At first glance "The Goshawk" appears to be a day-to-day account of a curiously personal conflict between a full-grown man and a fledgling hawk. It should be stated at once, however, that this is no mere handbook; although we are introduced to the terminology and furniture of falconry, the information is rather sketchy and incidental. Nor, according to my poor lights, is T. H. White the ideal hawk-master. He quivers excessively; try though he may, he is unable to conceal an inner tumult that must have been disturbingly apparent to so sensitive a creature as "Gos."

At times we wonder why Mr. White went through the physical and emotional ordeal of training his bird. Is he courageously attempting to revive popular enthusiasm in a medieval sport closely allied to his known Arthurian interests? Or is "The Goshawk" merely a pretext for some excellent, if rather broody, writing about the English countryside? Either motive is legitimate; one suspects, however, that the really important action of the book takes place on a deeper level.

Perceptive readers may feel that basic loves and antagonisms were loosed -- and at least partly resolved -- during Mr. White's struggle to dominate his hawk. It is this unstated, yet always-hovering motivation that gives the book its peculiar charm. Lacking such motivation, "The Goshawk" might justly be indicted on charges of preciousness and affectation.

As the struggle unfolds, Mr. White makes us increasingly aware that in matching himself with Gos -- overmatching himself, as the tragic event shows -- he is grappling with a mysterious, ruthless power, embodied in a bird that never voluntarily stoops (unless killing be its mood) to the level of earth-treading man.