Yes, this is five months late, but I had neither a blog nor the time for more than a moment of silence when I first read the news back in February. And this probably isn’t anything a million others haven’t already said either; that doesn’t make it any less true for me.
When the news of Jacques’s death first hit the internet there were countless tributes on how his books got the author into reading, or taught a kid they know that it didn’t have to be homework. I’m not one of them. Getting me to read as a kid was never a problem. But these are the first books I remember picking out myself, as opposed to something an adult thought I might like. It all started at the age of nine, when I went into a kids’ store with my brother and an aunt, saw the Redwall books on a bookrack and thought “hey, these look cool!” What followed was a journey that was one of the highlights of my early adolescence, as I eagerly read all the books available at the time, and waited for Christmas or my birthday to get my hands on the newest one.
My memory of what else I was reading when I started the series is hazy at best (try nonexistent), but I don’t think it’s a stretch to say the Redwall series was my introduction to fantasy. They definitely cemented my love of adventures in imaginary, pseudo-medieval worlds, which describes way more fantasy than it should. But whatever the case may be, Redwall has been my gateway to many memorable books since, and my love of the genre is still going strong.
Sure, the series tended to be mostly straightforward “good woodlanders” and “evil vermin”, but they were still the books that really introduced me to the concept of ambiguity. I remember finding some vermin characters just as if not more interesting than the woodlanders, especially if they showed signs of not being wholly evil, and being saddened by more than a few of their fates. Nor were the plots particularly original, or all that different from book-to-book, but these stories of young heroes and colourful villains, filled with dark woods and unexplored caverns, mountain strongholds and pirate fortresses, and culminating in heroic battles were plenty cool to a kid discovering these concepts for the first time.
And, heroic battles between good and evil or not, these were books weren’t afraid to deal with violence and death. More than one young woodlander has to come to terms with the loss of a loved one or friend throughout. Sure, the good guys invariably win in the end, but not without cost. Even though graphic detail was avoided, they weren’t afraid to show children that yes, violence does kill people, not everyone bad is completely evil, and that sometimes it’s necessary to do things you’d rather not. All while still providing exciting adventures. Is it any wonder they were successful?
I may not have realized it at the time, but the Redwall series taught me a few things, and planted the first seeds of a love for fantasy that has led to many great reads since. So Mr. Jacques, even though you’ll never read this, and I’m probably only the billionth person to say it: thank you for your books and everything they’ve done for me. I hope there’s good October Ale on the other side of the Dark Forest Gates.
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