Naturally I’m still partial to the covers of the edition I first read, with Tolkien’s own art:
Something about the uninhabited locations — no wizards or Nazgûl or action scenes — makes them quietly pregnant with possibilities. Reminds me of gazing at bookshelves in early morning light as a kid, knowing that behind each mute spine was a story waiting to unfold. I still get that feeling sometimes and it gives me the shivers.
