The world of Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream haunts Brendon Chase, the comedy of both gilded by the enigmatic and strange to create a rich, complex effect. While on the surface three boys gadding about in the woods evading their adult nemeses at every turn is extremely funny - there are some wonderful, quasi-operatic set pieces (Sir William's 'hunt', Little John's shopping trip to Brendon, the picnic...), not to mention the outrageous details of the plot ('Why does Auntie do so little about her charges out in the woods for months on end? How do children survive almost a year dressed mostly in rabbit skins? Where did they learn to cure a pig?!') - the arresting moments of stillness and calm, slipped in effortlessly, cast a spell over the reader as the Wood reveals its ancient, ineffable spirit.
Brendon Chase is not about people: as the title shows plainly, its focus is the woodland. It is difficult to think of another novel for young people which so perfectly describes the glory and mystery of the English countryside. Brendon Chase is filled with passages that draw the feeling of a wild wood as well as the physical beauty of one, just as Shakespeare's verse evokes the heady world of a summer night:
I know a bank where the wild thyme blows,
Where oxlips and the nodding violet grows,
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses and with eglantine.
From the very start of the story, the Chase is described in extraordinary detail, the tiny birds and flowers are seen as though through Robin's eyes - the 'visionary' one - and straight away we are expected to see as he does. Colours, smells, the feeling of the breath of wind or snow, everything is there. It is not simplistic picture-painting; the Wood is part of the plot, the Wood is the central character. As with Shakespeare's forest, subtle shades of personality are infused into the description of the glories of nature: the way in which the owls calling to each other and the sound of the wind in the trees are just as revealing as any dialogue could achieve. The bark of fox and grunt of pig, the sparkle of birdsong, the boom of a rutting stag all form the verses of multiple lives eternally playing out their individual parts within the woods. The oak tree and the Blind Pool on the other hand take the part of the silent observers, a mute Greek Chorus, ancient and solitary sources of a wisdom. Only gradually, with humble respect, do the children begin to understand: they must listen both to the sound and to the sense of these: knowledge of the wild is hard-earned.
***
Despite its episodic scenes, Brendon Chase as a whole is formed loosely of two parts. The first details the way in which the boys enter the forest, become inhabitants, then learn the ways in which they are to survive.
Like the wood in A Midsummer Night's Dream, Brendon Chase is an asylum, a place of safety for the boys, a refuge where they are simply to survive and remain hidden so as to avoid the terrible consequence of returning to school. This is not 'school' as a place of learning, or even particularly as a place of misery: it is School as Establishment, the well-worn wheel of their father's father's treadmill through life. While Shakespeare's Dream begins with the breaking of law - the arranged marriage - the boys have their own dream, to flout rules, to be free...they run away and make their dream a reality, innocent enough to be drawn to the freedom of the wild, experienced enough to understand that they must take the chance while they have it.
So quick bright things come to confusion
All three boys, 'quick and bright', full of life and intelligence, arrive in the Chase ready to learn. The Wood will be their teacher now and, as is implied at the end of the book, will have taught them more that they will need in their lives than any established schooling could. By their 'confusion' in the wood (the word derives from the Latin 'to mingle') the brothers first freely offer up then go on to begin to integrate their own spirits with the forest. Ultimately they will leave transfigured, but for now, they are to enjoy exploring.
Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where [...]
The comedy of the adults' search for the boys, the fruitless efforts they go to in order to find the children and bring them back to Established Order, is an important plot device in the first part of the book. (The hunt is of course cleverly hidden in plain sight in the title: Brendon Chase!) Having become familiar with the geography of the wood (notably, though, they never seem to grasp the full extent of it, there is always something more to be discovered), their knowledge is put to good use in eluding the tenacious Sergeant Bunting, appointed leader of the 'enemy' adults.
Up and down, up and down
I will lead them up and down
I am feared in field in town
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Puck's words 'up and down' not only describe the physical high-jinks of the hunt but also its topsy-turvy nature. The babes-in-the-wood are the ones in charge here: two steps ahead of the 'experienced' grown-ups, they manage to throw the traditional set-up of the hunt on its head:
I will lead them up and down
I am feared in field in town
Goblin, lead them up and down.
Puck's words 'up and down' not only describe the physical high-jinks of the hunt but also its topsy-turvy nature. The babes-in-the-wood are the ones in charge here: two steps ahead of the 'experienced' grown-ups, they manage to throw the traditional set-up of the hunt on its head:
Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the
chase;
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger
The boys are Shakespeare's fairies - knowing, mischievous, almost supernatural in their skill: once someone is brought to the Wood, they must follow its Rules or pay the consequence. The boys, of course, fully attend; the grown-ups do not.
For example, Sergeant Bunting - very like Shakespeare's Bottom, oblivious to the power of the woods, so caught up is he in his own pomposity - is thrice thwarted and only after a near-death experience will he admit defeat. Whilst his first two attempts are frustrated by the boys' puckish roguery, it is the Wood alone (in the form of a stag) that eventually puts paid to his pursuits once and for all.
Although the Sergeant might be seen as a comic character, we are left perhaps with some sympathy for the man. He is not the stock villain that he at first appears and certainly the fright that proves to be the end of his adventures is not one we would wish on anyone. But Sylvan Rule is Sylvan Rule, B.B. seems to say, and although Bunting is offered a white flag part-way through the novel, he chooses ultimately to position himself against the Wood and invites his own fall.
O Bottom, thou art changed!
During the summer, pursuing the boys though the Chase, parched and caked with dust on his bike in the intense heat, the Sergeant stumbles across the Blind Pool. In the cool of the shade, we fully appreciate Bunting's temptation to swim. His relief at the cold water is so grateful that he even starts to believe that he could stay here for ever, thanks to what the Chase has offered him. But no! The decorum of reality soon overtakes him as he realises that his policeman's outfit (the synthetic mark of authority) is missing, stolen by those goblin-boys, and all his assumed responsibilities flood back. In fact, rather than give in to the Wood (Smokoe Joe might have helped him!) he would rather walk home in the dark, semi-naked, and pester what turns out to be a disloyal friend.
The second part of the story - more an extended coda - begins proper after Sergeant Bunting admits his failure to master the wild: he is never to return to the Chase alone again! From this point on, the 'enemy' (the chasing adults) have given up: the boys are free.
They have earned their keys to the kingdom though. Consider, for example, how the multiple references to owls change through the book. Young readers may associate the bird with wisdom but its symbolic importance in Brendon Chase draws deeper on folklore. Early in the narrative owls are described as the dark spirits of the wicked, long haunting the woods to bemoan their sinful earlier lives. This passage gives space for the boys' initial wariness of the Chase to speak, yet the boys go on to choose the oak tree as their home, strongly suspecting that it is or was home to a nest of owls. They seem to know implicitly that they must conquer their fear of the unknown by couching themselves within it.
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits.
Months after their arrival, the boys use a double owl-hoot as a signal to each other, by which point in the story they seem to have become far more accepting of (and accepted into) the wild world of the forest, with their rabbit skin clothing and deer-hide moccasins. Perhaps living in an ancient nesting place for so long has somehow raised them as 'owls'. We should remember that Smokoe Joe keeps one as a pet named Ben - he says he found it as an owlet in an old oak - and at the point that Robin first visits the old man, it has become a fully-grown bird. Even after Joe has fallen asleep, the owl continues to stare at Robin and Robin stares back, both wondering at the other's 'quaintness'. When Smokoe is seriously injured, both Big John and Ben are anxious and watch over his wounded body when the doctor calls. Even when the doctor tries to shoo the owl away, it retires to a corner and continues to watch, just as Big John (knowing that he runs the serious risk of being caught) does not run off but remains loyal.
Animals often form a particular significance in children's literature and in Brendon Chase there are plenty of examples, more eloquent than any words could be, in addition to the owls: Smokoe's lost-then-found-in-the-wood dog; Robin's rite of passage to hunt down his first deer; the purple emperor that will not appear to just anyone; and the boys transformation into 'semi-animals' by donning the skins of rabbits. Shakespeare's Dream is strongly evoked when Puck's transformation of Bottom into a man with an ass's head is echoed in the mention of Bunting simulating a walrus as he floats in the pool - he is so very nearly 'transformed' by the Wood, but sadly it is not to be and like the weaver he returns to his old life unchanged. What might have been is surreptitiously pointed out only a few pages later when the boys swimming about are likened to much-more-at-home otters.
In the final hundred or so pages of the book, we are left to observe the boys' ultimate immersion into the world of the Wood. Shakespeare's 'lunatic, lover and poet' come to the fore now: we share in Harold's growing happiness at the potential of becoming a full-time wild child, we witness Big John's bittersweet internal tug-o-war between his beloved but distanced Angela and the joy and freedom of the wood, and we are afforded Robin's almost mystic glimpses of the natural way of things,
It is in this last portion of the book that Smokoe Joe's relevance is truly revealed. Early on, he is mentioned (though not seen) as a long-term denizen of the woods, a dark enigma described with a trace of fear. Then when Robin, in what becomes a life-long memory, plucks up the courage to find his dwelling place, braving whatever outcome there may be, the real Chase is over. The boys have finally found their quarry, the true object of their searching.
And what a sight he is. The bulbous, 'elephantine' nose may be the most visually striking characteristic of the man, though one should not dismiss the smoking kilns which add perhaps a mildly infernal aspect to his appearance. Although he may lack the elegance and grace of Oberon, he is still a distant relative of the Faery King: steeped in forest-lore, wise beyond wise, loving, fierce, terrifying.
It is from Smokoe that the boys learn most deeply. He takes them in, almost adopting them in the colder evenings, the father they always wanted but never had. He teaches Robin to smoke a pipe (in the boy's eyes, a sign of manhood), and helps out by teaching them all how to skin and animal and cure its hide. For Big John, the curing of the badger pelt as offering to his 'gal', Angela, is more important than anything; just as with Robin, Smokoe offers him a moment of grown-up solidarity. And what of Little John? Well, at this point he may be too young to 'grow up' but Smokoe continues to give him what he loves: feasts of bountiful and delicious food, all from the Wood's larder. The Christmas dinner in particular is quite extraordinary: a spread of five-star gourmet foraging!
Although Smokoe/the Wood seems constant and unbending, he/it undergoes transformation too. Just as the seasons come and go in eternal cycles (and towards the end of the book the frozen New Year is about to thaw into the next moment of natural change), the boys - the next generation - show that they have been ready and willing to listen to the ancient laws of the Chase. In doing so, they are to learn the story in their turn. Smokoe's crafting and gifting of the walnut-wood fox, for ever present in the boys' futures, is a beautiful way to represent the ultimate moment of transfiguration: the Wood is ready to pass, to shift to its next chapter.
But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigured so together,
More witnesseth than fancy’s images
And grows to something of great constancy,
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.
The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind
Makes speed to catch the tiger
The boys are Shakespeare's fairies - knowing, mischievous, almost supernatural in their skill: once someone is brought to the Wood, they must follow its Rules or pay the consequence. The boys, of course, fully attend; the grown-ups do not.
For example, Sergeant Bunting - very like Shakespeare's Bottom, oblivious to the power of the woods, so caught up is he in his own pomposity - is thrice thwarted and only after a near-death experience will he admit defeat. Whilst his first two attempts are frustrated by the boys' puckish roguery, it is the Wood alone (in the form of a stag) that eventually puts paid to his pursuits once and for all.
Although the Sergeant might be seen as a comic character, we are left perhaps with some sympathy for the man. He is not the stock villain that he at first appears and certainly the fright that proves to be the end of his adventures is not one we would wish on anyone. But Sylvan Rule is Sylvan Rule, B.B. seems to say, and although Bunting is offered a white flag part-way through the novel, he chooses ultimately to position himself against the Wood and invites his own fall.
O Bottom, thou art changed!
During the summer, pursuing the boys though the Chase, parched and caked with dust on his bike in the intense heat, the Sergeant stumbles across the Blind Pool. In the cool of the shade, we fully appreciate Bunting's temptation to swim. His relief at the cold water is so grateful that he even starts to believe that he could stay here for ever, thanks to what the Chase has offered him. But no! The decorum of reality soon overtakes him as he realises that his policeman's outfit (the synthetic mark of authority) is missing, stolen by those goblin-boys, and all his assumed responsibilities flood back. In fact, rather than give in to the Wood (Smokoe Joe might have helped him!) he would rather walk home in the dark, semi-naked, and pester what turns out to be a disloyal friend.
The second part of the story - more an extended coda - begins proper after Sergeant Bunting admits his failure to master the wild: he is never to return to the Chase alone again! From this point on, the 'enemy' (the chasing adults) have given up: the boys are free.
They have earned their keys to the kingdom though. Consider, for example, how the multiple references to owls change through the book. Young readers may associate the bird with wisdom but its symbolic importance in Brendon Chase draws deeper on folklore. Early in the narrative owls are described as the dark spirits of the wicked, long haunting the woods to bemoan their sinful earlier lives. This passage gives space for the boys' initial wariness of the Chase to speak, yet the boys go on to choose the oak tree as their home, strongly suspecting that it is or was home to a nest of owls. They seem to know implicitly that they must conquer their fear of the unknown by couching themselves within it.
The clamorous owl, that nightly hoots and wonders
At our quaint spirits.
Months after their arrival, the boys use a double owl-hoot as a signal to each other, by which point in the story they seem to have become far more accepting of (and accepted into) the wild world of the forest, with their rabbit skin clothing and deer-hide moccasins. Perhaps living in an ancient nesting place for so long has somehow raised them as 'owls'. We should remember that Smokoe Joe keeps one as a pet named Ben - he says he found it as an owlet in an old oak - and at the point that Robin first visits the old man, it has become a fully-grown bird. Even after Joe has fallen asleep, the owl continues to stare at Robin and Robin stares back, both wondering at the other's 'quaintness'. When Smokoe is seriously injured, both Big John and Ben are anxious and watch over his wounded body when the doctor calls. Even when the doctor tries to shoo the owl away, it retires to a corner and continues to watch, just as Big John (knowing that he runs the serious risk of being caught) does not run off but remains loyal.
Animals often form a particular significance in children's literature and in Brendon Chase there are plenty of examples, more eloquent than any words could be, in addition to the owls: Smokoe's lost-then-found-in-the-wood dog; Robin's rite of passage to hunt down his first deer; the purple emperor that will not appear to just anyone; and the boys transformation into 'semi-animals' by donning the skins of rabbits. Shakespeare's Dream is strongly evoked when Puck's transformation of Bottom into a man with an ass's head is echoed in the mention of Bunting simulating a walrus as he floats in the pool - he is so very nearly 'transformed' by the Wood, but sadly it is not to be and like the weaver he returns to his old life unchanged. What might have been is surreptitiously pointed out only a few pages later when the boys swimming about are likened to much-more-at-home otters.
In the final hundred or so pages of the book, we are left to observe the boys' ultimate immersion into the world of the Wood. Shakespeare's 'lunatic, lover and poet' come to the fore now: we share in Harold's growing happiness at the potential of becoming a full-time wild child, we witness Big John's bittersweet internal tug-o-war between his beloved but distanced Angela and the joy and freedom of the wood, and we are afforded Robin's almost mystic glimpses of the natural way of things,
It is in this last portion of the book that Smokoe Joe's relevance is truly revealed. Early on, he is mentioned (though not seen) as a long-term denizen of the woods, a dark enigma described with a trace of fear. Then when Robin, in what becomes a life-long memory, plucks up the courage to find his dwelling place, braving whatever outcome there may be, the real Chase is over. The boys have finally found their quarry, the true object of their searching.
And what a sight he is. The bulbous, 'elephantine' nose may be the most visually striking characteristic of the man, though one should not dismiss the smoking kilns which add perhaps a mildly infernal aspect to his appearance. Although he may lack the elegance and grace of Oberon, he is still a distant relative of the Faery King: steeped in forest-lore, wise beyond wise, loving, fierce, terrifying.
It is from Smokoe that the boys learn most deeply. He takes them in, almost adopting them in the colder evenings, the father they always wanted but never had. He teaches Robin to smoke a pipe (in the boy's eyes, a sign of manhood), and helps out by teaching them all how to skin and animal and cure its hide. For Big John, the curing of the badger pelt as offering to his 'gal', Angela, is more important than anything; just as with Robin, Smokoe offers him a moment of grown-up solidarity. And what of Little John? Well, at this point he may be too young to 'grow up' but Smokoe continues to give him what he loves: feasts of bountiful and delicious food, all from the Wood's larder. The Christmas dinner in particular is quite extraordinary: a spread of five-star gourmet foraging!
Although Smokoe/the Wood seems constant and unbending, he/it undergoes transformation too. Just as the seasons come and go in eternal cycles (and towards the end of the book the frozen New Year is about to thaw into the next moment of natural change), the boys - the next generation - show that they have been ready and willing to listen to the ancient laws of the Chase. In doing so, they are to learn the story in their turn. Smokoe's crafting and gifting of the walnut-wood fox, for ever present in the boys' futures, is a beautiful way to represent the ultimate moment of transfiguration: the Wood is ready to pass, to shift to its next chapter.
But all the story of the night told over,
And all their minds transfigured so together,
More witnesseth than fancy’s images
And grows to something of great constancy,
But, howsoever, strange and admirable.
Smokoe's greatest lesson and his greatest gift - forming the most eerie and portentous moment in the book - is the ghostly tale of
the old trees of the Chase and the arrogant squire who refused to
listen to them. Here the real truth is revealed:
what will it take to ensure humans live in harmony with the Wild?
The bittersweet peroration of the book - almost a death in itself to the reader who has invested so much in this world - points only to possibilities; yet the conclusion also reaches towards Hope, a rebirth of a kind. There are no definite answers to be found, only life-long searching - a life-long chase perhaps. But by this point, the sympathetic reader will fully understand, of course.
The bittersweet peroration of the book - almost a death in itself to the reader who has invested so much in this world - points only to possibilities; yet the conclusion also reaches towards Hope, a rebirth of a kind. There are no definite answers to be found, only life-long searching - a life-long chase perhaps. But by this point, the sympathetic reader will fully understand, of course.
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