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A review by apostrophen
The Art of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien by Christina Scull, J.R.R. Tolkien, Wayne G. Hammond
4.0
It's hard to really review 'The Hobbit.'
On the one hand, it's inextricably tied with my childhood. In fact, it was published the year I was born, and it was read to me - the first book ever read to me - while my father tried to get me to sleep. It became a book re-read to me many times in my youth, and then somewhere along the way, even though it was a favourite, I went a long while with it just being on my shelf.
Until now.
It's the movie, of course, that made me revisit the book. My husband and I went to see it and I spent a good chunk of the time thinking that I'd missed something. I enjoyed the movie - don't get me wrong - but I couldn't remember most of what was happening on the screen.
Which, it turns out, is due to the movie being considerably filled in from scanter details from the book. And that's fine.
On the other hand, the book on its own has some flaws that are harder to bear as an adult re-reading a treasured childhood memory. Tolkien sure liked his exclamation marks, and had an odd tendency to tell, not show. Also - the poetry (especially the nearly nonsensical elves). Again, though, it's hard to mind. This is a classic, the first of its sort, and that begs a certain level of forgiveness - there was a lot of smiling on my part at the fussiness of Bilbo himself, and the rather stolid (and often punch-line) nature of the dwarves. The elves are certainly not their Lord of the Rings counterparts in this book, and the overall amusement tone is much higher here.
And I'd completely misremembered the ending. I'd re-written it in my childhood memories and reversed a few things. Revisiting the book and seeing how things actually turned out was a bit of a shock in places - I remembered the dwarves as being so darned honourable, and they really aren't - but that made it more intriguing to re-read. I thought I knew 'The Hobbit.' I didn't. But it was nice to get to know it again.
On the one hand, it's inextricably tied with my childhood. In fact, it was published the year I was born, and it was read to me - the first book ever read to me - while my father tried to get me to sleep. It became a book re-read to me many times in my youth, and then somewhere along the way, even though it was a favourite, I went a long while with it just being on my shelf.
Until now.
It's the movie, of course, that made me revisit the book. My husband and I went to see it and I spent a good chunk of the time thinking that I'd missed something. I enjoyed the movie - don't get me wrong - but I couldn't remember most of what was happening on the screen.
Which, it turns out, is due to the movie being considerably filled in from scanter details from the book. And that's fine.
On the other hand, the book on its own has some flaws that are harder to bear as an adult re-reading a treasured childhood memory. Tolkien sure liked his exclamation marks, and had an odd tendency to tell, not show. Also - the poetry (especially the nearly nonsensical elves). Again, though, it's hard to mind. This is a classic, the first of its sort, and that begs a certain level of forgiveness - there was a lot of smiling on my part at the fussiness of Bilbo himself, and the rather stolid (and often punch-line) nature of the dwarves. The elves are certainly not their Lord of the Rings counterparts in this book, and the overall amusement tone is much higher here.
And I'd completely misremembered the ending. I'd re-written it in my childhood memories and reversed a few things. Revisiting the book and seeing how things actually turned out was a bit of a shock in places - I remembered the dwarves as being so darned honourable, and they really aren't - but that made it more intriguing to re-read. I thought I knew 'The Hobbit.' I didn't. But it was nice to get to know it again.