Howl’s Moving Castle follows 18-year-old Sophie, the eldest of three sisters who live in the fictional kingdom of Ingary. In Ingary, it’s considered a terrible fate to be the eldest of three children: the eldest is destined to “fail first, and worst.” So Sophie simply accepts it as fate when the evil Witch of the Waste curses Sophie to become an old lady, as Sophie figures it’s just part of her destiny. Destiny, according to Sophie, isn’t worth fighting: it will do what it wants, and all she can do is sigh and move on.
However, Sophie is the only one in the novel who accepts destiny as an inarguable fact—and for the most part, other characters manage to thwart destiny to make themselves happy. For instance, as the youngest of three, Sophie’s sister Martha is supposedly destined to be wildly successful, and to help her become successful, the girls’ mother Fanny apprentices Martha to a witch. But Martha actually just wants to get married and have children, so she and Lettie, the ambitious (but destined to be mediocre) middle sister, swap apprenticeships—something that upsets no one, and makes both girls happy. Martha and Lettie’s ability to essentially thwart what’s supposed to happen and pave their own ways suggests that destiny is more malleable than Sophie thinks. Indeed, it’s implied that Sophie’s curse making her old is so difficult to lift because Sophie believes so fully that she’s just supposed to accept her fate. Put another way, it’s Sophie’s unwavering belief in her own future failure that renders her incapable of changing anything about her life. It’s only when she accepts that she does have some control that the curse lifts, and Sophie realizes that she, too, has the right to make her own choices that lead to her happiness.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Destiny vs. Free Will ThemeTracker
Destiny vs. Free Will Quotes in Howl’s Moving Castle
In the land of Ingary, where such things as seven-league boots and cloaks of invisibility really exist, it is quite a misfortune to be born the eldest of three. Everyone knows you are the one who will fail first, and worst, if the three of you set out to seek your fortunes.
Sophie felt as if the past months of sitting and sewing had turned her into an old woman or a semi-invalid.
“I never knew!”
“Well, it wasn’t much good going on about it when you were so busy backing Mother up about me making my fortune,” Martha said. “You thought Mother meant it. I did too, until Father died and I saw she was just trying to get rid of us—putting Lettie where she was bound to meet a lot of men and get married off, and sending me as far away as she could! I was so angry I thought, Why not? And I spoke to Lettie and she was just as angry and we fixed it up. We’re fine now.”
It was odd. As a girl, Sophie would have shriveled with embarrassment at the way she was behaving. As an old woman, she did not mind what she did or said. She found that a great relief.
“You’re a dreadfully nosy, horribly bossy, appallingly clean old woman. Control yourself. You’re victimizing us all.”
“But it’s a pigsty,” said Sophie. “I can’t help what I am!”
“Yes you can,” said Howl.
“As if I wouldn’t recognize one of my own honey-based spells! But as I said to her at the time, ‘I’m not one to keep anyone against their will and I’d always rather teach someone who wants to learn. Only,’ I said to her, ‘I’ll have no pretense here. You stay as your own self or not at all.’ And it’s worked out very happily, as you see.”
There was a cart horse outside. The young fellow of fifty who was leading it wondered if Mrs. Witch had something which might stop it casting shoes all the time.
“I’ll see,” said Sophie. She hobbled over to the grate. “What shall I do?” she whispered.
“Yellow powder, fourth jar along on the second shelf,” Calcifer whispered back. “Those spells are mostly belief. Don’t look uncertain when you give it to him.”
She had said Sophie was a witch. Oddly enough, Sophie accepted this without any trouble at all. That explained the popularity of certain hats, she thought. It explained Jane Farrier’s Count Whatsit. It possibly explained the jealousy of the Witch of the Waste. It was as if Sophie had always known this. But she had thought it was not proper to have a magic gift because she was the eldest of three.
True, he sat with one leg thrust out in a kingly sort of manner, and he was handsome in a plump, slightly vague way, but to Sophie he seemed quite youthful and just a touch too proud of being a king. She felt he ought, with that face, to have been more unsure of himself.
[…]
And Sophie was suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that she was standing talking to the King. It was, she thought dizzily, as if the man sitting there and the huge, important thing which was kingship were two separate things that just happened to occupy the same chair. And she found that she had forgotten every word of the careful, delicate things Howl had told her to say.
“But do you honestly think I don’t know my own business well enough to spot a strong spell like that when I see it? I had several goes at taking it off you when you weren’t looking. But nothing seems to work. I took you to Mrs. Pentstemmon, hoping she could do something, but she evidently couldn’t. I came to the conclusion that you liked being in disguise.”
“Disguise!” Sophie yelled.
Howl laughed at her. “It must be, since you’re doing it yourself,” he said.
Sophie raised her stick, slowly and gently. This time she thought for an instant before she acted. “Stick,” she muttered. “Beat Miss Angorian, but don’t hurt anyone else.” Then she swung the stick and hit Miss Angorian’s tight knuckles the biggest crack she could.
Miss Angorian let out a squealing hiss like a wet log burning and dropped Calcifer. Poor Calcifer rolled helplessly on the floor, flaming sideways across the flagstones and roaring huskily with terror. Miss Angorian raised a foot to stamp on him. Sophie had to let go of her stick and dive to rescue Calcifer. Her stick, to her surprise, hit Miss Angorian again on its own, and again, and again. But of course it would! Sophie thought. She had talked life into that stick.
He stood up in a hurry. He held out one hand and spoke a sentence of those words that lost themselves in claps of thunder. Plaster fell from the ceiling. Everything trembled. But the stick vanished and Howl stepped back with a small, hard, black thing in his hand.
