The Hobbit: Awakening the Took in us

Note: This is the first of a few essays I plan to write about the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. It’s hard to express the impact Tolkien’s writings have had upon myself but I hope to explain at least some of the reasons why on The Silver Key.

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This is a story of how a Baggins had an adventure, and found himself doing and saying things altogether unexpected. He may have lost the neighbors’ respect, but he gained—well, you will see whether he gained anything in the end.

--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Did Bilbo Baggins “gain” anything in the end of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit? Of course, the answer is yes. On his adventures over the Misty Mountains, through the gloom of Mirkwood forest, and to his eventual confrontation with Smaug in Lonely Mountain, Bilbo accumulates great personal wealth and earns eternal honor and stature amongst the great peoples of the Third Age.

But Bilbo returns to Bag End with more than just treasure and fame. His adventure with the dwarves ignites a spirit that he never knew he had, one that lies dormant in us all. His personal gain is the true treasure of his journey, and this (among a host of other reasons) is in my opinion what makes The Hobbit a truly special book.

A bit of Bilbo in us all
The Hobbit succeeds as an adventure story and a world-building creation, introducing us to Tolkien’s Middle Earth. But I also think it’s so successful and accessible because of its central character: it’s easy to identify with Bilbo. Like him, we’re fond of food and cheer and peace. Dangerous adventures are not the lot for most of us. For every “uncrowned king in waiting” (i.e., Aragorn) or “displaced grandson on a singular mission of revenge” (e.g., Thorin) there are a thousand Bilbos, whose struggles are with weeds in the garden or bothersome and nosy neighbors. The lot of men are actually hobbits at heart, if not in stature.

There is no shame in our Hobbit-like nature. It’s sensible to stay at home and out of the cold and wet, to favor hearth and home over sword and strife. The wide world is full of adventures, but many are dangerous and often do not end in happiness. Adventures also involve displacement—a shaking up of our comfortable, safe routines. It’s simply not easy to strike out on The Road.

But, as The Hobbit demonstrates, the rewards for such undertakings can be quite great.

At the start of The Hobbit Bilbo is living a comfortable, safe, nondescript existence at his home in Bag End. He seems content to smoke his pipe, enjoy his food and his garden, and live peacefully until the end of his days. But something stirs the pot: Gandalf comes knocking, carving a symbol on Bilbo’s round green door with his staff:

Burglar wants a good job, plenty of Excitement and reasonable Reward.

Bilbo initially says he wants no part of Gandalf’s adventures. But the song of the dwarves in the dark of Bag End—one of my favorite scenes in all of Tolkien’s writings—stirs something in him:

As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.

When Thorin finally reveals what the adventure will entail—crossing leagues of dangerous ground and recovering an ancient treasure possessed by the dragon Smaug—Bilbo is naturally scared out of his wits. He thinks the mission is crazy and wants no part of it.

However, despite his love of the comforts of home and the frightening prospect of the unknown, Bilbo yearns for something more. Part of him is not satisfied with his home and hearth. When he awakes to find that the dwarves have left without him, his reaction surprises him: Relief mixed with regret.

Indeed he was really relieved after all to think that they had all gone without him; and without bothering to wake him up… and yet in a way he could not help feeling just a trifle disappointed. The feeling surprised him.

“Don’t be a fool, Bilbo Baggins!” he said to himself, “thinking of dragons and all that outlandish nonsense at your age.”

Gandalf arrives and hustles Bilbo out the door and onto the road, famously without his pipe, tobacco, or pocket-handkerchief. But don’t be misled: Bilbo is not forced to undertake the journey to Lonely Mountain. Although he is swayed by song and shamed by cowardice, the choice is his. When opportunity (literally) lands on his doorstep in the form of a wizard and a tumble of dwarves, it wakes up a spirit of adventure that, if not nascent, is part of his fiber; Bilbo possesses the potential for great deeds and actions. This is his “Tookish” side.

When Bilbo overhears Gloin questioning his bravery the words set a spark to this heady mixture of fuel. He makes his choice right here:

Will he do, do you think? It is all very well for Gandalf to talk about this hobbit being fierce, but one shriek like that in a moment of excitement would be enough to wake the dragon and all his relatives, and kill the lot of us. I think it sounded more like fright than excitement! In fact, if it had not been for the sign on the door, I should have been sure we’d come to the wrong house. As soon as I clapped eyes on the little fellow bobbing and puffing on the mat, I had my doubts. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.

Then Mr. Baggins turned the handle and went in. The Took side had won. He suddenly felt he would go without bed and breakfast to be thought fierce. As for little fellow bobbing on the mat it almost made him really fierce. Many a time afterwards the Baggins part regretted what he did not, and he said to himself: “Bilbo, you were a fool; you walked right in and put your foot in it.”

Bilbo soon has legitimate reasons for regret: his adventure nearly comes to a crashing end when he and the dwarves are captured by the trolls, only to be saved by Gandalf. But he proves his bravery when he drives off the spiders of Mirkwood, his resourcefulness when he frees the dwarves from the wood-elves, and his selflessness when he steals the Arkenstone to deliver it to Bard and the elves, sacrificing his share of the treasure and his friendship with the dwarves in a desperate attempt to forge a truce. He has experienced war and grieved the loss of some of his beloved companions. This is not the same Bilbo who thinks only of his personal comforts; he is awakened to a larger world of accountability.

When at last he returns to Bag-End to “Look at last on meadows green,” it is with a new vision, with “Eyes that fire and sword have seen, and horror in the halls of stone.” This is not the same Bilbo who went stumbling onto the Road; he is changed for the better, less innocent but also not as naive, wiser and self-sufficient and with a deeper appreciation for peace.

Chance, choice, and fate
So is Tolkien’s message in The Hobbit that we are in control of our own destiny, and that the future is purely what me make of it? I don’t believe it’s that simple. After all, had Gandalf not come along and knocked on his door, Bilbo likely never would have left Hobbiton.

At first glance, capriciousness seems to play a part in the events of The Hobbit. Gandalf, introduced in as a wandering wizard with a reputation for mystery and fireworks, arrives in Hobbiton to seek out a suitable burglar. Bilbo, middle-aged and leaving a bachelor’s existence, seems like a sensible choice on Gandalf's part, but little else.

But Tolkien offers early hints that Gandalf’s arrival is more than coincidence. He knows about Bilbo’s Tookish background and that there is more to him than meets the eye. Indeed, Gandalf selected Bilbo for this task:

“Of course there is a mark,” said Gandalf. “I put it there myself. For very good reasons.”

“Chance” is not the random series of events that it first appears to be in The Hobbit. There are much larger forces and powers at play that have a hand in fate’s shaping. Says Gandalf:

“Surely you don’t disbelieve the prophecies, because you had a hand in bringing them about yourself? You don’t really suppose, do you, that all your adventures and escapes were managed by mere luck, just for your sole benefit? You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins, and I am very fond of you; but you are only quite a little fellow in a wide world after all!”

Clearly there is a combination of choice and fate in The Hobbit. Middle-Earth is a world where larger forces and prophecies interact with men (and Hobbits) possessed of a free will. Which leads to the next question: Who is Gandalf and why has he chosen Bilbo, when he could have chosen many other great heroes of the Third Age? What led him to Bilbo’s door and why did he leave his mark? And how is free will and fate reconciled in Tolkien’s great myth, being The Lord of the Rings?

I’ll try to tackle these questions another time.

Three reasons I'm staying out of the 4E fray

So for all the hype, wailing, gnashing of teeth, criticism, and praise I've seen heaped upon the newest version of Dungeons and Dragons, I've yet to join the fray. Why? I haven't so much as glanced at a single page of the 4E rules, let alone purchased a copy.

Until now I've kept up with each new iteration of D&D: Starting with Moldvay basic back in 1981-82 or so, I played that for a short while and then switched to AD&D 1E, dabbled briefly in 2E, went on a prolonged roleplaying break, then resumed playing again in 2001 after picking up 3E. Currently I play in two 3.5E campaigns with the same group. So basically, I have purchased at least the core books of every edition of D&D that TSR and WOTC have published since 1981. It stands to reason that I should own a copy of fourth edition, at least for the curiousity factor. But I don't.

Why? I'm not sure myself. A touch of apathy, perhaps. But more likely its due to the following three reasons:

1. 3E is far from played out in our group. Our group has alternated two campaigns for seven years or so, but with our busy schedules we probably average one game every three weeks. In this time I've managed to advance one character (an elven ranger) up to level six, and another character (a human figher/rogue) up to ninth level. That's it. Not only have we not played a truly high level campaign, but we haven't even tried out all the character classes. Heck, I've never cast a spell in anger in 3E.

2. From what I've read, 4E seems like a pretty radical departure from the D&D I know. It still sounds like fun, just a different kind of fun: A lot more like a tactical miniatures exercise than past editions. Since I like miniatures games--and enjoy breaking out the battlemat in our 3.5 game--I'd probably like playing 4E. But whether or not it would scratch my D&D/roleplaying itch remains to be seen.

3. Wizards of the Coast's business strategy to release a regular stream of "core" rulebooks. This is the one that really irks me. Our group has gotten 7+ years of enjoyment out of 3E playing nothing but straight three book core, with all classes taken right from the Player's Handbook. I'm a bit uneasy about having to buy a stream of "core" player's handbooks to keep up with the rules. This may not bother hard-core D&Ders, or folks who want maximum character options, but for casual/occasional gamers like me it's a major turn-off. For example, I enjoy purchasing modules, but if they can't be used unless you own multi-volume core rules I won't be bothered.

Fargo Rock City is hair metal heartache

Give Chuck Klosterman a lot of credit: It takes talent to write a book that is so compulsively readable, intensely personal, and relentlessly engaging it's almost impossible to put down, and at the same time is so close-minded, indecisive, and well, flat-out incorrect on some matters that you also want to toss it through the nearest window.

These were the emotions I wrestled with while reading Fargo Rock City: A Heavy Metal Odyssey in Rural North Dakota. Would I recommend the book? Absolutely. The nostalgia and Klosterman's insights are worth the price of admission.

But if you're a fan of "real" heavy metal, be prepared to get angry.

Let me start by saying that Fargo Rock City is mistitled. For one, it's not actually set in Fargo, but details the author's years as a teenage rocker in the nearby town of Wyndmere. But that's hardly important. What is important, is, well, it's not really about heavy metal. It's about hair metal, and for anyone who knows a damned thing about metal, there's a big difference.

Klosterman's purpose for writing Fargo Rock City was to write a book about the cultural impact of heavy metal from a fan's perspective. It's a great concept, except that Klosterman only likes bands like Motley Crue, Bon Jovi, Poison, Warrant, Def Leppard, and Cinderella. He does a terrific job explaining why their music deserves greater recognition and played a huge role in his formative teenage years, and continues to do so. He takes long overdue shots at pretentious music critics who turn up their noses at metal and try to pretend the whole damned genre never existed. He exhorts fellow metal fans, now in their 30's and 40's, to shed their guilt and proudly proclaim their love for metal.

Awesome! I'm on board!

But then Klosterman essentially slags all of the rest of metal, the real stuff at its best. Bands like Judas Priest, Motorhead, Metallica, Iron Maiden, Slayer, and Megadeth, not to mention death metal, power metal, black metal, etc. are either overlooked or treated with outright contempt. Which kind of groups Klosterman in with the same types of pretentious music critics that he himself takes delight in skewering.

Still, I do highly recommend this book as a fun, lively, engaging read. It's certainly $12 I don't regret spending. As I read it, I felt compelled to jot down or highlight some of the stuff that got my head nodding in agreement or my blood pressure soaring (which is generally a strong sign of a worthwhile read). Here are a few:

The Good

It evokes intense bouts of nostalgia. For the record, I don't hate hair metal. Far from it. I'm a big fan of KISS, and there's lots to love about Guns and Roses, Def Leppard, and Motley Crue. Klosterman's passion for this style of music is contagious, and his recollection of the 1980's small-town metal lifestyle--cruising aimlessly around in cars, listening to tapes (not CDs or records, but tapes, damn it), feeling bad-ass without actually being bad-ass, being on the "inside" of a genre of music reviled by not only your parents, but radio stations, mass media and all "those people" that just didn't get it--rings true. I remember those days with fondness.

He nails the definition of glam metal. Klosterman calls it an appeal to an unspoken lifestyle, that of living the life of a bad-ass, hard-partying rocker. I'm still convinced that metal fans were as much in love with the image and the idea of metal as they were the sound.

He has a good taste in glam metal. Klosterman sings the praises of Cinderella and Guns and Roses, undoubtedly the two best bands in the hair metal genre. His favorite album and one he feels best represents what glam metal is all about is Appetite for Destruction (agreed). He says Long Cold Winter may have been one of the best albums of the 1980s in any genre. Again, no quarrels from me.

His criticisms of alternative music are dead-on. The "Seattle wave" may have knocked metal off of its pop culture pedestal and sent it sprawling on its bloated ass, but the grunge/alternative message that replaced metal was, at its core, hollow and phony. And, unlike Poison and Winger, it wasn't even fun: Says Klosterman:

"Bret Michaels was important because he never tried to be; he just wanted to be cool, which was once the single biggest goal in my life. Too many of those indie bands were consumed with the misguided belief that their destiny was to recalibrate the American mind; they tried to hard to seem significant."

The Bad

He consistenly conflates hair metal with heavy metal. Klosterman: "Every style of music has its own philosophy of ethics. Heavy metal's philosophy was about getting wasted as possible and walking into a room with a bimbo on both of your arms." Um, excuse me? Not that I'm opposed to that philosophy, and it may be true of hair metal, but it's not true of a great number of heavy metal acts. I love to party and act stupid, too, but I like to think that metal--or at least some metal--is about something more than "Don't need nothing, but a good time." But it seems that bands who don't drink themselves into oblivion or bang everything that moves are beneath the author.

He misunderstands and often trashes real heavy metal. Klosterman describes Iron Maiden as "boring and self-consciously complex," and the lyrics "more comedic than poetic." He also claims that Maiden became an elite band due to Eddie, their mascot. He cannot seem to grasp what makes Maiden a great band, and why they've been at it successfully for 30 years while burying his favorite bands (GNR, Def Leppard, etc.) in the process.

Sure, Klosterman admits to liking the occasional Priest, Sabbath, and Metallica song. But you know it's all an act when he makes statements like "The Mob Rules was the only decent post-Ozzy Sabbath tune." Tell that to the crowds still turning out to see Heaven and Hell, Klosterman.

...and the Ugly

He has bands like Warrant and Bon Jovi on his "desert island" list of must-have albums. Remind me to bring a straight razor the next time I take a cruise, in case I ever get marooned with this guy. Suicide is preferable to "Down Boys" anyday.

This statement: Klosterman actually wrote that "Idiots always say that Metallica "sold out" between ...And Justice For All and their eponymous 1992 Black Album, but that's nothing compared to their evolution from 1983's Kill 'Em All to 1984's Ride the Lightning."

This is so dumb, I don't know where to begin. First of all, Metallica did sell out on the Black Album, and it's not even debateable--it's a goddamned scientific fact that can be proven in laboratory tests. Second of all, there is a big difference between an evolution in sound, which is the result of maturity (Metallica was extremely young in the 'Kill Em All days), and a conscious decision to abandon one's sound and metal roots in a blatant attempt to sell more records. Which is exactly what Metallica did in 1992.

He is a mass of contradictions. Klosterman sets out in Fargo Rock City to elevate heavy metal as a genre as worthy of study and respect as any other era/style of music. He has no problem psychoanalyzing Ozzy or Axl Rose, and at one point he even compares (seemingly without irony) GNR Lies to the gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. But he backtracks on this stance several times, often settling for weak and ironic self-deprecation. For instance, he claims "serious" metal fans are unlikeable. He takes shots at the New Wave of British Heavy Metal (NWOBM) movement, claiming it was not fresh, not likeable, and needlessly complex. He claims hair metal is superior because it's more fun and more rocking.

In other words, when you get right down to it, Klosterman frowns on the act of applying rigor to an analysis of metal. He later ridicules most rock fans for being idiots, because they don't understand that they're consuming a form of media made to appeal to the masses. What we have in the end is author who undercuts his own high-minded arguments for why he wrote the book in the first place. And finally:

He thinks Animalize is the best non-makeup KISS album. Enough said.

Conclusion

In summary, how can Fargo Rock City claim to be a treatise on the defense of heavy metal while completely leaving 3/4 of heavy metal out of the discussion, save for taking a few cheap swipes at it? Klosterman is brilliant when he writes about hair metal and its appeal--the girls, the booze, the fun, the empowerment, and the idyllic, wild lifestyles of singers like Axl Rose and David Lee Roth. But he totally whiffs on what makes bands like Maiden and Dio great. If glam brought the fun, the real metal bands delivered fantasy, imagery, power, storytelling, incredible singing, and superb musicianship--in other words, a very different form of entertainment than that offered by hair metal, but certainly no less worthy of respect or analysis.

It's really too bad, and in the end it's a severe shortcoming of a book that could have/should have struck deeper power chords.

Cimmerian sightings

Nothing earth-shattering to add with this post, just a "heads up" for fantasy fans to head on over to The Cimmerian to check out some recent interesting posts by Steve Tompkins. The former is a recap of recent sword and sorcery fiction, and the latter a critique of recent fantasy films:

After Aquilonia and Having Left Lankhmar: Sword-and-Sorcery Since the 1980s.

Pan Versus Peter Pan; Or, Can’t We Have Some Adult Fantasy to Go with the Adulterated Fantasy?

Also, I recently received Blood and Thunder: The Life and Art of Robert E. Howard (pictured here) in the mail from Borders. I'm really looking forward to reading this and will post a review once I do. I have (gulp) never read a full biography of Robert E. Howard and I hope to rectify that soon.

Ketchum's Hide and Seek proves the worst terrors lurk within

So what scares horror writers? I imagine something like this: They draw back the curtain to provide the audience with a full look at their half-hidden ghosts, only to find that their readers react with indifference instead of terror at the final reveal.

This scenario has happened to me more than a few times during my reading experience, which is why I think that the old saw that horror writers "choose" not to write about vampires and zombies and ghouls because they're "overused" and "cliche" is so much bullshit. Horror writers avoid these elements not because it's hard to write about them, but because it's hard to write about them believeably.

Jack Ketchum's 1984 novel Hide and Seek unfortunately suffers a bit from this malady. Although its monsters are not truly supernatural, Ketchum's novel contains a beast that really isn't very scary, and its appearance towards the end of the book is a bit of a letdown--at least from my point of view.

Of course, it's only a letdown because the buildup to that point is so damned compelling.

Hide and Seek is set in Dead River, a sleepy, depressed tourist town on the coast of Maine, and follows the story of a 20-year-old townie, Dan Thomas. Dan is living a life of inertia ("A tired life breeds tired decisions," Ketchum writes), but the arrival of Casey, Kim, and Steve, three rich teenagers vacationing with their parents for the summer, shakes up his routine. Although he's from a very different background, Dan is drawn to Casey, a beautiful but cynical and wild girl with a volatile, dangerous streak in her. She returns his affections and Dan becomes an accepted part of the group.

The teens like to get their kicks by breaking the rules--skinny dipping and petty thievery, mostly. So when Dan tells them about the old Crouch residence--an abandoned coastal house with a grim past that includes rumors of a cannibalistic couple and a pack of wild dogs--the lure is too much to resist. Casey suggests a game of grown up hide and seek without flashlights at night in the house, and the fun (and horror) ensues.

I'll try not to spoil anything, but suffice to say that Hide and Seek has much more going on under the surface than a teenage slasher or haunted house movie. I wrote about Ketchum's depth as a writer in a recent post and he doesn't disappoint here. Hide and Seek is about the darkness we have inside of us. In a play on the title, Casey has her own dark secret that she keeps buried and hidden. Seeking it out at its dark core proves very dangerous, indeed.

The old Crouch house contains a tunnel of horrors in its dusty basement. Read as a symbol, the journey into this dark and rotten place is a voyage inside Casey's bleeding psyche. A horrible, vile truth lurks in this void, but it must be faced and stamped out if she is to become whole.

Hide and Seek begins with a brief meditation on how fate and chance are unpredictable, and how even a single, awful event can twist and ruin someone for the rest of their life. For Casey, a moment of unforgiveable weakness by her father in her 13th year causes her to develop a wild, nihilistic streak that threatens to consume her. Only when she finally faces her fear--the beast in the cave--does Casey grow up:

In the midst of all the terror, we were happy. The caves had shown us the worst the world could do to you. And for just a moment, something of the best.

But Ketchum is not a typical writer and happy outcomes are not guaranteed. His horrors--and those endured by Casey--are mean and nasty, and can kill.

In summary, if viewed in a purely psychological sense, Hide and Seek works and its implications are frightening. But with a literal reading in the cold light of day, the things in the Crouch house aren't really so frightening, after all.

Note: Hide and Seek is Ketchum's second novel and, although I still recommend it as a cracking good read, his later stuff (The Lost, The Girl Next Door) gets better.

Ketchum proves that there is life after King

Like many other readers, I have a deep, abiding respect and appreciation for the work of Stephen King. For a long time (1974-86, or thereabouts) everything King touched seemed to turn to gold, and he was so prolific that I had no need to read any other horror authors. In short, I was spoiled and glutted on King.

Eventually I read myself dry of the master of horror and his newer stuff lost its appeal. So I turned to other, newer horror authors and King contemporaries. Unfortunately, I soon found that no one else could deliver the goods like King. Robert McCammon? Too imitative. Peter Straub? Not my style. Dean Koontz? I never met a Koontz novel I liked.

Then I encountered Jack Ketchum and found out that there is in fact life after Stephen King.

If you haven't heard of Ketchum you're not alone. Though he's a steady "mid-list" author, Ketchum doesn't have nearly the curb appeal of a King or a Straub or a Koontz. That's a shame, in my opinion.

Ketchum is one of those authors whose just darned readable. One mark of a good writer is the ability to craft effortless prose, and picking up a Ketchum book is like slipping into a comfortable pair of jeans.

At the same time, Ketchum can take you to unexpected places, raw and mean and dark. In his books, the worst monsters are people, and Ketchum pulls no punches in demonstrating the depravity of their souls. A great example is his fine 2002 novel The Lost, the story of an unsolved double murder in a small New Jersey town. Police reopen the case years later following another gruesome crime. Ketchum paints a disturbing potrayal of the murderer, but just as ably describes his two half-unwilling accessories, a pair of lost souls drawn in by his animal magnetism and cold-hearted charisma. Many B-grade horror writers settle for the shock; Ketchum gives you that but also provides the context and the characterization and makes it interesting and believable.

Like King, Ketchum is also adept at placing stories in familiar settings, typically blue collar or economically depressed suburbs or small towns that become part of the story and provide context for his characters and their motivations. Places like the town in which I live, or have lived in (which make his stories and the unfolding horror all the more chillingly real).

He is, quite simply, a very good writer.

My one charge against Ketchum is that his books start off white-hot, but don't seem to deliver on their early promise of greatness. For example, in The Lost Ketchum ably links the lost spirits of youth to the social upheaval in 1960s America. But he doesn't provide the answers as to what makes men monsters. His build-up is often great, but when he finally pulls aside the curtain I often find that the shattering revelation for which I had hoped falls short.

But I'm still holding out hope that Ketchum may one day put it all together and deliver a truly great novel. As of now I've only scratched the surface of his writing: Besides The Lost, the only other Ketchum novels I've read are The Girl Next Door and, currently, Hide and Seek. At last count Ketchum is up a dozen or so novels. I've also encountered a few of his short stories ("Gone," from October Dreams, is terrific) which I've also enjoyed. He certainly has all the raw materials and talent to make it happen.

Next post for me: A review of Hide and Seek.

Pendragon: The holy grail of RPGs remains beyond my grasp

Question: What is the secret of the Grail? Whom does it serve?

Answer: Greg Stafford's Pendragon.

My experience with role-playing games is probably the same as that of your average gaming joe: 95% of my total hours in the hobby consist of playing D&D in all its various incarnations. The other 5% includes a smattering of Runequest, Top Secret, Star Frontiers, and Call of Cthulhu, along with a few one-shots here and there.

Now, I'm not complaining about this imbalance. D&D has served me well over the years as my go-to game of choice, and will likely continue to remain in that role going forward. But that doesn't mean that, from time to time, I don't ponder the alternatives. There is no one-size fits all RPG, D&D included.

Specifically, the one game that I have on my shelf but continues to elude me is the incomparable Pendragon, written by Greg Stafford. With all due respect to other great past and present RPG manuals, Pendragon is arguably the greatest read of them all, at least in my experience. To behold this game in all its glory is to see the art of role-playing at its pinnacle of development. It is, in my humble opinion, the Holy Grail of gaming.

Someday I hope to do more than read Pendragon and actually get to play it or run a game. But for now it remains as elusive as the Questing Beast, and my prospects for playing are as bleak as the Waste Land.

But I have often thought that, in the hereafter of our lives, when I owe no more to the future and can be just a man, that Pendragon and I may meet. It is a dream I have...

But enough Arthurian references. Beyond my hopes of one day playing this great game, below I've laid out reasons why I think Pendragon has remained both an obscure, yet simultaneously long-lasting (currently in its 5th edition) and remarkable RPG.

Reasons Pendragon is not popular

Note that I don't necessarily consider any of the following list to be drawbacks, merely speculation as to why Pendragon never truly took off as a popular RPG:

It's not D&D. This is the big one. The RPG "industry" serves a niche hobby, and D&D/Wizards of the Coast is the 800-pound gorilla in the room. There's not a lot of room for other games--trying to find D&D players can be challenging enough, but locating groups willing to try out other, obscure RPGs like Pendragon? It's the modern-day equivalent of finding the Holy Grail.

You're "stuck" playing knights. In my opinion this is actually a feature, not a bug. Pendragon's rules are built around knights--their training and upbringing, their chivalric traits and characteristics, their pasttimes (hunting, falconing, attending tournaments, etc.), running their manor, and more. In fact, in the latest edition of Pendragon, unlike past editions, you are limited to playing a knight only. This knight-only focus may preclude a breadth of options, but the depth of experience is remarkable. Unfortunately, players who want to play wizards, clerics, or Conan-like barbarians are out of luck.

It's deadly. The combat mechanics of Pendragon are not conducive to "rinse and repeat combats" like those found in D&D. Hit points are a fixed characteristic, and if you suffer a major wound you're in trouble: You can only fight on with great difficult, and likely it will be end of the combat and perhaps the adventure. You may even experience permanent negative effects from the wound, including statistical loss. I can understand why this isn't everyone's cup of tea.

It's not "high fantasy." While the Arthurian myths share a lot in common with high fantasy, they also diverge sharply from its most traditional "Tolkienian" conventions. So does Pendragon. You won't find magic swords and scrolls lying about in Pendragon games, unless they are rare and wondrous artifacts. Monsters are very rare (and suitably monstrous--you don't want to tangle with a giant). Magic is mysterious and extremely unpredictable--so unpredictable, in fact, that the GM basically "makes up" what happens. It's also the exclusive province of NPCs.

More to the point, the Arthurian myths don't always draw clear high fantasy divisions between good and evil. There are no cruel fantasy races (i.e., orcs) that can be slaughtered without compunction (although wicked mantichores, dragons, and giants do make the occasional appearance). And "evil" is hard to pin down: Is Launcelot and Guinevere's betrayal "evil," or simply an understandable failing of their human nature? Even Mordred can be seen in a sympathetic light.

Death is inevitable. If your character doesn't die on the battlefield, old age will ultimately claim him. A cool feature of Pendragon is that each "adventure" is assumed to take a year, as PCs have to return to their castle to tend to lands and business and enter a period of rest, recouperation, and character growth called the Winter Phase. Aging is a part of the game, so if you're not prepared for character death, you had best look elsewhere than Pendragon.

Reasons Pendragon has lasted, and should be more popular

The above "drawbacks" aside, Pendragon's brilliance is undeniable, and below I've listed a few of the reasons why:

It's brilliantly researched. Greg Stafford is steeped in Arthurian myth and it shines through in Pendragon. He built the game to simulate the acts and deeds and tales described by Malory and T.H. White and Geoffrey of Monmouth and Chretien de Troyes, and in my opinion succeeded.

It has a singular, sharply-defined focus. Related to point #1 above, Pendragon is not an amalgamation of Tolkien and Howard and Lieber and Moorcock. It is about Arthuriana. You know exactly what you're getting and the mechanics and rules are built to serve that purpose. Generic fantasy games, with their kitchen sink approach, may have more breadth and options than Pendragon, but that approach has its drawbacks, too. For example, in D&D each player brings with him or her a different expectation of the campaign world and style of play. Also, it isn't the best game for accurately depicting actual heroes from fantasy (what is Gandalf, exactly: A fighter? A wizard? A paladin, perhaps)? You don't have this problem with Pendragon: It allows you to create heroic, passionate knights, and is damned good at it.

It possesses a great game engine. Pendragon is built with the nuts and bolts of basic role playing (BRP), a "D100" percentile system designed by Stafford and fellow game designer Lynn Willis. BRP was originally used for popular and well-designed game systems Runequest and Call of Cthulhu. Pendragon adds to the BRP engine traits and passions, which inspire and support role-playing through mechanics.

It has potential for epic, generation-spanning campaigns. There are some great scenarios published for Pendragon which can be played rather like a D&D module for an evening or two of entertainment. But the game is truly meant to be enjoyed as a decades and even centuries-spanning mega campaign. Characters are born, become squires and knights, fight and die or die of old age, and give birth to the next generation. The Great Pendragon campaign (a Pendragon mega-supplement whose cover I've pictured here) spans 81 years, including the rise and fall of Camelot/King Arthur, great wars and invasions, and mighty quests. Weapons and armor evolve over time from simple chain mail and spears and swords to halberds, morning stars, and gothic plate. Although it's an overused term, Pendragon campaigns are truly epic in scope.

Its inspired by amazing source material. Others around the Web have recently noted that the older editions of D&D succeeded in large part because of the flavor and character they picked up from the fantasy fiction roots upon which they are based. I can't argue with that, but I also note that no game can rival the rich tradition of literature that serves as the foundation for Pendragon.

Although the number of fantasy fans who have read Tolkien or Howard, or Leiber or Dragonlance, likely far outnumber those who have read Malory or T.H. White, everyone knows at least the basics of the Arthurian myth. The legends are timeless. Pendragon is drawn from the tales of Camelot, the shining kingdom illuminating dark ages Britain and the wild Forest Sauvage; the sword Excalibur, drawn from the stone; Stonehenge and druidism; evil knights and bandits that need to be quelled; tournaments and fair maiden's hearts and favors to be won; mythical quests for rare artifacts to undertake; invading armies to be fought; kingdoms to carve out and win, and, eventually, to fall into ruin. This is the stirring stuff of Pendragon.

In summary, take up the quest that is Pendragon. I'll be waiting.