I believe it was for my sixth birthday that I received this gift:
I had already read it – and it had been read to me – but I received it with gladness. It was the first book (chronologically; not the first book written) of what was then the Redwall trilogy by Brian Jacques. Over the next two decades, Mr. Jacques released a Redwall novel every year; accordingly, rarely did a birthday (or, some years, a Christmas) go by without me receiving a similar present. And, every year, I dived in with glee. Even though the plots did begin to feel formulaic in later years, I knew each new book would invite me back to my beloved world of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower Country.
Each book was a ticket home.
What is this Redwall series, you may ask? ’Tis the chronicle of peaceful beings trying to build a world of harmony, compassion, love, and plenty, and the various ways they must defend this world from those driven by greed and malice. The setting has a medieval flare. Each book always involves a quest, a journey, a riddle, several songs, three or more plot trails to keep track of, and at least one epic feast.
The good guys are “woodland creatures”: mice, squirrels, moles, hedgehogs, otters, badgers, hares.
The bad guys are rats, foxes, stoats, ferrets, weasels, reptiles, etc. – although, Mr. Jacques occasionally threw in a villain (or, in the case of The Outcast of Redwall, a hero) whose character ended up being not quite so clear-cut.
Simply put, they are good yarns – warm, vivid stories told warmly and vividly. Any Redwall fan could tell you that Brian Jacques started this series by accident. He was a milkman, and one of the places to which he delivered milk was the Royal School for the Blind in Liverpool. He began writing these children a story, using the most vibrant language he could contrive so they would “see” it in their minds. His friend, unbeknownst to him, took the manuscript to a publisher; and, thus, Redwall was born.
Though written for children, these books don’t contain much sugar coating. They are violent – shockingly violent, considering the age at which I started them. (I spelled “gizzard” correctly in the Georgia state spelling bee in 8th grade largely because I’d been reading about gizzards being cut/slit/slashed in Redwall for years.) They contain real loss and true grief. If you don’t believe me, go read Mossflower and then Martin the Warrior. Then send me a message so we can weep together.
I recently started reading the series again (on the importance of rereading books, see one of my first posts: Emma, Katniss, and Me). I remember a sense of trepidation as I began, wondering if I would find the legendary sword tarnished, or my fealty less fervent.
But, sure enough, as I read those final words – as John Churchmouse, the Recorder of Redwall Abbey, told me of the festivities being prepared in Cavern Hole, and urged me courteously to “please be sure to visit us if ever you are passing” – I felt the familiar ache. Longing rushed up and seized me gently by the throat – poignant, potent longing – and all I could think was:
“Don’t make me leave. I don’t want to leave. Let me stay.”
That is why, though they may not have the intellectual weight of some others on my list, the Redwall books (especially Mossflower, Mattimeo, and Martin the Warrior) must be included in my “Thunderclap” series. Brian Jacques taught me about good storytelling by telling me good stories. Most of my first attempts at writing are thinly veiled knock-offs of his whimsical woodland world. (Very, VERY thinly veiled.) I will forever be grateful to him – for the hours of swashbuckling fun, the moments of piercing Joy, and the inspiration to set off down this writer’s way myself.
It didn’t take much digging to find the email I sent to my family and a few close friends in February 2011:
I just found out that Brian Jacques passed away on the evening of February 5th. This has hit me rather unexpectedly hard, though it shouldn’t really be unexpected, seeing as he has been part of my life for the past two decades and is one of the reasons I’m a writer today. I got to meet him twice, and he was charming and gracious on both occasions to all his multitude of fans. The first time, I was eight or nine, I believe, and Micah drove me through Atlanta rush-hour traffic to a little bookstore called The Hobbit Hole. When we finally got thru the line and while Mr. Jacques was signing my book, I told him that I wanted to be an author.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Ruth Crews,” I replied.
“That sounds like an author’s name.”
Though the name has changed, I believe Mr. Jacques would still tell me – his rough Liverpudlian accent belied by the merry twinkle in his eye – to keep spinning tales.
If one of those tales leaves half the mark on one individual that Mr. Jacques’s imagination made on me, I will count myself honored.
In the words of the Long Patrol, the regimental fighting hares:
To quote the 10th Doctor … “I don’t want to go…” That is the way that I always feel when I read the last lines of favorite books. For example, “Well, I’m back,” he said.
Oh, yes. That ending line . . . forever breaks my heart.
How wonderfully you recount the wonder of these books and their author!! I, too, miss that world.
Brought a tear to my eye, Ruth. I remember reading that first book to you and your siblings. You ARE a writer!
I love the world of Redwall – and it has been so long since I have returned and visited my friends at the Abbey. Maybe its time to put that on my list to be read <3