A blog dedicated to the warm, dry hobbit hole; to the deep depths of the ocean where the Nautilus trawls; to the musty wardrobe which leads to the lamppost in the woods. Books are the key to escapism, our way of exploring new frontiers while our physical selves remain firmly planted in reality. Let's celebrate the journeys that we take with characters, the mysteries and adventures that we live through books, and above all, the beauty of reading.
I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled.
There was a sound of thunder.
You ache with it all; and the more mysterious it is, the more you ache.
Every writer I know is also here to learn — about spaceships and fall-out shelters and international abduction and horticulture and language and everything. Everything else, everything that makes this world strange and rich and mysterious and ugly and beautiful. Humility in reading and in writing really means freedom, freedom to love things with unbridled enthusiasm. Freedom to critique things thoughtfully, freedom to write about topics you aren’t that familiar with, freedom to admit to your mistakes and learn from them. Humility is freedom.
I was on a quest to be a writer that mattered, and a friend told me that I must read and remember everything. ‘You cannot call yourself educated or literate,’ he said, ‘if you do not know the secrets of Middle-earth, if you have not trekked with the Hobbits.’ I mark the time I spent reading these splendid books among the richest days of my life. They are like the elevation of the host to me, their presence transformed, their effect indelible and everlasting. What is the loss of a job or a bad review when you’ve followed Gandalf the Grey through the mines of Moria?
A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively, wrenches it from itself, shapes it, renders it, loves it so radically that he remakes it in his image…