Every night before bed, I (or Cowgrit) read books to our boys. Each boy picks out what they want me to read, and we settle down in my and Cowgrit’s bed, with me in the middle and a boy on either side. The choices of what to read range from a comic book to a kids encyclopedia — whatever they want. Often I also get Calfgrit8 to read to us.

A couple weeks ago, I offered to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit (or There And Back Again). It’s been a couple and a half of decades since I read this book — back in early high school — so although I remember the story pretty well, I had forgotten the actual text.

I remembered that The Lord of the Rings was dense with archaic language (as I’ve read bits and pieces of those books in the last ten years), but The Hobbit is supposed to be a children’s book. Although I don’t remember having trouble reading it as a teenager, and I can read it in my head easily enough, reading it aloud is very difficult. Reading it aloud is like trying to read in a second language.

The far bank was steep and slippery. When they got to the top of it, leading their ponies, they saw that the great mountains had marched down very near to them. Already they seemed only a day’s easy journey from the feet of the nearest. Dark and drear it looked, though there were patches of sunlight on its brown sides, and behind its shoulders the tips of snow-peaks gleamed.

Try reading that aloud. Or maybe it’s just me trying to read old-English style in my Southern accent. I felt bad trying to read the funny and exciting tale of the trolls fighting amongst themselves:

“You’re a fat fool, William,” said Bert, “as I’ve said afore this evening.”

“And you’re a lout!”

“And I won’t take that from you Bill Huggins,” says Bert, and puts his fist in William’s eye.

Then there was a gorgeous row. Bilbo had just enough wits left, when Bert dropped him on the ground, to scramble out of the way of their feet, before they were fighting like dogs, and calling one another all sorts of perfectly true and applicable names in very loud voices. Soon they were locked in one another’s arms, and rolling nearly into the fire kicking and thumping, while Tom whacked at them both with a branch to bring them to their sense — and that of course only made them madder than ever.

The story is a lot of fun, and Calfgrit8 is enjoying it immensely, despite my mangling of the language. Before starting it, to get his interest, I told him the book was about a hobbit, a group of dwarves, and a wizard — I had to explain what a hobbit is — on a journey to recover the dwarves’ home and gold from an evil dragon. I told him they would encounter trolls, elves, goblins, giant spiders, and a strange creature called Gollum.

So far we’re only up to the group’s arrival in Rivendell. I have a bookmark that folds out to show a map of Middle-Earth, and we keep checking it to track their journey through the lands.

When I suggested I read this book to him, I didn’t realize just how difficult it would be to read aloud. Had I remembered, or had I checked before mentioning it, I don’t know if I would have agreed to read it each night. I might have just waited till he was older and could read it on his own. Even if I’m not ruining the story with my reading aloud, there’re lots of words I’m sure he doesn’t understand yet.

But he’s still showing interest, and he said tonight he wants us to read it every night until we finish it. So I guess I’m doing something right.

Bullgrit

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