Under the Influence: The Black Stallion

When I was young, there were quite a few things that interested me, but aside from reading, I had two personal passions: volcanoes… and horses.

I loved horses. I had multiple horse models. I imitated horses. And I read about horses, read stories about horses, fictional horses and real horses, racehorses and wild horses, little prehistoric Eohippus all the way to the many modern breeds that ranged from tiny miniature ponies to the gigantic Shire workhorses. One of the only live shows of any kind that I insisted on attending when I was young was the Royal Lipizzan Stallion show.

I wasn't athletic in most senses, and my asthma usually kept me indoors. But I loved horses enough to be willing to go out. I took horse riding lessons. I attended a summer horse camp and did all the things you do to take care of horses – including mucking out the stalls, currying the horses, things that in any other context I would hate. I was even bitten by a horse and was mostly concerned that no one think it was the horse's fault, even while a chunk of my hand was gone. I began to participate in little riding shows.

Many things fueled my love of horses. But of them all, standing head and shoulders above the rest, was the Black Stallion series of novels by Walter Farley, with the first book, The Black Stallion, having the premier spot. Published in 1941, the novel's success spawned a fairly intricate universe of nineteen novels centered around The Black, the Black's offspring, and the Black's ultimate rival, Flame, the Island Stallion.

Young Alec Ramsey is coming home from a summer in India with his uncle. Traveling alone on the Drake, a tramp steamer (not all that unbelievable in those days), Alec is present when the ship stops in an Arabian port and a new passenger – or piece of cargo, depending on point of view – is brought on board: a magnificent, immense black stallion. Alec, a true lover of horses, is immediately struck by the animal's fiery spirit as well as beauty. Over the next weeks, he manages to befriend the wild and restive animal, leaving sugar on the sill of its stall (a converted cabin) and teaching it to associate him, and his quiet voice, with the treats and gentleness.

An immense storm strikes on the final leg of the journey, and the Drake begins to sink. In the chaos, Alec and the horse plummet overboard, and Alec sees the ship explode and go down, with no lifeboats anywhere near him. Only the stallion's halter rope offers any hope, as Alec catches hold of it and is dragged through the water by the powerful animal.

Eventually they arrive at land – a true deserted island. There are no other people, and precious few animals, on this tiny piece of land. Only Alec and the huge, independent wild horse that Alec already thinks of simply as "the Black".

What follows is a short, poignant tale of survival – of how Alec must find food and water and shelter; of how the Black – at first quite unaware – helps him do these things. Of Alec's determination to make the Black a willing companion, and how the two build what becomes an unbreakable bond of affection and trust. And, eventually, of how they are rescued.

And that is only the beginning of the story.

 

The Black Stallion holds up astonishingly well on a reread. It's an obvious period piece, of course – the technology and the social behavior of the day is unmistakably pre/early WWII in nature. The teenaged Alec is allowed an assumed latitude of action and risk that would be a lot less likely today (not the least the idea of having him alone on a tramp steamer from India to New York), but that makes him appealing as a protagonist; Alec rarely whines about his situation and always tries his best to deal with problems on his own.

The Black is of course the star of the book, though Alec is clearly the human viewpoint. Powerful, wild, incredibly fast, and occasionally savage, the Black was not a tame horse when Alec met him, and never is throughout the series, although he does become more accustomed to the presence of people over time.

Alec's (and presumably Farley's) love of horses shines through the prose. There are no ugly horses to Alec, really, only horses of different characteristics. Napoleon, an aging cart-horse, is treated as a worthy creature in his own right, and ends up key to keeping the Black under control in unfamiliar circumstances; the Black befriends the old gray horse and Napoleon in turn serves as a steadying influence. Even the Black's later racing rivals, Cyclone and Sun Raider, are described with affection and appreciation for their beauty.

Naturally, the incredible speed of the Black is given the opportunity to demonstrate itself in a race. This is a well-thought-out section, because Farley was clearly aware of the rules surrounding horse racing and some horse of unknown provenance would simply not be permitted to race. Racehorses are tracked by birth and by their racing record, and the Black – having been put aboard a steamer that subsequently sunk – has no pedigree to prove himself (yet; this is eventually remedied in a later book).

The preparation and running of the race remains gripping to me, even as an adult. Possibly part of that is nostalgia, but Alec's determination, the fractiousness of the three horses and their behavior in recognizing each other as rivals, and the unexpected start of the race that endangers Alec himself – these all work very, very well for me.

I haven't yet re-read the following novels, but I remember them fondly, and likely will do so. Farley continued writing them up through the early 1980s, but I suspect I didn't see the last one, and possibly not the next-to last.

As for my own saga? Shortly after my beginning to participate in shows, I was brought to the doctors for various tests to determine why I was having recurring health problems.

It turned out that I was allergic to horses.

This was one of the heaviest blows of my childhood – so heavy that I didn't really realize it until I was writing this piece. I managed to effectively convince myself that it was okay – so much effort involved, cleaning horses' stalls was icky and hard to do, etc., etc., etc.. But upon thinking, really thinking, about those days, recapturing them as I began this article… I realized I was devastated. I didn't do sports. I had no interest in them. But horses I did, and to an extent I hadn't quite grasped until now.

And so once more, The Black Stallion influences me… to look at myself.

Join Alec Ramsey and the Black as they begin a journey of dreams.