The Master would have been 132 today. Funny to think
that when he was my age Truman was president, the Cold War was in its infancy,
the atom bomb was still just an American weapon, and his antithesis, the anti-Tolkien,
George R. R. Martin, was a newborn babe. And he’d still be six years away from publishing
his magnum opus.
(By the way, these R.R.’s in authorial pen names
fascinate me to no end.)
Anyway, since Tolkien was a dedicated if not devout
Catholic, I do not think he would mind too much if I delayed my 2024 Tolkien
Reading Plan a couple of weeks while I make my way through the books my loved
ones have given me this Christmas – slim volumes on the founding fathers, the Jacksonian
era of American History, and the Alamo. Once done the Silmarillion gets
opened and Ilúvatar creates Middle-earth, and the quest begins ...
Happy birthday, and happy readings!
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