As a teenager, I loved to read J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings. I remember how excited my aunt was when she found out that I liked the books: she has read them once a year since sometime in the 1980s. While I was never that dedicated, I loved the stories and was thrilled when, in high school, we learned there would be modern film adaptations. I remember sitting around for hours with friends, imagining how Peter Jackson’s interpretation of the sights, sounds and characters of the books would parallel, or differ, from my own.