Because I am an avid Tolkien-freak, I of course had the Children of Hurin on pre-order. However, because I'm currently reading Cold Mountain, I have to wait to pick up this next great story. So, no, I haven't begun reading Hurin yet, but I have done one very important thing: I've smelled it. Have you ever smelled a new book? It is wonderful. There is a crisp freshness that playfully nips at your nose. It is a plea for reading. The words are waiting patiently for your eyes to bring them into the imagination of your mind, saving them from a potentially uneventful life on a stark white page.

New books beg to be read, and it is torture to have to wait to read the compilation of one of my favorite Tolkien stories ever. Hurin is a tragic tale, completely without apology in its slapping of your belief in what could possibly go wrong. It is agonizing, but tantalizing at the same time. Of course, the best scene is of Hurin himself at the book's end, but I can't spoil that here.

But Hurin must wait, for first I must read through another great story set in a much different time and place, although no less horrific a scene.