There are certain books that seem to have been part of the cultural landscape for so long that you almost forget there’s an actual story behind all the familiarity. Watership Down is one of those for me. Like many people of a certain age, my first encounter with Richard Adams’ tale of rabbits was through the animated film, which did a thoroughly impressive job of traumatising an entire generation of children. Returning to the story as an adult, this time through the audiobook, I was struck by just how much more there is to it. What I’d remembered as a rather frightening animal adventure turns out to be a wonderfully layered story about leadership, friendship, freedom and the difficult business of building somewhere to call home.

The premise is deceptively simple. Fiver, a small and rather nervous rabbit with an unsettling gift for foresight, becomes convinced that disaster is approaching his warren. His brother Hazel takes him seriously, and together they gather a small band of rabbits willing to abandon everything familiar in search of somewhere safer. What follows is an extraordinary journey across the English countryside, encountering dangers both natural and decidedly unnatural, before the rabbits can begin establishing a new life.

What impressed me most was how thoroughly Adams commits to seeing the world through his characters’ eyes. These are rabbits, not little people wearing furry costumes. They have their own language, mythology, social structures and understanding of the world, all of which feel remarkably convincing. The countryside becomes an enormous, frequently terrifying landscape where a road might as well be an impassable river and an ordinary farmyard can present dangers beyond comprehension. There’s something rather wonderful about finding yourself genuinely anxious over a rabbit crossing a field, but Adams manages it repeatedly.

Hazel is undoubtedly the character I warmed to most. He’s not particularly strong, clever or courageous in the conventional heroic sense, and that’s precisely what makes him such an effective leader. He listens, recognises the strengths of others and, perhaps most importantly, understands when he doesn’t have the answers. Watching him gradually earn the trust of his companions through practical decisions rather than displays of authority was enormously satisfying. His willingness to take Fiver seriously, despite the scepticism of others, sets the entire adventure in motion, and that openness remains central to his character.

Bigwig, meanwhile, is an absolute delight. Initially something of a blunt instrument, he’s brave, stubborn and occasionally spectacularly lacking in tact. Yet there’s considerably more to him than muscle and bravado. His growing respect for Hazel, and his willingness to put himself in extraordinary danger for the others, provide some of the book’s most affecting moments. I particularly enjoyed how their relationship develops from one of reluctant cooperation into genuine mutual respect. Neither could accomplish what they do without the other.

And then there’s Fiver, whose vulnerability and strange insight give the story an almost mystical quality. I liked that Adams never feels compelled to explain away his abilities. They simply exist within the rabbits’ understanding of their world, alongside the wonderful tales of El-ahrairah, their legendary trickster hero. Those stories within the story were another unexpected pleasure, providing humour, cultural identity and a sense of history that makes this little civilisation feel genuinely lived in.

Of course, Watership Down isn’t simply a charming account of rabbits finding somewhere pleasant to live. Adams has some fairly pointed things to say about power, conformity and the price of security. The different warrens encountered along the journey offer contrasting visions of society, from communities that have surrendered uncomfortable truths in exchange for an easier existence to those where order has become indistinguishable from oppression. What makes these encounters effective is that Adams allows their consequences to emerge through the rabbits’ experiences rather than delivering lectures about political philosophy. The parallels with human behaviour are obvious enough without anyone needing to wave a flag.

If I have a criticism, it’s that the pacing occasionally wanders. Adams clearly loves his countryside descriptions, and there are moments when the narrative seems perfectly content to linger over the landscape while I’m rather impatiently waiting to discover what happens next. Some of the rabbit mythology also interrupts the immediate action, although I found myself appreciating those diversions more as the book progressed. They give the adventure a richness that a more relentlessly driven narrative might have sacrificed.

Peter Capaldi’s narration deserves particular praise. His delivery is strong, measured and wonderfully expressive, giving the characters distinct personalities without resorting to exaggerated voices. He captures Hazel’s quiet determination, Bigwig’s gruff confidence and Fiver’s nervous intensity beautifully, while lending the more dramatic passages genuine urgency. Just as importantly, he understands when to let Adams’ prose breathe. The quieter, reflective moments are delivered with real warmth, and the storytelling surrounding El-ahrairah has an almost fireside quality that suits the material perfectly. It’s an excellent performance that enhances the emotional depth of the novel without ever overwhelming it.

What stayed with me most, though, was the affection I developed for this unlikely collection of travellers. Their achievements feel earned because they depend upon cooperation, trust and the willingness to challenge assumptions about who ought to lead and who deserves to be heard. For all its darker moments, there’s something deeply hopeful about that.

Watership Down is considerably more sophisticated than its reputation as a children’s animal adventure might suggest. It’s occasionally leisurely, frequently unsettling and surprisingly moving, with characters I found myself caring about far more than I expected. I’m glad I finally experienced the full story rather than relying on childhood memories of the film. It turns out there’s much more to these rabbits than the nightmares they once gave me, and I’m rather pleased to have discovered it.

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