42 pages • 1 hour read
Bernard CornwellA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Uhtred, Lord of Bebbanburg, serves as the novel’s first-person narrator. The frame established in the prologue positions him in the narrative present as an old, battle-hardened warrior writing down for posterity the saga of the pivotal years in which the Saxons secured their island kingdom.
The Last Kingdom is essentially a coming-of-age narrative told from the complex perspective of a grown man who is looking back at a youth when he was uncertain of who he was and where his destiny rested. Those are titanic questions that transcend the tensions between Saxons and Danes. Uhtred is as much Christian as he is pagan, as much a Saxon as he is a Dane.
Uhtred begins as a child of barely 10, living a comfortable and secure life as the second son of the lord of Bebbanburg. In quick order, Uhtred loses everything. First his older brother is slain by the Danes. Then the same occupational force kills his father, and Uhtred is subsequently kidnapped. These traumatic experiences trigger an emotional and psychological growth that defines him as a character. He begins with one set of assumptions: He is a lord, destined for to control the land his family has controlled for generations. He is a Christian, at least nominally. To him, the Danes are aggressive brutes, animals without regard for human life, and rouge warriors who worship bizarre gods and know only to kill and to take. There is much for him to learn.
Uhtred’s headstrong spunkiness and sheer recklessness impress Ragnar, the Danish warlord who kidnapped him, so Uhtred is raised by Ragnar to understand rather than condemn or fear the Norse culture. Initially an outsider, what ultimately defines Uhtred among the Vikings is his mastery of the art and brutality of war. Under the mentorship of Ragnar, Uhtred discovers the adrenaline rush of combat, what he terms “sword joy.” His embrace of the violence and gore of the battlefield runs counter to his Christian upbringing. The model virtues of the religion stresses humility, patience, and understanding and advocates finding ways to coexist with potential enemies. Additionally, Uhtred’s Christian upbringing tells him that faith in God alone determines the course of events and that, through prayer, the benevolent and all-seeing Christian God will direct his life wisely.
By novel’s end, as he emerges a warrior, Uhtred has learned to balance the Christian sense of restraint and patience with the Viking ethos of total warfare and unflinching commitment to weapons technology as the most direct way to define destiny, as opposed to prayer. How that combination will play out as Uhtred begins the journey to reclaim his title is left open at the end. Because The Last Kingdom is the first volume of a series, the Uhtred who emerges in this volume is merely a hint of what he may become.
In a novel that chronicles the improbable victory of the ragtag Saxon armies against the war-mongering Danish invaders, it would be easy to create a cartoon villain out of the most feared and ruthless of the Danish warlords—the same warlord responsible for the deaths of the narrator’s older brother and father. Consider the Bebbanburg soldiers’ characterization of the Danes: they are wild-haired, bearded animals; unwashed, uncivilized pagans who kill for the thrill and have no remorse over pillaging churches, raping women, and cutting prisoners into fine, bloody drizzle. Readers’ expectation of Ragnar, then, would be a two-dimensional caricature easy to loathe.
However, Ragnar emerges as a complicated character. Ruthless, certainly; uncompromising in dealing with his enemies, yes; reckless and impetuous when it comes to charging a battlefield, yes. But, in Uhtred’s years with the Danes, Ragnar exhibits a crazy and manic energy, an exuberant embrace of the moment and its possibility that, growing up a Christian, Uhtred never experienced. More to the point, Ragnar tells the boy that what drives the Danish occupation is not blood lust but hunger. The rapidly expanding population in Scandinavia has dwindled food supplies, and the Danes have been forced to migrate or face death.
Ragnar’s religion and the complex mythology of the Norse legends gives further depth to his character. He believes not in the watchful eye of a judgmental creator-God but rather in a collection of gods, each with a specialized concern. His religion broadens his life experience, and his gods demand he prove himself. Ragnar dismisses the piety and prayer life of the circumspect Alfred as a waste of life and a surrender of a man’s will to a capricious and illogical god.
In dealing with the offense against his daughter, Ragnar displays a wisdom and a fairness that belies the Viking stereotype. He refuses to execute Sven or his father, although the Norse code allows it. Instead, he recognizes the father’s years of service and spares their lives. Because the son stripped only the tunic of his daughter and saw only half of her nakedness, Ragnar blinds the boy in one eye—a moral code that speaks to a sense of fairness and appropriate action.
And most importantly, Ragnar is given a hero’s death. Trapped in the burning hall by the vengeful Sven, Ragnar has every opportunity to escape the conflagration. But he refuses to abandon his family and his guards, refuses the inevitable humiliation of a surrender to Kjartan, and elects to remain in the hall and die proudly. In that death, he embodies the ethos of the Viking culture and proves with finality that he is not a flat character.
Alfred the Great (849-899) is an actual historical figure and a towering iconic figure in British history. He is recognized as the architect of modern Britain, the military leader responsible for eliminating the threat of the Viking incursion and uniting the four kingdoms of Britain. Save for a time in the mid-20th century—after waging two brutal wars against Germany, the British people were uncertain about how to celebrate a national hero who was, in fact, Germanic—Alfred has been lionized for his military savvy, mastery of the guerilla tactics of harassment, deep Christian faith, and devotion to learning.
Cornwell explores a far more complicated and subtler Alfred than British history books typically depict. The first time Uhtred meets Alfred, the man is prostrate in prayer, wracked by guilt and wailing over a meaningless sexual liaison with a servant girl. Uhtred is unimpressed; compared to the raw energy and careless freedom of Ragnar, Alfred seems meek, cheerless, and withdrawn—more scholar than soldier.
In the course of defeating the Danes’ attempt to vanquish the last British kingdom, however, Uhtred sees in Alfred what he did not see as a man-child hungry for the blood of battle. In dealing with the Danes in protracted talks, Alfred displays a deft grasp of psychology. He plays war like a chess game, considering each move, shrewdly weighing each option, and playing out scenarios in his head. Where Ragnar storms into the fray, bloodied ax swinging, Alfred ponders, negotiates, consults, and then moves.
He crafts his own destiny by encouraging his men to invest their faith in a simple king from Wessex. He repeatedly insists about an entirely fabricated meeting with the Pope in Rome during which the Pope supposedly ordained Alfred as the once and future king of all Britain. Indeed, Christianity is the key to Alfred’s character. The source of his strength is the very religion that Uhtred initially dismisses as effeminate and unbecoming. If the Norse religion glorifies fate and the inevitably of destiny, Alfred’s faith gives him courage, inspiration, and purpose. If the Danes come to Britain for food, Alfred defeats the Danes for God’s glory.