You probably know her as Mary Poppins. Or Maria von Trapp. Maybe even the Queen of Genovia. But for a certain generation of kids—and the parents who read to them—Julie Andrews is something else entirely. She’s the woman who taught them how to look at the sky.
Honestly, it's a bit of a tragedy that The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles isn't as household a name as The Phantom Tollbooth or Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Published in 1974 under her married name, Julie Andrews Edwards, this book is a weird, vibrant, and surprisingly philosophical trip through a world that shouldn't exist. But it does.
Basically, the story follows the Potter siblings: Ben, Tom, and Lindy. They’re just normal kids until they meet a man at the zoo who asks if they’ve ever considered a Whangdoodle. Not a lion. Not a tiger. A Whangdoodle.
What is a Whangdoodle, anyway?
People get this wrong a lot. They think it's just some fluffy monster. But the "Whangdoodle" isn't just a creature; it's a king. He’s the wisest, kindest, and most extraordinary creature to ever live.
Once upon a time, Whangdoodles lived in our world. But then people started becoming... well, people. We got greedy. We stopped believing in things we couldn't weigh or measure. So, the Whangdoodle packed up his bags (metaphorically) and created Whangdoodleland. He took all the other "imaginary" creatures with him.
The physical description is great. He’s sort of like a moose, but he can change colors based on how he's feeling. And he has a sweet tooth. A literal sweet tooth that grows flowers.
The Professor and the Art of Looking Up
The heart of the book isn't actually the monsters. It's Professor Savant. He’s a Nobel Prize-winning scientist who specializes in DNA, which is a wild choice for a fantasy book.
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He doesn't just give the kids a magic key. He trains them. He treats imagination like a muscle that has atrophied because we spend too much time looking at our shoes. There’s this one quote that honestly changes most people who read it:
"Have you noticed how nobody ever looks up? Nobody looks at chimneys, or trees against the sky, or the tops of buildings. Everybody just looks down at the pavement or their shoes."
He spends weeks teaching the kids how to really see. He makes them walk around and count colors. He makes them listen to the silence. It’s basically a 1970s primer on mindfulness, decades before that became a corporate buzzword.
To get to Whangdoodleland, you have to wear "scrappy caps" (or sympathetic hats). But the hats don't do the work. Your brain does. If you don't concentrate, you fall out of the world. It’s high-stakes daydreaming.
The Oily Prock and Other Weirdness
Once they get there, it’s not all gumdrops and sunshine. The Prime Minister of Whangdoodleland is a creature called the Prock. He’s "oily." Not in a literal grease way, but in a "slimy politician" way.
He’s not exactly a villain, though. He’s just fiercely protective of the Whangdoodle. He thinks humans are a plague of disbelief. He sets traps. Psychological traps.
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You’ve got the High-Behind Splintercat, which is exactly as terrifying as it sounds. There are Sidewinders with ten legs. And then there's the Whiffle Bird, who is basically a feathered panic attack that screams "MAYDAY!" whenever things go south.
One of the coolest details is the Jolly Boat. It’s a boat that runs on jokes. If you want it to move, you have to make it laugh. If your jokes are stale, you're stuck in the water.
Why This Book Still Matters in 2026
We live in a world of screens. Total 24/7 input.
The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles hits differently now because our attention spans are basically shredded. Andrews wasn't just writing a fairy tale; she was writing a defense of the human mind.
The book tackles some heavy stuff. Genetic cloning. The tension between faith and science. The Professor and Lindy have a long talk about God and DNA that is way more nuanced than you’d expect from a book with a creature called a "Swamp Gaboon."
The ending isn't just a "and they lived happily ever after." It's a bit bittersweet. The Whangdoodle is lonely. He’s the last of his kind. Professor Savant eventually uses his scientific knowledge to help the Whangdoodle, bridging the gap between the "real" world of science and the "imaginary" world of the king.
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It suggests that science shouldn't kill wonder. It should enable it.
How to actually use the Whangdoodle Method
If you’re feeling burnt out or like the world is just a grey blur of chores and emails, you can actually use the Professor's "training" in real life. It’s not just for 8-year-olds.
- The Color Count: Next time you're walking to your car or a bus stop, try to find ten shades of a single color. Not just "green," but lime, moss, forest, emerald.
- The "Look Up" Rule: Force yourself to look at the rooflines of buildings. Most architects put the most interesting details where they think no one is looking.
- Active Listening: Sit in a park for five minutes. Close your eyes. Try to isolate three distinct sounds that aren't traffic or people talking.
By the time the kids finally meet the Whangdoodle, they realize they didn't really need the magic land to see magic. They just needed to pay attention.
That’s the secret. The Whangdoodle is still there. You just have to be interesting enough for him to want to meet you.
Next Steps for You:
If you want to reconnect with that sense of wonder, go find a copy of the 30th Anniversary Edition. It has a foreword by Julie Andrews that explains why she wrote it for her own kids. After you read it, take a "Whangdoodle Walk"—no phone, no music, just look at the chimneys and see what you've been missing.