The King's Speech

“The King, in the words of America’s Time magazine, was the ‘most famed contemporary stammerer’ in the world.”

The reputation of the King’s defect is not limited to the Palace, nor is it limited to Great Britain. All around the world, the King is known for his stammering. That his problem should be printed in Time magazine demonstrates the scale of the problem. He is the “most famed contemporary stammer” (17), which suggests two things. Firstly, that the extent of his stammering must be so great that an awareness of the issue has spread all around the world. It has become his defining trait, which is not ideal for a man at the head of the world’s largest Empire. Secondly, it hints at the incompatibility of Kingship with a speech defect. Kingly proclamations will be marred by a stammer. This is the internal tension in the novel and the problem that must be solved; that it is printed in Time magazine demonstrates the scale of the problem and the difficulty that the King will have in overcoming his impediment, as well as hinting at how many people will be paying attention to even the slightest slip up all around the world.

“A self-described ‘common colonial,’ who despite a career dedicated to elocution had never quite succeeded in shaking off his Australian accent, Logue seemed strangely out of place among the upper echelons of the British aristocracy” 

As well as the difficulty in teaching the King how to overcome his stammer, the novel is also concerned with the crossing of class boundaries. The King, as the ruler of the Empire, is the physical embodiment of the upper class. He is the most noble of the nobility, his station in life could not be higher. Logue, however, is not of the same social class. Not only is he not a member of the aristocracy, but he is a colonial subject: his Australian nationality further differentiates him from the head of the British Empire. Therefore, the problem for the King is that the only man who may be able to help him is a “common colonial” (19) and this separation of social classes must be addressed in the text if the two men are to succeed. However, there is another dimension to the quote above. Logue is not just a common colonial, but he is a “self-described” (19) common colonial. This demonstrates the extent to which he has internalized the class system endemic to the British Empire in the late 19th and early 20th Centuries. He seems “strangely out of place” (19) and seems to believe this also of himself. Logue is an “other,” something separate from the King, but he is nevertheless the only man who can help him.

“In Australia, the growth of the elocution movement was also informed by a growing divergence between their English and the version of the language spoken back in Britain.”

Australia and Great Britain are many thousands of miles apart. They are on opposite sides of the world yet joined under the governance of a single dominant Empire. As such, Australians and the British share a common language. The above quote hints at how this huge geographical divide has begun to affect this shared language. With so much distance between the two—particularly in an age before air travel, when reaching Australian from Britain might take weeks—the two accents have diverged to the point where they are instantly recognizable as being different. The quote above suggests that the growth of the elocution movement in Australia is a reaction to this divergence; somehow, the Australians felt compelled to address their rapidly developing accent in order to somehow refine it and bring it closer in execution (if not in sound) to the British mother tongue. As colonial subjects, the Australians want to be as similar to the British as possible and have developed new fields of medicine in order to address what they see (perhaps subconsciously) as a failing or a means of differentiating themselves from the British and marking themselves out as “lower class.” This subtle, self-conscious form of colonialism helps to explain Logue’s character, hinting at why he is occasionally almost comically deferential in the face of the British aristocracy (particularly when meeting the Queen Mother). 

“Myrtle was not particularly impressed by its exterior.” 

Throughout the text, Myrtle will act as the grounding rod to the more extravagant and idealistic Logue. As his wife, she provides him with help and support when he needs it most but is confined to the background of the narrative. The above quote is a good example of how she differs from her husband. While Lionel Logue is frequently enchanted with the trappings of royal life, Myrtle examines and consider everything on her own terms. Buckingham Palace, for example, is one of the key buildings associated with the British royal family and is famous throughout the world as a representation of the office of the King or Queen. Myrtle, however, is “not particularly impressed” (34). There is a sense of dramatic irony at play, as the reader is already aware of the important role the palace and its associated office will play in her life. That she should be so unimpressed, however, reveals the strong insight she possesses. One of the key themes of the novel is that outward aesthetics can be misleading. Just as the King’s stammer hides his strong character and determination to work hard, the unimpressive Palace exterior hides the warmth and kindness of the family Myrtle encounters inside. The exterior of the Palace may be unimpressive, but Myrtle will be able to see past this impediment as the novel progresses.

“By the time he arrived, the quacks of old had given way to modern, properly qualified doctors. Logue, by contrast, had no formal medical training at all. But none of his neighbors would have known how to advice people with speech impediments or to understand the distress that caused them.”

As it to demonstrate the seriousness of the challenge the King faces, the professional position of Logue is a strong indicator. Speech therapy is—at the time—a nascent discipline and one that is out of the realm of understanding for most doctors. The above quote makes a contrast between the “quacks of old” and the “modern, properly qualified doctors” (46), though admits that none of the latter have any idea of how to treat a stammer (or the psychological damage it can do). Logue does have an understanding, however. In syntactical terms, this would place him firmly in the former category: if the “properly qualified doctors” (46) have no idea how to treat a stammer and Logue does, then he is—by implication—included among the “quacks” (46). Logue is an outcast in the medical profession, someone working entirely off script and developing his theories as he learns and practices. This illustrates the scale of the fight ahead. Not only must he apply all of the theories of speech therapy, but he must invent them as well. This only adds to the notion of Logue as an outcast. He is Australian, untrained, and even situated at the less desirable end of Harley Street. That he should be expected to cure the uncurable stammer of one of the world’s most important men seems impossible. Logue is determined to do exactly that. His reward will not only be a happy patient, but the legitimization of the entire profession of speech therapy.

“People who have these defects can, in most cases, sing quite easily and shout at games without any difficulty; but the ordinary procedure of buying a train ticket of asking to be directed in the street, is untold agony.”

As in the previous two chapters, the early stages of the novel continue to set up the King’s predicament. A speech impediment can impact something as relatively simple and as straightforward as buying a train ticket or asking for directions. The King has to do neither of these two things. Instead, in the wake of a family crisis, he has been thrust into an entirely unexpected position and now must deliver a speech to (potentially) hundreds of millions of people all over the world. Even if Logue believes that it is possible to cure a stammer in three months, the sheer scale of the task that lies ahead of the King is unlike anything else Logue has dealt with before. In this section of the narrative, the author uses medical research and Logue’s professional opinions (many lifted from his contemporary diaries) to ratify and validate the enormity of the task ahead. This use of expert opinion to bolster the impending threat in the narrative is something made possible by the biographical nature of the story. The form of the text helps to raise the stakes and demonstrate to the audience just how difficult a task lies ahead for both Logue and the King.

“Like other English upper-class children of the day, Bertie and his siblings were brought up for the first years of their lives by nurses and a governess who ruled the area beyond the swing door on the first floor to which they were largely confined. Once a day, at tea time, dressed in their best clothes and hair neatly combed, they would be brought downstairs and presented to their parents.” 

If the text has already spent a good portion of time demonstrating just how much of an outsider Logue is compared to those who he will be working alongside, the text now spends time highlighting the difference between the upper echelons of British society and the masses. Details such as those contained in the above quote help to demonstrate how different life is for the royal family and how—in many ways—their existence is absurd. Despite possessing untold wealth, for instance, the childhoods of many princes and princesses seems spartan. The young boys discussed above seem starved of their parents’ attention, and rather than being raised by their mother and their father, a team of staff raises them. Occasionally, they are “presented to their parents” (54) like lots at an auction or livestock at a county fair. For the modern reader—or even a contemporary reader of a lower social class—this approach to raising a child seems alien and strange. There is a distance between parents and their children that lacks the warmth and love expected from such a relationship. There is a contrast in the text between the manner in which Bertie and David are raised and how Logue raises his own children, as well as how Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret are eventually brought up. Though Logue is adamant that the cause of the stutter is not entirely psychological, the inclusion of the details of the King’s childhood do help to explain why his later relationship with his father is so important, as well as the need for approval and validation that was made all the more difficult by the speech impediment.

“The letter ‘k’ – as in ‘king’ and ‘queen’ – was a particular challenge, something that was to prove a particular problem for someone born into a royal family.”

Throughout the text, there has been an ever-present and growing idea that Bertie is not prepared to be King. The actions taken by other Kings and the ease with which his brother and father seem to adapt to the role suggest that they possess a natural familiarity with the role that Bertie does not. This unreadiness is not just psychological. In the above quote, Bertie demonstrates a physical unpreparedness to be King. His body is rebelling, unable to even say King or Queen without causing a scene. The stammer, in this sense, is a metaphor. It is a physical manifestation of the inevitable difficulties Bertie will face when dealing with the requirements and the expectations of kingship. The stuttering, hesitant manner in which he pronounces king foreshadows the stuttering, hesitant manner in which he takes on the expectations of the role. His inability to even say “king” suggests that he is not able to wear the crown.

“The sunny and companionable temperament of his boyhood began to be lost behind a somber mask and diffident manner.”

Over the course of Bertie’s young life, his speech impediment has become such a hindrance that it has come to define his entire personality. As a boy, his “sunny and companionable temperament” (65) seemed possible because he was not yet aware of the expectations that would burden him as an adult. These are expectations applied to any member of the royal family, not just the King. As the young man begins to realize what is expected of him, the sunniness and companionable attitude fade. In its stead is a “somber mask and diffident manner” (65). Bertie is already aware how different he is from his brother and how much his stammer will come to dictate his life. This has robbed him of a great deal of his happiness. Even as his marriage and his relationship with his father offer some hope for the future, his single defining characteristic remains the stammer. This is a huge hurdle in his life that he seems unable to conquer. As a royal, he will be judged by everyone. Given that he cannot seem to find a cure, this judgement will always be patronizing and sympathetic. The expectations and pressures of Bertie’s life begin to weigh heavily upon him, exacerbated greatly by his station.

“‘I can cure you,’ Logue declared at the end of their session, which lasted an hour and a half, ‘but it will need a tremendous effort by you. Without that effort, it can’t be done.’”

Logue’s bold statement serves a number of purposes. In a literary sense, it helps to establish the stakes of the novel. The King wishes to be able to speak without a stammer and the speech therapist believes he can help the King to do so; the remainder of the text will chart the course of this journey, discovering whether class boundaries, nascent medical disciplines, and myriad other issues can prevent this objective from being realized. It also helps to demonstrate that both parties will need to play a part in the process. Though Logue declares that he can cure the King, he insists that the King will have to apply a huge amount of effort if they are to succeed. Both parties will have obstacles to overcome; the cure will not be unilaterally applied. The quote also hints at Logue’s character. Despite the range of failures and the many people who have tried to cure the stammer, he declares straight away that he can not only help, but that he can cure the ailment. This hints at his arrogance and his self-confidence, as he assures his incredibly important patient that he will be able to succeed. Success, for Logue, would be enough to make his entire career, while failure would see him shamed. He gambles everything, confident in his own abilities. Not only that, but he issues a demand of the King. For a “common colonial” (19) to make such a demand of royalty is one of the first instances of the traditional social boundaries between these two men being crossed.

“Pressure was put on Logue to change his mind, but he stood firm, stating it would be a ‘psychological error’.” 

Buoyed by the successful speech he delivers to the Pilgrims Society, Logue is asked whether he will accompany his patient on tour to help with the preparation of speeches. Logue refuses. Just as with the demand that the lessons take place at Logue’s places of business and that the patient exert a great amount of effort, Logue is content pushing back against the social expectations that are placed on him as a colonial subject. If a request comes from the Palace and is delivered to a subject, it would be easy to construe such a request as an order. Logue has no trouble refusing the request, folding this minor act of defiance into the overall treatment program. The Duke, he reasons, must be able to deliver a speech without Logue present. This is made possible in part by the successful speech given at the Pilgrims Society: Logue now has a body of work to point to as evidence that his techniques are working. This evidence allows him to push back against the social pressure (presumed considerable) and make demands of his privileged patient. The quote illustrates the rising power of Logue, who can now refuse royal requests and compel the Duke to agree with him and his methods. After all, who else could help with the speech impediment? 

“Despite the huge social gulf between them, theirs turned from a professional relationship to friendship, helped by Logue’s frank and straightforward style.” 

One of the central themes of the novel is the clash of classes and the way in which this fosters an unlikely friendship between the most powerful man in the Empire and a “common colonial” (19). The above quote is one of the moments when this is most explicitly addressed: The success of Logue’s techniques has ensured that a real bond has been able to emerge between the two men. The patient admires the techniques and is thankful for the results they have produced; the doctor admires the effort undertaken by the patient and respects the instructions in which the patient is bound. The success of the trip to Australia demonstrates the viability of Logue’s techniques and demonstrates their value, but it is the huge amount of effort applied by the Duke that ensures that these techniques produce results. Both sides of the process are important in a narrative sense and ensure that the friendship that emerges across class lines is truly bilateral, as both men are applying themselves to the process. They are working hard toward the same goal and this togetherness breeds friendship across the vast divides that separate them.

“While thanking you for your courteous letter of the 2nd October, it is quite impossible for me to give any information on the subject.”

As if to demonstrate the growing importance of the friendship between the two men, Logue is given the opportunity to take credit for his excellent work in helping to treat the world’s most infamous speech impediment. To do so would make him instantly the most famous person in his professional circle and would provide him with a long and lasting career in the field. When the opportunity arrives, Logue panics. He waits in silence for a few days before he tries to dismiss the issue and ignore the calls from the press. The budding friendship with the man who will be King is becoming far too important to him to endanger, even if it can make his career. In this instance, Logue is putting his personal relationship with Bertie above his own self-interest and demonstrating his loyalty to his patient. Frequently throughout the book, Logue will demonstrate loyalty to the monarchy as an institution. This is one of the clearest instances where he is demonstrating loyalty to Bertie as a personal friend. He is reluctant to endanger their friendship in any way, even if it could improve his standing for the rest of his life.

“Even the royal family felt the need to be seen to make sacrifices (although largely symbolic ones).”

As the conditions in Britain have steadily begun to deteriorate during a time of economic crisis, this quote functions as a gentle reminder that the royal family is separate from most Britons, as well as a reminder of the sheer scale of the Great Depression. The Depression had the effect of leaving millions of people in Britain poor and unemployed. However, the obscene wealth of the royal family was undiminished, though was slightly impinged. For the monarchy, the Great Depression becomes an exercise in public relations. They must be seen to make sacrifices, rather than actually making sacrifices. The word “seen” (104) is the active verb in the sentence, as it is the evident nature of the sacrifice which is most important. The “largely symbolic” (104) cutbacks are ineffective unless the British public sees them being made. At a time when many families were struggling to pay rent or put food on the table, the royal family is attempting to navigate the crisis from an entirely different standpoint. The royalty and the subjects of the Empire are operating in entirely different worlds. Even Logue, who has his own successful business, cannot guarantee that economic woes will not affect him. Compared to him, however, the troubles affecting the royal family seem absurd. They are desperate not to appear too happy or too wealthy. 

“It was not clear whether any action was taken.”

One of the more interesting subtexts of the biography is the slow legitimization of speech therapy as a medical discipline. When Logue enters the profession, he learns the basics from a fellow therapist rather than an institution and then furthers his own education based on his own public speaking and empirical research. In many ways, he is untrained and self-taught, as least compared to a medical doctor. Nonetheless, his techniques are effective. In the above quote, Logue has been attempting to legitimize the discipline of speech therapy. In doing so, not only does he create an institution that can preserve and further the knowledge he has gained, but he attempts to take on those who are a threat to the cause. He hopes to have one man—Ramon H. Wings—arrested or, at the very least, prevented from conducting his fraudulent seminars. This highlights the fine line between the effective methods of Logue and the quackery of other therapists. Many doctors had tried to help the Duke before Logue and none had been successful. As such, the success of Logue’s work with the Duke allows him to make accusations like this. While the Duke has benefited in terms of his speech, Logue has been validated and legitimized by association, a potentially more valuable benefit. 

“Although noted from an early age for his charm and good looks, Edward had been a shy youth. Then in 1916, at the age of twenty-two, he was introduced by two of his equerries to an experienced prostitute in Amiens who, according to one account, ‘brushed aside his extraordinary shyness.’”

While the biography is mainly concerned with the plight of the two main characters, there is space in the narrative for other people. Thus far, Bertie/the Duke has been hindered by his speech impediment, painted as a serious and somber person who is highly lacking in self-confidence and keen to remain in the shadows. In juxtaposition to Bertie’s character is his brother. The future Prince Edward VIII is charming, outgoing, handsome, and an excellent public speaker. The juxtaposition between the two brothers is not limited to their characters. While Edward will eventually abdicate the throne while mired in scandal, his brother is nervous and distant around women. Though he loves his wife, it took a great deal of effort to propose to her. Edward, on the other hand, has few such qualms. The above quote shows him come out of his shell. Not only is does he contrast with his brother in terms of sexual experience, the nature of that experience marks them out as different characters in a moral sense. Edward is the closest the narrative has to a villain. He is cloaked in scandal and vice, he has a penchant for married women, and it is his character flaws and refusal to adhere to his family’s wishes that forces Bertie to step into the limelight that he loathes so much. Quotes like the one above establish this dichotomy and foreshadow the eventual abdication that will determine the course of the future for the royal family.

“It was customary among gentlemen keen to spare their wives’ blushes that they should pose as the guilty party. Ernest had chosen 21 July the eighth anniversary of his marriage, to be caught in flagrante by staff at the swanky Hotel de Paris at Bray on the Thames near Maidenhead with a Miss ‘Buttercup’ Kennedy.” 

To this point in the text, there have been several absurd situations that mark the difference between the aristocracy in Great Britain and the rest of the population. However, this is one of the strangest parts of the entire story and it had huge implications for the fate of the world’s largest Empire. Even though the affair between Edward and Wallis Simpson has been public knowledge for some time, a pre-determined ceremony is held to allow the woman to save her reputation. The cheated-on husband—an important shipping magnate and a man with a considerable reputation in his own right—selects the time and the place when he will be caught having an affair. He picks the date, the restaurant, and even the woman with whom he will be caught. The choices are loaded selections: a young girl named “Buttercup,” suggesting a lack of maturity; a hotel in Maidenhead (a place name packed with a not-so-subtle double entendre for a cheating wife). Given the huge implications that this divorce might have for the royal family, the circumstances are absurd. Affairs of the state are being handled in the most comedic of fashions, throwing yet another light on the institutional strangeness that is the British aristocracy.

“The American papers offered salacious blow-by-blow accounts of the affair, the British press continued to exercise extraordinary self-restraint.”

Given the massive impact of the affair between Edward and Wallis Simpson on the royal family and Great Britain, the framing of this quote is interesting and marks the difference between the press in the two countries. The American press, it suggests, delight in being able to offer the “salacious” (117) gossip and cover every aspect of the affair in the minutest possible detail. At the same time, the British press are refusing the cover the story. In terms of their refusal, the quote frames this as an exercise in “extraordinary self-restraint” (117), as though the refusal to publish an important story with huge implications is a self-imposed act of nationalism on the part of the British press, rather than a societal clamp down on the rights of the media. America, it suggests, is the young, hip, and new country that will publish anything without thinking twice. Meanwhile, Great Britain is somewhat old and stuffy, respecting traditions and trying to act in a manner best for the country. Americans are permitted to discuss sex and salacious affairs in their media, but the British would not stoop to such levels. Even though the affair is an existential threat to the monarchy, the British press will not publish the stories. Rather than seeming reserved or traditional, the British press seems subservient and cowed, forever in the shadow of the country’s dominant class system. The text itself feeds into this system, choosing to frame the refusal to publish the story as commendable self-restraint rather than obsequious self-delusion. 

“At their first prepatory meeting, teacher and patient went through the text of the speech the King was to deliver in the evening, making considerable alterations.”

As with the previous quote, the manner in which the biography frames events carries import. Thus far in the story, the relationship between the King and Logue had grown and grown. It has been expressed along class lines and narrative lines; it is a colonial subject and a King, as well as a man with a problem that can be cured by only one person. In this instance, the relationship is explicitly framed in terms of a teacher and a patient. This is slightly complicated, in that it is not the relationship between a teacher and a pupil, nor a doctor and a patient. Most importantly, it is not King and subject. Instead, it is a medical professional passing along the knowledge that they have learned to someone who still suffers from the problem. Logue is not necessarily a doctor, but he is a teacher. He is teaching the King how to combat the problem by providing him with techniques and theories. These are theories will the King will internalize and employ long after the two have stopped meeting for regular sessions: in later life, the King notes in his letters how he remembers the lessons and the theories about his diaphragm and thanks Logue again. This reinforces the idea that there is no single miracle cure for the speech impediment. Instead, the King must study hard and use his teacher’s knowledge if he wants to succeed. The relationship is bilateral and mutual. 

“They certainly don’t understand the King.”

One of the most notable literary tricks in the biography is the frequent switching between names and titles, depending on the contemporary circumstances of the royals in question. In his diary entries, for example, Logue switches easily between the Duke and the King, always remaining clear about who exactly he means. In the book’s prose, this is even more evident. Albert, Bertie, the Duke, the King, and George are all used at one time or another to refer to the same character. For Logue, the constant use of the correct title is a sign of his firm friendship with the man and the respect he holds toward the monarchy as an institution. In particular, the above quote seems to suggest that he is being critical of the King’s advisors and the royal household. Unlike him, they do not “understand the King” (133). This functions in two ways: it suggests that they do not understand the King as an individual or the King as an institution. Logue, having been both a friend and a subject of the King, understands him far better on both counts. This sureness of understanding reflects why Logue is always so careful to use the correct name when writing in his diaries: it is indicative of his understanding of the King. This understanding, then, can be extrapolated to the book as a whole, wherein the prose notes a fine understanding of the King, in part by their ease in switching between names.

“Logue was struck by the sadness in the King’s voice.”

The above quote is another example of the frequent juxtapositions which are evident throughout the book. Here, there is a clear contrast between the sadness of the moment and the previous triumph that was associated with the trip to Canada. Furthermore, Logue now knows the King well enough to be “struck” (160) by changes in his mood. It is an indication of the seriousness of the situation that Logue should remark on the sadness and react to it, rather than just observe it. At the time of the trip to Canada, the King had seemed happier and more confident than at any other time Logue had known him. Events conspire against him and the outbreak of the war brings the King crashing down to earth once more. In many ways, the King is not simply allowed to exist. Whether due to the stammer, the abdication of his brother, of the outbreak of a global war, even the peaks in his life are quickly marred by circumstances outside of his control. Even at his best, the King seems only one step away from tragedy. Logue recognizes this problem, sympathizing with the King and finding a moment of humanity in amid the geopolitical turmoil.

“The strain of the war was clearly beginning to take its toll.” 

Building on the previous quote, the relationship between Logue and the King is further explored in times of crisis. By this point in the novel, Logue and the King know each other incredibly well. Their lives have become inextricably entangled. This allows Logue to chart the effect of the war on the body of the King. Though the portrayal of the war is mostly distant and historical in the book, the human effects of the war are displayed in physical form by the slow deterioration of the King’s body. The stress and the tension of the existential war are beginning to manifest on the King’s body, greying his hairs at the temples. These are subtle changes, but they mark the toll the conflict is having on the head of state. In a way, however, this is a sign of progress. The fear of the office and the fear of speaking in public have become secondary concerns in the life of the King. He is no longer worried about giving a public address and is confident enough to do it without worrying too much. Instead, he has a far greater threat. Without Logue, the book seems to imply, the King’s condition (and potentially the outcome of the entire war) might have been entirely different. The “strain of war” (176) is a concern, but one made more manageable by the help (and the friendship) of Lionel Logue. 

“It wouldn’t do to have the King chance being stung by a bee just before a broadcast.”

Even in the midst of the bleak and terrible war, backed by the somber speech that must be delivered in aid of D-Day, there is a moment of levity. As the King and Logue prepare, the King notices a strange gathering outside, as a group of people convince a policeman to help them trap a swarm of bees in a cardboard box. The King spots the policeman having a net placed over his head and he cannot look away. The strangeness and the uniqueness of the scene captivates him. He wants to watch, but Logue reminds the King that duty calls. This is a reminder of the strange circumstances by which Bertie came to be King. He never expected to hold the title nor was he trained for it. In many ways, he was never allowed to grow up as a normal person. His life has been dominated by his stammer and then his office and now by the war. When a comic event such as this intrudes on his existence, he is fascinated, and the audience is reminded—just for a brief moment—of the childlike wonder he can possess. Had events transpired differently, perhaps Bertie’s brother would be in the office, preparing his speech, and Bertie would be outside trying to “coax a swarm of bees into a box” (192). The entire Empire is depending on the King and this moment of levity—this juxtaposition between the comic events in the garden and the dread of D-Day—remind the audience of the stakes at play and the sacrifices that the King has made.