{"id":5104,"date":"2006-07-13T06:30:39","date_gmt":"2006-07-13T10:30:39","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=5104"},"modified":"2025-06-09T19:14:22","modified_gmt":"2025-06-09T23:14:22","slug":"the-books-the-sword-in-the-stone-t-h-white","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.sheilaomalley.com\/?p=5104","title":{"rendered":"The Books: The Sword in the Stone<\/i> (T.H. White)"},"content":{"rendered":"

Daily Book Excerpt: Children’s books:<\/p>\n

\"5143XJ38VKL._SS500_.jpg\"Next book on the shelf is <The Sword in the Stone<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by T. H. White<\/p>\n

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<\/i>) 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<\/i> 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<\/i> 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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.”<\/p>\n

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?<\/p>\n

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<\/i> is because it starts out so casual<\/i>. 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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

And the ending (or, almost the ending) which I post below …<\/p>\n

Gulp. I’m tellin’ ya. It gets me in the throat every time.<\/p>\n


\nExcerpt from The Sword in the Stone<\/a>\"\"<\/i> by T. H. White<\/b><\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

He turned his mount and cantered off along the street.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

He tied his reins round a post of the lych-gate, strode up the gravel path, and took hold of the sword.<\/p>\n

“Come, sword,” he said. “I must cry your mercy and take you for a better cause.”<\/p>\n

“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?”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“There is something in this place,” said the Wart. “There are people here. Oh, people, what do you want?”<\/p>\n

Nobody answered him, but the music was loud and the light beautiful.<\/p>\n

“People,” cried the Wart. “I must take this sword. It is not for me, but for Kay. I will bring it back.”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“Come, sword,” said the Wart.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“It is well fixed,” said the Wart.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“Oh, Merlyn,” cried the Wart, “help me to get this sword.”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“Remember my biceps,” said the Oak, “which can stretch out horizontally against Gravity, when all the other trees go up or down.”<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

“What about those forearms,” said a Badger gravely, “they are held together by a chest? Come along, my dear embryo, and find your tool.”<\/p>\n

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?”<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

“Cohere,” said a Stone in the church wall.<\/p>\n

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.”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

\n

\nThere 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.<\/p>\n

“But this isn’t my sword,” said Sir Kay.<\/p>\n

“It was the only one I could get,” said the Wart. “The inn was locked.”<\/p>\n

“It is a nice-looking sword. Where did you get it?”<\/p>\n

“I found it stuck in a stone, outside a church.”<\/p>\n

Sir Kay had been watching the tilting nervously, waiting for his turn. He had not paid much attention to his squire.<\/p>\n

“That’s a funny place to find a sword,” he said.<\/p>\n

“Yes, it was stuck through an anvil.”<\/p>\n

“What?” asked Sir Kay, suddenly rounding upon him. “Did you just say this sword was stuck in a stone?”<\/p>\n

“It was,” said the Wart. “It was a sort of war memorial.”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“Father,” cried Sir Kay, “come here a moment.”<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

“Do you remember that sword which the King of England would pull out?”<\/p>\n

“Yes.”<\/p>\n

“Well, here it is. I have it. It is in my hand. I pulled it out.”<\/p>\n

\n

\nSir 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.”<\/p>\n

“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?”<\/p>\n

Kay looked at his father. He also looked at the Wart and at the sword.<\/p>\n

Then he handed the sword to the Wart quite quietly.<\/p>\n

He said, “I am a liar. Wart pulled it out.”<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

“Sir,” said poor old Sir Ector, without looking up, although he was speaking to his own boy.<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

“Plenty of people told me you are not my father,” said the Wart, “but it doesn’t matter a bit.”<\/p>\n

“Sir,” said Sir Ector humbly, “will ye be my good and gracious lord when ye are King?”<\/p>\n

“Don’t!” said the Wart.<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

Kay was kneeling down too, and it was more than the Wart could bear.<\/p>\n

“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.”<\/p>\n

And the Wart also burst into tears.<\/p>\n