Freak the Mighty is largely a meditation on the purpose of storytelling and the power that stories can have in a person’s life. The book itself is framed as something that Max wrote himself as a healing exercise a year after Freak’s untimely but not unexpected death from complications connected to Morquio syndrome. In addition, over the course of Freak and Max’s yearlong friendship, Freak introduces Max to a number of stories about King Arthur’s knights and his own upcoming surgery to get what he calls a “bionic body.” As Max listens to Freak tell these tales and as Max ultimately writes his own story, he discovers that stories don’t just entertain: they can provide hope, soothe fears, and even inspire confidence to do well in school. Through this, the novel positions storytelling as something profoundly beneficial—and as something that, most importantly, can give people hope.
From the very beginning of Freak and Max’s friendship, Freak shares how stories give him the tools he needs to find meaning and purpose in his life. Though Freak is a highly intelligent person and he uses this to his advantage every chance he gets, his short stature due to dwarfism and his other health issues pose very real limitations on what he can physically do. Knowing this, Freak latches on to the legend of King Arthur to come to terms with his limitations. He tells Max that King Arthur was a “wimpy kid” but that he defied expectations by pulling the sword Excalibur out of a stone easily—and Arthur also recognized the fragility of the human body and he sought to improve upon it by “armor-plating” his men. Through this, Freak is able to align himself with King Arthur and suggest to himself and to others that there’s more to him than his disability—just like King Arthur, he can transcend his physical limitations, do great things, and earn his place in history. Freak does so in part by creating the persona of Freak the Mighty with Max (the combined character of Freak riding on Max’s shoulders) and by encouraging Max to write their story down.
Even more meaningful than King Arthur in terms of storytelling, however, is another story that Freak tells Max: that he’s undergoing a medical experiment which entails an operation to give him a “bionic body.” The idea disturbs Max from the very beginning, as he doesn’t want Freak to have to experience the pain he knows comes along with surgery. But when Freak has a seizure and he ends up in the hospital, Max fully believes that Freak is going to be okay since he’s clearly at the point where he’s ready to receive his bionic body. However, Max soon learns that Freak actually died overnight in the ICU. This realization is earthshattering for Max, especially since he believes at first that either Freak lied to him about the bionic surgery—or even worse, that Freak’s doctors lied to Freak about the surgery. Freak’s doctor, Dr. Spivak, however, tells Max that Freak never lied. Rather, Freak was telling both himself and Max a story that gave them meaning in their lives—and that encouraged Max to continue supporting and believing in Freak to the very end. In other words, Freak’s insistence that he was going to receive a bionic body was more than a way for Freak to ignore his impending death. This story gave Freak a reason to live, and it helps Max to understand the power of storytelling to give a person hope and drive—even if the story itself isn’t factually true.
However, Freak the Mighty draws a clear line between stories with kernels of truth that are meant to provide hope and to entertain (such as Freak’s stories about King Arthur and his bionic body), and stories that are nothing more than manipulative lies. For instance, Kenny, Max’s father, is in prison for killing Max’s mother, Annie. Eventually, Kenny uses his supposed discovery of Christianity to manipulate the court system into letting him out on parole. He’s presumably able to make the case that religion helped to show him the error of his ways, and that now he’s a reasonable and respectful person who has earned the right to return to regular society. Kenny shows right away that while his story may have been successful in getting him out of prison, it’s nothing more than a malicious work of fiction: he ends up kidnapping Max, tying him up, and insisting that Grim and Gram (Max’s grandparents) have “poisoned” Max’s mind against Kenny. This suggests both that Kenny is still trying to use storytelling to make things go his way (as when he tries to convince Max that Max doesn’t actually remember Kenny killing Annie) and that he recognizes the power that other people’s truthful stories must have over Max. Kenny’s only hope to earn Max’s loyalty is to discredit the stories that Grim and Gram tell about him, as well as the version of events that Max knows is true—a strategy that ultimately fails. While storytelling may be enough to get Kenny out of jail, his malicious intentions combined with the utter baselessness of his tales ultimately make his stories entirely ineffective.
By contrast, Freak’s storytelling has a profoundly beneficial impact on Max—it ultimately transforms how Max thinks about his own ability to tell stories. While Max begins the novel insistent that he’s unintelligent and incapable of writing anything, a year of absorbing Freak’s stories proves transformative for Max. Though Max grieves for a year after Freak’s death, he does eventually do what Freak asked him to do: record the story of Freak the Mighty in a notebook that Freak gave Max before his death. The process of writing the story not only helps Max come to terms with his grief; it also helps him see that in addition to providing hope, meaning, and confidence, telling one’s story is also a way to honor a loved one. Because Max chooses to write down his story, Freak the Mighty and Freak himself have the opportunity to live on and inspire others.
The Power of Storytelling ThemeTracker
The Power of Storytelling Quotes in Freak the Mighty
It’s more than just the way Maxwell resembles him, Grim says that night in the kitchen, the boy is like him, we’d better watch out, you never know what he might do while we’re sleeping. Like his father did. And Gram right away shushes him and says don’t ever say that, because little pictures have big ears, which makes me run to the mirror to see if it is my big ears made me look like Him.
It’s real easy, he doesn’t weigh much and I’m pretty sure I remember looking back and seeing him up in the wagon happy as can be, like he’s really enjoying the ride and not embarrassed to have me pulling him around.
But like Freak says later in this book, you can remember anything, whether it happened or not.
“The design limitations of the human body. You know, like we’re not bullet-proof and we can’t crush rocks with our bare hands, and if we touch a hot stove we get burned. King Arthur wanted to improve his men, so he made them armor-plated. Then he programmed them to go out and do these quests, slay the dragons and so on, which is sort of how they program robots right now.”
The deal this year is that I get to go with Freak, which Gram thinks is a good idea because she’s afraid he’ll get crushed or something, she actually thinks people are going to step on him, which just goes to show how brainless she can be sometimes, and scared of everything. I mean nobody steps on little kids down there, so why should they step on Freak?
By now I know what a quest is because Freak has explained the whole deal, how it started with King Arthur trying to keep all his knights busy by making them do things that proved how strong and brave and smart they were, or sometimes how totally numb, because how else can you explain dudes running around inside big clunky tin cans and praying all the time? Which I don’t mention to Freak because he’s very sensitive about knights and quests and secret meanings.
I can tell he really means it. This isn’t a pretend quest, or making houses into castles or swimming pools into moats. This is why we came here, so Freak could show me where he’s been. The place is important to him. I understand this much, even if I still don’t understand about bionics or what it means to be a human robot.
As a matter of fact I do know the answer—the reason Johnny Tremain got mad and hateful is because he burned his hand in a stupid accident—and I know about that because Freak has been showing me how to read a whole book and for some reason it all makes sense, where before it was just a bunch of words I didn’t care about.
[...] all I can think is they’re going to put me back in the learning disabled class. I’ve already decided I’ll run away if they do that [...] Anyhow, I don’t take Freak’s dictionary along because my hands are trembly and I might drop it, or Mrs. Addison might ask me a word and I’ll forget how to look it up and prove I’m still a butthead goon.
“It’s not me who had quite a day,” I say. “Kevin is the one. All he did was try and eat his lunch.”
Mrs. Addison gives me this look, and then she goes, “You’re going to be okay, Maxwell Kane. I’m sure of it now.”
She’s okay for a principal, but for some reason I still can’t make her understand that it’s not me who had a really bad Friday the Thirteenth.
Gram says, “How can you tell such lies on Christmas Eve?”
“I’m telling tales, my dear, not lies. Lies are mean things, and tales are meant to entertain.”
The quiet is almost as big as he is. He’s as tall as me, only wider everywhere, and for some reason, maybe because we’re not far from Freak’s house, I’m thinking this weird thought: He doesn’t need a suit of armor.
“They never talk about it,” I say. “They don’t have to because I can’t ever forget it, no matter how much I try.”
“First you need to invent a time machine,” I say. “So you can go back there and give all the cavemen a hard time about indoor plumbing.”
Freak goes, “You don’t need a time machine if you know how to remember.”
Which is something I’ll always remember, him saying that and me trying to figure it out.
The deal is, this is really two birthdays for the price of one, because Freak the Mighty is almost a year old.
[...] Freak says we can’t expect her to understand, because you can’t really get what it means to be Freak the Mighty unless you are Freak the Mighty.
“Don’t get me upset,” he warns. “I won’t have the time, so you’ll have to do it. Just write it all down like you’re talking. Put in all the fun we had, the cool things we did. Our adventures.”
“But you know I can’t write, Kevin.”
“It’s all in your head, Max, everything you can remember. Just tell the story of Freak the Mighty, no big deal.”
I go, “Poor Gwen? She’s not the one having the special operation.”
Grim and Gram just look at each other like they can’t believe I’m so dumb, and finally Gram says, “Maxwell, dear, make an effort to eat your vegetables.”
“I don’t think it was a lie, Maxwell, do you? I think he needed something to hope for and so he invented this rather remarkable fantasy you describe. Everybody needs something to hope for. Don’t call it a lie. Kevin wasn’t a liar.”
So I wrote the unvanquished truth stuff down and then kept on going, for months and months, until it was spring again, and the world was really and truly green all over. By the time we got here, which I guess should be the end, I’m feeling okay about remembering things.