Trilogy. I can't remember how long it's been since…

Trilogy. I can’t remember how long it’s been since we began reading the Lord of the Rings trilogy aloud; right now it seems like it’s the only thing we’ve ever read aloud. But last night was the milestone of milestones, as we learned the final fate of the One Ring. There are a few more nights’ worth of denoument left to savor, but the deal is done.

More than ever I’m astonished by Tolkien’s skill at crafting a tale, even more so by the telling of it. There was so much pressure to tell another, different story, one that made use of cookie-cutter heroism and adventure—in fact that story was actually happening around the story that Tolkien tells, though largely offstage. How did Tolkien manage to make the quiet, life-sized heroism of the Hobbits the hinge on which it all turned, without belittling the larger-than-life heroism of Aragorn, Gandalf, and the rest? I don’t know. It’s a staggering accomplishment.