Ratty and Mole: a Wind in the Willows musical is planned Photo: VIN MAG ARCHIVE LTD
It’s no real surprise that in Country Life’s list of “lusty literary heroes”, pole position goes to Mellors, the glowering, priapic gamekeeper of D H Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover. He’s a horny-handed son of toil. He knows what to do with a pheasant. He’s a great fan of the bracing outdoor – er – country life.
But a glance at the magazine’s runner-up lust object stopped me in my tracks. Here’s the description: “Dependable and thoroughly decent, with a fondness for impromptu picnics and impeccable taste in clothes, this twinkly-eyed country gentleman would take you out for a glorious day on the river before asking you, as the sun began to set and he draped his jacket over your shoulders, whether you’d care to have dinner with him next week.”
Jilly Cooper’s Rupert Campbell-Black? No, too naughty and, besides, he came in at No 6. Richard Hannay of The 39 Steps? No – he’s No 12; he’d disappear halfway through your date, chased by dastardly thugs. Inspector Morse? Nice car, but a bit mournful, frankly (No 8).
Apparently, when a girl gets “tired of loud men who drive too fast and flirt with her friends, her mind turns to Ratty”.
Ratty. Yes, that Ratty – the small, furry water vole of Kenneth Grahame’s The Wind in the Willows.
Before reaching for the warfarin, let’s consider this carefully. Perhaps Ratty as romantic hero is terribly on-trend; after all, it was announced earlier this week that Julian Fellowes, creator of Downton Abbey, is to pen a musical based on The Wind in the Willows – and look what he did for Dan Stevens…
Ratty is fundamentally decent and loyal, while just stubborn and mischievous enough to stop him from being a sap. He would be unlikely to hog the remote control. And his laundry requirements would be minimal – always a plus in a man.
But, as heart-throbs go, I struggle to get past the nomenclature. When I hear the word “Ratty”, I think less “David Niven with whiskers”, as Country Life instructs, than “man in tie-dye busking outside Camden Tube station”. And then there’s the tail. Honestly? I know few women who could love a partner with a scaly tail. I know a few who’ve tried, though.
For me, there is only one character that stands out in The Wind in the Willows and that is Mr Toad. He’s a far more compelling prospect. What girl hasn’t been driven too fast around country roads, squealing with joy and terror? How much fun is a man filled with boyish enthusiasms, let alone one who is “always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when you go”. And there is, as lovers of Mr Darcy (No 7, in case you’re still counting) know only too well, something terribly compelling about ownership of a grand hall, even if it is – rather tackily – named after the owner.
Without sounding like the kind of person who ends up in a magistrates’ court charged with indecent relations with a bicycle, I am fully supportive of unorthodox literary crushes.
My first – and I’m conscious of the need to mention this carefully – was the black stallion from the novel series of that name by Walter Farley. Immense, terrifying, and yet loyal to his young owner, it doesn’t take Freud to see how that particular equine hero might score his place on a girl’s heart, especially if you could place the odd bet on him in the 3.15 at Lingfield. I have a friend who adores Hagrid in Harry Potter (your own giant – imagine the shelf-dusting possibilities), although she admits that actual lust is tempered by the suspicion that he would probably smell like a bag of compost.
A quick, unscientific survey of other unexpected literary crushes turns up Aslan from C S Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; Bagheera from Kipling’s The Jungle Book, J M Barrie’s eternal boy Peter Pan, and Roger Hargreaves’ Mr Tickle (best not to ask).
So perhaps a rat – and a rather gentlemanly one – is not such a push. The whole point of literature, after all, is the suspension of disbelief. In an age when we can elevate the “stars” of The Only Way Is Essex to idol status, or treat the views of Big Brother participants as if they dripped from Oscar Wilde’s own pen, then, frankly, I’m going for the rat. Poop-poop!
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/8956452/Wind-in-the-Willows-when-it-comes-to-romantic-heroes-my-heart-belongs-to-Ratty.html The Telegraph
Ratty is fundamentally decent and loyal, while just stubborn and mischievous enough to stop him from being a sap. He would be unlikely to hog the remote control. And his laundry requirements would be minimal – always a plus in a man.
But, as heart-throbs go, I struggle to get past the nomenclature. When I hear the word “Ratty”, I think less “David Niven with whiskers”, as Country Life instructs, than “man in tie-dye busking outside Camden Tube station”. And then there’s the tail. Honestly? I know few women who could love a partner with a scaly tail. I know a few who’ve tried, though.
For me, there is only one character that stands out in The Wind in the Willows and that is Mr Toad. He’s a far more compelling prospect. What girl hasn’t been driven too fast around country roads, squealing with joy and terror? How much fun is a man filled with boyish enthusiasms, let alone one who is “always good-tempered, always glad to see you, always sorry when you go”. And there is, as lovers of Mr Darcy (No 7, in case you’re still counting) know only too well, something terribly compelling about ownership of a grand hall, even if it is – rather tackily – named after the owner.
Without sounding like the kind of person who ends up in a magistrates’ court charged with indecent relations with a bicycle, I am fully supportive of unorthodox literary crushes.
My first – and I’m conscious of the need to mention this carefully – was the black stallion from the novel series of that name by Walter Farley. Immense, terrifying, and yet loyal to his young owner, it doesn’t take Freud to see how that particular equine hero might score his place on a girl’s heart, especially if you could place the odd bet on him in the 3.15 at Lingfield. I have a friend who adores Hagrid in Harry Potter (your own giant – imagine the shelf-dusting possibilities), although she admits that actual lust is tempered by the suspicion that he would probably smell like a bag of compost.
A quick, unscientific survey of other unexpected literary crushes turns up Aslan from C S Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; Bagheera from Kipling’s The Jungle Book, J M Barrie’s eternal boy Peter Pan, and Roger Hargreaves’ Mr Tickle (best not to ask).
So perhaps a rat – and a rather gentlemanly one – is not such a push. The whole point of literature, after all, is the suspension of disbelief. In an age when we can elevate the “stars” of The Only Way Is Essex to idol status, or treat the views of Big Brother participants as if they dripped from Oscar Wilde’s own pen, then, frankly, I’m going for the rat. Poop-poop!
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/books/8956452/Wind-in-the-Willows-when-it-comes-to-romantic-heroes-my-heart-belongs-to-Ratty.html The Telegraph
