Cussedness
The natural cussedness of things in general.
-
The Children of Húrin by J.R.R.Tolkien
There are those in this world who do not appreciate the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. Should you self-identify as a member of this group, you should probably read no futher; I am a dork for Tolkien, and have been ever since, aged eight, I read The Hobbit far past bedtime, in a sliver of illumination from the landing light. I can appreciate that many cannot abide his writing, however, and I wouldn’t dream of trying to proselytise. He is an idiosyncratic writer indeed; I had to give up when attempting The Silmarillion for the first time, overwhelmed by the slew of genealogies and largely characterless warring individuals making up at least the first part of that intimidating book. I was, therefore, a little wary of this latest release from J.R.R Industries Incorporated, but am happy to say that whilst The Children of Húrin is not as readable as The Lord of The Rings, it is still an engaging and interesting tale, and I can recommend it to anyone who enjoys the more famous stories of Prof. Tolkien and would like to find a way into the history and mythologies that underlie those works. In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I’ve returned to The Silmarillion for another attempt, and I am finding it much easier going this time around. It’s still a ridiculously large tome though, and this (in combination with digressionary re-readings of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings) has resulted in the distinct lack of other reading-related posts recently.