(John) Richard Jefferies (1848-1887) is best known for his prolific and sensitive writing on natural history, rural life and agriculture in late Victorian England. However, a closer examination of his career reveals a many-sided author who was something of an enigma. To some people he is more familiar as the author of the children’s classic Bevis or the strange futuristic fantasy After London, while he also has some reputation as a mystic worthy of serious study. Since his death his books have enjoyed intermittent spells of popularity, but today he is unknown to the greater part of the reading public. Jefferies, however, has been an inspiration to a number of more prominent writers and W.H. Hudson, Edward Thomas, Henry Williamson and John Fowles are among those who have acknowledged their debt to him. In my view his greatest achievement lies in his expression, aesthetically and spiritually, of the human encounter with the natural world – something that became almost an obsession for him in his last years.
He was born at Coate in the north Wiltshire countryside - now on the outskirts of Swindon - where his family farmed a smallholding of about forty acres. His father was a thoughtful man with a passionate love of nature but was unsuccessful as a farmer, with the result that the later years of Jefferies' childhood were spent in a household increasingly threatened by poverty. There were also, it seems, other tensions in the family. Richard’s mother, who had been brought up in London, never settled into a life in the country and the portrait of her as Mrs Iden - usually regarded as an accurate one - in his last novel, Amaryllis at the Fair, is anything but flattering. Remarks made in some of Jefferies’ childhood letters to his aunt also strongly suggest an absence of mutual affection and understanding between mother and son. A combination of an unsettled home life and an early romantic desire for adventure led him at the age of sixteen to leave home with the intention of traversing Europe as far as Moscow. In this escapade he was accompanied by a cousin, but the journey was abandoned soon after they reached France. On their return to England they attempted to board a ship for the United States but this plan also came to nothing when they found themselves without sufficient money to pay for food.
A self-absorbed and independent youth, Jefferies spent much of his time walking through the countryside around Coate and along the wide chalk expanses of the Marlborough Downs. He regularly visited Burderop woods and Liddington Hill near his home and on longer trips explored Savernake Forest and the stretch of the downs to the east, where the famous white horse is engraved in the hillside above Uffington. His favourite haunt was Liddington Hill, a height crowned with an ancient fort commanding superb views of the north Wiltshire plain and the downs. It was on the summit of Liddington at the age of about eighteen, as he relates in The Story of My Heart, that his unusual sensitivity to nature began to induce in him a powerful inner awakening - a desire for a larger existence or reality which he termed 'soul life'. Wherever he went in the countryside he found himself in awe of the beauty and tranquility of the natural world; not only the trees, flowers and animals, but also the sun, the stars and the entire cosmos seemed to him to be filled with an inexpressible sense of magic and meaning.
Wood Magic is a very odd book, especially by the standards of Victorian children's books. The boy protagonist, Bevis, seems to be beloved by Nature, the Wind, and the Water, etc., and yet this one-with-nature thing alternates with the little darling committing multiple instances of animal abuse. Including, but not limited to: - throwing a stick at a colt because it wouldn't let him pet it -flinging a knife at a bird(which likely amounts to attempted murder since he has frequent conversations with the birds) -placing a bone just out of reach of his recently-beaten dog, then laughing and eating an apple while he watches the poor dog try desperately to reach the bone. -planning to kill first a rat, and then a bird, because of false accusations made by the weasel, whom Bevis should know is a liar from past experience. Add extreme gullibility to Bevis' list of endearing traits.
Perhaps Nature just relates to Bevis because it too is illogically sadistic in this book. But even with this anti-Little Lord Fauntleroy we can't escape the long, saccharine monologues by the Wind and Water. I'll give it an extra half-star for some entertainment value due to sheer weirdness, but otherwise this is a book I would gladly leave buried in the sands of time.
This is a difficult one to write. Written by poet Richard Jefferies, the prose as you might expect is magnificent, the description of nature, wild life and the domestic animals are quite beautiful and extremely well observed, but there is little to like about any of the characters or the story which revolves much around spiteful actions, revenge and acts of violence.
If I'm honest -I nearly gave up after the first 50 pages as I hated the focal character; a child called Bevis who behaves like a brat for the most part and has a very nasty temper - despite the fact that all the animals in his world can speak to him, he spends much of his time abusing those he takes a dislike too, and they are many in number. The animals themselves are not much better, eking revenge on each other for past deeds and the actions they take during the course of the narrative.
If you can get past the first 100 pages, it becomes more palatable, and a story finally begins to emerge (where before the narrative seemed to have no clear direction) and the book relates the power struggle between the reigning magpie king, his traitorous courtiers and an an invading army of wood pigeons led by their rebel captain Hoo Choo who is intent on taking the magpie's arable land. A sort of Game of Thrones played out by the animal kingdom takes place of which Bevis is the chief witness.
Towards its end, the book takes on a more metaphysical tone and touches philosophically upon the man's relationship with nature and the ever revolving circle of life, and despite finding most of the book unpleasant I am glad I finished it. It's not a book however I would freely recommend but for those who possess an iron-will and are interested in late 19th century fiction, you may find some reward for your patience in the perspicuous prose, dialogue and descriptive passages which paint a vivid and immersive rural world of the 1880s.
On the negative side: I agree with other reviewers about the horribly dated Victorian values and episodes of childish, senseless violence. And Bevis is unbearably "cutesy" in between throwing stones at birds.
On the positive side, there is magic in much of the nature description, which makes me wish I could go to rural England to see it first-hand. (Being American, I didn't recognize a lot of the plants and even some of the animals.) Also kudos for being very honest about the mind of a young child, who truly doesn't understand the difference between good and bad, and who promises not to do something and then instantly forgets it, and thinks it rude of the grown-up to remember it and hold him to it! I still didn't really like Bevis as a character, but I respect the author for realistically describing how very young children sometimes behave!
I wanted to like this because other reviewers were so down on it. However, they speak truth. This is a weird, long book that I only finished because I am persistent like that. I couldn't like this book no matter how hard I tried. There isn't an admirable character in the bunch of woodland animals that I could find to enjoy. The young boy in the story is a perfect brat and I would never want to meet him in real life.
I picked this book up on a whim, having never heard of it before. And I set it down as something that I'm right glad to have done with.
Long before Watership Down and two decades before The Wind in the Willows, Richard Jefferies wrote this Victorian classic about Bevis and his adventures with all the animals and birds in the neighboring farmlands and fields. Far from the typical sentimentality of subsequent nature books for Victorian and Edwardian children, Wood Magic offers a rather cynical animal fable about power, deceit, and self-interest. Three and a half stars.
Wood Magic is a children's classic where the main character, Bevis, can talk to animals and nature and gets involved in its affairs.
None of the characters are likable. Bevis is bratty, temperamental and cruel and I don't understand why the animals like him so much. The animals and their politics are interesting and this book depicts the harsh realities of the animal kingdom, but I couldn't take the talking animals seriously.
Maybe I would have been more enamored with Wood Magic as a child, but I'm not impressed.
After one chapter, I was disillusioned, and came here to read a few reviews. I won't be wasting any more time on the obnoxious, abusive boy named Bevis. What a shame ...
Despite the title, there is basically no magic in this book, aside from the animals being able to talk with Bevis. Various side stories resemble fables, but the overall plot is surprisingly political: the overbearing king of the forest, a jay named Kapchack, must find some way to keep a sweltering hoard of barbarian pigeons from overrunning his kingdom.
Meanwhile, almost every animal of note beneath his command creates plans to betray him for their own personal gain. The most prominent villain is the weasel, who continually plays cruel tricks and evades death by virtue of his fast tongue. Brief but potent instances of violence pepper the book, but descriptions of the animals and woodland setting give it a sense of tranquility.
There would never be a book like this published today, and while I gave it only three stars, I think it is worth the read for odd ducks like myself.
Magical and evocative of a rural childhood. Seems to bring back a world we have lost. Another read because it is a book by my husband's namesake and distant relative.