Eugene Mahon has written a dreamily whimsical, charming little book that is lovely to read and a delight to review. It is as poetic as it is philosophical, as undefinable in purpose as it is recognizable in the array of concerns expressed in it, as private as it is broad in its appeal.

In a fantasyland that also is recognizable as our very own world, lives a young redbit (very like a rabbit but infinitely more singular, with his colorful pelt and piercingly inquiring mind). He romps and plays, as the young will do when circumstance allows. Increasingly, however, he is interrupted in his carefree child's pleasures by observations of the nature around him and the nature within him. These command his attention and force him to stop what he is doing, cock his head, and wonder what and why.

One day, he stumbles upon a marvelously Lincolnesque "tall one" who somehow has not forgotten what it was like to be awakened