The Magnificent Unveiling of the Rabbit Room Press
I have big dreams for the Rabbit Room. I dream of a place with a roaring fire and a stone hearth. Books line the walls. The air is full of the sound of happy chatter and the smell of warm drinks. There’s a little stage where songwriters and storytellers can work their magic. Also, there are desserts. Hot apple crisp, per the Proprietor’s request.
But there’s more. In the back, through a set of old wooden doors, churns a printing press, publishing works of literary worth and wonder authored by men and women who value apple crisp as much as the Proprietor.
So far, the Rabbit Room only exists online (and in Oxford, England). But behold, the gates have swung wide on the virtual back room where the virtual printing press steams and clatters and spews grand works of (virtual) genius into the world.
What, Proprietor, is this first book? Is it an illustrated edition of Chesterton’s Orthodoxy? Is it a graphic novel of George MacDonal’s Lilith? Is it our own Pete Peterson’s swashbuckling adventure (and romance!) novel The Fiddler’s Gun?
All in good time, dear readers! All in good time.
No, the first ever Rabbit Room Press publication is none other than an Epic Space Adventure compressed into a Ten Page Children’s Book. I present to you Revenge of the Birds.
(The cover, featuring genuine 1983-era faux wood wallpaper and blue punch-tape lettering.)
It features a courageous main character named Geolly (pronounced gee-olly). It is fraught with foiled plans and daring infiltrations and a race of alien birds. It is a limited edition pressing of Eric Peters’s harrowing tale, written in 1983, when the author was in the 5th grade, and beloved by fans ever since.
In all seriousness, the book is an exact page-for-page facsimile of the book Eric wrote and bound for his dad. For an autographed (and personalized, if you wish) copy of this luminous work, visit the Rabbit Room Store. It’s the perfect addition to your Eric Peters library, and it would make a grand Father’s Day present. Hurry, because the first printing is only a hundred books, and they’re going fast.
Your kids will love it. And you will laugh. When you read the touching dedication from a 10-year-old to his dad, you might cry too. But you’ll probably just laugh.
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
OK, I’m a sucker for first editions — and this one counts not only for the book, but also for the author, AND for Rabbit Room Press. It’s like hot apple crisp with Blue Bell vanilla ice cream on top! How could anyone let such an opportunity pass by unseized?? Carpe apple crispem! My order has been placed!
I just ordered my much anticipated writing from EP. I am very excited to read it to my little girls when it comes. Eric if you hand deliver it, you’ll find some nachoz for you.
My only question is, does it actually come with the apple crisp? That would be great.
I think that picture was taken at Olan Mills. I have one with the same background!
Laura, kudos to you and your delighting, as do I, in first editions.
Peter, thanks for supporting my trembling, quirky start as a newbie writer. Aren’t your girls and my boys to be betrothed in the distant future? Zave a zlice of pizza and zome nachoz for me.
jtilton, if I look uncomfortable in this photo, it’s because I am/was. Those school photographers (yes, probably Olan Mills) of yore must have gotten a certain twisted thrill out of contorting their elementary subjects into nearly unrecognizable and stiff forms. Cheers to the universal autumn backdrop.
[...] Come to test the Timbre of My Heart. Interesting article on preachy-fiction. I am eager to read this. Because Eric Peters’ creative trajectory should interest everyone. Pete talks book covers. [...]