Let us not divide the human race into Eloi and Morlocks: pretty children -- "elves" as the eighteenth century often idiotically called them -- with their fairy-tales (carefully pruned), and dark Morlocks tending their machines. If fairy-story as a kind is worth reading at all it is worthy to be written for and read by adults. They will, of course, put more in and get more out than children can. Then, as a branch of a genuine art, children may hope to get fairy-stories fit for them to read and yet within their measure; as they may hope to get suitable introductions to poetry, history, and the sciences. Though it may be better for them to read some things, especially fairy-stories, that are beyond their measure rather than short of it. Their books like their clothes should allow for growth, and their books at any rate should encourage it. ("On Fairy Stories," page 45, from Tree and Leaf in The Tolkien Reader, 1966)
Tokien's two novels can work well together to achieve this purpose. The Hobbit, written for children, with its whimsical tone and light hearted treatment of frightening things, along with its Hobbit's-eye glimpses of a large, ancient, and complex world, forms a training ground where young readers can grow familiar with Tolkien's setting in particular and with the "fairy-story" in general. Readers' accounts of how they discovered Tolkien often repeat a similar theme: discovery at a young age, and continual re-reading through maturity. (Neil Gaiman, for instance). They grow with these books and are likewise prompted to growth by them. Some of my students have reported similar experiences with Harry Potter, particularly the ones who grew up parallel to Harry as the books were published. They grew in maturity with Harry and also grew as readers as the books grew in length, depth, and complexity--as if a single, favorite childhood coat could grow with you into adulthood, comfortably worn and familiar.
My own introduction to Tolkien followed a similar path. I first read The Hobbit in the summer between fourth and fifth grades, in a hand-me-down paperback from my older brother. (I have a vivid memory of reading it while lying in the shade near the vending machines at our local public pool, a place more precious to me for summer reading than swimming, as poolsides still are for me now). In fifth grade, I remember wanting to go on to read The Lord of the Rings (this time in battered, flea market paperbacks that someone in my family had acquired for me). My teacher rightly expressed a concern that, however accessible The Hobbit was, the larger book might be a bit too challenging for me. I honestly can't recall whether or not I took her advice and waited until 6th grade. The only clear memory I have of my first reading of the trilogy was on a family weekend trip to the Adirondacks in the fall: I was lying in bed (a decrepit living room couch) in front of a dying fire late at night, everyone else asleep, in a lakeside cabin (the one pictured above). We took many such trips then, including ones I remember in both the fifth and sixth grades--this might have been either. I do know the chapters that kept me up were the final ones of The Two Towers, when Shelob attacks and Frodo is lost.
Indeed, the books were "beyond my measure," to use Tolkien's phrase. But they allowed for growth--re-readings, rediscoveries, and new realizations were numerous and continue to be--and most certainly encouraged it. And also true to Tolkien's point, I "put more in and get more out" than I did then. Every year that I teach The Hobbit, I'm amazed to see something new in that deceptively simple tale--the same one that I read and enjoyed as an almost-fifth-grader--that I haven't seen before.
"Tolkien 365" is a (hopefully) daily reflection on a quote from the writings of J.R.R. Tolkien, beginning with The Lord of the Rings and branching into his other writings as opportunity and inspiration allow. Comments are especially welcome. Page references are from the hardcover American Second Edition, published by Houghton Mifflin.
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