Uncle

As a child, I adored the Uncle books, which chronicle the adventures of a fabulously wealthy and endearingly pompous elephant who rules over the vast and ramshackle kingdom of Homeward while wearing a purple dressing gown.

J.P. Martin’s descriptions of the ongoing battles between Uncle’s loyal followers and their enemies at Badfort capture perfectly the spirit of English schoolboys in which one side is continuously waging war against the other side, simply because they are the other side — and no

As a child, I adored the Uncle books, which chronicle the adventures of a fabulously wealthy and endearingly pompous elephant who rules over the vast and ramshackle kingdom of Homeward while wearing a purple dressing gown.

J.P. Martin’s descriptions of the ongoing battles between Uncle’s loyal followers and their enemies at Badfort capture perfectly the spirit of English schoolboys in which one side is continuously waging war against the other side, simply because they are the other side — and no doubt stinky rotters to boot.

What’s not to love about a book populated by such bizarre characters as the Wooden-Legged Donkey, whose leg “has a small receptacle at the end for cash, tickets, etc.”? Or the music teacher Maestro, who attempts to throw himself out the window when he hears a false note, but on realising that he is on the ground floor, “looked rather sheepish, but contented himself with screaming a little”? Or Old Whitebeard (Hated by Both Sides), whose voice:

“seems to have some kind of sickening effect, for the moment you hear it you feel rather ill, or at any rate seedy and depressed”?

My edition of Uncle, published by the New York Review Children’s Collection, includes an introduction by the author’s grandson. It seems that in creating the world of Uncle, J.P. Martin drew on some of the surreal episodes in his own life. A Methodist Minister, he once mediated a dispute between the local gypsies, which began when “one part of the family left a stuffed leopard on the doorstep of the other half”.

The author’s grandson also noted that it took about 30 years for the first Uncle book to be published in 1964, because its rumbustious sense of humour “offended the genteel ladies and gentlemen who used to monopolise children’s book publishing”. The fact that the books were written during the Great Depression may explain their focus on material wealth and food — on special occasions, Uncle wears diamond trunk tips, gold-studded boots, and “a special purple dressing gown embroidered with gold and rubies”, and often gives his friends generous presents such as “sixty-five pounds of corned beef in five-pound tins”.

As a child, I thrilled to such descriptions of excess; as an adult, I found them somewhat repetitive. Then I reached Chapter 11, in which Uncle and his friends visit Owl Springs, hoping to see the reclusive owl. This chapter contains the most delightful passage in the book:

“From behind a low bush on the left, the owl appeared. He flew straight to a withered twig, and sat there looking at them… For twenty minutes the owl stayed, minutes filled with rapture. Then it gave a low hoot, preened its feathers and slowly flew off…

Uncle said nothing for a long time. He was so full of solemn joy. At last he drew a deep breath. ‘Gratification,’ he said, ‘is a poor word to express my feelings at this moment… I want to travel back quietly, reflecting deeply on this glorious hour, and fixing its details in my memory.’”

My major criticism of Uncle is that there is no story arc; each chapter describes one of Uncle’s adventures as he travels to another part of Homeward and meets yet more eccentric characters. As charming as the stories were, I never wanted to keep reading to find out “what happens next”.

My rating: 5★ for children
4★ for adults