Why The Hobbit is the ultimate fall read
This rollicking adventure gifts us with perilous woods, richly laden tables and a quest for treasure
Fall is the season for coziness. As the days grow colder (I wish!) and the nights longer, the urge to stay inside becomes stronger. The beach or the prospect of a barbecue appear less alluring with one’s pot simmering with hearty stew or the prospect of watching You’ve Got Mail in fuzzy socks beckoning. Curling up in bed or on the sofa or on an armchair seems to be the mantra, rest and relaxation being key. For myself, the latter is most easily achieved via The Hobbit.
It is not a traditional fall read, missing that air of melancholy and nostalgia that characterizes books of the season (think Lord of the Rings!), something that is also acknowledged by Molly Templeton in her piece on autumnal SFF works for Tor. Yet she also argues that some books that are fall themed come with a different feeling- ‘a kind of golden warmth, the sense of something-a relationship, a city, a magician-that has taken time to grow into itself.’
Given the storied labour of Tolkien’s mythopoeic ventures, which saw him tinkering with the tales that fill The Silmarillion and all his other works regarding the people and histories of Middle Earth, the sense of ‘something grown into itself’ seems warranted to me. And the idea of golden warmth? It practically radiates from the page, from the moment we read the famous line ‘In a hole in a ground lived a hobbit’, which doubles as one of the most beautiful celebrations of hearth and home I’ve ever read.
Comfort Food
The descriptions of food right from the start are testament to that.
Consider this excerpt:
“Quite a merry gathering! I hope there is something left for the late-comers to eat and drink! What’s that? Tea! No thank you! A little red wine, I think for me.”
“And for me,” said Thorin.
“And raspberry jam and apple-tart,” said Bifur.
“And mince-pies and cheese,” said Bofur.
“And pork-pie and salad,” said Bombur.
“And more cakes — and ale — and coffee, if you don’t mind,” called the other dwarves through the door.
“Put on a few eggs, there’s a good fellow!” Gandalf called after him, as the hobbit stumped off to the pantries. “And just bring out the cold chicken and pickles!”
It’s just the kind of thing one wishes to read in the season of harvest and plenty, Bilbo’s idea of ‘eating an extra cake or two’ when frazzled practically begging for emulation during months when apple pie and cinnamon buns just cannot be overlooked.
A Woodsy Air
The way Tolkien describes nature, in particular, should endear him to anyone looking for fall vibes in their reading. Having grown up in Sarehole, a suburb of Birmingham, the father of modern fantasy spent his childhood having adventures along the river, four brief years that, in his own words, ‘marked him the most’.
When Bilbo, Gandalf as well as Thorin and company approach Rivendell, the plucky hobbit remarks that ‘the scent of trees was in the air’. Sweet and balmy, it’s rejuvenating quality has long been lauded by self-care manuals speaking of the health benefits of regular forest-bathing. A mindful stroll, taking in the impressions of golden and scarlet leaves, of squirrels scurrying in the undergrowth, feeling a slight breeze ruffle both leaves and hair, has been scientifically proven to have a healing effect, twenty minutes in a green landscape being enough to lower stress levels.
As Bilbo talks of how the scent of the pine trees makes him drowsy, I was strongly reminded of an afternoon spent on a park bench nodding off, one hand clutching a fat tome. It put me in mind of picnics and frisbees, dogs running and children running after them, everyone sprawled under green grass, the sky an unbroken blue above.
But for those who prefer the dank gloom characteristic of the season over the last vestiges of summer mingling with the season, there is the chapter set in Mirkwood.
It’s a forest where utter silence seems to reign beneath the eaves, a place utterly devoid of life. Full of gnarled trunks and ivy trailing to the floor. Where light only penetrates through the tree tops in the form of a faint green glimmer, ‘leaves piled endlessly thick on the forest floor’.
Though Bilbo and the dwarves nearly despair of the seemingly endless sea of trees, the picture drawn here appeals to woodland lovers. Trying to find shapes in twisted roots and branches, edging one’s way through dense thickets and finding a clearing so silent, every step seems like an intrusion into hallowed ground make my itinerant heart beat faster every fall.
In lieu of this, autumn approaches in Middle Earth as well while the company trudges their long, lonely way through Mirkwood, their ‘feet ruffled among the dead leaves of countless other autumns that drifted over the banks of the path from the deep red carpets of the forest.’
Browsing, Thrifting and Collecting
Readers who prefer thrifting for a cozy sweater at an outside flea market or scoring a rare book at an antique store will also find their due in The Hobbit.
After all, the quest that determines the story centres on the recovery of old treasure. Descriptions of the Arkenstone are enough to set many a heart aflame (anyone enamoured by Tolkien’s descriptions of the interplay between gems and light should read The Silmarillion!) but those who enjoy the written word more are in for a treat as well.
There is the map of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and the reading of the moon letters on it by Elrond. The riddle game between Gollum and Frodo, an homage to Anglo-Saxon poetry and culture, which saw recitals of riddles at, reminiscent of our own fondness for pub quizzes, trivia games and crossword puzzles.
Bird-Watching
In the first part of The Hobbit film trilogy, it is revealed that the dwarves are bent on returning to the Lonely Mountain because they have read the signs. This refers to the ravens returning.
While that is a lot of hogwash, it is emblematic for the importance of birds to the narrative. We are treated to an epic rescue from the conjoined threat of Orcs and wargs via a brood of majestic Eagles. A thrush tells Bard about the weak spot in the scaled armour of Smaug the Dragon after listening to Bilbo tell the dwarves about it, ensuring his victory, while the ravens provide news and serve as messengers to Thorin and company.
Reading these passages is not just a singular pleasure to those who enjoy watching aviary flight patterns or keeping track of the migratory pathways of our feathery friends but also a wonderful nod to the fables of talking animals many of us enjoyed in our early youth.
The story ends in fall, with Bilbo employed in that most quintessential fall activity-journaling, or, in his case, starting what would become a very significant part of hobbit history in the form of The Red Book, more commonly known as ‘There and Back Again’.
That title is prophetic in that it cajoles the reader to return to hobbit holes and eyries, caves and forests, again and again and again, as the wheel turns and the seasons pass.
