The Last Unicorn: The Lost Journey

Last Saturday, I was privileged enough to get to hear Peter S. Beagle speak for the second time in my life. I went to a local theatre, listened to him talk about his career, and then watched “The Last Unicorn” with a few dozen other extremely excited fans. After the show, Peter was kind enough to autograph ... all of the things I'd brought and the new items I bought. Among these was the most recent edition of “The Last Unicorn.”

The film is such an intrinsic part of my childhood that I can't honestly remember a time without it or without nightmares of triple-breasted harpies. Nightmares or no, it was still one of my favorite movies, but I don't believe I've actually read the book until now.

It has been a very long time since I've finished a book with tears in my eyes, particularly a book where I can already recite the dialogue from memory. Reading doesn't normally make me tear up in the first place, but I did with this one. Someone in the theatre audience pointed out that all of Beagle's works have a deep sense of melancholy to them. That's true of this story too, but that melancholy is a sweet one, accented by Beagle's wit and humor along with his way of phrasing simple things in lights never done before or since. The language of this book is worth picking it up even if you've never enjoyed a fantasy book before. This is a book with texture.

At its heart, the story is both a fairy tale and a satire of fairy tales. The characters themselves have a meta-sense that they are in a story, and they make distinctions between those within and without the narrative. As a person who has always tried desperately to fit events into some sort of logical story, I appreciate this aspect. I also appreciate the characters themselves who are truly whole beings even within the fairy tale paradigm of heroes and villains. Without a doubt, Schmendrick and Molly Grue are my favorites. What other writer gives the reader an immortal Jewish wannabee magician (last of the red-hot swamis!) and a middle-aged vagrant cook as their guides through a fairy tale? At the screening, Beagle talked about Molly Grue being a gift to him from somewhere. He doesn't know where she came from, but she is the part of this story of which he is most proud. She is the anti-heroine of my dreams, anyway.

But the thing that makes this book as famous as it is today is the Unicorn herself. I learned recently that Beagle's unicorn is the first female unicorn in literature. Up until this book, all unicorns were males, and he was the first writer to step out of that box. I guess that means I can thank him for My Little Pony and the rest of my childhood as well. The Unicorn in this story is a singular creature with thought patterns so far removed from humans that it's amazing a human wrote her. Beagle lets us watch her, but we can never understand her, and our feelings are given voice by the characters in the story.

The theme that echoes through the pages is one of immortality, those who seek to win it by fair means and foul. From Mommy Fortuna, happy to die under the harpy's claws if that means the harpy will always remember who caged her, to poor Cully writing ballads of his own deeds never done, to Haggrid and his quest to hold the unicorns prisoner even after his death, all of the antagonists struggle for immortality. Our heroes meanwhile, struggle to make the best of the time they have. Schmendrick, cursed with immortality, seeks only to lift the curse find true magic. Molly Grue, who knows her time with unicorns should be long over, treasures the one that comes too later. Even Lir, whom I never fully enjoy but whom I understand much better thanks to the book, is somewhat aware that his relationship with Amalthea is slipping through an hourglass. “The Last Unicorn” uses the immortal to make the reader look at mortality and how we humans choose to spend it.

While I've really only discovered Beagle's literary works recently, he has quickly moved to the forefront of my favorite living authors. I cannot recommend his books enough, and if you shared a childhood with me, this is probably the best place to start. One of the author blurbs calls it “achingly beautiful,” and that's really the sum of this too long review. Finishing it left the ache in my heart that all mortals get when they've seen a unicorn.