearing the slog through this second volume and not wanting the break the sacredness of having had the book read to me by my dad that kept me from reading through the entire book until this year.

Part of the charm of Fellowship is that, in the first couple chapters, you can see its origins as sequel to The Hobbit. Initially, Bilbo is front and center, with Gandalf, that other key player from The Hobbit, also in prominence. The narration is much more detached, but there are still traces of the cozy conversational style that drove its predecessor. At first, there’s even the slight possibility that it might be Bilbo’s further adventures we are following, rather than Frodo’s. At any rate, we are dealing with hobbits, and it takes quite a while to get out of the Shire. Many readers complain that it takes too long for the book to get going, but I love the gradual departure from the hobbits’ idyllic homeland and all the enchanting opportunities it affords. Although the Nazgul first make their appearance early on, and we also are treated to the independent malevolence of Old Man Willow and the barrow wights, there’s a sense in which this doesn’t truly depart from the formula of The Hobbit until the fateful meeting more than 200 pages in with the mysterious stranger in Bree known as Strider.

Before this, we’re treated to Bilbo’s grand party in the opening chapter standing in marvelous contrast to The Unexpected Party. We’re introduced to the Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin, the four young hobbits who will play such a vital role in the epic adventure to come. We get the strange momentary peek into a fox’s thoughts as it observes the hobbits in his woods and the long dalliance at the home of the anomalous Tom Bombadil. My brother’s literature teacher complained to the class once about how stupid Lord of the Rings was; it was just about eating and taking baths. This struck me as a patently ridiculous statement, but if you don’t read any farther than Bree, it’s actually not completely off base. Nonetheless, the opening leg of the journey allows us lots of time to see the hobbits in their element and grow to love them before their camaraderie is interrupted by the inclusion of other members in the Fellowship and, eventually, circumstances that will separate them from one another for a long time.

One enjoyable aspect of Fellowship is that it is so straight-forward. We follow the same people on a journey that they make together. The number of companions grows from three to nine, but they all follow the same path and we don’t have to follow them in separate directions until The Two Towers. This makes Fellowship easily the least confusing of the three, and it allows the most opportunity for character development. The interactions of the Fellowship members are uncluttered by all the outside forces and complicated scenarios that fill the later volumes. There is particular beauty in how each remaining member deals with the iconic descent of Gandalf towards the end of the book.

Though Sam becomes the most heroic figure in Return of the King, I am perhaps most in love with him here. His sweet simplicity, gentle wisdom, innate comedy, connection to the earth and humble spirituality all come to light in Fellowship, and my biggest disappointment with the superb film was that these aspects of his personality were not tapped into more fully. In fact, they were often subverted, a decision that I still have trouble finding justifiable. For instance, one of my favorite Sam moments is when, after being charged with the task of accompanying Frodo, he responds in the following manner: “‘Me, sir!’cried Sam, springing up like a dog invited for a walk. ‘Me go and see Elves and all! Hooray!’ he shouted, and then burst into tears.” While I love the beginning of this scene in the film, the utter absence – and apparent reversal – of its enthusiastic and awe-filled conclusion struck me as one of the movie’s most unfortunate omissions. The filmmakers did such a beautiful job with Pippin’s characterization in Fellowship. Why couldn’t they extend the same courtesy to Sam?

Another particularly nice aspect of Fellowship is the abundance of poetry. Now, there are probably many who would disagree with me on this point, as I have come to understand that Tolkien’s verse is generally not very highly praised. Still, I like it, and I am particularly fond of Sam’s poem about Old Tom and the troll. When Dad first read that to my brother and me, we loved it so much that we demanded he read it again. After a second recitation, my brother, then nine, declared the moral of the story to be that “a boot in the booty makes you feel fruity.” Whatever that means… Other favorites include the epic of Earendil the Mariner, composed and recited by Bilbo in Rivendell and considered by many to be Tolkien’s best poem, and Frodo’s eulogy for Gandalf. Though there is some verse scattered throughout Two Towers and Return of the King, the vast majority can be found here.

Fellowship is the journey-before-the-journey, fraught with harrowing adventures but only a premonition of the travails to come. Although I love the whole of Lord of the Rings, this installment is my favorite. If you’ve never given the book a try, let yourself be drawn into the beauty of the Shire and the utter malignance of the force that threatens it. And at least read as far as Bree before you dismiss it as being a boring tome obsessed with eating and bathing.