Somewhere in the last few months I lost track of my reading schedule. It occurs to me now that I might make passing mention that I did finish reading the first book of Constantine’s Wraeththu trilogy, after which I (sadly) couldn’t force myself to read the next. This is a sad thing to me, because I rather liked the Crown Of Silence. I’m not sure what to do about that, really. As a means of consoling myself, I stole my mother’s second edition printings of the Rings Trilogy and The Hobbit. I probably have said this elsewhere before, but it is indeed true that I have never finished the trilogy, and have been called any number of names for admitting such, but really, fuck you very much for your opinion, move along. Now that I’ve seen the theatrical releases of all three, I’m comfortable in the pursuit of reading the textual versions. I finished FotR recently and started into Towers, and have found much that I missed in my first, ill-fated foray into the journey, but I also re-discovered something of my initial reaction: some of that stuff is tremendously dry. This in no way subtracts from my sentiments that the books deserve every one of their laurels for being what they are to the entire fantasy literature world. But if you’re a “Rings” virgin, and not much given to reading within the genre, you might want to just see the movies and consider yourself reasonably edified. ‘Nuff said.