— Dr. Who.
— Mister Rogers
The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkein
I picked up J.R.R Tolkien’s The Hobbit a while back so I could compare the book to the upcoming movie. Tolkien’s adventures, as always, never disappoint. I mean, who wouldn’t enjoy a fantastical tale of dwarves, elves, goblins, trolls, wizards, and a dragon covered in jewels—all through the eyes of a little Hobbit with hairy feet?
Harry Potter and the Sourcerer’s Stone by J.K. Rowling
I can’t believe it has taken me this long to start the Harry Potter series. After a somewhat awkward jaunt to the juvenile section at my local public library, I quickly slipped into the world of Hogwarts.
I love how Harry has yet to understand the powers he has within his reach. He’s already a huge celebrity, and the poor kid really has no idea of the greatness he’s destined to. The fame and power hasn’t gotten to his head yet, and that’s refreshing.
The other character I’m really enjoying is Hermione. She studies her ass off, and keeps Harry and Ron on their toes.
The section in the book that gave me goosebumps is when Dumbledore is explaining to Harry details about his recent encounter with Voldemort:
“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you leaves its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign…to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good” (Rowling, 299).