You’ve probably seen the cover. A young boy, a small boat, and a shimmering, impossible creature against a backdrop of sweeping English coastline. Michael Morpurgo’s I Believe in Unicorns isn’t just some dusty piece of children’s fiction sitting on a library shelf. Honestly, it’s a survival manual disguised as a fable. People think it’s about a mythical animal. It isn’t. Not really. It is about how we keep our heads above water when the world literally catches fire.
Tomas hates books. He’s a kid who would rather be climbing mountains or running through the grass in his small European village than sitting still. We’ve all been there—that feeling that paper and ink are just a cage for your brain. But then he meets the Unicorn Lady in the local library. She sits on a wooden unicorn, tells stories, and suddenly the physical world shifts for him. This is the heart of why I Believe in Unicorns remains a staple in classrooms and bedside tables across the globe. It captures that specific moment when a child realizes that stories are a form of magic that nobody can take away, even when they take everything else.
The Reality Behind the Myth
Morpurgo didn't just pull this story out of thin air. He’s famous for weaving historical trauma into accessible narratives—look at War Horse or Private Peaceful. In I Believe in Unicorns, the backdrop is the burning of a library during a war. While the village isn't named, the imagery draws heavily from the real-world destruction of the National and University Library of Bosnia and Herzegovina in Sarajevo in 1992. During that siege, nearly two million books were turned to ash.
It’s heavy stuff.
When the bombs start falling in Tomas’s village, the library becomes a target. There is a specific, gut-wrenching scene where the townspeople form a human chain to save the books. They aren't saving "assets" or "property." They are saving their collective memory. If you’ve ever felt like a book changed your life, you get it. If you haven't, Morpurgo makes you feel the heat of the flames anyway. The unicorn isn't a glittery toy; it’s a symbol of the fragile, beautiful things that humans create and then, tragically, try to destroy.
Why the Unicorn Lady Matters
The librarian, known as the Unicorn Lady, is the kind of character who feels like she’s lived a thousand lives. She doesn't lecture. She doesn't demand silence. She invites. Her presence in the book serves as a bridge between the cynical reality of war and the limitless potential of the imagination.
Think about the psychology here. In times of extreme stress—like a war zone—the brain looks for "anchors." For Tomas, the anchor is the story. When the library is destroyed, the physical unicorn is scorched, but the idea of it? That's indestructible. That’s the "I believe" part of the title. It’s not about believing in a horse with a horn; it’s about believing that culture and stories are worth the risk of a life.
Tomas goes from a kid who finds reading a chore to a person who risks his safety to carry books out of a burning building. That’s a massive character arc packed into a relatively short book. It’s why teachers love it. It’s why parents who grew up with it are now buying it for their own kids. It treats children like they are capable of understanding complex grief. Because they are.
The Power of the Human Chain
One of the most vivid moments in the story involves the village coming together. Usually, in war stories, we focus on the soldiers. Here, we focus on the civilians. They stand in the smoke, passing books hand-to-hand.
- It shows that community is the only defense against nihilism.
- It highlights the physical weight of knowledge.
- It emphasizes that once a story is told, it belongs to everyone.
The unicorn itself—the wooden one—gets damaged. It loses its horn. It’s scarred. But it’s still a unicorn. This is a bit of a "kinda-obvious" metaphor for the survivors of the war, but it works because it’s earned. Life doesn't go back to being perfect after the fires go out. You’re left with the scars, but you’re still you.
Reading This Today
You might think a book written years ago about a war-torn village wouldn't land in our digital-heavy, hyper-fast world. You'd be wrong. In an era where "banned books" is a recurring headline and libraries are fighting for funding, I Believe in Unicorns feels almost like a contemporary news report.
Stories are still being suppressed. People are still fighting to keep libraries open as community hubs. When Tomas learns to love the library, he isn't just learning to read; he’s learning empathy. He’s learning how to see the world through eyes that aren't his own. That’s a superpower. Honestly, it’s probably the only superpower that actually exists.
Practical Ways to Bring the Magic Home
If you're looking to dive deeper into the world Morpurgo created, or if you want to introduce this to a younger reader, don't just stop at the last page. The book is meant to be a jumping-off point.
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First off, try reading it aloud. The "Unicorn Lady" in the book is a storyteller first, a reader second. The rhythm of the prose is designed for the ear. You’ll notice things—the sound of the "crackle" of the fire, the "hush" of the library—that you might skip over if you’re just skimming with your eyes.
Secondly, look into the history of the Sarajevo library. Showing a child or a student the photos of the real-life ruin makes the stakes of the book feel immediate. It moves the story from "once upon a time" to "this happened to people just like us."
Finally, visit your local library. Not the big one downtown, maybe, but the small branch that feels a bit lived-in. Look at the wooden furniture, the smell of the stacks, and the people sitting there. The "Unicorn Lady" exists in almost every library in the world. They’re the people who believe that a single book can save a kid’s life.
Taking Action Beyond the Page
If the themes of I Believe in Unicorns resonate with you, there are a few real-world steps to take that honor the spirit of the story:
- Support Literacy Programs: Organizations like BookTrust or local "Reading Is Fundamental" chapters do the actual work of getting books into the hands of kids who, like Tomas, might not think they need them.
- Protect Library Access: Pay attention to local board meetings. Libraries are more than just book repositories; they are cooling centers, internet hubs, and safe spaces for kids who have nowhere else to go.
- Tell Your Own Story: One of the big takeaways from Morpurgo’s work is that everyone has a story worth telling. Write it down. Share it. Don't let the fire get it.
The book ends, but the sentiment doesn't. You don't need a mythical creature to believe in the impossible. You just need a story and someone willing to listen. If you haven't picked it up in a while, find a copy. It’s short. You can finish it in an afternoon. But the weight of it—the "good" kind of weight—will stay with you for a lot longer than that.