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Notes -
As an unabashed and unrepentant Tolkien superfan, I will say that Fellowship takes off significantly once they get to Bree. If you're not there yet, definitely hold on.
It's a phenomenal tale told with beautiful prose. But really the core of the appeal of fantasy is of being transported to another place; to escape the dull, superficial reality we live in for a world that is suffused with magical unreality. Part of why Tolkien sits at the apex of the genre is that The Lord of the Rings depicts a world much grander than our own, shrunken and withered. There is a sense of longing and nostalgia for a forgotten and irrevocably lost past when we greater than we are now. I think that people very keenly feel some loss of wonder and grandeur in the world, whether that loss be cultural, intellectual, environmental, and Lord of the Rings laments that loss in a very evocative way.
I saw someone point this out very clearly the other day: we associate "post-apocalyptic" with Sci-Fi, so we don't immediately recognize the Lord of the Rings as post-apocalyptic fantasy!
There were civilizations who carved statues and skyscrapers out of mountains, who turned forests into pocket universes of magic and beauty, who uplifted other forests to sentience, who built subcontinent-spanning empires ...
And we're walking through their ruins, terrified at the likelihood that even the few remaining places that people can call home are going to be lost as well. We see remnants of magic fading away, remnants of high culture in retreat, we've been outright told that past victories were hollow and temporary, and we can see that even another victory here would be merely the beginning of hope to preserve just a part of what's left ...
And what's left is still beautiful enough to want to preserve, if only a part of it, for however long it and however much of it can last. "We have fought the long defeat", says Galadriel, but even that length itself is a form of victory.
I wouldn't call LOTR post-apocalyptic just because there was no apocalypse. The world is in a long, slow decline rather than having had a single event after which everything is inferior to what came before. Even in the beginning of the world, there are legendary deeds that can't be replicated (Yavanna can't make replacements for the Two Trees, and FĂ«anor can't recreate the Silmarils).
I mean, at least as the movies present it, you could call Sauron's first attack a form of Apocalypse.
And there was an even bigger attack (with a bigger defense) ages before that from Morgoth. But really, even before that the world was in decline. It's just the nature of the world Tolkien created, and it wasn't pushed into decline by any particular event.
Also, I wouldn't count the movies' depiction of anything in LOTR as being particularly meaningful. They're good movies, but Peter Jackson didn't really grok LOTR if the movies are anything to go by.
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That's a beautiful way to put it and I think that was a feature I noticed but never quite grasped when I first read them.
So much of the world is so inherently 'unimpressive' when viewed objectively. The Mines of Moria are cavernous and extensive... and (almost) completely uninhabited. But through Gimli we understand that they used to be bustling and productive on a scale that would be hard to imagine. And yet in the story's present, they're just some big caves.
The Kingdom of Rohan is legendary for its vast horseback armies. And when we first encounter it it's basically crumbling apart due to the King being decrepit.
Time and time again we encounter some amazing monument to the achievements of a bygone civilization, and the current residents are kind of just milling around in them waiting for... something. Except many of the characters are old enough to remember those bygone civilizations, and indeed have to be reminded why it might be worth fighting to preserve what is left.
It simultaneously makes the world feel extensively 'lived in' and also lends that "sense of longing and nostalgia for a forgotten and irrevocably lost past" as a thematic and atmospheric feature of the story.
This and your point below about the Tom Bombadil chapters did actually add a lot for me, and I'll try to read the books appreciating that perspective
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Matt Colville did a D&D video on dead empires and quoted this bit from Elrond.
Which really drives home that the world we see is a shadow of a shadow of what it once was.
And funny enough, this actually helps the Tom Bombadil portion of book 1 make more thematic sense to me. On first read it sticks out like a sore thumb for how 'unneeded' it is.
But the existence of Tom, his carefree attitude and isolation from the rest of the world, and the raw power he displays in an entirely flippant manner is, if I recall, the first and biggest hint the reader gets that this world used to be full of powerful entities who were capable of casual acts of both creation and destruction. And it turns out they still exist in certain pockets of the world, but they're so rare that they have faded mostly into mythic status.
So he plugs into the greater story as a simple example of the what the world used to be like, where entities like Tom or the Balrog or, I guess Shelob counts, were commonly encountered and together created a much richer, more dynamic world than the one we find them in, where they're hemmed in to their little corner having very little influence on the course of events. Doesn't make the Bombadil chapters any less weird, but you can see what Tolkein was trying to get across to the readers early on.
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