The concept of artificial intelligence has been a cornerstone of science fiction from the genre’s earliest days. As we have rocketed through our technological revolution, we have wondered just how in control of this new frontier we actually are. Countless imaginings of our future reflect the hope that science and technology will elevate our existence. Countless more fear these advances will outstrip our ability to exist alongside them, resulting in one side (usually the super-strong, intelligent machines) wiping out the other (usually the too-soft, vulnerable humans).

Rufus Marigold is an extremely nervous guy. The ring of a telephone causes him to freeze in terror. Encountering a friend on the street is a crippling minefield of small talk. Giving a presentation at work is an impossible task that must be avoided by any means possible. Everyday life for Rufus is a harrowing obstacle course of anxiety, self-doubt, and avoidance. If any of this sounds familiar, you, like the author of Rufus Marigold, Ross Murray, likely have some experience with anxiety. And in the wake of the COVID pandemic, Rufus Marigold is more relatable than ever.

Adapting J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings for the cinema was a monumental task that has inspired a never-ending fountain of analysis, critique, and, at least from me, admiration. One of my favorite changes that Peter Jackson and the writers made was the expansion of Arwen’s scant appearances in the narrative by pulling in much of the “Tale of Aragorn and Arwen” from the Appendix and giving her some participation in the action, particularly in The Fellowship of the Ring. It is a valuable addition to the story and helps flesh out the emotional foundations for Aragorn’s journey to the throne of Gondor. I would, however, like to turn our gaze back to Arwen by taking a closer look at her story in Tolkien’s text.