Guest Blog: Brian Jacques (Excerpt from Redwall)
You may have heard the news by now: Brian Jacques, author of the Redwall novels, died of a heart attack on February 5th at the age of 71. I was lucky in getting to attend readings by Mr. Jacques three times -- all as a college student and an adult. I asked him to take part in the autobio project back when I was working on it in house, but I think the official letter immediately got handed off to part of his book tour staff and I never heard back from him on that score. It's too bad, because I have a feeling the story of his life -- even told in forty pages -- would have been amazing. He was, as well as a consummate storyteller, an amazingly gifted performer, keeping the audiences at his readings hooked from the youngest to the oldest, telling jokes for kids and alternating them with thinly concealed adult humor.
As a kid, I devoured the books to the extent that, for the summer reading program, our children's librarian got me a copy of Redwall as my participation reward, instead of giving me one of the books from the participation list. She later took my copies of Redwall and Mossflower (which, if memory serves, I bought for myself out of allowance money, back in the days when I had to go to the local book and gift store and make a special order if I wanted a particular book) to a conference at which Mr. Jacques was speaking and got them signed for me. I still have those signed copies.
There have been some nice articles about his life: the one at SLJ and Matt London's at Tor.com in particular. In his memory, today, I thought I'd post a little excerpt from Redwall. Travel well, Mr. Jacques.
--
Strolling through the dappled shade of the orchard, Matthias sought out old Methuselah. Slumping down beneath a damson tree, the young mouse munched away at his lunch. Methuselah was sitting with his back against the tree, his eyes closed in an apparent doze. Without opening them he addressed Matthias. "How goes the practice war, young stavemaster?"
Matthias watched some of the tiny ants carrying off his fallen breadcrumbs as he answered, "As well as possible, Brother Methuselah. And how are your studies coming along?"
Methuselah squinted over the top of his spectacles. "Knowledge is a thing that one cannot have enough of. It is the fruit of wisdom, to be eaten carefully and digested fully, unlike that lunch you are bolting down, little friend."
Matthias set his food to one side. "Tell me, what have you digested lately, old one?"
Methuselah took a sip from Matthias's milk bowl. "Sometimes I think you have a very old head for such a young mouse. What more do you wish to know about Martin the Warrior?"
Matthias looked surprised. "How did you know I was going to ask about Martin?"
Methuselah wrinkled his nose. "How do the bee folk know there is pollen in a flower? Ask away, young one, before I doze off again."
Matthias hesitated a moment, then blurted out, "Brother Methuselah, tell me where Martin lies buried."
The old mouse chuckled drily. "Next you are going to ask me where to find the great sword of the warrior mouse."
"B-but how did you know that?" stammered Matthias.
The ancient gatehouse-keeper shrugged his thin shoulders. "The sword must lie buried with Martin. You would have little use for the dusty bones of a bygone hero. A simple deduction, even for one as old as I am."
"Then you know where the Warrior lies?"
Methuselah shook his head. "That is a thing no creature knows. For many long years now I have puzzled and pored over ancient manuscripts, translating, following hidden trails, always with the same result: nothing. I have even used my gift of tongues, speaking to the bees and others who can go into places too small for us, but always it is the same--rumors, legends and old mouse tales."
"Matthias crumbled more bread for the ants. "Then the Warrior's sword is only a fable?"
Methuselah leaned forward indignantly. "Who said that? Did I?"
"No, but you--"
"Bah! Nothing of the sort, young mouse. Listen carefully to me. I have an uncanny feeling that you may be the one I have been saving this vital piece of information for..."
As a kid, I devoured the books to the extent that, for the summer reading program, our children's librarian got me a copy of Redwall as my participation reward, instead of giving me one of the books from the participation list. She later took my copies of Redwall and Mossflower (which, if memory serves, I bought for myself out of allowance money, back in the days when I had to go to the local book and gift store and make a special order if I wanted a particular book) to a conference at which Mr. Jacques was speaking and got them signed for me. I still have those signed copies.
There have been some nice articles about his life: the one at SLJ and Matt London's at Tor.com in particular. In his memory, today, I thought I'd post a little excerpt from Redwall. Travel well, Mr. Jacques.
--
Strolling through the dappled shade of the orchard, Matthias sought out old Methuselah. Slumping down beneath a damson tree, the young mouse munched away at his lunch. Methuselah was sitting with his back against the tree, his eyes closed in an apparent doze. Without opening them he addressed Matthias. "How goes the practice war, young stavemaster?"
Matthias watched some of the tiny ants carrying off his fallen breadcrumbs as he answered, "As well as possible, Brother Methuselah. And how are your studies coming along?"
Methuselah squinted over the top of his spectacles. "Knowledge is a thing that one cannot have enough of. It is the fruit of wisdom, to be eaten carefully and digested fully, unlike that lunch you are bolting down, little friend."
Matthias set his food to one side. "Tell me, what have you digested lately, old one?"
Methuselah took a sip from Matthias's milk bowl. "Sometimes I think you have a very old head for such a young mouse. What more do you wish to know about Martin the Warrior?"
Matthias looked surprised. "How did you know I was going to ask about Martin?"
Methuselah wrinkled his nose. "How do the bee folk know there is pollen in a flower? Ask away, young one, before I doze off again."
Matthias hesitated a moment, then blurted out, "Brother Methuselah, tell me where Martin lies buried."
The old mouse chuckled drily. "Next you are going to ask me where to find the great sword of the warrior mouse."
"B-but how did you know that?" stammered Matthias.
The ancient gatehouse-keeper shrugged his thin shoulders. "The sword must lie buried with Martin. You would have little use for the dusty bones of a bygone hero. A simple deduction, even for one as old as I am."
"Then you know where the Warrior lies?"
Methuselah shook his head. "That is a thing no creature knows. For many long years now I have puzzled and pored over ancient manuscripts, translating, following hidden trails, always with the same result: nothing. I have even used my gift of tongues, speaking to the bees and others who can go into places too small for us, but always it is the same--rumors, legends and old mouse tales."
"Matthias crumbled more bread for the ants. "Then the Warrior's sword is only a fable?"
Methuselah leaned forward indignantly. "Who said that? Did I?"
"No, but you--"
"Bah! Nothing of the sort, young mouse. Listen carefully to me. I have an uncanny feeling that you may be the one I have been saving this vital piece of information for..."