In a huge, dark forest somewhere in the north, a round, rather simple hedgehog called Pork emerges from a pile of leaves in the night... and sets in motion this powerful - and unusual - collection of animal stories for adults.
There is mystery and terror in the great woodland, and there is love. It is a world where fear and death and the survival of the fittest are the pitiless underlying themes. Though they are loosely linked, the stories are written to be read as separate tales, usually with a single main character: an ugly, love-lost squirrel, a wantonly savage stoat, a bat, a veteran hare running before the hounds. They are suspense thrillers or romantic interludes, pure adventure narratives, even horror stories; they all draw us deep into the stern forest through the elements we share with the animals - cold and dark, rain and sun, suspicion, loyalty, the need for warmth and the safety of shelter - above all, the feeling that, even in a world where death is inevitable, there is always enough to make life worth living.
The style is clear, straightforward, often very simple, but there is passion as well as knowledge in the book. It brings the wild creates fiercely to life, in a disturbing way, with menace and unease - but vividly, in a literary debut of great imaginative strength.
Is there anything cuter than stories featuring talking animals?
They're so sweet, so innocent, so kind to one another. Like that story about a little red hen who needed some help with her chores. All the other animals pitched in and lent a hand, right? Or that time a scorpion and a frog needed to cross a stream. They both cooperated and got the job done, didn't they?
Okay, so maybe talking animals aren't always so nice.
Sometimes they're pretty darned nasty.
The "cute" talking animals in Cris Freddi's stories sometimes help each other out, in a you-scratch-my-back-I'll-scratch-yours kind of way. But, loyalties are often tossed aside, and when a stomach is empty, betrayal is the name of the game. One animal's struggle for survival means another animal's struggle not to become lunch. These tales may seem nasty, blood-soaked and violent as they are, but they're really just truthful renditions of the day-to-day trials faced by real, nontalking animals.
Though they're well written and engrossing, Freddi's stories are not for everyone.
These are loosely linked anthropomorphic animal stories set in a forest. Some exhibit fairy-tale themes and qualities, while others merely document the cycle of natural selection. A thin current of magic runs through the collection, only fully forming itself in a couple of stories. These, though, are the best ones and left me wishing for more from the others. At times the conversations between the animals, many of which are old and tired, seemed like they could just as easily have been happening between two elderly humans. This kind of dialogue was disappointing, as was the odd recurrence of the word 'shit', which seemed wildly out of place. Overall I'd hoped for a bit more experimentalism or even just more details on the magical framework. As it is, this reads a bit like a less developed The Wind in the Willows, but not quite as anthropomorphized and more generally focused on the laws of nature. Freddi has some experience in nature writing, so that enhances the authenticity.
I read Pork and Others in high school. It wasn't assigned in any class; the book was extra pleasure reading. I remember seeing the slim volume of darker animal tales in a Border's bookstore (lament for a lost bookseller) and it captured my eye and then my imagination. The tales are connected, but also stand alone. There is an arc to the narrative, beginning with the tale of a lowly hedgehog, and moving deeper into a wood filled with natural and unnatural fantasy elements. This new kindle edition makes me very happy, and I hope more readers find these wondrous tales. Highly recommended.
I was introduced to Cris Freddi while in college. And Freddi is one of those writers who doesn’t so much “tell a story” as quietly lure you into a world you don’t realise you’re sinking into until it’s too late. Pork is classic proof.
It’s the kind of anthology that seems, on the surface, almost deceptively simple — brief episodes, animal figures, a landscape that feels stripped down to its bones — but the emotional echo it leaves behind is weirdly disproportionate. Like someone tapped a tuning fork two rooms away and your heart picked up the vibration.
Reading it feels like stepping into a fable that refused to stay obedient. There’s this incredibly delicate balance Freddi keeps between charm and cruelty, like he wants to remind you that nature isn’t Disney-coded; it’s sharp, unpredictable, and absolutely uninterested in your comfort.
But instead of leaning into bleakness, he plays with tone—sometimes darkly funny, sometimes startlingly tender—so you’re always slightly off-balance, always renegotiating your relationship to the characters and the landscape.
What makes the book so singular, though, is its emotional honesty. There’s no sentimentality here, no manipulative moralising. Freddi trusts you to feel what’s necessary without being nudged toward any grand statement. And strangely, that restraint makes the story more moving. It’s like someone hands you a set of fragments and lets you assemble the emotional picture yourself — which, honestly, feels far more respectful than many sweeping novels that tell you exactly what to think.
Another thing that stands out is Freddi’s sense of rhythm. He writes in this controlled, unshowy style that somehow makes every word feel intentional. When tension hits, it hits quietly. When humor lands, it’s dry but perfectly timed. And the world he builds—sparse, wild, almost mythic — stays lodged in your mind after you’re done, like a dream you didn’t fully understand but can’t shake off.
By the time you finish Pork, you’re weirdly aware of how much you care about creatures and moments you barely knew a handful of pages ago. That’s the magic: he makes you invest without warning.
And when the story finally pulls away, it leaves you a little hollowed out, a little grateful, a little unsettled — which is exactly the place great short fiction should leave you.
If you’re the sort who loves stories that look small but carry emotional shrapnel, this is your book. It’s quiet but unforgettable, odd but intimate, simple but not remotely simplistic.
Nostalgia reading. Allegories Pork and the road - how compelled he is to find the road. The fixation on the shiny thing Mon the death owl Rusalka: “As the summer brunt itself out into the autumn” p.30 Reek and the red squirrel - first crush - ugliness Na: Stoat v Trout: very brutal, no meaning Redhead: bat v otter. Best story so far. A twist - the bat always knew; the otters despair; Fanulla; killed her son; didn’t care - the twist of incest Ug: best story yet. “Generally dead” the most ridiculous phrase but the characters and the story are interesting - even if the dynamic between the son and the stag is naive, simplistic, under developed Old common - hare being chased. Enjoyed it even though it was just the chase Gob cuckoo sacrifice of the parent for the child, not even realising it’s not her child. The hawk takes the cuckoo and the wrens husband comes back - you can have other sons; I only want small sons Kew sparrow hawk - wild car mauled; vast cathedrals of rock, stained red by the last rays of the sun. Dead eagle; dead wild cat; sparrow hawk never seen again Mugger - the death of arcan. It should have been out of place, an obscene thing, but it wasn’t. It was beautiful. The sunlit body of a red deer. Link finally runs out for vim the vole; Malgotha; cheese wire; a happy ending but too easy and into tidy? Everyone alive again?
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
My friend Chase gave me this book a very long time ago, and warned me that it was a bit … weird. (Both of us generally like weird.)
But, I’d say it’s … disturbing. Yet very well-written. The stories were quite fascinating and you could actually imagine them happening. More realism - and bloodlust - than happy fluffy stuff.
None was more disturbing than the story about the bat and his stoat “friend”. For some reason it has really stuck in my head, and I’ve reread it several times.
The conversations the two animals have seem like they could be real, if animals had conversations like that. The cruelty - and the need to survive above all - are expressed to stunning effect.
I nearly gave the book away a couple of times, but never quite could, and it has always been that story that has kept me from giving it away.
It's a surprisingly short read. If you're expecting Aesop fables like those you read in childhood, walk away. This depicts mother nature at its rawness. It doesn't shy away from animal-animal violence. Most stories are quite tragic and left me thinking and some even made me cry. I only remember one being quite sweet and heartwarming. But if you're thinking of reading this to your kids; DON'T.
fun. fairy tale fable kind of tone, but with more darkness and violence than usual.
liked all the stories, Old Common the rabbit outsmarting the dogs one more time, Ug the insane toad, Vim the lucky vole, Redge the cautious bat, Mon the death owl Kew and the Golden Eagle, Cheeswire the mouse, Fat Fannulla.
The kind of frame story about Arcan added some magic & positivity, balanced the tone.
Wish we got more build up for Malgotha she seems cool
As delightful as it is disturbing. Such is life. First read this book when it came out in the 80s. All these years later I still think of some of the stories, especially Pork, and especially when I'm on highways late at night, or winding through back roads on the way to my country house. Reading/revisiting those woodland creatures now. They aren't so different from us.
Don't let the cutsie cover and funny title fool you; these stories are not for the faint of heart. It's like a more serious version of Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, exploring the darkest aspects of man and of the wild.
WHY WASN’T THIS BOOK CALLED CHEESEWIRE?!?!?! The last story was by far the best and I’m sorry we didn’t get to see more of Cheesewire and Malgotha. GAAAAAAH
Favorite Quotes • Too soon, he said to himself. Waking up too soon with everything still all wet and cold[...]Too soon. Too wet.
• All food is good food and the next meal is the best.
• Somewhere between middle age and death.
Thoughts • The incredibly whimsical tone of the book makes me imagine reading it as a bedtime story to a child, but the demise of the characters is so simply stated and so stark in contrast with the writing style that it is a bit horrifying. It is a reminder that even if it takes place in a fantasy setting with cute talking animals, the characters are still animals that must survive by any means necessary. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed.
• The story of Reek and Rusalka is my favorite tale.
• I enjoy how the characters do not have isolated stories but are weaved into chapters and referenced later. Each even effects the outcome of later chapters.
• I appreciate that the last chapter feels like a climax. It keeps the book from being just a collection of short stories. All previous characters that are still alive converge and have their lives affected.
• The happy ending is sweet but appropriate. It brings it back to that bedtime story feel.
4 / 5
This entire review has been hidden because of spoilers.
Lovely, lyrical prose used to tell shaggy dog stories about the bleak, short lives of animals in a harsh natural world. A lot of them get eaten. Some foil predators. Some find mates. There are a few really excellent ones in here in terms of the emotions they invoke, but I still wound up thinking 'so?' I'd recommend it to people who like this genre, but you might come away from it feeling sort of empty.
If you like stories with talking animals, then you might like this book. Every chapter is about a different creature from the forest and their troubles with predators, prey, or relationships, and a lot of death. Overall, I just didn't think it added up to much.