A Most Improbable Publication: A Year in the Garden Now Available
A Special Announcement from the Desk of the Garden Librarian
Dear Friends of the Garden,
It is with considerable delight (and just a touch of scholarly nervousness) that I must inform you of a most irregular development. The collection of tales known as "A Year in the Garden" - those seasonal chronicles so carefully documented by Claude Moreau during his time observing our small society - has somehow found its way into the human world in proper book form.
Mr. Thistledown is, of course, beside himself with academic excitement. "Most extraordinary!" he declared upon hearing the news, adjusting his spectacles with such vigor that they nearly flew from his nose. "Most unprecedented literary development! The implications for cross-species cultural exchange are simply..." At which point he became so overwhelmed by scholarly enthusiasm that he had to be calmed with a cup of Grandmother Elderberry's special chamomile blend.
The book contains all the seasonal tales from our archives: the Spring accounts of memory-catching and umbrella transformations, the Summer chronicles of mechanical dreams and star-gatherings, the Autumn records of goblin markets and theoretical spaces, and of course, the Winter documentation of snow magic and memory gardens. All our little adventures, preserved like pressed flowers between pages for human readers to discover.
How these stories managed to cross the boundary between our world and yours remains something of a mystery, though the frost spirits have been looking rather pleased with themselves lately. When questioned, they merely create intricate patterns on the library windows that seem to spell out something about "the right stories finding their way to those who need them most."
Master Oakenwise, upon examining a copy of the publication, remarked that the craftsmanship was "quite acceptable, for human work," which is high praise indeed from one who measures quality in dewdrops and moonbeams.
For those curious humans who wish to obtain a copy, I am told it can be found wherever books are sold. Though I must caution that reading these tales may have certain side effects: you might find yourself examining the corners of your garden more carefully, listening for the whisper of tiny voices in your library, or wondering if that shadow by your teapot might actually be a mouse scholar taking notes on human behavior.
Purchase a copy (PDF or EPUB), USD $8.99; paperback copy from Amazon is USD $9.99:
The Garden Museum has prepared a special exhibit about the publication, featuring Timothy's shadow-poetry about the excitement of being included in human literature and Primrose's watercolors depicting her impression of human bookshops. Pip has been eagerly demonstrating the human art of "book signing" to younger mice, though his technique involves rather more berry juice than is traditional.
Mrs. Nutkin is naturally skeptical of the whole affair, maintaining that "humans wouldn't know a proper seed-cake recipe if it sprouted right under their noses," but she has nevertheless prepared a celebratory batch of her special vanilla-honey biscuits for the occasion.
Should you choose to welcome these tales into your home, we ask only that you handle them with the same care you might show to pressed flowers or spiderwebs jeweled with morning dew – not because the pages are fragile (human bookbinding is surprisingly sturdy), but because stories, like memories, grow richer when treated gently.
With warmest regards from all of us here between the garden wall and the wild wood,
Miss Hazel
Chief Librarian, Le Jardin de ma Grand-mère
P.S. - Mr. Thistledown insists I add that any irregularities in the chronology should be attributed to "the natural temporal distortions that occur when stories cross between worlds" rather than any scholarly oversight on his part.
P.P.S. - The philosophical mushrooms behind the herb patch have requested acknowledgment for their "substantial metaphysical contributions to the narrative framework." I include this note primarily to keep them from rearranging the Library's classification system again.