I recently spent some time in Melbourne. Some of that time was spent out with mates having a few drinks, or having a massive dinner with my beloved cousins. another part of that time was spent reading the Hobbit, and part of that time was spent in the jacuzzi/spa bath.
What was nice to my mind was that the same mind that read the same words still looked at it with both child and adult-like eyes. I willingly, immediately suspended the expectation of all grownup vices one usually endures from what passes in front of one’s eyes. And yet I simultaneously noticed themes fit for an adult thinking mind while having fun like a child on a rollercoaster. What warmed me more was that it felt… like a forgotten memory, that I had always thought this way – as an adult and a child at once. Which would explain why I didn’t make hundreds of friends as easily as a boy – I distilled on my own even then that I was thinking differently, in ways that few if anyone else could understand. (Hence the Mind of Michael. Much luck to you.)
I hadn’t had a bath in so many years (showers. I’ve had showers. That- that context is probably important), that I actually forgot how it works. I got as far as pouring in oh… the entire bottle of bubble bath gel as the water slowly filled, and stood there scratching my head asking where the bubbles were at.
Preparing for the bath I looked around in my bag and pulled out of the top compartment what appeared to be a shell. I record my thoughts, in order, here, for posterity: “Hrm. That’s pretty. I don’t remember picking that up at the beach. Hey wait a minute… what’s that inside? …It can’t be. <wondering in amazement, tests the durability of shell between thumb and forefinger> *CRACK* Oh- Oh G-d, that’s disgusting, it’s oozing and convulsing in and out. What the hell?! <throws in bin> Oh damn, it’s probably in pain and dying. What do I do to help the bugger? Eyes toilet next to bin. Grab snail out of bin. place in toilet. *FLUSH* Wash hands. Twice.
What the hell is a snail doing IN MY BAG?”
About ten minutes just sitting in the bath reading (thinking ‘OK – now what?’ at the back of my mind, like an idiot who’s forgotten how to relax in general), I noticed the button for the jets. Well, I positioned myself strategically with my back to a very willing jet for a nice massage and promptly returned to my book.
Well, Bilbo is such a wonderful little character, and Tolkien’s literary canvass is so consistently painted the warmest shade of vivid that I soon found myself lost in his Middle Earth. I myself come from Higher Earth, where the Lower Matzah is broken and placed in forests for the giant spiders.
I’ve always particularly appreciated Beorn as a vehicle for demonstrating the very human trait whereby one is found oscillating between one’s raw, primal, animal tendencies and one’s morally strong, and steadfastly dutiful and giving qualities. Of course in the case of Beorn and the backdrop being Middle Earth, this was conveyed instead as his greatest strength, rather than so often a failing of Man to live up to his noble bearings (pun intended). Beorn the strong yet gentle. Beorn the wary yet most lavishing host once befriended. Beorn the shapeshifting man-bear that Bilbo fears and respects by night as he hears a scratching sound at the door to the wood cabin, and loves and admires by day as Beorn entertains his guests with honey, mead, and cream and all sorts of other bear schneed.
Beorn (http://www.darkshire.net/jhkim/rpg/lordoftherings/)
Although Beorn appears to be unable to control himself fully when in bear form (hence Bilbo’s adherence to Gandalf’s warning to stay inside the wood cabin’s walls at night and not get too curious, for his own safety), he nonetheless harnesses his power for upright ends, acting properly whether man or beast, as the reader sees especially towards the end of the book. Clearly, this is what Judaism’s core principle is said to be, not negating or denying the animalistic drive but using the best of its ways in the most appropriate measures for the best of purposes.
Then again, when I was young, I just thought Beorn was frickin’ cool. And being a rather chubby child interested in tasty delicacies – all that honey-flavoured food sounded amazing.
One of the last adult theme things I noticed was towards the end of the book.
Gandalf says to Bilbo at the end: “Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies just because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself?”
And I thought about the role of Zionism, secular or not, and its role in returning Israelites to Israel. Its role of fulfilling prophecies from the Torah. Interesting. Interesting. Then also reflected on the whole dwarvish quest to return to the land and the treasures that are rightfully theirs, in their family for generations, razed and seized by Smaug, who lay comfy there for years. Perhaps here is an analogy to the ‘just who’s land is it?’ debate between Jews and Arabs. Not to say the Arabs came and violently seized Judea/Palestina/Palestine/Israel like Smaug, but temporally speaking, they inhabited the Lonely Mountain as their home for a brief time – does that make it theirs with the backdrop of thousands of years of connection and/or ownership by the dwarves?
When a boy returned home a young man after WWII, the sole survivor of his family, only to find his German neighbours living in it – awkward as the moment must have been for both… whose house is it now? That family has settled there for four years. They didn’t think anyone was coming back - now this Jew whose family had lived there for hundreds of years wants his house back. That is difficult. Three years is hezqat qarqa’? Does that apply? Which set of laws apply? Talmudic? International UN law? Shari’a?
…I never saw that kind of thing, naturally, as a child. I liked the mischievous playful make-believe trashing of Bilbo’s home by the dwarves in their song, beating the living daylights out of trolls, goblins and spiders with swords that glowed blue – that kind of thing.
Looking down for a moment at the bath my eyes turned wide – “holy &^%*!” I thought as the bubbles nearly flowed over the edge, while I reached for the button.
