A treasure, indeed, are Arnold Lobel's stories, a library of fine literature that could keep one occupied for much longer than the time required just to read them all. Like the Frog and Toad series, Owl at Home is a book of vignettes that mean more than their surface humor indicates, though they're also enjoyable purely as episodic jaunts into the everyday life of Owl, who resides by himself in his house in the woods and partakes in comedic adventures usually resulting from his own appealingly scatterbrained nature. You'll develop a fondness for Owl at the end of these five stories, I can almost guarantee it, as well as a vague feeling of wistfulness superseded by the reassurance of the final tale and the way it ends. Arnold Lobel is the undisputed master of books like Owl at Home.
It's wintertime at Owl's house in the first short story, The Guest. Owl is cozied up beside the fireplace appreciating his meal of warm buttered bread and hot pea soup, insulated indoors from the snowy cold. A windstorm is causing a clatter-some din outside, and Owl surmises that winter would like to come in and warm itself by the fire. But winter is no civilized guest, as Owl learns when he opens the door and invites the season in. Wild winds blow snow upstairs and down, knocking Owl rudely aside and racing around his house in an appalling display of disrespect. Owl wishes to be hospitable, but his unruly houseguest leaves little room for diplomacy, and he has no choice but to demand that winter vacate the premises immediately. Oh, how a houseguest without self-awareness can cause havoc, trampling on our kindness without intending to and creating chaos in our life. They blow in like a snowstorm and depart only when firmly ejected, as much as we wish such unpleasantness weren't necessary. In Strange Bumps, Owl is tucked in bed one night when he notices two odd little lumps protruding under the blankets at the end of his bed. When he removes the blankets the bumps are gone, but after he re-dresses his bed, there the bumps are again. Owl is frightened; what could these elusive little lumps be, and why do they move under there every time he shifts his feet? He may have to sleep elsewhere tonight if he can't solve the mystery of the bumps. And truly, do we not frequently scare ourselves with fantasies of terrors that do not exist, that are only figments of our overactive anxiety? We see this reality with new eyes while reading Owl's reaction in Strange Bumps.
Tear-Water Tea is as poignant as any tale in this collection other than the finale. Owl sits down to brew his special homemade tea, but first must ponder a number of sad subjects to start his tears flowing. He thinks of forgotten songs, spoons lost forever behind the stove, and other valuable things that fall into disuse for one reason or another, and soon is quietly crying in his little home. Owl weeps until he has the tears for his tea, but feels a lot better once he's swilling the special concoction in restful quiet. Sometimes one does need to cry, to dwell awhile on sadness and let the tears flow unchecked, in order to feel well and balanced again. As Owl astutely puts it, "It tastes a little bit salty...but tea-water tea is always very good." May we never fear our own tear-water tea moments, and learn to appreciate how beneficial they can be for us. Owl's house is bi-level, and in Upstairs and Downstairs he becomes concerned that he's neglecting one level whenever he's inhabiting the other. So he hits on a plan to run up and down the stairs so quickly that he ends up both places at once, thus never giving either level of his house reason to feel forlorn. It doesn't quite work that way, however. No matter how speedily he dashes, Owl is never upstairs and downstairs simultaneously, so he strikes a compromise to put him as close as possible to both places at the same time. It is a conundrum when we want to be here and there, to not miss out on any good parts our life offers. Seeking a midway point as Owl does may be wise. The final tale is Owl and the Moon, in which Owl regards the full moon while sitting on a rocky high point gazing out over the sea. If he and the moon are spending this much time together then they must be rather good friends, Owl deduces, and as he leaves he looks forward to seeing the moon again next time. But Owl worries when the moon appears to follow him home across the sky; the moon's rightful place is over the sea, casting its alabaster glow to illuminate the night. Besides, Owl hasn't room in his house for the moon to stay there. The moon seems to heed Owl's final firm goodbye, but Owl feels a twinge of loneliness now that his friend has departed behind the clouds. "It is always a little sad to say good-bye to a friend," he says to himself. But the moon hasn't forsaken its feathered companion, as Owl soon discovers, and there's no reason to fear or feel lonesome with a friend nearby. Ultimately, this is the beauty of Arnold Lobel's stories: We Toads will eventually find our Frogs, and vice versa, if we hold onto hope and keep looking, and even an owl living in solitude has a unique friend out there waiting to be met. Life is a lot nicer when you're living it with a friend. To quote Arnold Lobel's 1981 Caldecott Medal-winning Fables, "All the miles of a hard road are worth a moment of true happiness." Arnold Lobel gives hope that such happiness is attainable for anyone.
The best of Frog and Toad yields greater reward than Owl at Home, in my opinion, but not by much. I would give Owl at Home two and a half stars, and I may well round that up rather than down. Arnold Lobel is a unique writing and illustrating talent whose work will shine no less valiantly a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years or more after it first entered the world, its themes are that relevant to every generation. Owl at Home is a dear read I unconditionally recommend, and I hope others get as much out of it as I did. As surely as any other precept I have discovered in literature, I espouse this great truth: one can never, ever have enough Arnold Lobel.