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40 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1961
I suspect this book crept into my affections upside down, as any respectable bat ought. Rufus is a delight, all earnest wings and candour rather than heroism, fluttering through a world that begins in sensible greys before surrendering to unapologetic technicolor. It is charmingly clumsy storytelling, rather like the flight of a butterfly blissfully unaware of the collector's net.
Yes, several reviews mention the scene where a mob starts shooting at Rufus simply because they have no idea what he is. My kids mostly found it mean and rather idiotic, which, frankly, felt like the intended reaction. It's brief, and I certainly wouldn't dismiss the book because of it.
For us, this is first and foremost a lovely bedtime story. Not every book has to arrive with a thesis tucked under its wing. Sometimes it's enough to follow a curious little bat who discovers that the world is prettier by day, then realises he is happiest living as the bat he was always meant to be, while remaining a loyal friend who occasionally supplies particularly fine moths to the butterfly collector who once made him tiny sunglasses. If you wish, there are morals to gather along the way. If not, Rufus is simply a sweet little fellow who wanted to try something different for a little while, and frankly that is more than enough of a story for me.