Although young Montague Mad-Rat lives inor rather, underNew York City, he know very few rats besides his mother, who makes hats, his father, who builds mud castles, and his globe-trotting Aunt Elizabeth. But Montague's life takes an abrupt turn for the eventful the stormy day he meets Isabel Moberly-Rat on his way home from Central Park.
Home, for Montague, is an old sewer pipe. He now learns that there is a cityful of other rats out there who inhabit abandoned piers and lead considerably less eccentric and more luxurious lives than his family. What's more, these rats are in the midst of a grave crises. A human being has decided to turn their piers into parking lots, and an extermination campaign is already under way.
As Montague stumbles into this wider, bewildering world, he long to help ratdom (and impress Isabel). But what can he do, when his only talent is painting the seashells his Aunt Elizabeth brings him from her travels? And to make matters worse, it turns out that a drunken uncle of his, Montague Mad-Rat the Elder, has made their name a standing joke in the rat world. For the first time in his life, young Montague finds out what it is to feel helpless and alonelittle realizing that he has not only Isabel and his seashells on his side but his despised drunken uncle as well.
|Publisher:||Farrar, Straus and Giroux|
|Product dimensions:||6.20(w) x 8.30(h) x 0.50(d)|
|Age Range:||8 - 12 Years|
About the Author
Tor Seidler has written several books for young readers, including the sequel to A Rat's Tale, The Revenge of Randal Reese-Rat, and Mean Margaret, a National Book Award Finalist. He lives in New York City. Fred Marcellino (1939–2001) wrote and illustrated many books for children, including a Caldecott Honor Book, Puss in Boots. He began his career in illustration with A Rat's Tale.
Read an Excerpt
On a sticky midsummer day, when the heat and humidity kept most of the creatures in Central Park from stirring, a young rat named Montague Mad-Rat-or, to be precise, Montague Mad-Rat the Younger--was busy collecting feathers in the birds' preening grounds above the reservoir. Once his tail was looped around as many feathers as it could manage, Montague crept through the underbrush down to the berry patches by the Great Lawn. Here he carefully gathered up ripe, fallen berries into his mouth, choosing the widest possible selection of colors. These were for his mother, who melted the berries down into dyes to color the feathers, which she fashioned into rather fanciful shapes best described, perhaps, as rat hats.
When his cheeks were bulging, Montague beaded for home. The quickest way was by an underground drainpipe that came up in Columbus Circle, at the foot of the great park. But it always took him quite a while to get there because of his zigzagging route under bushes and park benches. Montague dreaded like the plague meeting other young rats. If they ever caught sight of him, they poked fun at him. Not that he really blamed them, considering his puffy cheeks and the bouquet of feathers in his tail. But once, about a year ago, he'd introduced himself to a group of young wharf rats in the park before he'd collected any feathers or berries, and they'd pointed and laughed at him anyway. Something was obviously the matter with him-but what? This mystery, haunting him ever since, had turned him painfully shy.
On this particular summery afternoon, Montague had made his winding way only halfway down the park when the air grew very still.It was almost as if the sky were holding its breath. He poked his snout out from under a forsythia bush and looked across the Sheep Meadow. It was sheepless, as usual, sprinkled with the regular huge human children holding ice cream cones and balloons. But a faint sound came from the distance, as of a rat scampering over a tin roof. Suddenly there was a clap of thunder. The sky seemed to take this as a signal to stop holding its breath. The faint scampering sound grew into a loud rustling, and all the trees around the meadow bowed their heads before a driving wind. As the human children ran for cover, they let go of their colorful balloons. The balloons went up, the raindrops came down. They met, and the rain won, bursting all the balloons in a second.
By the time Montague finally came out of the park onto Columbus Circle, his sleek gray fur was soaked, and he'd lost half his mother's feathers. Columbus Circle was in a turmoil. Yellow cabs and delivery trucks were honking, and drenched people were rushing every which way, making it a decidedly unpleasant spot to linger. But just as Montague was about to dive off the curb into the shelter of an underground drainpipe, something caught his sharp eyes. A prim pack of rats was stranded under the towering statue in the center of the Circle, huddled under brightly colored umbrellas. Montague was surprised: he'd never seen rats with umbrellas before. A giant bus rolled up to the statue. One after the next, the rats leapt up onto the bus's back bumper, where they sat in a neat row, still holding their umbrellas over their heads. As the bus pulled away, a strong gust of wind caught the umbrella of the rat seated on the far end of the bumper. This umbrella went sailing and tumbling through the air, high over the traffic.
It landed below the curbstone a yard from where Montague crouched. Clinging to the handle was a young she-rat with bewitchingly beady eyes, which she blinked, as if mildly startled. She gave a sneeze as she climbed onto the curb, and then with her free forepaw she evened the bow of a blue ribbon that was tied around her neck. Montague had never seen a rat wearing a ribbon before.
"Gad, that was different," she said, smiling at him from under the rim of her umbrella, which was made of shiny plastic. "Did you see me?"
Thanks to the berries clogging his mouth, all Montague could do was nod.
"It was pretty exciting," she confessed. "Are you a wharf rat, too?"
He nodded again.
"I thought so, but you look so awfully dark, and your cheeks ... No offense, but they're like a chipmunk's. Did you leave your umbrella home?"
Since he had no umbrella to his name, it was a hard question to answer without resorting to words. He simply smiled. She broke into a bright laugh.
"You'll have to excuse me," she said, her gray eyes twinkling beadily. "But your smile . . . Where did you get those cheeks?"
He stopped smiling.
"Oh, I didn't mean to offend you! It's just the cheeks, and the feathers, and no umbrella, when all those clouds were piling up across the river this morning."
The thought of it all made her giggle uncontrollably. She clapped a paw over her snout to stop herself. Just then, another strong gust of wind swept across Columbus Circle, and it jerked the umbrella out of her other paw. The umbrella sailed away into the park, over the bowing treetops, growing smaller -and smaller until it disappeared in the rainy distance like a bird migrating north for the summer.
"I'll be I" she said.
Now that the young she-rat's fur was in danger of getting as soaked as his, Montague extended a paw toward the grating, inviting her to slip through ahead of him. She stared at him curiously.
"You want me to cross the street?" she asked, blinking raindrops out of her eyes. "Hadn't I better wait for the light?"A Rat's Tale. Copyright © by Tor Seidler. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
A fun, adorable storyline and gorgeous illustrations make this book a must read! As a mouse/rat obsessed elementary school student (yes, I loved Redwall), this book made my day. I read it over and over again.
This is THE best book i have ever read!
It's a really touching story, but i don't see why the little mouse girl left Randall for Montague(did i spell that right?). But I still recommend it. =)
I cannot understand why this story was overlooked when it first came out. It should have been on a bestseller list. The characters are engaging, the story wonderfully written. I hate to say it, but it has all the makings of a great movie. I highly recommend it for read aloud. It has a rich vocabulary and keeps children's attention. My copy has been passed around our school with great praise.