The History of Man - Victorians

I was returning the copy of The Sylvan River to the library - or to be exact, to my brother Merlin, who'd do it on my behalf - when he made the unexpected comment.

 

"It's not my favourite book, you know."

I stared at him. Merlin Butterglove - a book fanatic as long as I remember, head librarian and amateur archivist, promoter of reading as a way of life - being less than complimentary about any book was... extraordinary. He must have noticed my reaction.

"No, Jackson. I'm not saying it's bad. It's quite clever for its age. But you have to admit it's a bit... dry."

"Dry," I said, sitting down.

 

"The style, I mean. The story the poem tells is decent. Probably why the play continues to be a success. It distils the essence of the story."

"Go on," I said, trying not to smile at the way he was scrabbling to back pedal on his comment. He needn't have bothered. I agreed. But it was fun seeing my older brother justify himself.

 

"And I'm sure your musical will be absolutely... Why are you laughing?"

I wiped my eye. "It's alright, Merle. You haven't said anything that Chris and I haven't. It's just unusual to hear you being critical about literature."

He sighed and smiled. "Well, it doesn't do for a librarian to bad mouth the very items that he should be promoting. Children need encouragement to read. Not just children either."

"True." I had a thought. "Are there books that you don't like, then?"

 

He regarded me with an old-fashioned look. "Let's just say that the range of Sylvanian experience is vast, and I'm a solitary rabbit who needs to expand his mind."

"Some really bad ones then."

He laughed. "Some better than others. Authors vary. Tastes vary. I'm more tolerant than most readers, though. If someone's gone to the trouble of writing something, it deserves reading, or at least given a fair scan."

"You've kept all this very quiet."

"Of course. But now you're old enough to know the truth, my young fellow."

We laughed. I love my brother and such moments are to cherish. Eliza popped her head around the door, smiled then withdrew.

 

Merlin was the first to resume the conversation.

"There are some unusual books, Jack. Ones where you question the author's purpose."

"Such as?"

"One comes to mind. It is a fantasy story. Long. Some might say long-winded. Amazing detail though. An epic covering centuries. Very imaginative, but it fails as a novel. It reads more like a reference book. A condensed encyclopaedia."

"You're intriguing me."

"I'm not trying to. It spreads over seven volumes. The life work of a Sylvanian called Julius Hare."

"What's it called?"

 

"The History of Man."

o 0 O 0 o

Of course I was interested. After my recent discovery that a human world really was out there, how could I be otherwise? I asked to see this book and Merlin agreed to bring one of the volumes to show me. He decided to bring the last volume "as it contained the appendices that would make his point," which was fair enough. 

 

 

He came back later and brought it to my dining room where he could place it on the table allowing us to look at the book in comfort. 

 

"If you look at these appendices, there are pages and pages detailing dates and events. The range of place names, fictional countries, heads of states, conflicts and even wars... the imagination of Julius Hare is amazing. Not an easy read though. "

I made an affirmative noise but my mind was racing. Were these real events that occurred with humans? If so, it confirmed a troubled past in the Land of Men as their civilisation grew. Merlin had assumed that it was a vast work of imagination by a Sylvanian author. The alternative, that Mister Hare had compiled this enormous work from real human histories, was equally amazing but in a different way. I leafed back to the beginning of the volume, prior to the appendices.

"Now this is an easier read," said Merlin. "The author has gone into detail about life in these imaginary eras. The beginning of the volume covers something called the Victorian age. The text is broken up with some fine illustrations. By Sheridan Brock, nonetheless. The badger artist and photographer? You've heard of him? No?"

I shook my head. The illustrations were imaginative, whichever way you looked at it. If the text was fictional, the pictures were consistent. If it was a true human history, the illustrator had followed the text but with Sylvanian models.

I decided to enjoy the artwork. The history outlined in the appendices was unthinkable to my Sylvanian sensibilities.

Merlin pointed out one particular picture. "That is Queen Victoria. The era is named after her."

"You'd think it could be Victoria Truffle," I smiled.

"Don't think I haven't noticed," said Merlin, nudging me with his elbow. He turned a few pages. "Look at this one."

"Wow. Half-close your eyes and it could be Gus Timbertop."

"You noticed, then."

"Are there any more?"

"A few."

We spent half-an-hour looking through the assorted illustrations.

Of these, there was a grubby chimney sweep who had a passing resemblance to Caspian Neptune.

We laughed when we saw a uniformed figure who looked like Bruce Springer but with uncharacteristic facial hair.

 

I continued to leaf through the book, Merlin watching me, a hint of a smile on his face. He was unaware that - despite the impressive illustrations and amusing facial similarities to people we knew - I was still unsettled by the list of conflicts at the end of the book and what they signified.

"Well, what do you think?" he said, eventually. "Can you figure out Julius Hare's way of thinking to produce all this?"

I closed the book and turned to my brother.

 

"You really want to know?"

"Of course. Why?"

"Because I'm surprised that the library service supplied this book. It's not the usual Sylvanian style."

"Granted. But it's not a library book. It's mine. I just keep it there."

"Yours? But where did you get it?"

"Auntie Marcia left it me in her will. Most of her book collection went to the library, but she bequested a few to me personally."

I nodded. Auntie Marcia.

Marcia Linnaeus wasn't our real aunt. When we were children she was an elderly neighbour who lived at number 15 Dandelion Lane. I say elderly; she probably just seemed that way to three young Buttergloves. It was natural that the young Merlin should form an attachment to the widow Linnaeus. She had an extensive book collection, and my brother had read most of the books in our house. Throughout his childhood and beyond, Merlin used to spend hours at number 15. There was a bond between these two bookworms. Even after he'd met and married Eliza, Merlin never abandoned the old woman who shared his love of books. He'd happily do errands for Auntie Marcia as she grew older, and when she died, Eliza helped my brother through his grief.

 

"When I was little I had seen the seven volumes of The History of Man on a high shelf but she'd never let me read them. She said that they were not for young impressionable eyes. I was older and working at the library before she relented."

"I can understand that."

"That's why I keep it secure at the library. I didn't want Brendan to read it, and Beverley and Orton, of course."

"Understood. The implied violence and such..."

"Yes. It needs a mature mind to interpret the meaning behind writing this. I thought that you may have an opinion as to that."

"I presume you do. Since I've not had the same time to consider, suppose you tell me - what you think?"

"Oh. Okay." He regarded me, and when he spoke I had the feeling that his words were from a long-standing analysis. "Maybe Julius Hare meant it as a warning. Progress should be tempered with care."

"Sounds reasonable. Yes, I'd go along with that." I tapped the cover of the book. "There's a lot of detail though."

"True. And you've only skimmed part of one volume. You have to appreciate his imagination."

I still wondered if it was a true account of human history but didn't share this suspicion with my brother. Instead, I returned to the subject of Marcia Linnaeus. 

"It's deep, certainly. I wonder how Auntie Marcia got her paws on it? Given the contents I can't see it being a large print run."

"Ah, that's simple. Julius Hare was her father. Personal copy. There's a dedication in the first volume - to my darling daughter whose love of books makes me proud."

I smiled. "And that's probably why she left it to you."

 

Merlin's eyes glistened. "It's a nice thought, brother."

o 0 O 0 o

After Merlin had gone, taking the book back to its safekeeping, I sat for a while.

 

 

My thoughts once again drifted to the question that lingered. Fact or fiction? Who might know? Who was likely to have proper knowledge of the human world? Tara Lapine-Frost? Possibly, although her interactions were likely to be more science-based. The Mist Cat tribe? I didn't particularly want to renew that relationship. That left one person.

My twin brother, Newton Butterglove.

Although I didn't know the details, I had learned that he was quite influential in the Sylvanian Research Group. Did I want to pursue this enquiry? By now he must have discovered of my journey through the Routes of Sylvania, but he hadn't mentioned it.

Perhaps it was better to leave things alone. 

 

Treat The History of Man as a curiosity. With interesting pictures.

o 0 O 0 o