Duncton Wood

Some of my earliest memories are of my parents reading. Reading to me, listening to me read, looking at the book covers of the giant tomes they were reading whilst sitting on sunloungers on holiday around a pool or on a beach. They were, and are avid readers. I will freely admit that when I was younger the books they read scared me. Especially those in my father’s hands. Not because there were horrible images on the covers but because they looked gigantic to my mind. With really small writing packed onto the pages. Scary when compared to my ‘Cat in the Hat’ or ‘Adventures of Tom Sawyer’.
My parents always read before bed. So do I. Like father – Like son. The one place they never read is in the car. Like most people it makes them feel travel sick. But they taught me to have a love of reading and the car was where I could best them at getting lost in a story. So whilst they listened to Roy Orbison and Lulu, I read. 
As I grew older I began to read the books that they read. We shared our thoughts on authors and stories. 
But there was always one series of books that I thought of as almost untouchable.
I remember Mum and Dad talking about it with friends. I remember them talking about it over the dinner table while I crawled around their feet playing with Star Wars figures.
It was a book about moles.
How boring. Moles! Blind furry things that eat worms.
Moles.
They had a huge hardbacked copy. Beautiful illustration on the cover. When they finished reading it ( and all the others in the series) it was placed on the bookcase with all the other giant tomes. Lord of the Rings, Plague Dogs and Watership Down, Lord Foul’s Bane, The Golden Torc, The Tales of Alvin Maker.
This book became almost a holy relic to me, especially after it was placed behind glass in a new display cabinet with a few other choice novels.
Most of the books were fair game to me. I read the ones I wanted to and ignored the rest. 
The one about moles I hardly touched, though it always held a fascination to me.
Over the many years that have passed, it has stayed in that locked glass cabinet, the spine of the dust jacket slowly fading. I have snuck there over the years to pull various books out and to read the blurbs, look at the cover art and occasionally to read the amazing stories.
I visited my parents recently and dad was going through some of the books he transferred to his ‘ to go to the charity shop’ pile. The mole book was there!
How dare my father throw that one away. After all these years of sitting proudly on display like precious artifacts in a museum. How could he get rid of this beloved treasure? ( I would like to say that it was to make room for my books, but… )
Needless to say, I snatched it up and brought it home with me.
For months it has sat on my own bookshelf. I read the blurb, I enjoyed the beautiful artwork of the cover. I did not dare to read it.
And then I did.
Wow. Who knew that moles could be so…
Words fail me.
I have not finished Duncton Wood, yet. I am savoring every moment in the company of Bracken and Rebecca and feel the horror of Mandrake filling the burrows with his menace.
Thank you to William Horwood for teaching me to be a better writer and for having written this beautiful tale about moles, and so much more.

My book recommendation this year is Duncton Wood, by William Horwood.