You Just Can't Fuck a Hobbit

I know that it's already blogged six ways from Sunday—I got to it via Whatevs (Dot Org) and I also saw it linked at Cup of Chica—but I can't help myself: Eurotrash's spirited sexual analysis of the men, women, and assorted others of Middle-Earth is a compelling, thought-provoking read.

Before the movies came out, I had no relationship with The Lord of the Rings. I tried to read the series when I was a kid, but I just couldn't do it. I found the books totally boring, a fact which has been a source of profound befuddlement for many of the men in my life. Indeed, when I revealed this truth to my fiancé, he replied, after a long, dazed pause, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." I tried to explain, but the look of anguish on his face stopped me. "Can we just talk about something else, please?" he implored.

Anyway, my point is that I don't have a lifelong yearning for any of the Lord of the Rings characters. When I saw Fellowship of the Rings, though, I developed a serious hard-on of the heart for Aragorn. It only occurs to me now that my crush on Aragorn is, indeed, a purely spiritual one, altogether unsullied by any carnal instincts. Thus, I must respectfully say that I just can't buy Ms. Eurotrash's description of the son of Arathorn's furious and straightforward manner in bed—his post-coronation open-mouth kiss notwithstanding.

This is, I believe, why I found The Lord of the Rings so wan and listless when I tried to read it as an adolescent. While I didn't require hardcore action in my reading material as a pre-teen, I did require the possibility of action, and Tolkien's characters are just a tweak away from the perversely chaste creations of George Lucas. At best, they embody a child's ideal of romance; at worst, they kind of creep me out.

Elves, as Ms. Eurotrash rightly points out, are nothing but trouble. And it's obvious that hobbits are unfuckable, regardless of what we might surmise from Sam's marriage to the busty barmaid. But I can't even envision the ostensible humans of Middle-Earth actually doing it, either. Even though they are, in Peter Jackson's rendering, perpetually filthy—unshaved, with dirt under their fingernails and greasy hair,—it's impossible to imagine them redolent of that particular funk known as sex.

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You Just Can't Fuck a Hobbit

I know that it's already blogged six ways from Sunday—I got to it via Whatevs (Dot Org) and I also saw it linked at Cup of Chica—but I can't help myself: Eurotrash's spirited sexual analysis of the men, women, and assorted others of Middle-Earth is a compelling, thought-provoking read.

Before the movies came out, I had no relationship with The Lord of the Rings. I tried to read the series when I was a kid, but I just couldn't do it. I found the books totally boring, a fact which has been a source of profound befuddlement for many of the men in my life. Indeed, when I revealed this truth to my fiancé, he replied, after a long, dazed pause, "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." I tried to explain, but the look of anguish on his face stopped me. "Can we just talk about something else, please?" he implored.

Anyway, my point is that I don't have a lifelong yearning for any of the Lord of the Rings characters. When I saw Fellowship of the Rings, though, I developed a serious hard-on of the heart for Aragorn. It only occurs to me now that my crush on Aragorn is, indeed, a purely spiritual one, altogether unsullied by any carnal instincts. Thus, I must respectfully say that I just can't buy Ms. Eurotrash's description of the son of Arathorn's furious and straightforward manner in bed—his post-coronation open-mouth kiss notwithstanding.

This is, I believe, why I found The Lord of the Rings so wan and listless when I tried to read it as an adolescent. While I didn't require hardcore action in my reading material as a pre-teen, I did require the possibility of action, and Tolkien's characters are just a tweak away from the perversely chaste creations of George Lucas. At best, they embody a child's ideal of romance; at worst, they kind of creep me out.

Elves, as Ms. Eurotrash rightly points out, are nothing but trouble. And it's obvious that hobbits are unfuckable, regardless of what we might surmise from Sam's marriage to the busty barmaid. But I can't even envision the ostensible humans of Middle-Earth actually doing it, either. Even though they are, in Peter Jackson's rendering, perpetually filthy—unshaved, with dirt under their fingernails and greasy hair,—it's impossible to imagine them redolent of that particular funk known as sex.