"The Stoddard farm is a paradise because I make it so," declared Tyce—a field mouse—to the glowering West Ender in front of him. "That affords me leeway where the rules are concerned. It entitles me to a thicker slice of the apple."
So begins Into What Splendor, but not all the farm animals see it Tyce's way. Some say he has overstepped his bounds; others say his days are numbered.
When a farm cat and a barn owl take matters into their own claws, the consequences ripple through the entire valley, upending a peaceful coexistence.
In the uneasy events that follow, the animals discover their lives are more entwined than they imagined. Together, they will rise or fall.
"The Stoddard farm is a paradise because I make it so," declared Tyce—a field mouse—to the glowering West Ender in front of him. "That affords me leeway where the rules are concerned. It entitles me to a thicker slice of the apple."
So begins Into What Splendor, but not all the farm animals see it Tyce's way. Some say he has overstepped his bounds; others say his days are numbered.
When a farm cat and a barn owl take matters into their own claws, the consequences ripple through the entire valley, upending a peaceful coexistence.
In the uneasy events that follow, the animals discover their lives are more entwined than they imagined. Together, they will rise or fall.
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"The Stoddard farm is a paradise because I make it so," declared Tyce—a field mouse—to the glowering West Ender in front of him. "That affords me leeway where the rules are concerned. It entitles me to a thicker slice of the apple."
The West Ender to whom Tyce said this—a short-snouted mouse with blotchy fur—continued to carve the dried apple with a sliver of glass. He didn’t flinch, or blink, or wiggle a whisker. In fact, it seemed he’d shorted Tyce his portion to provoke the East Ender in just this way.
“So, he’s entitled, is he?” The West Enders behind the apple-slicer squeaked with laughter. “Last I knew, East Enders have no part with West Enders. Except, that is, for these friendly nights of casting twigs. But you’re not acting friendly, Mr. Tyce.”
Rules regarding the casting of twigs, and the Feast of Apples that followed it, clearly stated that only twig-casters were entitled to fruit. Tyce knew this. He was the Keeper of the Ledger and recorder of all the rules on the farm. His place in the event, however, was to seal and settle wagers between the bettors. So, technically, the West Ender was in the right.
But Tyce was having none of it. He was hungry. He raised the ledger above his head. “Have you forgotten the Larder Rules?”
The squeaking West Enders faded into silence. The East Enders, who up to this point had been hesitant to join the fray, tittered at the brilliance of Tyce. Love him or hate him, he was one of their own.
“I have not,” said the West Ender, “but I swear by the Black Swan you won’t wield it as a bludgeon on me.”
An uneasy murmur rippled through the crowd.
“It’s funny how these things work, isn’t it?” Tyce spoke with confidence, but his eyes betrayed him. They were scanning for a gap through the West Enders in case he needed to run for it. “You cross me like this and I’ll cross you off the list.”
“Down with you!” The West Ender charged Tyce, bowling him into the hay and raising the sliver of glass in the air.
“Enough!” A booming voice came from nowhere and everywhere at once. The West Enders and East Enders alike pressed close to the walls, like castaways swimming for the safety of shore.
A mammoth rat lumbered out of the shadows, fixing Tyce’s attacker with satin black eyes.
“What business do you have with Mr. Tyce?”
The West Ender carefully stepped off Tyce and backpedaled to the far wall. “None, sir. None at all. Just being on my way!”
“Then be on it—faster!”
The West Enders scrabbled over each other for any exit they could find.
When the dust settled, Tyce stood to shake the hay from his body.
“That was a close one, Anvil. I owe you.”
“Six raids this time,” said the rat. “If there’s a next time, it’ll cost you seven.”
“As you say,” said Tyce, skipping to a knot hole in the wall of the shed. “Six raids this time, seven the next. See you in a moon!”
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The Stoddard farm is a small holding, somewhere in New England. Its residents consist of the gruff farmer, Mr Stoddard, his wife and an array of animals. There's the goats and pigs, the farm cat, the many field mice and rats, a pond and an owl. They're a close knit bunch, even with the rivalries between the species; the mice are hunted by the owl and the farm cat, but a truce is always called when they're congregated in the barn. Here, they will place wagers on various things, make rules for raiding the farmers' larder and exchange the latest farm gossip. It's a happy place, the barn on the Stoddard farm, or it was until the owl and cat make a bet that will forever change the relationships between the animals.
What follows is a whimsical tale of life and death, bundled up in short story. Dublin tackles death head on and early on; not shying away from what is one of the most difficult subjects to broach with children of any age. He forges ahead with tragedy with such aptitude and empathy, it's difficult to remember that this is, essentially, a children's book. The older characters deal with the deaths of their friends in a no-nonsense way, having lived through many seasons and seen many of the other animals be taken by 'the Black Swan' (which is Dublin's metaphor for death). These older animals lead the younger, more naive inhabitants of the farm through their grief with their levity and maturity. The animals don't fear death, nor do the older ones mourn - they celebrate the life that's been lived and remember the times they've shared.
The Black Swan isn't even an angel of death that the animals fear, even though they do hold her in reverence almost equalling a religious deity. They know that when she comes for their soul, on silent wings, they will no longer feel pain and be taken to the Valley of Splendour, where they can flit and frolic to their heart's content. A beautiful metaphor that not only comforts the animals when a loved one is lost, but has them striving to be the very best that their species can be while they live. It's one that had me comforted; not only thinking of lost loved ones, but of imagining my own children reading this beautiful book, and being comforted themselves.
Facing ones mortality is never an easy process, especially for children - be they infants, pre-teens or even teenagers. While this book is aimed more at the pre-teens than teenagers (talking animals), it's themes are deeper than most adult story books I've read.
S. A.