When I get together with other literary types, which I manage less frequently than I would like these days, we speak in glowing terms of our current favorite books. We try to outdo each other with the scholarly works on our bedside tables and the caliber of our reading list. (James M. McPherson’s biography of Abraham Lincoln’s war years, Tried By War, is terrific, by the way.) When the discussion rolls around to all-time favorite, I normally tout J.R.R. Tolkein’s incredible Lord of the Rings as mine.
Now, just between us, I have a confession to make.


