Story Shots: Contentment with Redwall

Welcome back to another story shot, this time looking at how to use contentment as a way to create a world readers never want to leave.

What it is

Redwall is the first book in the late, great Brian Jacques’ series of the same name. The series revolves around the life and times of the hospitable woodland creatures that inhabit Redwall Abbey and its surrounding environs, with the first novel following Matthias, a young novice brother whose dreams of becoming a warrior are realized when the abbey gets attacked. It’s a series well known for a few key markers, including opulent feasts, large casts of lovable characters, cruel villains (surrounded by armies of astonishingly ambitious and harassment-tolerant minions), prophecies, and riddles. Notably, it is also one of the first books that ever pushed me towards wanting to be a writer.

How it works

Giving the first two books in the series, Redwall and Mattimeo, a recent re-read (I highly recommend the audiobooks narrated by Brian Jacques. His Liverpool accent is wonderful), one thing I noticed is how idyllic the setting is. This isn’t to say there’s no danger in the books, with the abbey and its creatures at turns besieged by rats and ravens, stalked by snakes and other predators, deceived by slavers, or buried in battles, but despite all the dangers and cruelties which surround them, there’s a sense of contentedness that cuts through all the noise. You can sense it in the firm belief the characters have in their friends and their abilities, the peaceful naps they take in the orchards or by the the pond, and even in the hard work they put in to help their loved ones tend their abbey.

As I was considering what seemed to be at the root of all this, I came up with two paired attributes: bounty and restraint.

It takes the description of only one feast to understand that Redwall Abbey is a bountiful place. The bees provide honey, the lake provides fish, the orchards and gardens bring plentiful produce. And the abbey dwellers, skilled and industrious creatures themselves, take great pains to put this bounty to good use. The pages of the series are littered with long descriptions of all the salads, cakes, flans, pies, custards, wines, and more that the friendly woodland creatures make.

At the same time, they work incredibly hard. They prepare all the meals, they record their histories, they brew and tend to their own drinks. Not only that, but they share in the many duties at hand, helping both their compatriots and any innocent outsiders that come seeking aid. Child care and infirmary work play a common role, as do building fortifications, defending from intruders, or even going to seek valuable items or creatures.

And therein lies the rub. Because while they are rich in food, water, beauty, family, and friendship, they also don’t go overboard. Food is stored to be used and shared. Medicine is made to be freely given. Hospitality is baked into their rationing.

And while the astute Redwall fan will be quick to point out a fair amount of excess in how much they eat and imbibe at their feasts–particularly the likes of one Basil Stag Hare–it’s also important to point out that even Basil shows restraint in his own way. He eats like a vacuum, yes, but he also puts his life regularly on the line for the sake of others, eats salads as often as sweets, and, most importantly, doesn’t fully pig out with a feast every single day. Redwallers celebrate and celebrate hard, but they do it in balance, celebrating seasonal changes or important occasions and working hard and studiously in between. And that balance, that contentment to just as happily do either task, is what leads to that prosperous, happy feel.

Why it works

One of the best definitions I’ve ever heard for opulence is (paraphrasing) riches without responsibility. It’s the idea of having more than you need and not doing anything productive with it. Owning a ferrari and not helping the poor, regularly feasting while others starve. And that’s not to say that nobody should have nice things or treat themselves now and again, but there is something to be said for the fact that riches without purpose ultimately wind up feeling unsatisfying. It’s living in the dark playground without ever being able to leave. And when characters in books live in that space, it’s hard not to notice it as a reader.

Readers like to live in pleasant worlds. Worlds that–particularly in the turbulent times we live in–feel good. One of the ways writers can achieve this is by creating worlds or characters with balance, where riches aren’t impossible, but also don’t feel unearned or spoiled. Where enjoyment isn’t avoided but neither overindulged. You can also use the opposite of this to create a great dystopia or villain, which Jacques himself did quite often with his ambitious, greedy villains. Point is, next time you feel like you’re writing a world you want to flee, why not try adding a little more balance?

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So, what do you think? Can you think of other worlds you don’t want to leave? Is there a sense of restraint paired with richness? Some other cause? Let me know in the comments, and if you want a book that’s been compared to Redwall by other readers, consider purchasing my debut novel, The Yochni’s Eye.