Available:*
Library | Audience | Home Location | Material Type | Shelf Number | Status |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|
Searching... Central | Kid/Juvenile | Open Stacks Fiction | Open Stacks Kids Book | FARLE | Searching... Unknown |
Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
In this prequel to The Black Stallion, we learn the story of the Black before he was shipwrecked with Alec Ramsay. Born in the mountain stronghold of Sheikh Abu Ishak, the colt shows great promise. During a band of robbers' attempt to steal him, the colt escapes and learns to survive on his own in the high mountains. Will he ever find his way home? From the Trade Paperback edition.
Summary
Born in the mountain stronghold of an Arabian sheik, the Black Stallion is a horse unlike any other. Big, beautiful, and savage, he has courage in his heart and fire in his eyes. When the Black is threatened by a band of raiders attempting to kidnap him, he escapes into the wilderness, beginning a perilous journey that will test his strength, speed, and will to survive.
Author Notes
Walter Farley was born in Syracuse, New York on June 26, 1915. He began writing The Black Stallion when he was a student at Columbia University and completed it while working as an advertising copywriter in New York City. It was an immediate success when it was published in 1941. During World War II, he served in the army where he wrote the second book in the series, The Black Stallion Returns. After his discharge from the service in 1946, he became a full-time author. He wrote 20 novels in the Black Stallion series. His also wrote a fictionalized biography of America's greatest Thoroughbred, Man O'War. He died of heart failure on October 17, 1989 at the age of 74.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Walter Farley was born in Syracuse, New York on June 26, 1915. He began writing The Black Stallion when he was a student at Columbia University and completed it while working as an advertising copywriter in New York City. It was an immediate success when it was published in 1941. During World War II, he served in the army where he wrote the second book in the series, The Black Stallion Returns. After his discharge from the service in 1946, he became a full-time author. He wrote 20 novels in the Black Stallion series. His also wrote a fictionalized biography of America's greatest Thoroughbred, Man O'War. He died of heart failure on October 17, 1989 at the age of 74.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (6)
School Library Journal Review
Gr 5-9-- Almost 50 years after the publication of The Black Stallion (Random, 1944), Farley and his son explain the events leading up to ``Shetan's'' boarding the ill-fated steamer. The adventure begins with a raiding party's attempts to steal the yearling from his breeder, Abu ben Ishak. Shetan, angered by the cruel Ibn al Khaldun, escapes from the pasture. Sharing his new life as a fugutive is Rashid, Khaldun's Bedouin scout who bungled the raid. In a series of cinematic episodes, Rashid and Shetan survive the dangers of Arabia's mountains. Some coincidences mar the plot's believability, but readers will enjoy the story's twists and exciting scenes. The last chapters rehash the truck racing scenes from The Raiders of the Lost Ark, but readers will be driven to complete the story. The Farleys repeat the trademark style, complete with excess adjectives and breathless scenes. Rashid is portrayed as a devout Moslem who frequently thanks Allah for his survival. Shetan's hatred of man arises from his struggles to escape the raiders--and his supposed heritage as the son of ``The Stallion of the Midnight Sky.'' Devoted readers might accept the former premise, but they will discard the second. The Black Stallion Mystery (Random, 1965) confirmed that a real-life stallion, Ziyadah, sired Shetan. Compared to other Farley titles, this rates average. Anxious fans will savor the story, nonetheless. --Charlene Strickland, formerly at Albuquerque Public Library , NM (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
The wonderfully improbable chronicles of the Black Stallion continue with this narrative of the Black's colthood in the mountains of Arabia. Specially bred to strengthen the bloodlines of Sheik Abu Ishak's herds, the Black is the victim of a failed horse raid. Driven out of his secluded pasture, the colt takes up with a herd of ibex. Soon he is scaling sheer rock faces and dueling fierce rams to the death. Befriended by Rashid, a young Bedouin, the stallion journeys to the desert, attempting to elude the rival groups of horse traders that seek him. As all devotees of the series know, the Black is finally recaptured and put aboard the tramp steamer Drake , just in time for his star-crossed meeting with Alec Ramsay, his future master. Although this prequel never quite matches the sparkle of the earlier works, it certainly should answer several questions about the Black's beginnings. Even the book's rather cloying mystical streak is unlikely to disturb the loyal followers of the legendary stallion. Ages 10-14. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Horn Book Review
A prequel to Walter Farley's 'The Black Stallion' (Random), the story details the famous horse's early life in Arabia before he is captured. At times the prose is melodramatic, particularly in equine descriptions, but the story line will appeal to devoted young horse lovers. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
School Library Journal Review
Gr 5-9-- Almost 50 years after the publication of The Black Stallion (Random, 1944), Farley and his son explain the events leading up to ``Shetan's'' boarding the ill-fated steamer. The adventure begins with a raiding party's attempts to steal the yearling from his breeder, Abu ben Ishak. Shetan, angered by the cruel Ibn al Khaldun, escapes from the pasture. Sharing his new life as a fugutive is Rashid, Khaldun's Bedouin scout who bungled the raid. In a series of cinematic episodes, Rashid and Shetan survive the dangers of Arabia's mountains. Some coincidences mar the plot's believability, but readers will enjoy the story's twists and exciting scenes. The last chapters rehash the truck racing scenes from The Raiders of the Lost Ark, but readers will be driven to complete the story. The Farleys repeat the trademark style, complete with excess adjectives and breathless scenes. Rashid is portrayed as a devout Moslem who frequently thanks Allah for his survival. Shetan's hatred of man arises from his struggles to escape the raiders--and his supposed heritage as the son of ``The Stallion of the Midnight Sky.'' Devoted readers might accept the former premise, but they will discard the second. The Black Stallion Mystery (Random, 1965) confirmed that a real-life stallion, Ziyadah, sired Shetan. Compared to other Farley titles, this rates average. Anxious fans will savor the story, nonetheless. --Charlene Strickland, formerly at Albuquerque Public Library , NM (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
The wonderfully improbable chronicles of the Black Stallion continue with this narrative of the Black's colthood in the mountains of Arabia. Specially bred to strengthen the bloodlines of Sheik Abu Ishak's herds, the Black is the victim of a failed horse raid. Driven out of his secluded pasture, the colt takes up with a herd of ibex. Soon he is scaling sheer rock faces and dueling fierce rams to the death. Befriended by Rashid, a young Bedouin, the stallion journeys to the desert, attempting to elude the rival groups of horse traders that seek him. As all devotees of the series know, the Black is finally recaptured and put aboard the tramp steamer Drake , just in time for his star-crossed meeting with Alec Ramsay, his future master. Although this prequel never quite matches the sparkle of the earlier works, it certainly should answer several questions about the Black's beginnings. Even the book's rather cloying mystical streak is unlikely to disturb the loyal followers of the legendary stallion. Ages 10-14. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Horn Book Review
A prequel to Walter Farley's 'The Black Stallion' (Random), the story details the famous horse's early life in Arabia before he is captured. At times the prose is melodramatic, particularly in equine descriptions, but the story line will appeal to devoted young horse lovers. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Excerpts
Excerpts
In a high, grassy pasture, well concealed in the remote mountains of eastern Arabia, two herders tended their horses. "It is a dying breed," the old herder said in a deep, guttural voice. "Our chieftain knows this as well as I do. His only hope rests with the black one." He waved his gnarled hands in the direction of the small band of young horses grazing in the light of the setting sun. The young herder, tall and thin, lowered his body to sit on the ground beside the old man. His kufiyya, a white headdress made of fine cloth, was drawn back, revealing a look of childish eagerness and anticipation on his face. He had heard this talk many times before. Still, he asked his questions and listened eagerly for the old one's replies. "O Great Father," he said, "thou who knowest everything, is it not true that our leader is the richest of all sheikhs in the Rub' al Khali? Is it not his wealth that enables him to breed and maintain horses of such power and dazzling beauty as we see before us? Look at them, Great Father. Their coats have the gleam of raw silk and although they are still young, little more than a year old, their shoulders are muscular and their chests deep. Truly they are horses of inexhaustible strength, endurance and spirit, all worthy of the great tribe of Abu Ja Kub ben Ishak." "It is true our leader is one of great wealth, but that does not make him the wisest breeder of all," the old man proclaimed, his small, sharp eyes never leaving the horses. Reaching for his walking stick, he tried to get his old legs beneath him. After a brief struggle, he gave a weary sigh and sank down again. The young man drew back before the harshness of the ancient one's words. He wanted no confrontation. His only recourse was to humor the old man. Slowly, a soft smile came to his hard, flat face. "O Great Father, I do not mean any disrespect," he said, waving his long, powerful arms in the cold mountain air. "I know there is no other horseman as wise as you, who have spent your long life in the same saddle as your forefathers. It is only my bewilderment at your words. We are living with the birds of the mountaintops when our feet as well as those of our horses prefer the soft, hot sands of the desert. Why are we here if not to breed and raise the fastest horses in all the Rub' al Khali?" The wind blew in great gusts. Despite a glaring sun, the day had been icy cold. Winter seemed unwilling to leave the highlands, where the barren peaks of gray limestone were now painted blue and yellow by the softening light. Setting his turbaned head against the wind, the young man waited for the old man's answer. Receiving no reply and growing impatient, he persisted. "Tell me, Great Father, pray tell me, what other reason would we have for coming to this mountain stronghold of our leader?" Finally, the old man turned his head toward the youth, his bones showing prominently beneath taut, aged skin. To the young man he appeared to be a hundred years old or more, his body frail and withered beneath the folds of his great aba, a shapeless black cloak. How could such an old man stand this cold, coming as he did from the gleaming sands of Arabia, where the burning desert scorched the soles of one's feet? No one in their tribe knew how many years it had been since the old man had first traveled the paths from the desert to the Kharj district of the high eastern mountains in order to serve the forebears of Abu Ja Kub ben Ishak. There was no other horseman like him in all Arabia. He was the oldest and wisest--yet he kept traveling back and forth, tending each crop of young horses, searching for what? What dream led him on and on over such tortuous trails? The young man wanted to know. It had to do with horses, of that he was certain. Horses were the ancient one's life. Their blood was his blood, his blood theirs. It was the only thing that had kept him alive. Others might scoff at the old herder's crazy stories and his wild talk about a stallion of the night sky, but the young man felt privileged to share his watch with the legendary one. He had learned a great deal over the winter and hoped someday to breed horses himself. For now he would help the old man back and forth from their tents in the valley up to the different pastures, a job that was becoming more and more difficult as the old herder weakened with age. The blasts grew colder still, and the young man drew his wool-lined garment closer about him. His black, gleaming eyes remained on the old man while he waited for him to speak. The silence continued except for the sound of the wind blowing from the mountaintops. Out in the pasture the yearlings continued to feast on the first green shoots of spring grass. Soon it would be time to find fresh grazing, and they would move elsewhere. At last the young herder decided to break the silence again. His tone was good natured and soft as he said, "The Prophet is with you always, Great Father, but I do not understand when you say that our mounts are a dying breed. Abu Ishak would have your head, old and wise as it is, for proclaiming such a thing, if only to me. Rest your mind, Great Father, I will never repeat what you have said. But, pray, tell me about the horses we see beyond. You have seen their like many times before?" The old man's piercing eyes were clear and untroubled. His thin shoulders heaved beneath his cloak, as if he were gathering breath. From somewhere he found the strength to speak, if only in a loud whisper. Excerpted from The Young Black Stallion by Walter Farley, Steven Farley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.In a high, grassy pasture, well concealed in the remote mountains of eastern Arabia, two herders tended their horses. "It is a dying breed," the old herder said in a deep, guttural voice. "Our chieftain knows this as well as I do. His only hope rests with the black one." He waved his gnarled hands in the direction of the small band of young horses grazing in the light of the setting sun. The young herder, tall and thin, lowered his body to sit on the ground beside the old man. His kufiyya, a white headdress made of fine cloth, was drawn back, revealing a look of childish eagerness and anticipation on his face. He had heard this talk many times before. Still, he asked his questions and listened eagerly for the old one's replies. "O Great Father," he said, "thou who knowest everything, is it not true that our leader is the richest of all sheikhs in the Rub' al Khali? Is it not his wealth that enables him to breed and maintain horses of such power and dazzling beauty as we see before us? Look at them, Great Father. Their coats have the gleam of raw silk and although they are still young, little more than a year old, their shoulders are muscular and their chests deep. Truly they are horses of inexhaustible strength, endurance and spirit, all worthy of the great tribe of Abu Ja Kub ben Ishak." "It is true our leader is one of great wealth, but that does not make him the wisest breeder of all," the old man proclaimed, his small, sharp eyes never leaving the horses. Reaching for his walking stick, he tried to get his old legs beneath him. After a brief struggle, he gave a weary sigh and sank down again. The young man drew back before the harshness of the ancient one's words. He wanted no confrontation. His only recourse was to humor the old man. Slowly, a soft smile came to his hard, flat face. "O Great Father, I do not mean any disrespect," he said, waving his long, powerful arms in the cold mountain air. "I know there is no other horseman as wise as you, who have spent your long life in the same saddle as your forefathers. It is only my bewilderment at your words. We are living with the birds of the mountaintops when our feet as well as those of our horses prefer the soft, hot sands of the desert. Why are we here if not to breed and raise the fastest horses in all the Rub' al Khali?" The wind blew in great gusts. Despite a glaring sun, the day had been icy cold. Winter seemed unwilling to leave the highlands, where the barren peaks of gray limestone were now painted blue and yellow by the softening light. Setting his turbaned head against the wind, the young man waited for the old man's answer. Receiving no reply and growing impatient, he persisted. "Tell me, Great Father, pray tell me, what other reason would we have for coming to this mountain stronghold of our leader?" Finally, the old man turned his head toward the youth, his bones showing prominently beneath taut, aged skin. To the young man he appeared to be a hundred years old or more, his body frail and withered beneath the folds of his great aba, a shapeless black cloak. How could such an old man stand this cold, coming as he did from the gleaming sands of Arabia, where the burning desert scorched the soles of one's feet? No one in their tribe knew how many years it had been since the old man had first traveled the paths from the desert to the Kharj district of the high eastern mountains in order to serve the forebears of Abu Ja Kub ben Ishak. There was no other horseman like him in all Arabia. He was the oldest and wisest--yet he kept traveling back and forth, tending each crop of young horses, searching for what? What dream led him on and on over such tortuous trails? The young man wanted to know. It had to do with horses, of that he was certain. Horses were the ancient one's life. Their blood was his blood, his blood theirs. It was the only thing that had kept him alive. Others might scoff at the old herder's crazy stories and his wild talk about a stallion of the night sky, but the young man felt privileged to share his watch with the legendary one. He had learned a great deal over the winter and hoped someday to breed horses himself. For now he would help the old man back and forth from their tents in the valley up to the different pastures, a job that was becoming more and more difficult as the old herder weakened with age. The blasts grew colder still, and the young man drew his wool-lined garment closer about him. His black, gleaming eyes remained on the old man while he waited for him to speak. The silence continued except for the sound of the wind blowing from the mountaintops. Out in the pasture the yearlings continued to feast on the first green shoots of spring grass. Soon it would be time to find fresh grazing, and they would move elsewhere. At last the young herder decided to break the silence again. His tone was good natured and soft as he said, "The Prophet is with you always, Great Father, but I do not understand when you say that our mounts are a dying breed. Abu Ishak would have your head, old and wise as it is, for proclaiming such a thing, if only to me. Rest your mind, Great Father, I will never repeat what you have said. But, pray, tell me about the horses we see beyond. You have seen their like many times before?" The old man's piercing eyes were clear and untroubled. His thin shoulders heaved beneath his cloak, as if he were gathering breath. From somewhere he found the strength to speak, if only in a loud whisper. Excerpted from The Young Black Stallion by Walter Farley, Steven Farley All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
