Green Forest Stories by Thornton W. Burgess (best e ink reader for manga txt) đź“•
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American naturalist and conservationist Thornton W. Burgess was the author of more than one hundred books for children; the best-remembered of these is Old Mother West Wind, which was originally written for his young son. Burgess also wrote dozens of books about the creatures of the northern North American forest, four of which are collected here as the Green Forest Stories.
This Green Forest Stories compilation focuses on Lightfoot the Deer, Blacky the Crow, Whitefoot the Wood Mouse, and twin bear cubs Woof-Woof and Boxer. Readers may have encountered these characters in other of Burgess’s stories about the “little people” of the Massachusetts forest. Burgess’s earliest ventures into animal fantasy are roughly contemporary with Rudyard Kipling’s Just So Stories and Beatrix Potter’s tales of various animals, and represent the most lasting American entry into this genre.
Animal fantasy is a sub-genre of children’s literature in which animals are anthropomorphized into human-like characters and use language like humans. It is often criticized by those who want readers to experience more realistic representations of animals and the natural world, but animal fantasies engage a millennia-old tradition, in the Western canon reaching back at least as far as Aesop’s Fables; animal characters feature in teaching stories for children (and adults) in cultures around the world. Burgess’s stories are intended for children in the early elementary grades. The challenges and triumphs of the “little people” in his stories will feel identifiable to many young readers, and the snippets of moralizing and authorial commentary interleaved with the actions of the plot reflect a teaching device with a long history.
In the late twentieth century, Burgess fell out of favour with teachers and librarians. This shift occurred in part due to changing tastes in literary style and in part due to a changing society. Burgess is entirely a writer of his time. Most of the animals he depicts are male, and many of the female animals who wander into the stories are more passive and more stereotyped than the kinds of representation preferred for girls today. (Such is not the case, however, of Old Granny Fox, who may be the smartest of the little people Burgess represents and certainly does not lack agency or self-determination.)
The style of Burgess’s storytelling is undeniably old-fashioned but still deserves consideration. Although the writing is often simple and plain, there are rhetorical flourishes that reveal the author’s attention to craft. In particular, Burgess’s use of formulaic expressions such as “jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun” and “the Merry Little Breezes” links these tales to an orality that stretches back to at least The Iliad and The Odyssey of Homer (think of phrases such as “the wine-dark sea,” “rosy-fingered Dawn,” and “bright-eyed Athena”). Through his broader use of repetition and through onomatopoeia, Burgess underscores characteristics of his characters’ real-life forest counterparts—the way a chickadee calls, a squirrel scolds, or a rabbit lopes, for example.
In these stories, as in the Green Meadow Stories collection, we observe features that signal Burgess’s experience as a writer for periodicals and as an early radio broadcaster. Each chapter begins with reminders about the previous chapter, and chapters end with either a strong, propulsive conclusion or a traditional cliff-hanger. The chapters are generally quite short—a comfortable size to read as a bedtime story, and just long enough to hold a new reader’s attention without demanding too much of that reader’s energy. The strong narrative voice sounds distinctly like oral storytelling. One can almost imagine a small group of young people seated in a circle at the storyteller’s feet.
That image captures the essence of these animal tales. They are light, bright peeks into a complex and beautiful world, a world any girl or boy may want to pursue through study or personal explorations. As humanity faces the daily loss of animal species, stories that delight readers and listeners, that encourage them to learn about and respect the creatures of the non-human world, deserve our renewed attention and respect.
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- Author: Thornton W. Burgess
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“I’m glad I didn’t take ’em,” said Farmer Brown’s boy. “Yes, sir, I’m glad I didn’t take ’em.”
As he turned back toward home, he saw Blacky the Crow flying over the Green Forest, and little did he guess how he had upset Blacky’s plans.
XIII Blacky Has a Change of HeartBlacky The Crow isn’t all black. No, indeed. His coat is black, and sometimes it seems as if his heart is all black, but this isn’t so. It certainly seemed as if his heart was all black when he tried so hard to make trouble for Hooty the Owl. It would seem as if only a black heart could have urged him to try so hard to steal the eggs of Hooty and Mrs. Hooty, but this wasn’t really so. You see, it didn’t seem at all wrong to try to get those eggs. Blacky was hungry, and those eggs would have given him a good meal. He knew that Hooty wouldn’t hesitate to catch him and eat him if he had the chance, and so it seemed to him perfectly right and fair to steal Hooty’s eggs if he was smart enough to do so. And most of the other little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows would have felt the same way about it. You see, it is one of the laws of Old Mother Nature that each one must learn to look out for himself.
But when Blacky showed that nest of Hooty’s to Farmer Brown’s boy with the hope that Farmer Brown’s boy would steal those eggs, there was blackness in his heart. He was doing something then which was pure meanness. He was just trying to make trouble for Hooty, to get even because Hooty had been too smart for him. He had sat in the top of a tall pine-tree where he could see all that happened, and he had chuckled wickedly as he had seen Farmer Brown’s boy climb to Hooty’s nest and take out an egg. He felt sure that he would take both eggs. He hoped so, anyway.
When he saw Farmer Brown’s boy put the eggs back and climb down the tree without any, he had to blink his eyes to make sure that he saw straight. He just couldn’t believe what he saw. At first he was dreadfully disappointed and angry. It looked very much as if he weren’t going to get even with Hooty after all. He flew over to his favorite tree to think things over. Now sometimes it is a good thing to sit by oneself and think things over. It gives the little small voice deep down inside a chance to be heard. It was just that way with Blacky now.
The longer he thought, the meaner his action in calling Farmer Brown’s boy looked. It was one thing to try to steal those eggs himself, but it was quite another matter to try to have them stolen by someone against whom Hooty had no protection whatever.
“If it had been anyone but Hooty, you would have done your best to have kept Farmer Brown’s boy away,” said the little voice inside. Blacky hung his head. He knew that it was true. More than once, in fact many times, he had warned other feathered folks when Farmer Brown’s boy had been hunting for their nests, and had helped to lead him away.
At last Blacky threw up his head and chuckled, and this time his chuckle was good to hear. “I’m glad that Farmer Brown’s boy didn’t take those eggs,” said he right out loud. “Yes, sir, I’m glad. I’ll never do such a thing as that again. I’m ashamed of what I did; yet I’m glad I did it. I’m glad because I’ve learned some things. I’ve learned that Farmer Brown’s boy isn’t as much to be feared as he used to be. I’ve learned that Hooty isn’t as stupid as I thought he was. I’ve learned that while it may be all right for us people of the Green Forest to try to outwit each other we ought to protect each other against common dangers. And I’ve learned something I didn’t know before, and that is that Hooty the Owl is the very first of us to set up housekeeping. Now I think I’ll go hunt for an honest meal.” And he did.
XIV Blacky Makes a CallJudge no one by his style of dress;
Your ignorance you thus confess.
“Caw, caw, caw, caw.” There was no need of looking to see who that was. Peter Rabbit knew without looking. Mrs. Quack knew without looking. Just the same, both looked up. Just alighting in the top of a tall tree was Blacky the Crow. “Caw, caw, caw, caw,” he repeated, looking down at Peter and Mrs. Quack and Mr. Quack and the six young Quacks. “I hope I am not interrupting any secret gossip.”
“Not at all,” Peter hastened to say. “Mrs. Quack was just telling me of the troubles and dangers in bringing up a young family in the Far North. How did you know the Quacks had arrived?”
Blacky chuckled hoarsely. “I didn’t,” said he. “I simply thought there might be something going on I didn’t know about over here in the pond of Paddy the Beaver, so I came over to find out. Mr. Quack, you and Mrs. Quack are looking very fine this fall. And those handsome young Quacks, you don’t mean to tell me that they are your children!”
Mrs. Quack nodded proudly. “They are,” said she.
“You don’t say so!” exclaimed Blacky, as if he were very much surprised, when all the time he wasn’t surprised at all. “They are a credit to their parents.
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