I was thinking, based on something I saw on Facebook, that today is J. R. R. Tolkien’s birthday. Then I took the unwonted precaution of checking it, and found that it’s actually tomorrow.

Which means I can actually post this in time for you to see it soon enough to do something about it.

So if you want to prepare for the traditional Tolkien toast, that will be tomorrow. Friday.

Tolkien is (he said, in a low voice as if he was expressing something not entirely predictable) a great inspiration to me.

For years, the man toiled away at this huge project, shoehorning it into his rare free moments. With no realistic prospect of publication, ever. He had no reason in the world to believe that anyone would be interested in reading it. When his friend C. S. Lewis said he liked it, “Tollers” was delighted.

Think of the cultural phenomenon The Lord of the Rings has become since that time. The millions of copies sold in a multitude of languages. The biographies and commentaries and scholarship. The film adaptations. The fandom. The games and memorabilia and merchandising. Whole careers have been built on the back of this fantasy, which has proven a very solid, load-bearing structure indeed, for a work of the imagination.

It’s hard to believe that there was a time when the story had one (1) fan in the world, outside of Tolkien’s own family.

It’s this kind of fact that keeps delusions alive in lesser writers. I could name one in particular, but let’s not talk about … him.

All together now: “The Professor!”