Prologue: Betrayed for the Last Time
My girlfriend first recommended Redwall after my latest disappointment with a book. I can’t even recall the name of the novel that had wounded my heart so— all I remember was all of my favorite BookTubers and Bookstagrammers giving it lavish praise, and I so desperately wanted to be part of the conversation. Such was how I selected my next read, back then. Of course, it was important if the book interested me– you wouldn’t catch me reading the latest and painfully straightest romantasy, mind; I had some standards– but what was slightly more important was whether or not people were chattering about it. I was obsessed with reading what was current and now, but back then I never really stopped to ask myself: “But am I enjoying this, though? Is this truly what I want to spend my time on?”
It’s an obvious question to ask oneself, but things that might seem plain to others are sometimes lost on me. It’s the ‘tism, I think— I feel a comfort in always taking the road most traveled, never contemplating alternate routes. Simply doing the same thing, over and over again, ad infinitum, until the tracks are ground to dust ‘neath my feet. I feel like I’d be scraping stones against my soles before I ever thought to wonder about simply taking an easier road.
My soulmate hoped to shake me out of this painful pattern, and let me borrow her copy of Pearls of Lutra. She knew it had everything I wanted in a story – cozy, furry critters, an enthralling adventure studded with riddles and puzzles, and— most importantly— mouthwatering descriptions of delicious foods and feasts! I was in love with all of it– finally, a book that was handcrafted just for me. Unlike the more modern fantasy books I was reading, for once, I had nothing negative to say. It was a story that warmed my heart and nourished me well, like a homemade chicken pot pie or a bowl of shrimp and hotroot soup. And you might wonder, “Ah, and so you learned to love Redwall, abandoned your obsession with current book trends, and stayed cozy in Redwall abbey?”
Reader, I wish it were so! I was not ready to abandon my foolish quest. For while I loved Redwall, I saw it as a detour, just something to nourish me before delving back into new book releases. Funny, that I saw it as nourishing back then – but did not stop to think: And what if I was always nourished? What if I chased what I craved instead of following everyone else?
It was the way I had always done it. Why do it differently?
The last book that finally soured me on modern releases was The Devils by Joe Abercrombie. Yes, I know. Me – a cottagecore rabbit – was reading a book by the Father of Modern Grimdark Fantasy – didn’t I expect to get my heart broken? I should’ve distrusted it, truly. But that beautifully gothic cover. The autistic-coded lesbian elf who falls in love with a princess. The magic, the mayhem, the humor, the roadtrip vibes. The idea of a church needing to rely on devils to do their “dirty work.” It hooked me.
But it broke me. Ninety-eight percent of it was a wild, fantastic ride– and then the last few pages reminded me: Oh, right. We’re not allowed to have fun here. It is not worth the time it would take to illustrate exactly why Abercrombie incensed me so by the end of The Devils… but honestly, I’m glad for the pain it caused me.
It was a brisk slap to the face– it reminded me that I don’t have enough time on this Earth to waste with mediocre books that don’t respect me or my time. My girlfriend and I had just watched the Lord of the Rings trilogy around the time that I finished The Devils, and the stark contrast between a piece of work that upheld values dear to me heart– courage in the face of fear, the power of bonds of friendship, and the way I look at Frodo carrying the Ring and see my own struggles with depression reflected in his journey.
And yet… despite how much I loved this story and how much it comforted my soul, I hadn’t even read Lord of the Rings at all? Not even the Hobbit? And my mind started to drift – damn, I’ve only finished one Redwall book, and there’s a whole series to love! Who cares if no one else cares? I care! And that’s more than enough for me.
So I chucked my copy of The Devils in the bin (aka, deleted it off my Kobo) and picked up a Redwall book that my girlfriend recommended to me after I finished Pearls of Lutra, but never finished, way back when. Salamandastron.
Salamandastron: Setting the Stage…
If you don’t know anything about Redwall – first of all, apologies! I’ve spent over 700 words rambling about my distaste for the modern publishing scene, and haven’t gotten to gush about the reason we’re all really here: Cute. Lil. Critters!
The Redwall series follows the inhabitants of Redwall Abbey, where a coterie of adorable, anthro animals live – mice, otters, moles, porcupines, squirrels, and sometimes a badger or two. They’re the protectors of the Abbey, and any critter who needs aid is welcome in Redwall’s halls. Each story in the series stands comfortably on its own, however, there is one piece of shared history worth knowing: of a mouse named Martin the Warrior– the Abbey’s long-gone, legendary hero– who sometimes appears in dreams and songs to our Abbeydwellers.
What’s wonderful about Redwall is that you don’t need to read the books in order– you can pick up whichever one interests you most and hop right in! So, let’s hop into Salamandastron, which doesn’t start off at our beloved Abbey, but a mountain, ruled by the great, the strong, and kind-hearted badger, Lord Urthstripe…
Salamandastron follows Mara, a young badger maid who was adopted by Lord Urthstripe, and while Urthstripe loves her dearly, they just don’t see eye-to-eye. There’s something suffocating about living at Salamandastron, a mountain where battle badgers and fighting hares live, but she can’t put her finger on it. To Mara, her father is too stuffy, too old-fashioned– always going on about badger lore, telling her to mind her manners. She wants to do what she wishes without elders and grownbeasts grating on her nerves. “I’m sick to the stripes of it all!” she shouts, throwing her paws in the air.
While on one of her many treks outside Salamandastron, she and her best friend– Pikkle Ffolger, a hilarious hare with an unmatched love for food and tomfoolery– befriend a charming weasel and a shifty ferret, Klitch and Goffa. Klitch, after hearing Mara’s moaning about going back home, befriends her and asks if he can see this place with his own eyes. But when Lord Urthstripe disapproves of Mara bringing “vermin”* to the mountain and dismisses them, she storms off with her new friends, determined to finally leave the stuffy Salamandastron for good.
* The use of “vermin” in Redwall is difficult for me to discuss, since I haven’t read all of the books. But from what I’ve gleaned – there are species in Redwall that are, most of the time, going to be evil. A fox will always eat a mouse, after all. Urthstripe’s use of it here is also pretty pointed– he’s fought countless weasels and ferrets who’ve warred with him over the years for control of the mountain. I’ve heard that not every fox, ferret, weasel, or “vermin-coded” species in the Redwall series is evil, but that’s something I’m still learning about as I go through the books. So, when Urthstripe calls Klitch and Goffa “vermin,” he’s right to be wary. Even though it’s heartbreaking to watch Mara despair over the mistreatment of folks who she considered friends.
So Mara and Pikkle leave Salamandastron with Klitch and Goffa, but it turns out that Klitch was helping his father – Feragho, the Assassin, a cold-blooded weasel with ice-blue eyes– launch a sneak attack on Salamandastron. Mara and Pikkle also get caught up in the mix, and are saved by Sergeant Sapwood, a fighting hare from the mountain who was sent to look after her by Urthstripe. They survive the attack, but Mara knows she must return to the mountain to help her father fend off the attack.
Across the mountain and across the forest, a young squirrel named Samkin and his mole friend, Arula, also start their own journey: to find the sword of Martin the Warrior, which was stolen by two stoats, Dingeye and Thura. The ghost of Martin the Warrior meets Samkin in his dreams, pleading with him: Samkin… Don’t let the sword be used for evil…
Be warned – there be spoilers from here on out!
Sugar and Salt
To really talk about how much I love this book, I have to start at the end.
Because this book captured everything I wanted in a fantasy: adventure, cozy vibes, hype fight scenes. But it doesn’t glorify the violence, the struggle, the death. There’s one scene, at the end of all the fighting near the end of the book, when Feragho’s army has been vanquished and the fight is finally over, instead of letting out a big huzzah, Jacques hits us with this line:
A sudden silence prevailed. The madness was over. Salamandastron stood free.
Creatures who a moment before had been yelling and slaying stood weary and quiet, as if shamed by the indignity of war. Bodies of friend and foe alike lay strewn on the rocky steps like leaves after an autumn gale. (pg. 406, Kobo edition)
It’s that Tolkien-esque sensibility that I really love about Redwall. War isn’t glorious– there’s something undignified about it all. To kill. To watch your friends be killed. There’s nothing bright or brilliant or dazzling about it. To have such a sobering line after Salamandastron was free – it stuck with me and it’s something I think back on often. When I think of all the adventure there was to be had.. yes, it was wonderful that we protected our home and peace reigned over the day… But people died during this fight – one we never asked for, one we never wanted.
A few chapters later, Mara and Samkin – drawn to each other, perhaps by the spirit of Martin the Warrior – have a quiet conversation near the river. Samkin doesn’t join in on the celebrations after the battle – much like Frodo in The Green Dragon, nervously clutching a mug of ale, Samkin is… tired. He can’t even bring himself to look Mara in the eyes, although he craves fellowship in this tender moment.
“The season is dying, Mara. I feel that summer is gone and the autumn is upon us. The leaves will turn gold and brown.” (pg. 424, Kobo edition)
This line is so beautiful to me. Again, we see Jacques letting young Samkin breathe and process all that he underwent. He once was a young, playful squirrel who loved his bow and arrow and feasting with his friends at Redwall, but now– he’s cut enemies down, watched close ones to him die, and this warrior way, this path, it’s… tiring. And all he wants is to go home. In a book filled with feasts and merriment, it’s these quiet moments of melancholy that stick with me.
It’s similar to a sprinkle of salt added to a chocolate cake– because there’s so much sweetness in Redwall, so much liveliness and laughter, that when characters are allowed to be quiet, to mourn, to grieve, it makes all that sweetness mean something more.
Crying With Critters
I can’t help but focus on the melancholy moments, because there’s something so tender about how Brian Jacques handles these somber moments. Critters die in Redwall.
In a lot of modern media, there’s this tiring trend of shock-value deaths– I’m sure you, dear Reader, can think of a few. I could rattle off some names of deaths in media I’ve watched/read that felt really… cheap. As if the author of the work just wanted to say, “Gotcha! Bet you didn’t see that coming, did you?” And I’m like, “No, I didn’t, but thanks for the trauma, though.” Some deaths are drawn out, long and horrible affairs, and leave me wondering if I even want to finish the work. But in Redwall, when a death happens, it’s significant, poignant. And Jacques won’t leave you to process it alone.
There’s a few deaths in Salamandastron, but the one that got me the most was of Spriggat, an old male hedgehog who Samkin and Arula meet on their journey to recover Martin the Warrior’s sword. He’s an adorable old guy who loves eating flies, mosquitos, bumblebees, and all sorts of winged creatures; while everyone else is feasting on much delectable fair, he’s just as happy (if not more so) to nosh on any flying pests that pass his way. He’s a tracker, and Samkin and Arula wouldn’t have been able to find the sword of Martin without him.
In a heartbreaking scene, as Samkin is fighting a huge, underwater snake– the Deepcoiler– it sinks its fangs into Spriggat and gives him a mortal wound. After the battle, Samkin tries to give Spriggat water, but realizes something is wrong…
Water dribbled from Spriggat’s mouth as he smiled wearily. “Yore a good young un an’ I don’t want to upset ye.”
Samkin wiped his friend’s mouth. “Why, what’s the matter?”
“I’m right sorry I can’t stay much longer.” Spriggat held feebly on to Samkin’s paws as he spoke. “No, be still an’ listen t’ me! That there monster chewed me up like a fat juicy dragonfly. Don’t try to turn me over an’ look at me back, Samkin– I’m all broken up.” Spriggat moved slightly, screwing up his face in agony. “Uhhhn! Wish I could’ve gone with me paws on good dry land. Taint too bad, though. It’s a fair morn an’ I’m in the arms of a friend.”
…
Arula and Alfoh were awakened by the sound of Samkin sobbing. With the three boatcrews, they watched in silence as the young squirrel sat rocking back and forth. Regardless of the hedgehog’s spines, Samkin held Spriggat’s limp body as though he were nursing an infant, and tears coursed openly down his face onto the wrinkled old paws. (pg. 352, Kobo edition)
I was so surprised by Spriggat’s death, and also by how tenderly it was handled. Samkin’s grief – you’re right there with him, mourning this hedgehog who chose to help him and Arula out of the goodness of his heart, who had no stake in finding the sword of Martin the Warrior, who only wanted to help “two good young ‘uns” and eat dragonflies with folks he cared about. When I think of things that stick with me about Salamandastron, I think about this scene, and how flawlessly Jacques can weave merriment with melancholy. Truly a masterwork.
Spriggat’s death also comes in at about eighty percent of the way through the book. So you’re uncertain – if Spriggat could die, who else is in danger? Suddenly, the fight for Salamandastron is a lot more dire.
Hype Train
I’ve been talking about the more morose parts of Salamandastron, and I think that’s because that’s the stuff that sticks to my soul– before I transformed into a rabbit who was all sweets and softness, I was an emo kid at heart, after all– but there’s a lot of HYPE AS FUCK moments in Salamandastron that we have to talk about.
What’s the hypest scene? For my money, it’s Samkin vs. Dethbrush– the fox Samkin’s been tracking, who stole Martin the Warrior’s sword from Dingeye and Thura. Yes, it’s really hype when Urthstripe finally takes care of Feragho – like finally, that bastard gets his just desserts (and it’s not an Abbey dessert, and we will GET to the Abbey desserts – but there’s something so goddamn cinematic about Samkin finally squaring up to fight the fox that has alluded him for so long.
At this point in the story, he and Arula and Spriggat have teamed up with a band of shrews to help him chase Dethbrush via logboat. It’s nighttime and there’s a downpour of battering rain– the storm is tossing their boat back and forth, but the shrews are dedicated boaters and they gain on Dethbrush through sheer will and determination. Once the boat is close enough, Samkin makes his move…
Within a third of a boatlength, Samkin braced himself and took off with a mighty leap. Hurtling across the water with the waves almost hitting his paws, he sprang across the gap between the two boats to land scrambling for balance on the stern of the fox’s boat. A rat raised a paddle at him, but Samkin ducked and thrust in one movement, taking the tracker through his midriff.
Dethbrush turned, brandishing the sword of Martin the Warrior. He advanced on Samkin, calling above the storm. “Come on, I’ll carve your gizzard to doll rags! ‘S death for you, young un!” (pg. 325, Kobo edition)
I can picture this scene so clearly in my mind. Samkin’s been doing a lot of chasing and tracking, but until he meets Dethbrush, he hasn’t really gotten to have a proper fight. And here’s this fox, with the sword of the Abbey’s most cherished and venerated hero, in his paws. The stakes are high, the setting is peak, the action’s intense. It’s easily my favorite fight in the whole book. I got chills imagining Dethbrush egging Samkin on, shouting above the storm. It’s that sort of anticipation I had when Aragorn gives his pitch to the Oathbreakers, and asks, “What say you?!”
As Pikkle Ffolger might say, “Blinkin’ peak!”
Pikkle Ffolger
Pikkle Ffolger. The rab, the myth, the legend! Whoops, sorry, he’s not a rabbit, he’s a hare, he’ll have you know– a fighting, boxing hare from the halls of Salamandastron!
Look, I don’t think I would’ve loved this story half as much as I do without Pikkle– he’s the most hilarious little guy in the whole book, and I honestly don’t think you could tell this story without him. Go ahead– try to take him out of the story. Suddenly, you have a book that’s much less funny and doesn’t have nearly as much heart. Sure, his role in the story is very simple– he’s Mara’s best friend and accompanies her throughout her adventures, and technically, he’s a side character of sorts; its really Mara’s journey that the book focuses on. But Pikkle. PIKKLE. What’s not to love about Pikkle Blinkin’ Ffolger, wot?!
I think I love him so much because I see so much of myself in him. Pikkle is a self-described “gluttonous hare” who loves– LOVES– to eat. Sorry, scoff. He’s a scoffer– if there’s food missing, its probably Pikkle’s fault, but you can’t blame him because LOOK AT HIM.
I fell in love with Pikkle from the third chapter of Salamandastron:
“The last bally scrap of tuck between two stout ‘n’ startin’ travelers, would y’ believe it, old chum!”
The sturdy young badger maid plucked the scone from his paws. “There were four oatscones in that bag before I went to sleep last night. You flop-earned glutton, you’ve scoffed ‘em!”
Pikkle placed a paw over his heart, his face a picture of injured innocence. “Scoffed? Did I hear you use the expression scoffed, O boon companion and playmate of my younger days? Nibbled daintily, picked idly at, maybe even mouthed a morsel or so. But scoffed, never!”
Mara broke the scone in two and tossed half to him. “Listen here, Ffolger me old Pikkle, don’t try baffling me with flowery phrases. You’re a scoffer and you always have been, so there!” (pg. 28, Kobo edition)
He’s an adorable little guy with the most hilarious of accents; his jokes and japes about how much he loves to eat light up the book. You can’t not smile when Pikkle is being teased, accused, and goofed on about him eating all the gosh darned grubberies. Everyone who comes to know Pikkle loves to tease the little hare. When Mara and Pikkle make friends with the shrews, even their leader comes to love goofing on Pikkle.
Log-a-log dipped his brush in the resin pan. “...Pikkle, my friend. This pine resin is a marvelous glue– they say that two coats of this around the mouth of a hare will stop him chattering and eating too much. Hold still now while I try it on you!”
The entire camp roared with laughter as Log-a-log chased Pikkle round the boat, brandishing the resin brush. (pg. 345, Kobo edition)
I think one of my favorite scenes in the whole book is when Pikkle gets into an eating contest with Tubgutt, another shrew who bullies Pikkle and Mara when they first meet the shrew colony. The whole thing reminds me of being a kid watching Man vs. Food on Food Network – watching Adam Richman chow down on portions of food that could feed nations.
The whole thing is so hilariously unnecessary – there’s no reason for it except, “Why not do it ‘cause it’s hilarious?” It’s a passage that genuinely made me laugh hard– you’ve got Pikkle memeing on Tubgutt as he easily demolishes bowl after bowl of hot spiced apple pudding, Tubgutt starting off so strong only to capitulate in the final stretch, and the shrews abandoning their support of Tubgutt to cheer on the easygoing Pikkle. What more could you ask for?!
This is what I mean when I say that I’ve got to read the books that truly nourish me, because I don’t think I’ve ever gone back to read any passage from a novel so many times.
When Pikkle and Mara go to Redwall Abbey at the end of the book, it’s a triumph. Because this hare who loves food so much has spent his whole life on the mountaintops, and has never seen a Redwall feast. In his words:
“Well, flop my ears! I’ve heard of tucker, but I’ve never thought I’d live to see such a bally spread as this!” (pg. 438, Kobo edition)
So. Let’s talk tucker.
Feasts of Redwall
I think people who aren’t super familiar with Redwall, but have heard of it, might be familiar with Jacques’ love of descriptions of feasts and food. I mean, there’s even a bot on Twitter (RIP, ya ol’ bird) that I followed way back when that just tweeted out passages of Redwall feasts and foods. There’s a lot, and the feasting adds such a rich texture to the story.
The Abbey is where most of the feasts take place – and in Part I of Salamandastron, Jacques sets the tone by having all of the Abbeydwellers prepare for the Nameday feast. When the Abbess names the season – and all seasons are given Names that reflect the vibe and feeling of that particular season – a Nameday feast is thrown, filled with games, songs, and of course – what we’re all here for – food. Tables and tables and piles of food, with the Great Hall cake taking center stage. I mean. Friar Bellows is out here just giving instructions for how to make this cake, and I’m over here salivating.
“The cake will be baked and taken out to cool. Once it is firm enough, here is what you do: slice is longways, three times, bottom later spread with rosehip syrup and sugared violets, place next layer lightly on top – this one will be spread with blackberry cream sprinkled with crystallized maple leaves. Next layer lightly on top – that’s the secret, lightly – spread with almond paste scattered with flaked beechnuts. Very good, very good. Pay attention now. Top layer, spread thick with wild buttercup cream, dash on some chopped chestnuts, then a light coat of rosehip syrup to give it that lovely faint pinkish color, and presto! There we will have a Great Hall cake. Very good, very good!” (pg. 52, Kobo edition)
And that’s just the cake. That’s just ONE DISH in the Nameday feast!
The way Jacques writes these lavish descriptions of food is so heartwarmingly indulgent. It’s especially for me as someone who takes a lot of pleasure in food, as has for my whole life. Perhaps it’s a bit controversial to say, but food has always been a comfort for me since I was young– and while I’ve definitely learned to eat healthier in my adult years and not scoff all the sweets my heart yearns for– it’s really nourishing to read a book where characters engage with food in such a cozy way.
There’s a lot of casual eating in Salamandastron, and Redwall in general. Characters will be cooking up plans and scoffing down chestnuts– someone might plop a damson in another critter’s mouth as a silly gag, and let’s not forget all the teasing of poor Pikkle Ffolger for his love of sweets. I really love that – there’s serious things going on, for sure, but there’s always time for an oatcake or two.
When I first started Salamandastron, I tried to write down every mention of food in the novel, I was so tickled by it. But, uh, that didn’t last very long– every other page, I had to stop to pick up my pen and jot down some new nosh that Jacques had cooked up for us. Bilberry tarts, red currant scones, strawberry cordial, hot mint tea, shrimp and hot root soup, hazelnut bread, leek and cheese flan, dandelion custard, mintcream wafers, damson wine, and the Abbey’s famous October ale– spirits, there’s scores of it, just waiting to tantalize your tastebuds. In that way, the food is a character in the Redwall series, and it’s one of my favorites.
Besides Mara, that is.
Mara, the Heart
“All those stories we told, Pikkle– lies, the whole lot. I wish it had been like that back at Salamandastron. I’d never have left.”
Pikkle watched as a single teardrop oozed from his friend’s closed eyelid. (pg. 307, Kobo edition)
Sometimes, you don’t belong at your home. I know that feeling well – a tale, for another time. And perhaps Jacques didn’t mean to write about a literal outcast in Mara’s tale – but that’s what I took from it; Mara, wandering the stuffy halls of Salamandastron and feeling like something wasn’t right. Like she didn’t belong there, like she never would belong there– no matter how she tried to rearrange herself to suit Lord Urthstripe’s desires. It was no one’s fault, really– Urthstripe was a doting dad, and Mara, a rambunctious, adventurous badger maid, but there was a mismatch there, like two bent puzzle pieces doing their best to come together. Even if Ferahgo had never waged war against the mountain, I believe Mara would be destined to leave it.
That’s what I love about her journey – because throughout her adventures with Pikkle and the helpful shrews who help save the mountain – she learns what Urthstripe was trying to teach her, about loyalty, honesty, and courage – but it’s still not a suit that fits.
So when she meets Samkin – and they are drawn to each other, like some invisible tether linking their souls – it’s such a magical moment. There’s this feeling that they should be by each other’s side. This can be explained by the spirit of Martin the Warrior doing his work, to help Samkin recover the Sword – but there’s also something so cozy about this scene. As if found family can call to the other, to help bring the other home. And in a world where connection can be so difficult – where it can be so incredibly hard to find where you belong – it’s a wonderfully comforting idea, that someone can look at you and know where you’re meant to be.
And when she finally reaches Redwall Abbey… spirits, its the best part of the whole book, really. The Abbess looks upon her – a badger maid, and Redwall has been without a guardian badger for many, many seasons– and takes her paw gratefully, welcoming her with open arms. As Mara and Pikkle are welcomed with a feast, Mara sits in the badger’s chair “that had remained empty for so long: Mara, Guardian of Redwall.”
Mara’s journey – there’s not a way to say it gracefully: I fuck with it heavy. If men have power fantasies, then small, anxious rabbits like me have “acceptance fantasies” – imagine if you could just roll up to a place, and everyone smiled upon you and said, “Welcome home!” And threw a feast for you? And named it “The Feast of the Autumn of the Homecomers”?
The happiest ending in the world – to me – is the idea of being wholly accepted for who you are. And Mara got that. And my heart hurts in the most beautiful way just thinking about it.
No Crying Until The Ending
Jacques, thank you for the Redwall series, and thank you for Salamandastron. I can’t believe I’ve put off reading the Redwall series– really, deeply reading it – for so long. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into more Redwall books, and I can’t wait to weep more bitter– and happy– tears over these adorable little critters. This series truly has everything– the heart, the soul, the jolly feasts and the heart-wrenching moments; it’s a nourishing feast, most needed in these trying times. I’m grateful for a series I can really get lost in.
And I’m so grateful to my girlfriend, for recommending Redwall and Salamandastron – and nourishing my heart in more ways than one.