Homeward Bound

The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien

Greetings, my fellow book-lovers!

Today, I’m very excited to bring you Harvey Hamer.

Despite being only 21 years of age, Harvey has written no fewer than twenty-two books across three interconnected series. He also writes Harvey’s Newsletter, where he explores the craft of writing itself, as well as some shorter serialised fiction.

Today, he turns his attention to a book that made him: The Return of the King.

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Venetian sunlight filtered through the window of our cramped hotel room. For one final morning before leaving, nestled in my bunk bed, I opened my vintage copy of The Return of the King. That morning, I happened to read the end of the Homeward Bound chapter. It ended like this:

"Well here we are, just the four of us that started out together," said Merry. "We have left all the rest behind, one after another. It seems almost like a dream that has slowly faded."

"Not to me," said Frodo. "To me it feels more like falling asleep again."

These words, mirroring my own sentiments, like tears trying to escape, have remained with me ever since.

Tolkien's Middle Earth was the first fantasy world I fell in love with, captivated by Peter Jackson’s "Lord of the Rings" trilogy and the PC games and action figures that followed. I've read many books since, but it was only the impending release of Rings of Power, and the act of gathering every completed Middle Earth work, that prompted me to commit to a full read through.

To provide some context, my school traditionally organised a two-week trip around Italy to celebrate the end of our time at school. Delayed due to COVID, our trip finally happened in September 2022. My classmates meant and still do mean a lot to me. We had grown and learned together, creating lifelong bonds.

One memorable aspect of our trip was singing a mixture of archaic verses at various holy sites, creating an atmosphere of camaraderie and shared experience among the divine architecture. We sang in churches and town squares, our songs echoing in painted domes, or in the gathering dusk.

It was within a smaller church complex in Florence where we first sang at full volume, having only practiced the songs a few times in an alley outside. That practice was spectacular enough. After not singing together for over a year, we sounded pretty good. We even perfected the four-part harmonies and timings, and a few passersby stopped to video us, and a few locals stuck their heads out of their windows to listen. 

It was the reverberation in the church though, as we stood together in a circle beneath a beautiful dome, that made my spirit soar. As we sang, I looked around the circle at all the singing faces, trying not to look at the gathering crowd, and just felt the connection and joy in what we created together. Every time we sang after that, though our singing and the acoustics of our location ranged in quality, I felt the same feeling. I felt it the last time we sang together, around a well outside a restaurant in a small irregular-shaped square as darkness set in over Venice. But as I sang that final time, there was a bittersweet sight to each face, a bittersweet ring to the words we were singing together. As we sang ‘Mi corazón te adora’, I meant it with every fibre of my being as the sun set on the city and our era together. 

The final morning in Venice, I could feel the magic of the trip fading, the unity of our group altering. It was the last day we’d all spend together in this way. I knew that with each goodbye, I’d feel more like Frodo, leaving all the fantastic places of Middle Earth and all the non-hobbit members of the fellowship and the elves behind. Reading the final words of the Homeward Bound chapter felt like a wonderful confluence of my story and theirs. I almost get misty-eyed thinking about it. The resonance I felt with Tolkien’s words and his world in that pivotal moment in my life will always stay with me.

Tolkien's writing stays with me beyond that moment, though. His intricate world-building, masterful story arcs with concurrent interweaving threads, the way every character’s journey is resolved, and the detailed descriptions inspire and fascinate me. The Return of the King, with its rich storylines not covered in the films, evoked my emotions and cemented its foundational status in my life. 

As our Italy trip ended, so too did the adventures of Frodo and Sam. As they travelled through Mordor and back to the Shire, my journey mirrored theirs, though less perilous, travelling through the hills of Italy from Florence to Venice, filled with art, history, camaraderie, and beauty. Looking back, the trip feels like a dream, a moment of true living that makes everyday life seem like sleep. Just as Frodo said himself.

I urge you to read Tolkien’s works, including those finished by his son Christopher. They are an incredible tapestry of stories and world-building, more akin to a stretching work of Renaissance art, bathed by Venetian sunlight, than any ordinary book.

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Harvey Hamer writes Harvey’s Newsletter.

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