Stuart Little

“‘How was it down there?’ asked Mr. Little, who was always curious to know about places he had never been to.

‘It was all right,’ said Stuart.”

Stuart is always reticent about his adventures. He often goes places and does things by himself that his family knows nothing about. In that, he is like an imaginative, introverted child who lives a rich and vivid fantasy life that is invisible to the people around him. Stuart’s father—part of the large, adult world—wishes he could share some of Stuart’s freedom to explore exotic places and have adventures.

“[Lifting the sticky piano key] was no easy job for Stuart, as he had to crouch down between the felt hammers so that he wouldn’t get hit on the head. But Stuart liked it just the same: it was exciting inside the piano, dodging about, and the noise was quite terrific. Sometimes after a long session he would emerge quite deaf, as though he had just stepped out of an airplane after a long journey; and it would be some little time before he really felt normal again.”

“Terrific” in this context means enormous, intense, or even terrifying. However, there’s also a connotation of wonder. The adventurous Stuart is stimulated by the noise and excitement within the piano.

“Mr. Little was not at all sure that he understood Stuart’s real feeling about a mousehole. He didn’t know where the hole led to, and it made him uneasy to think that Stuart might some day feel the desire to venture into it.

‘After all, he does look a good deal like a mouse,’ said Mr. Little to his wife. ‘And I’ve never seen a mouse yet that didn’t like to go into a hole.’”

It’s never quite clear whether Stuart is an anthropomorphized mouse or a boy with mouse features. Most of the time, the narrator refers to him as a mouse, and the family avoids references to mice in conversation so as not to hurt Stuart’s feelings. Here, Mr. Little seems unsure exactly where his son falls on the scale between mouse and boy.

“To get to the washbasin, Stuart had to climb a tiny rope ladder which his father had fixed for him. George had promised to build Stuart a small special washbasin only one inch high and with a little rubber tube through which water would flow; but George was always saying that he was going to build something and then forgetting about it.”

This illustrates two different approaches to the family dealing with Stuart’s size. George’s ideas require more skill and perseverance than he possesses. Mr. Little’s solutions are easier and more pragmatic. They are also designed to help Stuart live in the larger world rather than trying to alter the world to fit him. If Stuart had to wait for other people to make a world his size, he would be trapped in his home where he could never have adventures.

“Snowbell just chuckled. He was not fond of Stuart and it didn’t bother him at all that Stuart was all wrapped up in a window shade, crying and hurt and unable to get out.”

Snowbell is a villain from Stuart’s perspective, but the rest of the Littles clearly do not know about his temperament. The family does not believe Snowbell would ever harm Stuart (and later, Margalo), even though Snowbell is a cat and Stuart is a mouse. Keeping Snowbell is like letting a hungry tiger watch a baby deer.

“‘I’m not tall enough to be noticed,’ thought Stuart, ‘yet I’m tall enough to want to go to Seventy-second Street.’”

This is the line that defines Stuart. It matters that Stuart doesn’t say, “I am tall enough to go.” His exact words are, “I am tall enough to want to go.” His inner dreams and ambitions are bigger than the limits of his outer body.

“Over the pond the west wind blew, and into the teeth of the west wind sailed the sloops and schooners, their rails well down, their wet decks gleaming. The owners, boys and grown men, raced around the cement shores hoping to arrive at the other side in time to keep the boats from bumping. Some of the toy boats were not as small as you might think, for when you got close to them you found that their mainmast was taller than a man’s head, and they were beautifully made, with everything shipshape and ready for sea.”

The author describes the miniature world of the pond in grand terms, as if it were as big as any ocean in the real world. He employs the language of the sea, categorizing the boats and describing their movement.

“Into the teeth of the wind” and “with their rails well down” means that the boats are “beating into the wind,” so that the wind pushes the ship from one side while the rudder keeps the prow pointed in the direction the ship wants to go. In effect, the ship is perpetually turning, and this forces it to tilt, bringing its deck rails close to the water on one side.

“[Stuart] hoped he would be able to get aboard one of them and sail away to the far corners of the pond. (He was an adventurous little fellow and loved the feel of the breeze in his face and the cry of the gulls overhead and the heave of the great swell under him.)”

This passage expresses the author’s own love of sailing. It also emphasizes Stuart’s adventurous nature over his size. He wants to travel to far places, and for him, the far side of the pond seems like a world away.

“Soon the shores of the pond were so crowded that a policeman was sent from headquarters to announce that everybody would have to stop pushing, but nobody did. People in New York like to push each other.”

New York City has a reputation—deserved or not—for rudeness. The assertion that New Yorkers enjoy pushing one another is an example of irony employed for humor. It is unlikely that the people in the crowd actually enjoy pushing or being pushed—they are just too excited to pay attention to the police officer.

“And away went the two boats for the north end of the pond, while the seagulls wheeled and cried overhead and the taxicabs tooted and honked from Seventy-second Street and the west wind (which had come halfway across America to get to Central Park) sang and whistled in the rigging and blew spray across the decks, stinging Stuart’s cheeks with tiny fragments of flying peanut shell tossed up from the foamy deep.”

The author pairs incongruous details to reinforce the playful conceit that the sailing pond is a vast ocean: Seagulls crying and taxicabs honking, peanut shells and the foamy deep. These images—land and sea—form a strong contradiction.

The implication that the west wind has crossed America specifically to reach Central Park and participate in the race is an example of personification. It suggests also that New York, and Central Park in particular, is the center of the world, which for Stuart, it is—at least in his childhood.

“‘My name is Margalo,’ said the bird, softly, in a musical voice. ‘I come from fields once tall with wheat, from pastures deep in fern and thistle; I come from vales of meadowsweet, and I love to whistle.’”

Margalo’s description of where she comes from is a rhyming verse like the lyrics of a song, which is suited to her nature as a musical creature. Stuart is electrified by the beauty of her words. Margalo comes to him from the great outdoors, bringing the first stirrings of wanderlust that will eventually draw him out into the wider world.

“[Stuart] knelt down, bent his bow, and took careful aim at Snowbell’s left ear—which was the nearest to him.

‘This is the finest thing I have ever done,’ thought Stuart. And he shot the arrow straight into the cat’s ear.’”

“This is the finest thing I have ever done” is reminiscent of a chivalrous knight or a noble folk hero like Robin Hood. To Stuart, Margalo is a maiden who needs rescuing from a villain (Snowbell). Stuart acts—and views himself as—a fairytale hero as he drives Snowbell away with his bow and arrow.

“So Stuart and Margalo told all about the ocean, and the gray waves curling with white crests, and the gulls in the sky, and the channel buoys and the ships and the tugs and the wind making a sound in your ears. Mr. Little sighed and said some day he hoped to get away from business long enough to see all those fine things.”

This is the first time Stuart has shared one of his adventures with his family. When he does, it isn’t the smell and slime of the garbage he describes but the beautiful vastness and wildness of the sea. Margalo is the spirit that inspires Stuart to share his adventurous inner world.

“Finally, just before dark, [Margalo] hopped up to an open window and without saying anything to anybody she flew away. It was springtime, and she flew north, just as fast as she could fly, because something inside her told her that north was the way for a bird to go when spring comes to the land.”

Margalo leaves without saying goodbye, even to Stuart. She has always been a wild bird, representing the part of Stuart that is larger than home and family can contain. Margalo was always destined to leave—the letter was only the excuse she needed. In this way, White juxtaposes an anthropomorphized creature with their natural animal instincts. In the end, the true inner call will always win out, just as it does with Stuart at the end of the book.

“‘I ought to take along something to remember my mother by,’ he thought. So he crept into his mother’s bedroom where she was still asleep, climbed the lamp cord to her bureau, and pulled a strand of Mrs. Little’s hair from her comb. He rolled the hair up neatly and laid it in the handkerchief with the other things.”

This touching moment, when Stuart collects a token of his mother to bring with him, is a contrast to the previous example of animal instincts overtaking human characteristics. Stuart’s mother is the woman who gave him love and security, and it is a very human thing to want a memento of her. He carries her with him in search of the woman who represents inspiration and adulthood.

“‘Do you think you can maintain discipline?’ asked the Superintendent.

‘Of course I can,’ replied Stuart. ‘I’ll make the work interesting and the discipline will take care of itself. Don’t worry about me.’”

This passage points to the author’s experience of school. White was quiet, introverted, and quite literate even as a child. He makes the observation that bored children are prone to unruliness and that public education doesn’t sufficiently engage students’ intellect.

“Agnes Beretska raised her hand. ‘There ought to be a law against fighting.’

‘Impractical,’ said Stuart. ‘Men like to fight. But you’re getting warm, Agnes.’”

This passage expresses an idea that might sound strange in a modern context—the notion that men enjoy fighting. In 1945, when the story was written, it was more widely accepted that men (and boys) thrived on competition, which included testing themselves by fighting. Fighting, at least in fiction, was depicted as a bonding experience after which the combatants might well become friends.

“‘[L]ast summer was the most wonderful summer I have ever had in all my life.’

‘I can imagine,’ replied Stuart. ‘You’re sure you wouldn’t want to sell that little pillow?’

Katharine shook her head.

‘Don’t know as I blame you,’ replied Stuart, quietly. ‘Summertime is important. It’s like a shaft of sunlight.’ […]

Stuart sighed. ‘Never forget your summertimes, my dears,’ he said.”

This is a passage about nostalgia, about knowing what’s important and carrying your treasured memories into adulthood. These memories are often made in summertime, which is when many children’s adventures take place because they are not confined to school. Stuart comes to understand in this exchange that he is the adult and that he must leave childhood for the children.

“[Ames’ Crossing] was the most peaceful and beautiful spot he had found in all his travels. It seemed to him a place he would gladly spend the rest of his life in, if it weren’t that he might get homesick for the sights of New York and for his family, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Little and George, and if it weren’t for the fact that something deep inside him made him want to find Margalo.”

Stuart seems tugged in all directions. Ames’ Crossing, representing the present, seems like the perfect place, yet New York, representing the summer of his childhood, is still too deep a part of him to let him rest here. At the same time, Margalo and the future exert an irresistible pull into the future and adulthood.

“I never stay long anywhere—I blow into a town and blow right out again, here today, gone tomorrow, a will o’ the wisp. The highways and byways are where you’ll find me, always looking for Margalo. Sometimes I feel that I’m quite near to her and that she’s just around the turn of the road. Other times I feel that I’ll never find her and never hear her voice again.”

Stuart feels himself to be insubstantial. He is always between and never really anywhere. The thing he seeks—Margalo and the inspiration she represents—seems just as insubstantial. There is a sense of wistfulness in this passage; Ames’ Crossing tempts Stuart to settle down someplace real and substantial.

“In his imagination he went over every detail of tomorrow’s trip with Harriet. With his eyes shut he seemed to see the whole occasion plainly—how she would look when she came down the path to the water, how calm and peaceful the river was going to be in the twilight, how graceful the canoe would seem, drawn up on the shore. In imagination he lived every minute of their evening together. They would paddle to a large water-lily pad upstream, and he would invite Harriet to step out on the pad and sit awhile. Stuart planned to wear his swimming trunks under his clothes so that he could dive off the lily pad into the cool stream. He would swim the crawl stroke, up and down and all around the lily pad, while Harriet watched, admiring his ability as a swimmer.”

Stuart is trying to force a perfect summer memory, but summer memories can’t be created. They come unbidden, which is exactly what makes them so precious. Harriet herself has no role in his fantasy except as a passive admirer. This keeps her firmly in the realm of the unsubstantial because he is attracted more to the idea of a perfect date with her than to the imperfect reality they encounter. In contrast, his pursuit of Margalo is real and tangible precisely because he doesn’t know and cannot imagine where she will lead him.

“‘Not at all, glad to do it,’ said Stuart. ‘I only wish we had better weather. Looks rather sticky, don’t you think?’ Stuart was trying to make his voice sound as though he had an English accent.

Harriet looked at the sky and nodded. ‘Oh, well,’ she said, ‘if it rains, it rains.’”

Stuart actually makes himself ridiculous by pretending to have an English accent. In his nervousness, he is trying to present himself as a completely different person. By contrast, Harriet is quite willing to allow the day to go however it will. She is interested in Stuart himself, not in the fantasy of a perfect day.

“Stuart slept under the canoe that night. He awakened at four to find that the rain had stopped. The day would break clear. Already the birds were beginning to stir and make bright sounds in the branches overhead. Stuart never let a bird pass without looking to see if it was Margalo.”

As soon as Stuart resolves to get back on the road and leave Ames’ Crossing, the rain lifts and the weather is joyful again. He is following Margalo, and the world is full of signs of her existence. Every bird is a promise that she is out there somewhere.