My Version of the Hobbit

Everyone Is Retelling and Retranslating, Why Not Me?

Photo by Adrien Aletti on Unsplash

Happy Sunday afternoon, everyone! I know I’ve been dwelling on some heavy topics lately, and for good reason. But I think I need a little boost. Maybe we can have a bit of fun. So, why not? I want to share a story about a hobbit. His name is Bilbo Baggins. He’s five feet of khaki-colored neurosis, and he lives in a hole in the ground. It’s not a “Frat House on Spring Break" type of hole. It’s a cozy, oak-paneled cottage with warm lighting and a hint of anxiety. Bilbo eats seven meals a day, drinks tea as if it’s a personality trait, and doesn’t enjoy hiking.

As is common in stories about hobbits, a wizard appears.

Gandalf. Big beard. Tall hat. Gives off the energy of a man who once taught at Oxford but now lives in a yurt. He tells Bilbo, “Hey. I’m planning a road trip. There will be danger. There will be death. You in?”

Bilbo, who has never left the Shire and gets nervous when he runs out of napkins, says, “No, thank you. I have plans. Those plans involve staying here, eating muffins, and not dying.”

Gandalf isn’t alone.

Thirteen dwarves show up like it’s an intervention hosted by a barbershop quartet. They eat all his food, trash his kitchen, sing weird songs about gold, and then tell him he’s the burglar. As in: “We need someone small, sneaky, and very nervous to steal from a dragon. So naturally, we thought of you.”

Instead of filing a noise complaint, Bilbo just goes. He packs a handkerchief and some courage he finds under the couch and joins this traveling rock band of bearded chaos.

What follows is, well, kind of insane.

Bilbo fights trolls, gets kidnapped by goblins, is chased by giant spiders, and at one point, he meets a creature named Gollum, who looks like a wet paper towel that learned to talk. Gollum challenges him to a riddle contest, which is the most British form of conflict ever.

Bilbo wins, somehow, by stealing a magical ring. This ring grants invisibility, which is every introvert’s dream. Bilbo gets his hands on this ancient artifact of power and immediately uses it to avoid talking to people.

Eventually, they reach the mountain, confront Smaug the Dragon, who is less of a dragon and more of a sarcastic furnace with wings, and things explode. Dwarves reclaim their home, everyone fights over treasure like it’s Black Friday at Target, and Bilbo’s like, “Cool. I’m going to go back to my snacks now.” He returns home to find out everyone assumed he was dead, sold his stuff on Craigslist, and moved on. Bilbo’s just standing there thinking, “I went out ONCE.”

The moral of The Hobbit is this:

Say yes exactly once, and suddenly you’re in a cave playing riddles with a psychotic swamp man while being hunted by orcs and emotionally manipulated by a talking dragon.

Stay home, kids.

Drink your tea. Avoid wizards.

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