Green Forest Stories by Thornton W. Burgess (best e ink reader for manga txt) đ
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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 Burgessâs stories about the âlittle peopleâ of the Massachusetts forest. Burgessâs earliest ventures into animal fantasy are roughly contemporary with Rudyard Kiplingâs Just So Stories and Beatrix Potterâs tales of various animals, and represent the most lasting American entry into this genre.
Animal fantasy is a sub-genre of childrenâs 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 Aesopâs Fables; animal characters feature in teaching stories for children (and adults) in cultures around the world. Burgessâs stories are intended for children in the early elementary grades. The challenges and triumphs of the âlittle peopleâ 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 Burgessâs storytelling is undeniably old-fashioned but still deserves consideration. Although the writing is often simple and plain, there are rhetorical flourishes that reveal the authorâs attention to craft. In particular, Burgessâs use of formulaic expressions such as âjolly, round, bright Mr. Sunâ and âthe Merry Little Breezesâ links these tales to an orality that stretches back to at least The Iliad and The Odyssey of Homer (think of phrases such as âthe wine-dark sea,â ârosy-fingered Dawn,â and âbright-eyed Athenaâ). Through his broader use of repetition and through onomatopoeia, Burgess underscores characteristics of his charactersâ real-life forest counterpartsâthe 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 Burgessâs 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 shortâa comfortable size to read as a bedtime story, and just long enough to hold a new readerâs attention without demanding too much of that readerâs 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 storytellerâs 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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As it was, Blacky flew off about his own business, quite satisfied that now all would be well, and he need worry no more about those Ducks. None of the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows knew Farmer Brownâs boy better than did Blacky the Crow. None knew better than he that Farmer Brownâs boy was their best friend. âIt is all right now,â chuckled Blacky. âIt is all right now.â And as the cheery whistle of Farmer Brownâs boy floated back to him on the Merry Little Breezes, he repeated it: âIt is all right now.â
XXV Blacky Gets a Dreadful ShockWhen friends prove false, whom may we trust?
The springs of faith are turned to dust.
Blacky the Crow was in the top of his favorite tree over near the Big River early this afternoon. He didnât know what was going to happen, but he felt in his bones that something was, and he meant to be on hand to see. For a long time he sat there, seeing nothing unusual. At last he spied a tiny figure far away across the Green Meadows. Even at that distance he knew who it was; it was Farmer Brownâs boy, and he was coming toward the Big River.
âI thought as much,â chuckled Blacky. âHe is coming over here to drive that hunter away.â
The tiny figure grew larger. It was Farmer Brownâs boy beyond a doubt. Suddenly Blackyâs eyes opened so wide that they looked as if they were in danger of popping out of his head. He had discovered that Farmer Brownâs boy was carrying something and that that something was a gun! Yes, sir, Farmer Brownâs boy was carrying a terrible gun! If Blacky could have rubbed his eyes, he would have done so, just to make sure that there was nothing the matter with them.
âA gun!â croaked Blacky. âFarmer Brownâs boy with a terrible gun! What does it mean?â
Nearer came Farmer Brownâs boy, and Blacky could see that terrible gun plainly now. Suddenly an idea popped into his head. âPerhaps he is going to shoot that hunter!â thought Blacky, and somehow he felt better.
Farmer Brownâs boy reached the Big River at a point some distance below the blind built by the hunter. He laid his gun down on the bank and went down to the edge of the water. The rushes grew very thick there, and for a while Farmer Brownâs boy was very busy among them. Blacky from his high perch could watch him, and as he watched, he grew more and more puzzled. It looked very much as if Farmer Brownâs boy was building a blind much like that of the hunterâs. At last he carried an old log down there, got his gun, and sat down just as the hunter had done in his blind the afternoon before. He was quite hidden there, excepting from a place high up like Blackyâs perch.
âIâ âIâ âI do believe he is going to try to shoot those Ducks himself,â gasped Blacky. âI wouldnât have believed it if anyone had told me. No, sir, I wouldnât have believed it. Iâ âIâ âcanât believe it now. Farmer Brownâs boy hunting with a terrible gun! Yet Iâve got to believe my own eyes.â
A noise up river caught his attention. It was the noise of oars in a boat. There was the hunter, rowing down the Big River. Just as he had done the day before, he came ashore above his blind and walked down to it.
âThis is no place for me,â muttered Blacky. âHeâll remember that I scared those Ducks yesterday, and as likely as not heâll try to shoot me.â
Blacky spread his black wings and hurriedly left the treetop, heading for another tree farther back on the Green Meadows where he would be safe, but from which he could not see as well. There he sat until the Black Shadows warned him that it was high time for him to be getting back to the Green Forest.
He had to hurry, for it was later than usual, and he was afraid to be out after dark. Just as he reached the Green Forest he heard a faint âbang, bangâ from over by the Big River, and he knew that it came from the place where Farmer Brownâs boy was hiding in the rushes.
âIt is true,â croaked Blacky. âFarmer Brownâs boy has turned hunter.â It was such a dreadful shock to Blacky that it was a long time before he could go to sleep.
XXVI Why the Hunter Got No DucksThe hunter who had come down the Big River in a boat and landed near the place where Dusky the Black Duck and his flock had found nice yellow corn scattered in the rushes night after night saw Blacky the Crow leave the top of a certain tree as he approached.
âIt is well for you that you didnât wait for me to get nearer,â said the hunter. âYou are smart enough to know that you canât play the same trick on me twice. You frightened those Ducks away last night, but if you try it again, youâll be shot as surely as your coat is black.â
Then the hunter went to his blind which, you know, was the hiding-place he had made of bushes and rushes, and behind this he sat down with his terrible gun to wait and watch for Dusky the Black Duck and his flock.
Now you remember that farther along the shore of the Big River was Farmer Brownâs boy, hiding in a blind he had made that afternoon. The hunter couldnât see him at all. He didnât have the least idea that anyone else was anywhere near. âWith
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