"The end" is never the end: caught in Charlotte's Web

Let me draw the cover of my favorite book from memory: a girl in a scraggly ponytail tied with a limp red bow sits at a fence. Her arms wrap around a worried pig, pink and fat. A minor menagerie of barnyard animals surrounds them. All eyes are on the title character, who dangles from the title itself. Her name is Charlotte A. Cavatica, and she is a tiny barn spider. 

The letters above her spell out Charlotte’s Web. 

Back to the barn

The girl was Fern, and I wished she was my friend. We could have sat together in the barn, smiling as we eavesdropped on the animals. I never knew such a brave child. I never met the kind of girl who would fight her father to save a tiny runt pig or stay up through the night feeding little Wilbur from a bottle. We didn’t have kids like that in the suburbs – pigs, either. 

We had spiders, and I feared them as much as I do today.  None of them were like Charlotte, so clever, generous and wise. Charlotte, who wove the words into her web:  

• “Terrific” 

• “Some Pig!” 

• “Humble” 

• “Radiant” 

Other than Fern, the people in the story believed it was the work of the pig himself and not the spider. Charlotte, truly humble, didn’t care. Her work saved Wilbur’s life a second time. Charlotte rolled up her proverbial sleeves -- all eight, I guess -- and spun those words for Wilbur. She did what she could with what she had, and it was a greater gift than she could ever imagine. 

At the end of each chapter, I used my finger to hold my place and flipped back to scrutinize Garth Williams’s impeccable illustrations. The pen and ink drawings vibrated with the energy of Wilbur running down a hill or the tenderness of Fern pushing the piglet in a doll stroller.  

But E.B. White’s descriptions made the book magical. He evoked the smells of a barn I’ve never actually been in. I saw the shifty eyes of a rat I’ve never spoken to. I felt Wilbur’s pride winning a bronze medal at the fair and the butterflies in Fern’s stomach at the top of the Ferris wheel. 

Back to childhood

I don’t have to open the book to go back. To find myself cross-legged on the floor of Mrs. Currier’s 2nd grade classroom, shushing the girl next to me so I can find out what happens next. Or maybe under the covers, flashlight in hand, reading it for the third time. 

There are other things that make this my favorite book.  White masterfully combined human and animal main characters in a way that felt natural. He wrote strong female characters both human and arachnoid. He portrayed death with a gentle yet unapologetic touch. 

Wilbur lived, but the life cycle of a spider is short. Charlotte knew that the end was coming and acted businesslike about it. She left the reader to deal with the emptiness in the barn where a web once hung, and to share the pain of those Charlotte left behind.  

Charlotte’s Web is timeless. White wrote it in the 50s, but it didn’t seem like a relic when I encountered it in the 80s or when I read it with my kids this century. Obviously, Fern wasn’t posting pictures of Wilbur on Instagram, but it doesn’t feel quaint or outdated. Times change, but raw emotions and unbridled wonder will always be hallmarks of childhood.  

Back to page one

Here’s the thing about books: Fern grew up and spent less time in the barn. Charlotte died, and her newly-hatched daughters took her place. Wilbur grew from a runt to a plump medal-winning pig. The reader can imagine what comes next, but there’s also another option.

I can take my paperback off the shelf, open the worn cover, and start at chapter one. I can meet my brave friend Fern all over again, and gasp as she wrestles with her father for the axe. I can smell the hay and hear the geese honking. I can listen to Charlotte introducing herself to Wilbur, the beginning of a beautiful friendship. 

As long as someone is reading her story, Charlotte lives. 

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