A good man’s example always does instruct the ignorant and lessens their rage, little by little through the ages, until the spirit of the waters is content: and so, strong courage to Your Majesty, and a tranquil heart.

—T.H. White, The Book of Merlyn

The King Arthur myth has been told, re-told, and re-imagined countless times. I’ve read many interpretations, though far from all, from authors as diverse as Bernard Cornwell (The Warlord Trilogy) to Mary Stewart (The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, et. al.). But of all these, The Once and Future King and its separately published conclusion, The Book of Merlyn, is probably the most approachable version of the Arthur myth I’ve ever encountered. And it’s certainly my favorite.

For obvious reasons, I often feel a need to draw parallels between Robert E. Howard and other authors when writing blog posts here at The Cimmerian. But in this case, I didn’t have to look far, nor make any dubious, tenuous connections. At their core, White and Howard share the same pessimistic view of humanity. For Howard, barbarism was the natural state of mankind. White believed that mankind’s natural state was Homo Ferox, or “Ferocious man.” There is no leap required; these two men of different nationalities and stations in life drew the same bleak conclusions about mankind.

There are differences between the authors, of course. White was (mostly) hopeful that mankind could redeem and elevate itself above its savage nature, whereas Howard was not. It was simply the reality of life, despite mankind’s best efforts to pull itself out of the primordial ooze. In Howard’s stories we see gleaming cities falling to ruin, civilizations going corrupt from within, time and again. White was also a pessimist, though he thought that man could eventually reach a state of peace and equilibrium—but only after thousands of years of evolution and education. Mankind at present is an undeveloped animal, “an upstart, whose eyes, speaking from the point of view of nature, are scarcely open further than the puppy’s,” White writes. “Man, proud man, stands there in the twentieth century, complacently believing that the race has ‘advanced’ in the course of a thousand miserable years, and busy blowing his brothers to bits.”

White’s stroke of genius with The Once and Future King and The Book of Merlyn was boiling down Thomas Malory’s La Morte D’Arthur to a single, compelling thread: Arthur’s struggle against the wicked lords that dominated the Dark Ages. White viewed the Arthur myth as an allegory of reason and peace against the mindless, animal rule of force. “Might equals right” is the bitter refrain of White’s book, and the hard, remorseless enemy against which Arthur is pitted. Against a host of despotic lords of small fiefdoms, Arthur constructs Camelot, the shining castle on the hill, and raises a bulwark of chivalry, a code of laws by which knights are supposed to govern themselves. Chivalry’s tenets include the strong protecting the weak, a radical concept in an age when petty lords ruled their vassals with an iron fist.

Critics have accused The Once and Future King and The Book of Merlyn of being too much polemic and allegory, and not enough story. I don’t agree (and don’t much care). It/they comprise a beautifully written book, full of wisdom and insight, heartbreak and despair, and ultimately, hope that mankind’s inherent goodness will eventually win out over his bestial nature.

The Book of Merlyn opens on the eve of Camlann, the last great battle pitting the meager forces of King Arthur against Mordred’s army. Arthur is utterly bereft of hope. His best friend, Launcelot, has betrayed him, as has his wife and the love of his life, Guinevere. Mordred, his bastard son and source of shame, has come to wrest Camelot from his faltering hands and institute a reign of fascism. Arthur believes that mankind is homo ferox, a ferocious animal which kills for pleasure, a hapless, wicked race incapable of being saved. He is at his lowest ebb, old and awaiting death alone in a cold military tent.

But Arthur’s old tutor Merlyn returns on the eve of destruction, and takes his old pupil away for one more night of instruction. Just as he did in The Sword and the Stone, Merlyn transforms Arthur into a pair of animals—this time an ant and a goose—to allow him to experience the extremes of politics. Arthur experiences the rule of a totalitarian, communist regime, as well as the free, borderless, anarchistic existence of the geese, who have determined that the meaning of life is simply to live. Though he’s drawn strongly to the latter, Arthur’s love for England is too great, and retreat is not an option. Although death and defeat (in this life) awaits, he returns to the battlefield for a last desperate cast against the encroaching dark:

All the beauty of his humans came upon him, instead of their horribleness. He saw the vast army of martyrs who were his witnesses: young men who had gone out even in the first joy of marriage, to be killed on dirty battle-fields like Bedegraine for other men’s beliefs: but who had gone out voluntarily: but who had gone because they thought it was right: but who had had gone although they hated it.

Heroism manifests in many forms. The barbarian who rushes into battle with naught but a sword and his pantherish, animal instinct, is one way. A small force of British soldiers, galloping into the roar of Russian guns and certain death, is another. These outward displays of courage are impressive, but are in no way superior to quiet heroism, the choice of the hard, principled, right path over a safe retreat. The Book of Merlyn contains an act of incredible sacrifice that should appeal to fans of Howard. Short as it is on blood and thunder, it’s long on courage, even if it’s the contemplative, quiet type.

Of course, I couldn’t write a review of The Book of Merlyn for The Cimmerian without mentioning one other obvious Howardian reference. Flying through the night in a timeless realm between the worlds, Merlyn and Arthur pass the silhouettes of the standing stones at Stonehenge. Merlyn hails the old gods (whom Arthur could not see) with a salutation “to Crom, Bel, and others” (emphasis mine).

While Howard might not have agreed with all their conclusions, I like to think that he would have enjoyed The Once and Future King and The Book of Merlyn.