Daily Book Excerpt: Children’s books:
Next book on the shelf is <The Sword in the Stone
I can’t remember a time when I hadn’t read this book. I know I eventually HAD to read it for school – maybe in 8th grade? Would that be right? But I read it much much earlier – mainly because my cousin Susan – who not only did I adore, but I WANTED TO BE HER – read and loved it (and The Once and Future King) so I, of course, had to read them. Susan actually had great tastes in books (she was a year older than me) – and through her I discovered all the Enid Blyton books, for which I am FOREVER grateful. By the way – I thought I HAD some of those old Enid Blyton books, but obviously I don’t, since I’m already on “W” in the alphabet. Hmmm. I loved those Adventure books of hers. Again, with the themes I adore: children on their own (preferably British), having to survive by their wits. No parental figures around. Anyhoo. Susan was responsible for me reading a lot of cool books – and the TH White books are part of that. I just LOST myself in these books. The Sword in the Stone was my favorite of the two. I just loved it – the training scenes, the transformation scenes, becoming animals … I loved Merlyn, and I loved the relationships described. There is a kind of Dickensian flavor to the whole thing – children at the whims of financial realities. Sir Ector is looking for a tutor for his “real” son, his proper son, his REAL heir – Kay. Kay’s younger brother is an adopted child named Wart (well, he’s called “The Wart”) – who, well. His name kind of says it all, in terms of how he is perceived. Sir Ector is a kind and loving man – who does love Wart – but it is no secret that Kay is the one he favors, and wants to give the best to. But it is Wart’s journey that makes up the story of this book. Sir Ector hires the magical Merlyn to be Kay’s tutor, and Wart’s as well, by default. The magic starts. The psychedia starts. They travel back and forth in time. They meet Robin Hood. I love the scene with the little mustard pot that comes alive. Merlyn gives Kay and Wart (but mainly Kay – remember!!) challenges. They become fish. They become badgers.
And did I mention the awesome-ness of the writing? It’s rich writing, man – detailed, funny, sharp-eyed – the characters are well-drawn, and you care about them. You care about Wart. I love Wart. He’s one of my favorite fictional characters.
Meanwhile, through their journeys – there is word that there is a sword stuck in an anvil in London – and the word goes: “”Whoso Pulleth Out the Sword of the Stone and Anvil, is Rightwise King Born of All England.”
There is, at this point, no heir to the throne (if memory serves). So it’s a big deal. Where is this sword in the stone? Why is it so hard to pull the sword out? Just pull it out, what’s the big deal?
Eventually – Wart and Kay are in London, for a jousting tournament, I believe. Is Merlyn with them? I can’t remember – there’s a very sad scene when Merlyn lets the boys know that their time with him is almost through. Anyhoo – they’re in London, and they head to the jousting tournament. Kay realizes he left his sword back at the castle. Wart, who is basically his manservant in life, is sent back to get it. But the door to Kay’s room is locked, and Wart decides to go out into the streets of London and find Kay another sword. Now – this all occurs at the end of the book – and will make up the excerpt I post below – but one of the things I LOVE about the ending of this book, why it gives me goosebumps every time I read it is because it starts out so casual. You don’t even get what’s coming. It’s all very casual, “Oh, where’s my sword? Could you go get my sword?” Door’s locked. Let’s go get another sword. Whatever. It’s not all filled with portent and telegraphing of the end. That’s why the end packs such a huge punch. For me, at least. Wart doesn’t know that what he is doing is accepting his destiny. He will be King of England. He will become Arthur. This is his destiny, and it has been there all along. But Wart is unaware of it. He totally buys into the whole “Kay is the favored son” routine. He hovers in Kay’s shadow. He has no dreams of greatness. He just wants to learn the same stuff Kay learns. But there’s something deeper going on here. Merlyn knew. But nobody else does. And TH White doesn’t tip his hat too early. I LOVE the ending of this book.
So anyway – Wart, wandering around London looking for a replacement sword, casually comes upon a big iron anvil – with a sword sticking up out of it. He doesn’t think about the legend, or the saying. He just goes and tries to pull the sword out.
Here’s the excerpt. It just kills me. Why does it kill me? Because Wart doesn’t know that what he just did was a big deal. Not just a big deal – but the biggest deal ever. And watch how it all unfolds … how he tells people where he got the sword … how Kay, the golden boy, tries to ignore the implications, because HE’S supposed to be the king, he is the favorite one, after all … how could silly dirty little WART have pulled out the mythical sword that nobody else could remove?? And just watch how the realization dawns – on Wart – on everyone else – on what this all means.
It’s just a GREAT story about … a person who might not be expected to heed the call of greatness, who might not be ready for his destiny … but oh well – here his destiny comes anyway. Anybody can relate to it.
And the ending (or, almost the ending) which I post below …
Gulp. I’m tellin’ ya. It gets me in the throat every time.
Excerpt from The Sword in the Stone
“How does one get hold of a sword?” he continued. “Where can I steal one? Could I waylay some knight, even if I am mounted on an ambling pad, and take his weapons by force? There must be some swordsmith or armorer in a great town like this, whose shop would still be open.”
He turned his mount and cantered off along the street.
There was a quiet churchyard at the end of it, with a kind of square in front of the church door. In the middle of the square there was a heavy stone with an anvil on it, and a fine new sword was struck through the anvil.
“Well,” said the Wart, “I suppose it’s some sort of war memorial, but it will have to do. I am quite sure nobody would grudge Kay a war memorial, if they knew his desperate straits.”
He tied his reins round a post of the lych-gate, strode up the gravel path, and took hold of the sword.
“Come, sword,” he said. “I must cry your mercy and take you for a better cause.”
“This is extraordinary,” said the Wart. “I feel queer when I have hold of this sword, and I notice everything much more clearly. Look at the beautiful gargoyles of this church, and of the monastery which it belongs to. See how splendidly all the famous banners in the aisle are waving. How nobly that yew holds up the red flakes of its timbers to worship God. How clean the snow is. I can smell smothing like fetherfew and sweet briar – and is that music that I hear?”
It was music, whether or pan-pipes or of recorders, and the light in the churchyard was so clear, without being dazzling, that you could have picked a pin out twenty yards away.
“There is something in this place,” said the Wart. “There are people here. Oh, people, what do you want?”
Nobody answered him, but the music was loud and the light beautiful.
“People,” cried the Wart. “I must take this sword. It is not for me, but for Kay. I will bring it back.”
There was still no answer, and Wart turned back to the sword. He saw the golden letters on it, which he did not read, and the jewels on its pommel, flashing in the lovely light.
“Come, sword,” said the Wart.
He took hold of the handles with both hands, and strained against the stone. There was a melodious consort on the recorders, but nothing moved.
The Wart let go of the handles, when they were beginning to bite into the palms of his hands, and stepped back from the anvil, seeing stars.
“It is well fixed,” said the Wart.
He took hold of it again and pulled with all his might. The music played more and more excitedly, and the lights all about the churchyard glowed like amethysts; but the sword still stuck.
“Oh, Merlyn,” cried the Wart, “help me to get this sword.”
There was a kind of rushing noise, and a long chord played along with it. All along the churchyard there were hundreds of old friends. They rose over the church wall all together, like the Punch and Judy ghosts of remembered days, and there were otters and nightingales and vulgar crows and hares and serpents and falcons and fishes and goats and dogs and dainty unicorns and newts and solitary wasps and goatmoth caterpillars and corkindrills and volcanoes and mighty trees and patient stones. They loomed round the church wall, the lovers and helpers of the Wart, and they all spoke solemnly in turn. Some of them had come from the banners in the church, where they were painted in heraldry, some from the waters and the sky and the fields about, but all, down to the smallest shrew mouse, had come to help on account of love. Wart felt his power grow.
“Remember my biceps,” said the Oak, “which can stretch out horizontally against Gravity, when all the other trees go up or down.”
“Put your back into it,” said a Luce (or pike) off one of the heraldic banners, “as you did once when I was going to snap you up. Remember that all power springs from the nape of the neck.”
“What about those forearms,” said a Badger gravely, “they are held together by a chest? Come along, my dear embryo, and find your tool.”
A Merlin sitting at the top of the yew tree cried out, “Now then, Captain Wart, what is the first law of the foot? I thought I once heard something about never letting go?”
“Don’t work like a stalling woodpecker,” urged a Tawny Owl affectionately. “Keep up a steady effort, my duck, and you will have it yet.”
“Cohere,” said a Stone in the church wall.
A Snake, slipping easily along the coping which bounded the holy earth, said, “Now then, Wart, if you were once able to walk with three hundred ribs at once, surely you can coordinate a few little muscles here and there? Make everything work together, as you have been learning to do ever sice God let the amphibia crawl out of the sea. Fold your powers together, with the spirit of your mind, and it will come out like butter. Come along, homo sapiens, for all we humble friends of yours are waiting here to cheer.”
The Wart walked up the great sword for the third time. He put out his right hand softly and drew it out as gently as from a scabbard.
There was a lot of cheering, a noise like a hurdy-gurdy which went on and on. In the middle of the noise, after a very long time, he saw Kay and gave him the sword. The people at the tournament were making a frightful row.
“But this isn’t my sword,” said Sir Kay.
“It was the only one I could get,” said the Wart. “The inn was locked.”
“It is a nice-looking sword. Where did you get it?”
“I found it stuck in a stone, outside a church.”
Sir Kay had been watching the tilting nervously, waiting for his turn. He had not paid much attention to his squire.
“That’s a funny place to find a sword,” he said.
“Yes, it was stuck through an anvil.”
“What?” asked Sir Kay, suddenly rounding upon him. “Did you just say this sword was stuck in a stone?”
“It was,” said the Wart. “It was a sort of war memorial.”
Sir Kay stared at him for several seconds in amazement, opened his mouth, shut it again, licked his lips, then turned his back and plunged through the crowd. He was looking for Sir Ector, and the Wart followed after him.
“Father,” cried Sir Kay, “come here a moment.”
“Yes, my boy,” said Sir Ector. “Splendid falls these professional chaps do manage. Why, what’s the matter, Kay? You look as white as a sheet.”
“Do you remember that sword which the King of England would pull out?”
“Yes.”
“Well, here it is. I have it. It is in my hand. I pulled it out.”
Sir Ector did not say anything silly. He looked at Kay and he looked at the Wart. Then he stared at Kay again, long and lovingly, and said, “We will go back to the church.”
“Now then, Kay,” he said, when they were at the church door. He looked at his first-born again, kindly, but straight between the eyes. “Here is the stone, and you have the sword. It will make you the King of England. You are my son that I am proud of, and always will be, whatever happens. Will you promise me that you took it out by your own might?”
Kay looked at his father. He also looked at the Wart and at the sword.
Then he handed the sword to the Wart quite quietly.
He said, “I am a liar. Wart pulled it out.”
As far as the Wart was concerned, there was a time after this in which Sir Ector kept telling him to put the sword back into the stone – which he did – and in which Sir Ector and Kay then vainly tried to take it out. The Wart took it out for them, and stuck it back again once or twice. After this, there was another time which was more painful.
He saw that his dear guardian Sir Ector was looking quite old and powerless, and that he was kneeling down with difficulty on a gouty old knee.
“Sir,” said poor old Sir Ector, without looking up, although he was speaking to his own boy.
“Please don’t do this, father,” said the Wart, kneeling down also. “Let me help you up, Sir Ector, because you are making me unhappy.”
“Nay, nay, my lord,” said Sir Ector, with some very feeble old tears. “I was never your father nor of your blood, but I wote well ye are of an higher blood than I wend ye were.”
“Plenty of people told me you are not my father,” said the Wart, “but it doesn’t matter a bit.”
“Sir,” said Sir Ector humbly, “will ye be my good and gracious lord when ye are King?”
“Don’t!” said the Wart.
“Sir,” said Sir Ector, “I will ask no more of you but that you will make my son, your foster-brother, Sir Kay, seneschal of all your lands.”
Kay was kneeling down too, and it was more than the Wart could bear.
“Oh, do stop,” he cried. “Of course he can be seneschal, if I have got to be this King, and oh, father, don’t kneel down like that, because it breaks my heart. Please get up, Sir Ector, and don’t make everything so horrible. Oh, dear, oh, dear, I wish I had never seen that filthy sword at all.”
And the Wart also burst into tears.
Is it wrong that I didn’t like the TH White stories?
My ex-girlfriend loved them with an outrageous passion, so I borrowed them and read them. Slowly. Oh, so slowly. BECAUSE I WAS BORED TO TEARS WITH THE ANIMALS.
Maybe it’s a guy thing, but I was unfortunately not swept away.
Of course it’s not wrong.
This is my opinion, my bookshelves.
Although in a similar vein, I do remember really enjoying the Black Cauldron stuff. But I can’t find them in any bookstores!
I don’t think I read those. Is it a series?
Looked them up on Amazon – I recognize the titles, and also the book covers, funnily enough – but I haven’t read them.
Fascinating–can you post edition information for your copy of The Sword in the Stone? I have a 1958 Dell paperback edition of The Once and Future King,, and here’s how it renders part of the churchyard scene:
“Put your back into it,” said a Luce… (the Oak’s line is cut).
The “Cohere” line is cut. Then follows:
“A white-front said, ‘Now, Wart, if you were once able to fly the great North Sea, surely you can co-ordinate a few wing muscles here and there?'” (the rest of the passage is the same). It was the same, I’m pretty sure, in the paperback copy of The Once and Future King my parents used to have, back in the ’70s (it was a later printing.) Is yours older than that? I bet it is.
Reading The Once and Future King actually inspired me to plow through La Morte d’Arthur, back in high school.
Possibly at 19 years later it may be a trifle late to explain this, but there are three texts of “The Sword in the Stone”. The British edition (which has all the creatures out of Sir John Mandeville), the American edition (which replaces them with Morgan Le Fay), and the “Once and Future King” version (which has Morgan Le Fay, cuts a load of stuff like Madam Mim, and adds in extra bits, most notably the ants and the geese that White had originally intended for “The Book of Merlyn”)
Ken – wow – really??? Now I need to know why the text is different. I have the version I linked to – a new paperback that I bought recently, in a fit of nostalgia.
Now I’m pissed – is it not the version I read as a youngun, you think?
Just checked the Amazon page – it’s the Laurel Leaf paperback, issued in 1978
(we’re in my children’s and young adult bookshelves, by the way):
I just wanted to tell you that I have enjoyed reading all of these “Bookshelf” entries, but my favorite part has become the part where you describe the section of your library from which the excerpt comes–such as above. From your description, I always imagine you living in a modest apartment, but this seemingly endless array of library “sections” has me envisioning a smaller apartment with 30-foot ceilings, and one of those sliding ladders for book access. I thought my collection of recorded music bordered on the obsessive, but you put me to shame–or actually strip me of any guilt/shame for my own obsessions.
Modest apartment is putting it KINDLY!! I’ve had 3 people over at one time and it feels crowded. And yes. There are books everywhere you look!
Someday I will post pictures of my wee abode. It’s really cute.
Don’t you have something like 20,000 albums or something like that?? You have given me a ballpark figure number – and it is QUITE impressive.
My folks’ copy wasn’t as recent as 1978, though I’d lay odds it was no older than ’65 or so, at a guess.
“QUITE impressive”–Spouse translation: DERANGED.
I have a good friend who has at least 20,000. I am in the more modest 6-7,000 range, maybe a little more. Storage/display/asthetics has become a real-world problem. I am actually getting ready to drive over to Pittsburgh next week to buy some IKEA shelving units that fit albums well. I am normally a bit of a fanatic about organization, and my collection has gotten too big to organize well with my current shelving, etc. That means I can’t find my Miles Davis/John Coltane in Stockholm on the Dragon Label the one time a guest requested it–to me, that is an unforgivable sin that can not be repeated. Thus, the trip to Pittsburgh. I want to add that, with me, it really is just about the music. I don’t buy things just to own them, or because of the cover, or any of that. I buy music that I want to be able to listen to. It pays dividends in many ways. I can not tell you how gratifying it was to hear my son tell one of his neighborhood buddies, “Wait till you hear this song. It’s really good.” The song? Starship Trooper off of The Yes Album. The next song he played for his friend was Once in a Lifetime by the Talking Heads. He turns 11 in August–I am VERY proud.
How do you keep track of it all? Do you index it? Did you create a database? What’s your organizational system?
Obviously you can see what mine is – I break up the shelves – and I like to have everything an author wrote all together – even if they write in different genres. To me, it makes things easier to find – Madeleine L’Engle writes religious books, adult fiction, poetry, young adult fiction, memoirs … I keep them all together, although I have experimented with separating them. Putting her poetry on the poetry bookshelf, her religious books on my “religious shelf”. Yes, these are the things I worry about. But in general: I like to have an author’s books all together. Robert Kaplan has written travelogues, as well as historical books, as well as ruminations on the art of war and politics. I keep them all together, even though they are (strictly) different genres.
I could go on and on …
but I will spare you the obsessive quality of my organizational setup.
I put it all in alphabetical order. Very simple, although if it is a collection of artists, or a festival, or something like that, it gets a little tricky. Sometimes, it stays in alphabetical order–Woodstock, for example. Sometimes, it goes with a particular artist who was the main reason for buying the album. Sometimes, it goes in that weird category–“Special” section. I don’t separate by genre–Jazz, Classical, Rock, Bluegrass, or whatever. It all goes together. There are times when I forget I own a particular album, and that can be a problem if someone wants to hear, say, Bluegrass, and I forget about a great Norman Blake/Vassar Clements/Sam Bush album I own, but, in general, I know just about everything I own, and separating it by category has its own problems–which category does this go in? When I said I was a bit fanatical about organization, I should have emphasized the “bit.” I like simple alphabetization. It works for me.
Yeah – simple is best, I totally agree – especially if your collection is really large. I go into Blockbuster now and I can barely find anything because their categorization system is so messed up.
In what world is “Cry in the Dark” a comedy??
Seriously. The categorization is ridiculous because it has obviously been set up by people who don’t get movies, and don’t get how movie-lovers scroll for movies.
Please don’t separate out John Wayne stuff into ‘action”, or “western” or “romance”. Put it all together. Because it’s all about HIM now … he transcends genre. No – he IS a genre. John Wayne fans don’t want to have to stroll through the action aisles – looking for films. We just want to see a John Wayne film. I seem to recall bitching about that before with Blockbuster – I hate how they categorize stuff. It makes no sense.
TLA Video has a GENIUS set-up – by comparison. It would be baffling to people used to Blockbusters – but TLA Video is openly not for those people. It’s for movie FANATICS. It’s a great system – you stroll thru there, and just KNOW that the people working there are movie freaks. Hard to explain – but everything is set up JUST how a movie freak would want it to be set up. Genres … then there are whole sections for “directors” – so you can look for all the Hitchcock movies, or whatever. They even get down to like: all the Jane Campion movies, etc – for those people who think that way. Movie freaks think that way – and TLA sets their stores up to provide us with an easy and fun browsing experience.
They also have genre set-ups: horror, romance, drama – just like other stores.
And then major actor sections – so for people who are looking at it from THAT angle, they’ll be able to find all the Burt Lancaster movies in one place.
It’s a genius set-up.
(I used to work at TLA so I know of what I speak.)
Don’t get me started on Blockbuster–how they (dis)organize, which movies they judge worthy of carrying(the local store didn’t have a copy of Shane, for God’s sake), and some of the people they have working there(not all to be fair)–I forget the movie, but I asked one of their clerks about a PG-13 rating. “Is this appropriate for a 10- or 12-year-old? How bad is the language?” The answer? “Oh, I love that movie. The language isn’t bad at all. It’s really funny!” So I take it home. The family– My parents, my sister, my nephew, and my clan, sit down to watch it. About two frickin’ minutes into it, a character screams out, “Fuck it man! Just, fuck it!” That went over well with my parents, wife, and sister, let me tell you. Not that they are prudes, but my son and nephew were watching it, and I was responsible.
DBW – oh, man. That is so frustrating. Blah.
TLA Video is WAY out of my way – I have to take a subway to get to it – but it’s worth it to me to have knowledgeable and kind people who can answer questions like yours – and you can trust them. Oh, and they’re not snobby!!! I mean, they obviously have their tastes – it’s like certain bookstores where they’ll have a shelf labeled: Staff Recommendations – and you can see what so and so at the Information Desk reads. And these guys (I was the only chick working there) have amazing eclectic tastes, you know – anime, and classics, and Japanese silent films – blah blah. I’ve been introduced to a lot of cool movies I NEVER would have picked out because someone there recommended it. But the best thing is: they don’t scorn the G-rated crowd, or people with G-rated concerns. They love movies, plain and simple. They’re there to help. It just makes SO much of a difference.
One last thing about my video-clerk experience at TLA – You have to interview in order to work there. And you have to do “role-play” stuff with pretend customers. Someone comes up and says, “Hi … My son is having a sleepover – do you have any recommendations for a fun movie for a crowd of 8 year olds?” And you have to answer off-the-cuff, come up with something – It was actually really fun – although nervewracking.
It was great fun to get into somebody else’s world and try to think of a movie that that person would love. And working at TLA I discovered that you would get that a lot – people wanted to know what the staff recommended.
So you had to be on the ball!!
Sounds like my kind of place. The only place anything like that here is about a 20 minute drive. I know that sounds like nothing to a city-dweller, but Blockbuster, Hollywood Video, and the library are all about 3 minutes away. On a busy Friday afternoon, that makes a big difference. And, mea culpa, I haven’t done the Netflix thing yet.
I have a much more mundane reason for boycotting Blockbuster: those bastards sent my name to a collection agency over friggin’ $10 worth of late fees. I was so ticked off – I haven’t been to a Blockbuster’s since. It’s been 6 years now, so thankfully it should be disappearing from my credit report soon. Ten friggin’ dollars!
I recently “re-discovered” this book in an effort to find something interesting to read to my daughter. I have very strong memories of the summers I spent reading this book and wanted to give her the same sense of magic to her. What I had FORGOTTEN – or really, had simply NOT UNDERSTOOD at the time, was how HILARIOUS so many of the scenes were…so much of it was positively Monty Pythonish in character, especially the jousting scene. “You said PAX!” – “I said Pax NON!” “WHANG! went the sword. WHANG!” When I tried reading that scene, it ended up being a long evening because both she and I were breathless from laughing so hard. I am glad my daughter has a better sense of humor than I did at her age…I took so much of it so seriously (and indeed, there are lip-quivering moments) but the imagery and humor made it new memories for me.