Last week Sharon Griffiths wrote about why she prefers cold showers to reading Tolkien. CHRISTEN PEARS leaps to the defence of the master of Middle Earth

I'VE spent many a happy hour in the company of the Ents, those strange creatures in The Lord of the Rings that are half-man, half-tree. No, I'm not mad, but I was a student at Merton College where, long before my time, JRR Tolkien was a professor.

According to college legend, the lime grove in the gardens was the inspiration for the forest giants. Sitting under the huge, gnarled trunks on summer afternoons, pretending to work, it was all too easy to let my mind wander and imagine that I'd somehow been transported to Middle Earth.

When The Lord of the Rings was voted the greatest book of the 20th Century, some members of the literati couldn't contain their indignation. There were plenty of other works more worthy of the accolade, they complained, works that were more literary, more intellectually challenging. And they were probably right.

There are far better writers than Tolkien but, as the poll showed, The Lord of the Rings is one of the most popular books ever written. The reason? Quite simply, it's a cracking story, a compelling take on the age-old battle between good and evil. From the cosy, bucolic world of the Shire to the smoking forges of Mordor, Middle Earth is a magnificent creation, utterly compelling. It's peerless.

Tolkien was an unlikely author, the quintessential eccentric Oxford don. But behind the tweed-wearing, pipe smoking facade, was a ferocious intellect and a boundless imagination. One day he was sitting at his desk marking essays when he found himself writing "In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit," and that, as they say, was it.

I first read The Lord of the Rings when I was at school. I'd read The Hobbit and loved it and the next time I was given a book token, I rushed out to buy The Lord of the Rings. For a few months it sat on my shelf, just too big and too intimidating to read. It was only when the boredom of the school holidays kicked in that I finally picked it up.

I was blown away. For three days, I didn't emerge from my room, and when Frodo and the others sailed for the Grey Havens, I felt cheated.

I've read it many times since and I intend to read it again before the year's out. Along with Lawrence Durrell's Alexandria Quartet and I Capture The Castle by Dodie Smith, it's one of those books I reach for if I'm feeling ill, or down or just want to get away from it all for a few hours.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those die-hard fans who spend their weekends dressed up as elves and orcs - "The Hoopers, Snoopers, Goopers, press-gangs, phone-bugs and transatlantic lion-hunters and gargoyle-fanciers", Tolkien called them - that's taking things way too far. But there's nothing wrong with a bit of escapism.

Of course, the book has its faults, but find me one that hasn't. The language is old-fashioned, pompous even in places, but I rather thought that was the point. The Lord of the Rings is an epic and it's told in an epic style. So are The Aeneid and The Odyssey, but that doesn't mean they're not worth reading.

And then there's that old complaint that there aren't many women in it. So what? Are we so different from men that we can't relate to their experiences?

Okay, maybe we are, but I still urge you to read The Lord of the Rings. If you've read it already, go and read it again but whatever you do, please, please don't dress up as an elf - no matter how much you love it.

l The man behind Middle Earth: see Tuesday's Books page