The Final Years

Abstract

One beautiful summer’s day in 1972, I stood in front of 21 Merton Street in Oxford, waiting for J.R.R. Tolkien, the cult figure, recluse, and world-renowned celebrity, professor, and fantasy writer, a figure regarded with both fierce admiration and unadulterated skepticism. The well-known figure appeared suddenly in the doorway, unlit pipe in his hand as usual, waistcoat buttoned beneath his tweed jacket.