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Farewell to Lorien
Oct. 23rd, 2005 | 02:33 pm
I am reading The Lord of the Rings again, for what may be the last time.
I first read the book when I was ten. I remember being worried that my parents would catch me awake reading so late into the night, but being terrified of the Black Riders. I remember crying when Gandalf died. And I remember the first time I saw Lothlorien.
I've lost count of the number of times I've read it since — more than ten, less than twenty. But this time, for the first time ever, I feel cut off from the pleasure and delight and warmth of Middle-Earth. My only pleasure is in the memory of pleasure.
Perhaps in later years this will change. Until then, namárië!
I first read the book when I was ten. I remember being worried that my parents would catch me awake reading so late into the night, but being terrified of the Black Riders. I remember crying when Gandalf died. And I remember the first time I saw Lothlorien.
I've lost count of the number of times I've read it since — more than ten, less than twenty. But this time, for the first time ever, I feel cut off from the pleasure and delight and warmth of Middle-Earth. My only pleasure is in the memory of pleasure.
Perhaps in later years this will change. Until then, namárië!