I have vague memories of the animated movie; fleeting images come to mind that seem mostly centered on being frightened at the crazed look in Mr. Toad’s eyes as he wildly careens down the road reveling in his addiction, the speed of his motor-car. Yet when I came across The Wind in the Willows while browsing the Barnes and Noble Classics series on my Nook, it occurred to me with a start that I had never actually read this classic set of bedtime stories, written by Kenneth Grahame for his son. I expected a quick read that would do little more than check an as-of-yet-overlooked box.

Perhaps I simply did not understand the many-layered beauty of the story as a child, or maybe I was too frightened of Mr. Toad at whatever age it was that I saw the movie to remember anything else, or maybe the film was not really up to the task of conveying what I now find exquisite about this work of children’s literature. I suspect a combination of all three. What I can say is, that I have emerged from reading this book straight through as one wakes from a pleasant dream.

Sudden and magnificent, the sun’s broad golden disc showed itself over the horizon facing them; and the first rays, shooting across the level water-meadows, took the animals full in the eyes and dazzled them. When they were able to look once more, the Vision had vanished, and the air was full of the carol of birds that hailed the dawn [108:].

Grahame uses evocative and flowing language, always centered on the natural world and the importance of its connection and rhythms. The animals’ intuitive closeness with their surroundings form the backdrop of a series of adventures by the protagonist Mole and his friends, Water Rat, Badger, and Toad. As improbable and silly as the plot turns often were, I found myself willingly suspending disbelief in exchange for the privilege of absorbing more of the beautiful expressions as fast as I could:

Their old haunts greeted them again in other raiment, as if they had slipped away and put on this pure new apparel and come quietly back, smiling as they shyly waited to see if they would be recognized again under it [105:].

Interspersed with the lovely, poetic dialog of nature and animals are insightful remarks on human society and behavior. These run not only along the lines of commentary on mankind’s impermanence upon the backdrop of the world – “ ‘Who can tell?,’ said the Badger. ‘People come – they stay for a while, they flourish, they build – and they go. It is their way. But we remain.’” [73:] – but also in caricature of very human types.

Mole’s naïve, wide-eyed view of the world; Water Rat’s moody, poetic musings and sharp cunning; the earthy, country simplicity of Badger’s generosity and strength; Toad’s outrageously inflated conceitedness, masking affable charm and landed refinement – in these portraits we easily find parts of ourselves, shades of others we know, and perhaps a bit of who we aspire to be. I have, I admit, perhaps a bit more of Toad in me than I’d like; but I still connected most eagerly with the Rats – both the major character of Water Rat, as well as in the following urging by a lesser character, the Sea Rat:

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 [135:].

There is even a gem for actors, composed as succinctly as Boleslavsky might have done in admonishing his Creature to strive for “[…:] that happy grace which is the last thing the skilled actor shall capture – the natural grace which goes with perfect unconsciousness of observation” [77:].

If you did read this book as a child, I must say I envy you a bit; I would love to know how I would have perceived it had I read it without whatever present perspective I have. If you have not, please do yourself a favor and track down a copy. Even if you did read it as a child, read it again, for the sake of what insights you may have missed in your younger years.

Having now read this book and written this review all in one sitting, I am tempted to either read or write again immediately. But I think shall instead yield to Mole’s ways in this instance, pause to simply reflect on life: “[…:] and with his ear to the reed-stems he caught, at intervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly among them” [18:].

What a marvelous book. Maybe I just read it in a good mood or read way too much into it, but I make no hesitation in giving it a full five-star rating.