Does The Wind in the Willows <\i>need an annotated edition?
Suggesting that Grahame's prose, "encrusted with the patina of age
and affect," has become an obstacle to full appreciation of the
work, Lerer offers the text with running disquisitions in the
margins on now-archaic words and phrases, Edwardian social mores
and a rich array of literary references from Aesop to Gilbert and
Sullivan. Occasionally he goes over the top - making, for instance,
frequent references alongside Toad's supposed mental breakdown to
passages from Kraft-Ebing's writings on clinical insanity - and, as
in his controversial Children's Literature, a Reader's History from
Aesop to Harry Potter <\i>(2008), displays a narcissistic
streak: "This new edition brings The Wind in the
Willows<\i>...into the ambit of contemporary scholarship and
criticism on children's literature..." Still, the commentary will
make enlightening reading for parents or other adults who think
that there's nothing in the story for them - and a closing essay on
(among other topics) the links between Ernest Shepard's art for
this and for Winnie the Pooh <\i>makes an intriguing
lagniappe. (selective resource list) (Literary analysis.
Adult/professional) <\i> (Kirkus Reviews)
The Mole had been working very hard all the morning,
spring-cleaning his little home. First with brooms, then with
dusters; then on ladders and steps and chairs, with a brush and a
pail of whitewash; till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and
splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back
and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth
below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little
house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was
small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the
floor, said Bother ' and O blow ' and also Hang spring-cleaning '
and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his
coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made
for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the
gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are
nearer to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and
scrabbled and scrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and
scratched and scraped, working busily with his little paws and
muttering to himself, Up we go Up we go ' till at last, pop his
snout came out into the sunlight, and he found himself rolling in
the warm grass of a great meadow.
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