Gandalf, by John Howe Exchanging mails with Claire (my British Twin), about Middle Earth, trees, Ents and Rohirrims.
Will I see Tom Bombadil during my travels, just for a moment, just out of the corner of my eye?
I blame "The Lord of the Rings" for my budding wanderlust, even if it took 20 years for the book influence to become manifest.
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say"
Fond as I was, even as a child, of my familiar things and home (a real hobbit in the making), I was always a bit horrified of Bilbo running off "without a hat, a walking stick or any money, or anything that he usually took when he went out" not even a pocket handkerchief. And yet I always was fascinated that you could live so light that those things were not important any more, and all that mattered was the Road, running ahead, and on and on.
The Lord of the Rings (and the Hobbit with it) is so deeply a "walking" book. Horses, eagles and boats do provide an occasional burst of speed to the story, but if one thinks of the book in its whole, it looks like the hobbits are always walking (or eating, on occasions). The very slowness of their progress brings Middle Earth to life in the tiniyest details. It is not just a succession of framed landscapes, but a true winding trail, alive with flowers, pebbles, old trees, soft grass, rustling leaves... mushrooms. I think it affected forever my way to conceive travelling.
I have three different editions of the Lord of the Rings, an italian translation, the first version that I had, in five volumes (including the Hobbit and the Silmarillion, all in one box), luxuriously bound in red fabric, with gilt, embossed titles, and huge folded maps on thick parchment paper, a format that Bilbo would have thoroughly approved; a beautiful heavy tome illustrated by Alan Lee and a humble and much abused paperback which is to this day my favourite edition... perhaps because I was always able to tuck it into my rucksack for travelling. The cover is an illustration of Gandalf purposefully striding through a grassy landscape, under the rain. It was painted by John Howe. The spine of the book is faded, but Gandalf's grass is still richly, deeply green.
I aquired this paperback when I was 19 in perhaps the first holiday I ever made without my family. It was also the first time I could read Tolkien in his original language, and one of the very first books I read in english at all. It feels so much like my first very own book, in a certain sense.
Will I see Tom Bombadil during my travels, just for a moment, just out of the corner of my eye?
I blame "The Lord of the Rings" for my budding wanderlust, even if it took 20 years for the book influence to become manifest.
"The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say"
Fond as I was, even as a child, of my familiar things and home (a real hobbit in the making), I was always a bit horrified of Bilbo running off "without a hat, a walking stick or any money, or anything that he usually took when he went out" not even a pocket handkerchief. And yet I always was fascinated that you could live so light that those things were not important any more, and all that mattered was the Road, running ahead, and on and on.
The Lord of the Rings (and the Hobbit with it) is so deeply a "walking" book. Horses, eagles and boats do provide an occasional burst of speed to the story, but if one thinks of the book in its whole, it looks like the hobbits are always walking (or eating, on occasions). The very slowness of their progress brings Middle Earth to life in the tiniyest details. It is not just a succession of framed landscapes, but a true winding trail, alive with flowers, pebbles, old trees, soft grass, rustling leaves... mushrooms. I think it affected forever my way to conceive travelling.
I have three different editions of the Lord of the Rings, an italian translation, the first version that I had, in five volumes (including the Hobbit and the Silmarillion, all in one box), luxuriously bound in red fabric, with gilt, embossed titles, and huge folded maps on thick parchment paper, a format that Bilbo would have thoroughly approved; a beautiful heavy tome illustrated by Alan Lee and a humble and much abused paperback which is to this day my favourite edition... perhaps because I was always able to tuck it into my rucksack for travelling. The cover is an illustration of Gandalf purposefully striding through a grassy landscape, under the rain. It was painted by John Howe. The spine of the book is faded, but Gandalf's grass is still richly, deeply green.
I aquired this paperback when I was 19 in perhaps the first holiday I ever made without my family. It was also the first time I could read Tolkien in his original language, and one of the very first books I read in english at all. It feels so much like my first very own book, in a certain sense.
John Howe other paintings can be admired in his own home page:
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