'Since Tolkien considered himself a conservative anarchist, it should come as no surprise that while trying to answer his publisher's questions regarding the symbolism hidden in his magnum opus, he suggested to "...make the Ring into an allegory of our own time… an allegory of the inevitable fate that waits for all attempts to defeat evil power by power." One day a great magician, Gandalf the Grey, pays a visit to the village. He is concerned by the fact that one of the hobbits, a certain Mr. Bilbo Baggins, keeps there hidden a precious artifact – a mysterious ring. Forged many years ago by Sauron, the Lord of Darkness, the Ring of Power is one of many rings of power, the one, however, that controls all the others. Only someone so mediocre, so weak, inept, and created seemingly for the sole purpose of minding his own merry business like Frodo Baggins – Bilbo's heir – could, at least to some extent, resist the evil power.'

'We find them everywhere in fantasy fiction: the "orphaned heroes," young men and women whose parents are dead, absent, or unknown, who turn out to be the heirs to the kingdom, the destined pullers of swords from stones, the keys to the riddles, the prophesies' answers, the bearers of powerful magic. For young readers, there is a distinct brand of pleasure in inhabiting the skin of the orphan hero, tasting both the joys and terrors of operating as a fully independent being without the protective cushion (or burden, depending on the child's circumstance) of parents standing between them and the wide, wide world beyond. For children with difficult childhoods, the appeal is obvious; such stories provide escape, a vision of life beyond the confines of a troubled home. But even children from healthy families welcome escape from time to time. In the guise of the orphan hero they can shed their usual roles (the eldest daughter, middle son, the baby of the family, etc.) and enter other realms in which they are solitary actors. Without adults to guide them (or, contrarily, to restrict them), orphan heroes are thrown back, time and time again, on their own resources. I do not think we outgrow our need for such stories, accounting for their continuing popularity among adult readers as well — for who among us does not feel orphaned in this vast, strange world sometimes? Through Harry Potter, Jane Eyre, and Cinderella we experience the orphan within ourselves.'

'Sookie did not have many suitors until she met Bill Compton. Being able to read her date's minds was usually a big turn-off for Sookie. And her reputation as a weirdo didn't make her very attractive to ordinary men either, even though she has often been the subject of bar patrons' lewd thoughts. Sookie finds herself attracted to dominant men with supernatural abilities. Vampires and other "supes" are harder to read than humans, muffling the effects of her telepathy and giving Sookie a refreshing break from the constant noise of other people's thoughts. Vampires seem especially immune to her ability. Their brains appear to be blank spaces when compared to the busy tangle of ideas that come from a human's mind. Because of this relaxing blankness, Sookie is able to experience her first physical and emotional romantic relationship...'

"The salient fact of an adolescent girl’s existence is her need for a secret emotional life—one that she slips into during her sulks and silences, during her endless hours alone in her room, or even just when she’s gazing out the classroom window while all of Modern European History, or the niceties of the passé composé, sluice past her. This means that she is a creature designed for reading in a way no boy or man, or even grown woman, could ever be so exactly designed, because she is a creature whose most elemental psychological needs—to be undisturbed while she works out the big questions of her life, to be hidden from view while still in plain sight, to enter profoundly into the emotional lives of others—are met precisely by the act of reading."

"Orphaned at the age of three and harboring a traumatic secret, Dexter (Michael C. Hall, Six Feet Under) was adopted by a Miami police officer named Harry Morgan (James Remar), who recognized Dexter's sociopathic tendencies and taught him to channel his gruesome passion for killing by giving it a constructive direction: killing people who deserve it. Most have slipped through the justice system, due to loopholes and technicalities in the law or were never apprehended." -- Orphans (Redirected Oedipus complex)