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b2memB2MeM Challenge: Wildcard (Athelas)
Format: Non-Fiction
Genre: essay, autobiographical (c.600 words)
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Characters: Aragorn & me
Pairings: None
Summary: My first encounter with The Lord of the Rings
The first sentence that I read is: Aragorn sped up the hill.
Well, that is not entirely true. For one thing, chronologically speaking, the first sentence that I read was: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. My mother had had The Hobbit recommended to her as a British children’s classic and borrowed it from the library for me. I opened it expectantly—and did not get beyond the first page or two. It was not that I had any kind of problem with postulating the existence of hobbits; I was uncomfortable with the narrator’s arch tone and felt I was being patronized as a reader. I was a little too old for The Hobbit, I guess, or a little too young. I was a rather solemn creature, then, precocious and awkward and a bit prickly about my dignity. There was nobody around to promise me Elves and a dragon and Bard the Bowman, if I persisted. The book went back to the library, and I forgot all about Professor Tolkien.
When I read Aragorn sped up the hill, I had no idea at all that this was a book by the same author. Also, the sentence that I actually read was: Aragorn rannte den Berg hinauf—and that is not quite the same thing because, although it is an adequate German rendering of Aragorn sped up the hill, the most literal translation back into English would be: Aragorn ran up the mountain.
I first read about Aragorn at my school’s holiday camp. If I remember things correctly, I wasn’t there with my classmates, but with the school drama group who were about to put on a production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was not one of the actors; I was there to help out with painting the flats and with the props. So the girl I borrowed the German translation of The Two Towers from was a relative stranger and a couple of years older than me. The lure of the book must have been really strong for me to venture to ask her for the loan.
So here is me: a shy, rather lonely teenager, sitting all alone on the lower bunk bed in a medium-sized dormitory, with a large bright green paperback volume in my lap. The cover depicts a huge eye, with the body of a snake coiling around it. It looks scary and a bit off-putting.
I open the book and read Aragorn sped up the hill. Who is Aragorn and why is he running? Who is this Frodo he is looking for? Aragorn is perplexed and seeks guidance—and so do I.
…to his horror, he could distinguish the harsh voices of Orcs. Oh no! What are Orcs, I wonder? ‘The horn of Boromir! He is in need.’ Aragorn is racing to help—and I am rushing along with him, although I don’t know yet who Boromir is. Drawing his bright sword and crying Elendil! Elendil! he crashed through the trees.
Well, we all know who and what he found there. After that first taste, I had to read the whole thing—and I had to read it in English. That was not as easy to achieve then as it would be now. It was the first time I ordered a book at a bookshop—from abroad!—and I spent all my pocket money on it. I had no idea what I was doing and ended up with the one-volume “de luxe” edition, printed on thin paper. That was a long time ago. Those delicate pages show clear signs of heavy use now…
Format: Non-Fiction
Genre: essay, autobiographical (c.600 words)
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Characters: Aragorn & me
Pairings: None
Summary: My first encounter with The Lord of the Rings
The first sentence that I read is: Aragorn sped up the hill.
Well, that is not entirely true. For one thing, chronologically speaking, the first sentence that I read was: In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. My mother had had The Hobbit recommended to her as a British children’s classic and borrowed it from the library for me. I opened it expectantly—and did not get beyond the first page or two. It was not that I had any kind of problem with postulating the existence of hobbits; I was uncomfortable with the narrator’s arch tone and felt I was being patronized as a reader. I was a little too old for The Hobbit, I guess, or a little too young. I was a rather solemn creature, then, precocious and awkward and a bit prickly about my dignity. There was nobody around to promise me Elves and a dragon and Bard the Bowman, if I persisted. The book went back to the library, and I forgot all about Professor Tolkien.
When I read Aragorn sped up the hill, I had no idea at all that this was a book by the same author. Also, the sentence that I actually read was: Aragorn rannte den Berg hinauf—and that is not quite the same thing because, although it is an adequate German rendering of Aragorn sped up the hill, the most literal translation back into English would be: Aragorn ran up the mountain.
I first read about Aragorn at my school’s holiday camp. If I remember things correctly, I wasn’t there with my classmates, but with the school drama group who were about to put on a production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was not one of the actors; I was there to help out with painting the flats and with the props. So the girl I borrowed the German translation of The Two Towers from was a relative stranger and a couple of years older than me. The lure of the book must have been really strong for me to venture to ask her for the loan.
So here is me: a shy, rather lonely teenager, sitting all alone on the lower bunk bed in a medium-sized dormitory, with a large bright green paperback volume in my lap. The cover depicts a huge eye, with the body of a snake coiling around it. It looks scary and a bit off-putting.
I open the book and read Aragorn sped up the hill. Who is Aragorn and why is he running? Who is this Frodo he is looking for? Aragorn is perplexed and seeks guidance—and so do I.
…to his horror, he could distinguish the harsh voices of Orcs. Oh no! What are Orcs, I wonder? ‘The horn of Boromir! He is in need.’ Aragorn is racing to help—and I am rushing along with him, although I don’t know yet who Boromir is. Drawing his bright sword and crying Elendil! Elendil! he crashed through the trees.
Well, we all know who and what he found there. After that first taste, I had to read the whole thing—and I had to read it in English. That was not as easy to achieve then as it would be now. It was the first time I ordered a book at a bookshop—from abroad!—and I spent all my pocket money on it. I had no idea what I was doing and ended up with the one-volume “de luxe” edition, printed on thin paper. That was a long time ago. Those delicate pages show clear signs of heavy use now…
