Having finally finished Gust Front and having proceeded to polish off Flowertown, I am now reading The Last Ringbearer, a book by Kirill Eskov (translated from the Russian) which postulates that the events of The Lord of the Rings are another example of history being written by the victors. In this telling, Sauron is just another king, Gandalf is a pompous ass who wants to destroy Mordor to stop its incipient industrial revolution, the elves are xenophobic and manipulative invaders from another dimension, Aragorn is a grubby usurper who murders Denethor (who was actually the king of Gondor rather than a mere steward) and keeps Faramir and Eowyn as hostages to ensure the cooperation of Rohan and Gondor … you get the idea. While not up to the level of other revisionist literature like Wicked, it’s interesting enough, and it’s freely available for download in various formats (to the displeasure of Tolkien’s publishers, apparently). More money to buy medication for Tucker!
This isn’t actually going to be a review of The Lord of the Rings films, for a couple of reasons:
- It’s common knowledge that LotR is the Best. Movie. Trilogy. Ever.
- Everybody has already seen them anyway.*
*If by some misfortune you haven’t seen them and haven’t read the books, this post will contain major spoilers.
So, no, this is not a review. Instead, it’s an anecdote, which I hope you will find amusing, about what happened when I finally managed to get my wife to sit down and finish watching the films.