Seventy years ago, The Hobbit was published.
I've loved this story since I first read it back in my freshman year of high school. The adventure, the setting, the colorful and beyond dynamic characters--even now, after devouring Lord of the Rings many a times, I still find The Hobbit to be both Tolkien's great and most accessible creation. The sense of wonder that encompasses the book is, well, magical, and there's something about the chapter Riddles in the Dark that compels me to re-read it every now and then. Who ever knew that the plain ring young Bilbo stole from the cave freak Gollum would come to be such a pivotal item in the future? One wonders if Tolkien even suspected it then.
Currently, I have two copies of the book--one is a mass market paperback, but the other is by far one of my favorite things and I'm really not materialistic at all. A few Christmases ago my sister D got me this, a collector's edition:
I also have a graphic novel adaption of the story, as well as that bad-ish yet somewhat comforting animated movie. Yeah, I like The Hobbit. Well, love could actually be used it. It inspired me greatly, continues to do so, and is always a joy to go back and experience. Roads go ever ever on...