"If you will have only one chance, you want to make it the best it can be."
—Young Fredle, P. 163
I don't know if I can think of a single author whose writing is truly wiser than that of Cynthia Voigt. Louisa May Alcott, maybe? Joseph Krumgold? Elizabeth Yates? E.L. Konigsburg? Walter Dean Myers? Jacqueline Woodson? It's probably only accurate, though, to say that these great authors are capable of equaling, at times, the wisdom shone forth by Cynthia Voigt in her novels. We are lucky to have such a keenly perceptive soul in the business of telling stories, whether the subject matter is emotional and searing as in Izzy, Willy-Nilly or a bit on the lighter side, as in Young Fredle. Any story that Cynthia Voigt wants to tell, I am going to make a point of listening to and learning from, and I could choose no better teacher of emotional truth and its everyday application than the author of the matchless Tillerman Cycle. Cynthia Voigt is a wonder.
Following in the long tradition of junior novels that feature mice and their miniaturized world as the primary characters and setting, Young Fredle introduces us first to an extended family of house mice living within the walls of a house in the country. The rules by which the mice live are crystal clear, and there are no exceptions made for anyone: remaining vigilant to the constant threat of the live-in cat is priority one, and any mouse who grows lackadaisical about it is going to eventually be caught and eaten. Playing Russian roulette with the house cat does not ever pay off for mice. And because successfully foraging during the night for their food is so vital to the continued existence of the group as a whole, the standard rule is that any mice incapable of carrying their weight are to be pushed out of the walls, and left to whatever end they will meet in the open areas of the house. Life as a house mouse isn't as cute in Young Fredle as in some stories, but it's the only life that they know.
Fredle, though, has a questioning streak in him about many of the hard and fast rules by which his family lives, and it is this curiosity, ultimately, that leads to the crucial mistake which gets him pushed out of the walls. Fredle manages to make it in one piece to the outside, a region of the world that neither he nor any of his family has ever actually seen, only heard rumors about, and Fredle is terrified of what he might encounter in this new, uncomfortably bright setting. As the stories go, there are outside mice who are quite different from the house variety, and rummaging around in the house's cellar are mice that are different still from both the outdoors and indoors types. It doesn't take Fredle long after the onset of his "banishment" to fall in with a group of the outdoors mice, and to find out that so much of his family's speculation about the outside world was completely wrong. There was a whole different side to basic existence that the house mice were always completely ignorant of, Fredle comes to realize, and only by joining in that existence himself could he have ever learned about it.
But so much of the outside world can a dangerous, fearful place, a fact made obvious by specific encounters even as Fredle grows to understand that both his new lifestyle and his old have their good and bad parts. One of the main themes to this book is the struggle with fear that Fredle—and we humans, too—go through when stepping out past our comfort zones and trying something new, taking a chance that feels crazy but may offer us our only opportunity of experiencing life to an extent that makes it truly worthwhile. What good does it do to be safe if it means locking ourselves up tight away from others, too afraid of getting hurt to open our vulnerable side up to the possible damage that they may inflict? Of course, things like that are easy to say but much more difficult to act on, as anyone who has been badly burned knows all too well. Yet such chances still must be taken, or life loses its luster and becomes a dull, unlivable repetition that leads nowhere good. Maybe a big part of life is finding a way to enjoy the color and light of outside even with full knowledge that predatory birds are flying in our skies, and there's not much we can do if they choose to dive down and sink their talons into us. I guess we never know what's really going to happen until we take that first step outside and see for ourselves.
So, what happens to Fredle? Well, I'm not going to give away anything important, but there's a lot for a young mouse to learn about the world around him, the world that he barely even knew existed before he ventured forth into it and began to find things out for himself. The story speaks eloquently to all of us who struggle with fear the way Fredle does, hampered with the frightened instincts of a mouse in a world that generally only rewards (but also crushes) the valiant. Fredle's journey into the outside is a total experience of emotions, intellect and body, and while his time outdoors changes him in some fundamental ways, I think it's the deeper questioning spirit that always drove him which gives Fredle the courage to live his new life in spite of the fear he feels, and leads him to find the answers that he had sought even while he was quietly habitating the dark, dank walls of the house with his family. Even a mouse can discover reserves of courage within himself, it seems, sometimes at the most unexpected of moments.
I knew that I definitely wanted to give two and a half stars to Young Fredle, and briefly considered the possibility of rounding that rating up to three stars instead of down to two. This is a very nice story, wise in its intent and filled with memorable characters that show a wide range of personalities, just as in real life. Cynthia Voigt is a storyteller whose work should not be missed by any serious reader, and I'm happy to have added Young Fredle to the list of her books that I have read. I hope that many others choose to do the same, and that Young Fredle earns all the praise it deserves.