In the beginning, I saw a pale, bloated and dirt-speckled face of someone who might have been a man—but slimy, stringy-looking goo encased him too tightly for me to be assured of his exact species. His round blue eyes were filmy and there was a little bit of comatose saliva oozing out from his mouth.

My nine-year-old face twitched with unmitigated disgust. My eyes stretched to perfect circles. “Dad—what are you watching?”

“Oh, it’s this great movie called Lord of the Rings,” my dad replied from the depths of his recliner. He watched the scene unfold for a few more moments, then continued flipping channels.

Well! I decided with a huff, leaving the room. Only weirdoes watched gross movies like that!

Ladies and gentleman, my first impression of Frodo Baggins and My Favorite Story of All Time.

I’m now seventeen years old, and that event is only a hazy memory—but I can vouch with mostly certain certainty that it was my first-ever glimpse into J.R.R. Tolkien’s genius. So what transpired in those approximately eight years to make me the ardent fan I am now? How did I go from grimacing at Frodo Baggins’ poor face, swollen from spider poison, to gazing at it with sympathy and a touch of hero-worship? Because now, watching the film adaptation of Lord of the Rings is my great fictional escape. Snuggling down on the couch to watch it on late Saturday nights for a handful of weekends every year is one of my favorite things to do.  Reading “A Long-Expected Party” and “The Shadow of the Past” from the books brings me the same comfort and nostalgia as if I were chewing on a Hershey’s chocolate bar (a huge compliment, I might add).

So how did it all unfold?

After my first glimpse of Frodo lying cold outside Shelob’s Lair, the books came next, courtesy of the fifth or sixth-grade reading list. As an eleven-year-old, it took more than a bit of grit on my part to get through the novels, to endure what seemed to me endless descriptions of every species of tree and every dip in the terrain of the Old Forest, and to survive the strange garb and inane singsong of Tom Bombadil.  But by this time, I had seen a few more glimpses of the movie trilogy here and there, and was fairly eager to watch The Fellowship of the Ring, because of all its critical lauds and because some of the parts of the book were admittedly cool. But my diligent parents insisted I finished reading each book before I could view the film adaptations. Eventually I slammed the cover down upon the first volume’s rather hanging ending. (At this point, I admit I had less than a perfect grasp on the overall story, due to its complexity and my less-than-wholehearted reading of it, and my reliance on vague memories of a handful of scenes from the movies. For example, before watching the Fellowship, I thought Aragorn and Galadriel were supposed to be in love with one another . . . probably because I saw some of Eowyn and Aragorn together in The Two Towers film . . . and Eowyn and Galadriel are both blond, right?) Misconceptions aside, I eagerly plunged into the movie.

I can only barely remember that first viewing, but the fact that I still watch it with ardor and never tire of it can attest to how blown my mind was upon watching the Fellowship for the first time. (Brace yourself for effusions!) Visually, it was brilliant. I probably could hardly believe it was the same story. I was in love with every single character. The Nazgul and Uruk-hai were chillingly evil and the heroes were stomach-shockingly breathtaking. Boromir’s sacrifice and redemption at Amon Hen made me cry. I loved Frodo. It was unbelievably epic in scope and intimate in emotion. From that point on, I would be a rabid fan of the movies.

But prosaic reality was still a part of my life, so in order to watch the next two films . . . I had to read the next two novels. And—I shamefully admit it—I skimmed pretty badly, especially through the paragraphs upon paragraphs of landscape description, and particularly through The Two Towers’ last chapter, “Shelob’s Lair” (which, ironically enough, wasn’t even in The Two Towers film, which really annoyed me at first!)  I was dying to get back to the movies, back to the characters I loved, to the real Middle-Earth. And of course, I did eventually, and once I closed The Return of the King and watched its adaptation, Lord of the Rings would be defined for me almost solely by the movies for the next several years.  As I watched and re-watched them, I got a solid grasp of the overall story, got all the names, locations and relationships straight in my head, and I was ready to gush and evangelize anyone who happened to bring up the story. 

When I was about fourteen, I gave the books another try (what could be considered as my first authentic read). I can honestly say I appreciated them more, but it wasn’t until two years later, when I started Expressions and met the admirable “book purists” Katherine Anne and Ellen Virginia, that the original novels began to sneak back into the equation of why I ardently love Lord of the Rings. Inspired by all the hard work we put into our Lord of the Rings December 2012 edition, and motivated by Katherine Anne and Ellen’s thorough knowledge of and devotion to the books, I sat down for another read-through, this time determined to truly appreciate the worth I knew was in them. Halfway through my excited read of the Fellowship, I left this comment on our blog:

I wanted to share with all the contributors to this issue (especially Ellen and Katherine) that, before working on this issue, I’d read the books only once and was much more of the movie geek. But working on this issue inspired me to delve back into the books again, and so far it has been a delight! I’m still in the Fellowship right now, and I do have to agree that I think Frodo’s role in Flight to the Ford is much cooler in the book – not to mention the (neglected in the films) appearance of Glorfindel! I’ve really taken a liking to that super-cool, firebrand-wielding elf. And I find myself appreciating Merry’s more mature self in the print of the page, and the journeys through the Old Forest and the Barrow Downs. I’m really able to visualize all the geography and settings this time around, which has really hooked me.

As my comment revealed, I was discovering countless new things about Middle-earth: exciting things, impressive things, new characters and events that were either left out of or altered in the film versions. I was enamored by an even fuller experience of what was, to me, a story unlike any other. To my own surprise—and pride—I became possessive of the books and felt, after four years, I could fully claim my title as a Lord of the Rings enthusiast, and also my position in the realm of Lord of the Rings fanhood.

Over the past year, I’ve become more and more aware of the different opinions among Lord of the Rings fans, some claiming the superiority of the books to the movies and vice versa. I certainly respect their opinions and see the worth of both sides. But personally, I’ve stepped to the middle and embraced a both-and equation. I love both the books and the movies, and I appreciate their discrepancies pretty much without preference towards one or the other. I enjoy Tom Bombadil in the books, and I’m very glad he isn’t in the movies. I’m thrilled to death Haldir and his troop of elves arrive to assist at Helm’s Deep in the films, and at the same time I appreciate how Tolkien kept Helm’s Deep a battle of solely Rohanians and Fellowship members in the novel. The Scouring of the Shire is a greatly heroic moment for the hobbits at the end of the novel The Return in the King, while in the film, I’m relieved that the Shire has remained peaceful and unscathed after all the horrors that have occurred elsewhere . . . the list goes on indefinitely!

But, keeping all this in mind, I don’t believe the novelized version is one story, and the films a separate one. Lord of the Rings will always be one story for me, born of Tolkien, continued by Peter Jackson, one that “grows in the telling” each time I read or watch it, one that will never cease to thrill and inspire me, one that will always be with me. And I will always consider myself indebted to that first grotesque shot of Frodo Baggins!