"Oh fight, lads, fight, Scratch, lads, bite,
Gonff will dine on cheese and wine,
When he gets home tonight."
I am late in posting this, but better late than never, and I feel like I have to say something in honor of the greatest man in the history of stories concerning the adventures of small, furry creatures.
I am talking, of course, about Brian Jacques, the author of the Redwall series, who passed away on February 5, 2011. He was 71 years old and his last name is pronounced "Jakes," but I pronounced it "Jocks" as a child and just can't help it now.
To those who correct my pronunciation:
"I have only two words to say t'you, sah. Pish an' tush!"
I feel sad when I realize that my future children (or anyone else's forthcoming offspring, for that matter) won't have the experiences I had of waiting each Christmas or birthday (whichever arrived closer to the release date) with eager anticipation to receive the latest hardcover Redwall book. I even forced myself to avoid that tantalizing J-row at the library so I could savor my own personal, Santa-delivered copy without any spoilers.
As my tribute to Brian Jacques, I decided to write a rather rambling post about my own cherished memories of Redwall and its influence on my life. (I considered writing it all in Molespeak as an additional tribute, but all that's coming to me at the moment is "zoop" and "hurr burr," which won't quite make a suitable post.)
So I hereby present, in English, my fondest Redwall memories. (Warning: SPOILERS.)
The horde went silent, staring up at the Warrior mouse,
waiting as the word rolled from his lips like steel striking stone.
"Chaaaarge!!!"The first book I ever fell in love with was
Martin the Warrior, at age 8. I am convinced that this book was the first to cement my belief of the reality of life after death, for how could there be anything worth living for at all if Martin and Rose could not eventually be together forever?
I remember vividly the evening when I read the part in
Mariel of Redwall where valiant hares Thyme and Clary met their fate. It was dinnertime, and my dad made me leave the bedroom where I was cuddled with my book to come upstairs. We had beans and rice, but I could barely touch a thing and cried all evening. And then, inexplicably, I cried again when their murder was avenged and the unfortunate yet rather admirably intelligent searat Graypatch was
dispatched (har har har- choke, sniff) of.
"They're fierce fighters, sure enough, but they lack cunning and suffer from silly little things, like honor and conscience." After reading
Salamandastron, I developed a distinct sympathy for the bad guy. Not to mention an enormous crush on the silky smooth, smart, suave weasel Ferahgo, who IS the best villain of all Redwall and YOU CANNOT CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.
Salamandastron subsequently became my favorite book for over ten years, a fact which may be verified by asking participants of the Ruth birthday game, wherein they were required to guess my favorite things.
"Oh, he's quite dead. There's no need to stick him again." My crush on Ferahgo stayed strong throughout reading most of the rest of the books, though I had brief infatuations with other characters (Keyla, Major Perigord, Shad, Mokkan - before he became laaaaame - Luke AND Vilu Daskar - making me TWICE as devastated at the end of the book - and Stiffener Medick, to name a few). I'd have to do an entirely separate post on the reasoning behind my preferences for certain characters over others, and I haven't even mentioned the awesome female characters whom I fell in like/admiration with. But I'll spare you lot for now.
It was roughly around
Taggerung that I started to lose the childlike wonder that accompanied my first reading of Redwall. I was mainly disappointed by the lack of good villains (and by good, I meant "so flippin' bad that they could actually LAST in a fight against a badger for more than two minutes, WOT!"), but the plots and characters were also starting to feel and sound the same. I could almost anticipate each development before it happened, and the obligatory explanations of "Dibbuns are baby Redwallites" and "The Abbey is ancient and has been here for years and is pretty much awesome" and "Shrews are argumentative and gruff" were starting to get a tad wearisome for a seasoned veteran such as myself. Nevertheless, I plowed doggedly through each new book each year when it was released (or when I got it as a present), hoping and praying and wishing that one of these days, I'd recover that spark.
As time went by, I read a few of Jacques' other books (the Flying Dutchman series,
The Ribbajack & Other Curious Yarns,
Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales) and enjoyed them, but not to the extent of devotion and admiration that I had paid the early Redwall books as a youngster.
Reminders of Redwall, however, continued to pop up in my late teenage years. I got a red rex rabbit (alas, not a hare) in 2003 and named him Jacques.
I got the (cute but childish) Redwall DVDs one Christmas, and watched them while I exercised in the mornings at the Barlow Center in D.C.
I dressed up as Taggerung for one Halloween (totally for the reason that I could paint my face).
I even started a catchphrase in my family of saying "But not as cold as the smile on the face of Ferahgo the Assassin!" whenever anybody said "It's cold."
But basically I thought it was over.
When I was in my next-to-last year of college, I started becoming interested in editing and publishing and writing children's literature. I read a few of my old favorite children's books, then realized it had been a long time since I had really read the Redwall books. So I re-read the entire series in the order they were published (which is how I recommend people read them, even though I started with
Martin the Warrior and still prefer it to
Redwall), from
Redwall to
The Sable Quean. I was amazed at how many details I had forgotten over the years, and how new and exciting all of the books - even the old ones - seemed to me. Sometimes it's the best thing in the world to just immerse yourself entirely in an author's fantasy world, and that's what I did for a good few months. I remember some of my favorite days were spent in anticipation of going to bed so I could continue the story.
Of course, finishing was sad. It always is. I'm at the end right now of reading another series (which must not be named - and now you all know what it is anyway...), and it's always strange to think how much the places and people and events you've been reading about have come to matter to you. The only way to really deal with it is to move on to another book, I've found. Which is also sad, but happy. Kind of like life.
"Who says that I am dead knows naught at all." So, rest in peace, Brian Jacques. I'm sad you won't be writing any more books for us here, but I hope you're enjoying yourself in Dark Forest and staying away from those troublemakers over in Hell's gates. And, like you say in 97% of your books, instead of moping and weeping about your death, I'm going to enjoy life and put a cheerful face on and send you out with a last hurrah.
EULALIAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
We have a few (twenty or so) pictures (and no videos) of my parents' wedding which we store in a photo album and look at every so often when feeling nostalgic. None of the pictures are particularly "funny" or "artistic" - they are all about showing what happened, who was there, and how people were really feeling at that time. I love looking at that photo album because my parents look so happy and beautiful.
