“where you are going now, few will mean you anything but evil, and a friendly heart — however foolish — may be as welcome as water one day. take me with you, for laughs, for luck, for the unknown. take me with you.”
The Last Unicorn is more than just a book; it’s an experience that has resonated through generations. For many, including myself, it’s a story deeply intertwined with childhood memories, a tale reread and rewatched until it feels less like a story and more like a part of one’s own personal history. Peter S. Beagle’s masterpiece is a lyrical journey into a world of enchantment, illusion, and the poignant beauty of existence itself.
This is a narrative that masterfully plays with perception and reality, exploring the delicate line between what truly is and what we merely wish to perceive. It introduces us to fairytale archetypes and prophecies, only to subtly dismantle and reimagine them. It gently awakens dormant dreams and encourages us to pursue them, irrespective of the anticipated outcome. At its heart, The Last Unicorn meditates on the ephemeral nature of life and the inevitability of change.
Upon my most recent encounter with this beloved book, I found myself unexpectedly moved to tears by its conclusion. The emotional impact was profound, a testament to the story’s enduring power. While The Last Unicorn has always held a special place, revisiting it as an adult revealed even deeper layers of meaning. It illuminated those subtle scars left by life’s experiences, the moments perceived as failures, and the lingering ache they carry.
It was as though the book itself offered a comforting presence, acknowledging the unvarnished truth of existence yet affirming the inherent value of life. Perhaps this sounds overly dramatic, but it speaks to the unique magic held within these pages. It’s a rare and wonderful thing for a story so well-known to reveal fresh and profound insights, continuing to amaze and touch the reader anew.
“we are not always what we seem, and hardly ever what we dream.” // “it’s a rare man who is taken for what he truly is.”
The premise of The Last Unicorn is deceptively simple, set in a fantastical realm where the extraordinary is commonplace. In this world, butterflies might hum jazz tunes, highwaymen romanticize Robin Hood, and bottle caps become armor. Within this whimsical setting lives a unicorn, perfectly content in her lilac wood, a sanctuary of perpetual spring. However, her idyllic existence is disrupted by a chilling revelation: she may be the last of her kind.
Rumors speak of the Red Bull, a malevolent force that has driven the other unicorns into hiding. Disturbed by this possibility, our unicorn embarks on a quest to find her brethren and, if necessary, confront the Bull and liberate them.
Along her journey, she gathers an unlikely fellowship of companions, each flawed and seeking something more: Schmendrick, a well-meaning but inept wizard grappling with his own magical limitations and a timeless existence; Molly Grue, a cynical outlaw whose heart has grown weary with disillusionment; and Prince Lír, a prince by birthright but unremarkable by his own admission, struggling to find purpose.
As the unicorn and her companions venture forth to confront the entity holding her kind captive, a twist of fate transforms her irrevocably. Through an act of magic, she becomes Lady Amalthea, a woman burdened with mortality and the unfamiliar pangs of love and regret.
“you can strike your own time, and start the count anywhere. when you understand that — then any time at all will be the right time for you.”
Peter S. Beagle’s prose in The Last Unicorn is nothing short of enchanting. It’s so exquisitely crafted that you’ll find yourself pausing to transcribe quotes, captivated by the sheer beauty of his language. Despite the story’s subtle romantic undertones rather than overt romance, it resonates as one of the most profoundly romantic books imaginable. Beagle possesses an extraordinary command of language, effortlessly conveying raw emotion and eloquent expressions. His writing is imbued with wit, charm, and a deeply felt, though often melancholic, appreciation for life. He seamlessly transitions between humor and heartbreak, often within the same sentence.
Beagle’s narrative prowess is most evident in his exploration of life’s inherent beauty, not found in some unattainable perfection, but rather in the choices we make and the courage we exhibit when facing inevitable sadness, sorrow, and regret.
The unicorn, initially presented as an ethereal, immortal being almost too magnificent for mortal comprehension, becomes an unwitting catalyst for change when she chooses to seek out her lost kin. Her departure from her secluded forest initiates the cycle of seasons, introducing change and mortality into her once timeless sanctuary. Traveling alongside Schmendrick, she begins to experience the subtle nuances of mortal existence, feeling the first “spidery touch of sorrow.”
Her companions are all, in their own ways, unfulfilled and discontented. Schmendrick doubts his magical abilities, Lír questions his heroic potential, and Molly Grue, upon first encountering the unicorn, delivers a poignant indictment of her own life’s disappointments:
molly laughed with her lips flat. “and what good is it to me that you’re here now? where were you twenty years ago, ten years ago? how dare you, how dare you come to me now, when i am this?”
with a flap of her hand she summed herself up: barren face, desert eyes, and yellowing heart.
Yet, despite their individual burdens, each character faces a pivotal choice: to embrace actions that might bring pain, that might even necessitate sacrificing a part of themselves, to achieve something they believe in. This is the essence of a kind choice, a right choice, a brave choice – even when it causes profound personal anguish. And at the forefront of this journey of difficult choices is the unicorn herself, leading by example.
“your name is a golden bell hung in my heart. i would break my body to pieces to call you once by your name.”
The Last Unicorn is rich with subtle nuances that blur the lines between reality and illusion. The unicorn is confronted with the disheartening reality that most mortals perceive her merely as a common white mare, failing to recognize her true nature. Following her transformation, she, too, momentarily forgets her unicorn identity, fully embracing her human persona as Lady Amalthea, complete with new thoughts, desires, and emotions.
Schmendrick, despite harboring genuine magical potential, is often dismissed as a mere conjurer of cheap tricks, a jester rather than a true wizard. Ultimately, he internalizes this perception, grappling with his perceived inadequacy and timeless stasis.
Molly Grue, with her worn clothes, calloused hands, and weary eyes, appears to be a simple, overlooked scullery maid, seemingly past her prime and surrounded by those who fail to appreciate her worth.
The narrative compels us to consider: Are we truly defined by our self-perceptions? How do we navigate life’s inevitable challenges? How do we overcome personal stagnation and reconcile ourselves to the often harsh realities of existence?
At times, The Last Unicorn adopts a playfully metatextual approach to its fairytale framework. Yet, even within these moments of self-awareness, Beagle manages to deliver powerful emotional resonance:
the unicorn was there as a star is suddenly there, moving a little way ahead of them, a sail in the dark. molly said, “if lír is the hero, what is she?”“that’s different. haggard and lír and drinn and you and i — we are in a fairy tale, and must go where it goes. but she is real. she is real.”
As a younger reader, I was drawn to the story’s deconstruction of genre tropes and its witty portrayal of wizards and mythical creatures. The narrative cleverly subverts expectations, presenting the gruff Molly Grue instead of a traditional princess as a central figure, and depicting Schmendrick as a potentially powerful wizard hampered by his own limitations. In The Last Unicorn, prophecies don’t simply fulfill themselves; rather, they serve as catalysts for learning profound truths about life’s multifaceted realities and illusions.
Only upon revisiting the book did I fully grasp the applicability of its lyrical beauty and poignant truths to my own life. I recognized the instances where I had made choices primarily to avoid sorrow, even at the expense of potential love and joy.
The fundamental truth is that pain is an unavoidable aspect of life. Our agency lies in how we confront it, how we choose to welcome joy and love alongside it.
“my son, your ineptitude is so vast, your incompetence so profound, that i am certain you are inhabited by greater power than i have ever known.”
The Last Unicorn‘s imperfections contribute to its profound perfection. While this is a book review, acknowledging potential shortcomings is essential. Despite Beagle’s exceptional command of prose, the poems and songs interspersed throughout are arguably the narrative’s weakest elements. They occasionally feel like generic, fireside ballads, lacking the depth and nuance of his prose. This creates an intriguing contrast – the stories within the story are less compelling than the overarching narrative itself. But perhaps this invites us to question: which stories are truly “real”?
Similarly, Beagle’s incorporation of modern elements might strike some readers as jarring. A butterfly referencing contemporary culture, for instance, feels anachronistic. While the unicorn and Schmendrick often speak in a more archaic, fairytale-esque manner, other characters, like Lír, adopt a more modern vernacular, which can feel inconsistent.
Furthermore, The Last Unicorn might not satisfy readers seeking a conventional fantasy quest with clear-cut beginnings and endings. Its style is intentionally dreamlike and detached, its characters are complex and prone to wandering, and satisfying resolutions or straightforward fantasy elements (magic systems, world-building) are not the primary focus.
Even the antagonist’s motivations are not rooted in grand, meticulously plotted evil. Instead, they stem from a profound emptiness, a certainty of impending doom that drives the antagonist to desperate measures simply to feel something. While this thematic depth resonated with me and allowed me to empathize with the heroes, some readers might find the villain less compelling or lacking in depth.
Finally, a minor anachronism, likely a product of its publication era: Schmendrick’s self-description as “the last of the red-hot swamis” feels humorously out of place, easily overlooked but noticeable nonetheless.
“as for you and your heart and the things you said and didn’t say, she will remember them all when men are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.”
In conclusion: The Last Unicorn remains one of the most exceptional books I have ever encountered. While I haven’t delved extensively into plot details, the narrative itself is secondary to the overall reading experience. It is, at its core, a fairytale, and its thematic richness and moral depth are far more significant than any dragon slain or quest completed.
It is a story of poignant beauty, both bittersweet and deeply moving. Its characters are instantly relatable, their inner lives vividly rendered on the page. Its language and brilliance have permeated my consciousness; at times, it feels almost overwhelming, as if my heart can barely contain its luminosity.
I wish I could share this renewed understanding with my grandmother, who first introduced me to this tale. But perhaps she would simply smile and remind me that nothing truly ends. And maybe, in another thirty years, or even thirty years after that, I will find new depths of meaning within The Last Unicorn, continuing to discover its timeless magic.
I leave you with a fragment of a conversation between friends, a passage that encapsulates the essence of being alive:
“… why, life is short, and how many can i help or harm? i have my power at last, but the world is still too heavy for me to move, though my friend lír might think otherwise.” and he laughed again in his dream, a little sadly.the unicorn said, “that is true. you are a man, and men can do nothing that makes any difference.” but her voice was strangely slow and burdened. she asked, “which will you choose?”
the magician laughed for a third time. “oh, it will be the kind magic, undoubtedly, because you would like it more.”
✎ 5.0 stars.
