I remember having watched it as a very young girl. I had in my mind the picture of a funny little toad driving a beautiful red motor car, like a maniac and, having a blast. With that picture in mind I set out to read the classic that Kenneth Grahame wrote in 1908. I thought - as I always do, silly me - that this was going to be a pleasant yet uneventful reading. How mistaken I was!
I'm sure we all know the story. River bankers and Wild wooders, Mole and his steadfast friend the River Rat, the kind yet solitary Mr Badger and the impossible Toad, along many more. We all remember Toad's fads, Mole's slow thinking, Ratty's selflessness and the Badger's wisdom. I know I did. But what I did not know ( or remembered ) was the breathtaking poetry of this story.
From the very beginning, Grahame made me see, perhaps for the first time (can't really tell), all the power and liveliness of a simple river
and feel Toad's mounting excitement
With every page turned, I must confess, I felt like little old Mole and simply had to say `O my! O my!' at each fresh revelation.
I'm sure we all know the story. River bankers and Wild wooders, Mole and his steadfast friend the River Rat, the kind yet solitary Mr Badger and the impossible Toad, along many more. We all remember Toad's fads, Mole's slow thinking, Ratty's selflessness and the Badger's wisdom. I know I did. But what I did not know ( or remembered ) was the breathtaking poetry of this story.
From the very beginning, Grahame made me see, perhaps for the first time (can't really tell), all the power and liveliness of a simple river
Never in his life had he seen a river before - this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and a-shiver -glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories ...and later on, after reading this passage, I would've flung open the door and hit the road unafraid
`And you, you will come too, young brother; for the days pass, and never return, and the South still waits for you. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!'
'Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for company.
He increased his pace, and as the car devoured the street and leapt forth on the high road through the open country, he was only conscious that he was Toad once more, Toad at his best and highest, Toad the terror, the traffic-queller, the Lord of the lone trail, before whom all must give way or be smitten into nothingness and everlasting night.
With every page turned, I must confess, I felt like little old Mole and simply had to say `O my! O my!' at each fresh revelation.
5 Comments:
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Heather
www.thelibraryladder.blogspot.com
Heather, I hope you have a wonderful time reading it as well. It was just so cosy!
I, too, see the image of toad in the red sportster whenever I think of this book.