Eragon, Chap. 6-7: Exposition for Two

When you're writing something that doesn't take place in the real world, you have to find some way to tell the audience the "rules" of the universe. There are two main ways authors do this: by directly stating what those rules are (The Hunger Games loves this) or Character A telling Character B explaining the rules. In most cases, Character B is some kind of newcomer--like Obi-Wan teaching Luke about the Force, for instance.

Most authors use a mix of both methods, which works well, but I prefer the latter. I think it helps the story flow more naturally, and helps keep the reader in the world a bit more easily. And then there are chapters like this.

Eragon goes into town, and meets with Brom the storyteller in a chapter that is nothing but exposition. Eragon, naturally, wants to learn more about dragons and the Dragon Riders, and has plenty of questions about both. The whole chapter is Eragon asking questions, and Brom giving him the answers. We learn about the history of the Riders, and more about dragons themselves. Even though I generally prefer this method of getting information to the readers, for some reason I don't like it here. I can't exactly pinpoint why. Part of it might just be that it feels lazy--Paolini couldn't figure out how to wedge all this in, so he put it here. Or maybe it's the length of the chapter that bothers me. It's pretty long--longer than the last two combined. There's not a lot of action, just a back-and-forth. I just don't like large information dumps, and I wonder if cutting out some of the details of this chapter would have helped me like it better. Of course, this is also my second time reading the book, so I already know what Brom's going to say. Obviously, this stuff isn't going to be as interesting to me the second time around.

Well, whatever. I didn't like the way the information was shoved down my throat. I also had one head-scratching moment, wherein Brom describes a war between the dragons and the elves. It was a huge war that left the land devastated, but it only lasted...five years? Okay, that's a long time for a human war, but we're talking about creatures that live for centuries. Five years seems a little short.

Moving on to the next chapter.

Chapter 7 is another unevenly short chapter, not quite four pages long. On their way back to the farm, Eragon's cousin Roran announces that he's accepted an offer of work in another town. Eragon doesn't really want Roran to leave, and suggests he wait until spring. Roran disagrees, and says he will be leaving shortly while they're waiting for winter. Even though this isn't a book about the division of farm labor, I still need to ask: where the hell are all the farmhands? It's only Roran, Eragon, and Eragon's Uncle Garrow working on the farm. How do just the three of them manage to keep it running and productive? How did Garrow and his now deceased wife manage to do it before Eragon and Roran were old enough to help? And for that matter, why doesn't Garrow have, like, ten other kids to do farm work?

It's been said that when you're writing science-fiction, you get one lie, and you have to then work within the confines of that lie. Everything else has to follow the rules. Fantasy, I think, is a little broader, but still follows that principle. f you're writing about dragons, that's fine, because dragons are mythological creatures and you can do what you want with them, as long as you follow the basic rules. Things like dragons fly, breathe something dangerous, and could kill you several times over.

Suspension of disbelief is a funny thing. I'm all for dragons and magic--that's why I picked up this book in the first place. It's the small, nagging details that bother me. You want to write about a dragon that flies and breathes fire? Cool. Go ahead. But if you're writing about something that exists in real life, that readers know about, then you have to make it realistic. Realistic details in a fantasy setting make the world plausible. It's not the fantasy elements that will drive readers away. What will turn them if is when they don't see the familiar reflected in the extraordinary.

That was kind of an unexpected rant. Anyway, the dragon was finally named "Saphira", surprising absolutely no one. First of all, she's a bright blue dragon. Second of all, you know another Saphira was important to Brom, just from the way he said it.

Anyway, moral of the story? It's cool if your main character can shoot fireballs from his hand or whatever, but if he, say...lived in the 21st Century and didn't have an email account, I would seriously have to question both the author's writing choices and their* perception of what is normal in the world.

*Strunk and White be damned, I'm am totally okay with "they" as a singular gender neutral pronoun.

Eragon 1-2: Descriptive Descriptions

When I began this blog, I knew right away that I wanted to re-read Eragon for it, mostly to see if the book I loved as a teenager was as bad as everyone said it was. I did have one pretty big hang-up about getting it started: the length. Almost 500 pages long, reading a book this size was no mean feat for a fourteen-year-old, and might prove to be even more of a challenge for an adult with a full-time job who spends most of her weekends either traveling or working. Sometimes both. And this book gets pretty heavy as a carry-on. Plus, the table of contents alone is 3 pages long. That's a lot of chapters to review.

Flipping through the book, I realized that the chapters don't have even lengths. The first chapter is about 2.5 pages long, as is the second. They're fairly quick reads, and though I expect some big, fat chapters later on in the book, right now it doesn't seem like such an intimidating project. But I do have a good backlog of posts, so...let's give it a shot.

Chapter one introduces us to the titular protagonist, Eragon. We learn that he's just a teenager (because of course he is), who's a skilled hunter and tracker. The prose isn't bad, but there's just something about it that feels lacking. It seems like Paolini was reaching for flowery language, but prose that is still easy to understand.

What doesn't feel lacking is just over-the-top. Three paragraphs in, and I'm already scoffing over Eragon's description:

"Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes."

It's the "intense brown eyes" that gets me. That's the kind of phrase I would have used in fanfiction when describing a character. It's a description that just doesn't make sense to me. When someone has "intense" eyes, I can only picture a person whose eyes are unearthly--in that they're glowing, or can hypnotize you with a stare. For me, it's just too vague to actually mean anything.

However, his ridiculous eyes do lead him to a blue stone, the same one that the elf was carrying in the prologue. I think that there's supposed to be suspense here, but anyone who read the inside flap of the book can tell you right away it's got something to do with the blue dragon on the cover. However, it does lead us to the first sentence that made me laugh out loud in this book.

"The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk."

It's another case of trying to using flowery language, except it backfired hilariously. I know that he's trying to say that the stone is really smooth, but "frictionless"?

If it were truly frictionless, Eragon wouldn't be able to hold it. It would be sliding out of his hands, slipping through the forest, and no one would ever be able to catch it. The mental image of that--a huge blue stone, forever moving across the world--is funnier than it should be to me. Maybe because right now I'm wishing that's what would really happen.

...maybe that'd be a better way of keeping the stone safe, rather than teleporting it somewhere where it might never get found, or worse, fall into the wrong hands?

And that about does it for the first chapter. Like I said, it was pretty short. Moving on to the next...

The first two pages of this chapter are nothing but description. It's not bad, and it wasn't even that boring. We're also introduced to Sloan, the butcher. I never liked Sloan; as a kid it was because he's a dick. Now, it's because he's a dick to just the main character. He hates Eragon, and the reason that's given is because Eragon isn't afraid to venture into the mountain range where Sloan's wife was killed.

I read the first two books completely, and almost finished the third one in this series. Some major shit happens to Sloan, and I think it's meant to be his comeuppance for being an asshole to Eragon. It's a pretty disproportionate punishment for just being a jerk. Even Eragon, who's supposed to be our hero, punishes Sloan right after saving him.

I guess I should just be focusing on this book, and this chapter, but Sloan's treatment gets taken too far.

We also see the farm that Eragon lives on, with his uncle and cousin.

Okay, I'll accept dragons and magic and elves. I cannot accept that a farm has only three people living and working on it. If they can't afford farmhands, shouldn't Uncle Garrow have, like, eight kids? A farm is freaking hard to run, especially when you only have three people working on it, and one of them seems to be hunting in the woods more often than not, if Sloan's dialogue is any indication.

Also, this is our first description of Garrow:

"His worn clothes hung on him like rags on a stick frame. A lean, hungry face with intense eyes gazed out from under graying hair."

SO INTENSE. What does that even mean? 

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 15: Why We Read

Oh, Narnia. It's here that we go our separate ways...for now. Books transport you into a whole new world, and the best part is, they can do it over and over again. Of course, you wouldn't be here if you didn't know that already. As I've mentioned earlier, I never actually read any of the books after Prince Caspian. Re-reading The Magician's Nephew now makes me want to go back and read through the entire Narnia series. I think I'd like to go back and read the rest of the books and see what I missed. Aware, of course, of all the religious symbolism, racism, and sexism that I missed the first time around.

The final chapter is perhaps the most insightful; at the very least, it gave me the most to think about as a child. Aslan takes Polly, Digory, and the sleeping Uncle Andrew back to the Woods Between the Worlds and shows them a hollow in the grass.

"'When you were last here,' said Aslan, 'that hollow was a pool, and when you jumped into it you came to the world where a dying sun shone over the ruins of Charn. There is no pool now. That would is ended, as if it had never been. Let the race of Adam and Eve take warning.'

'Yes, Aslan,' said both the children. But Polly added, 'But we're not quite as bad as that world, are we, Aslan?'

 "'Not yet, Daughter of Eve,' he said. 'Not yet. But you are growing more like it. It is not certain that some wicked one of your race will not find out a secret as evil as the Deplorable Word and use it to destroy all living things. And very soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Emperor Jadis.'"

This book was published in 1955, though it takes place before World War I. I can't help but think that Aslan's warning to the children about the Deplorable Word was a thinly veiled reference to the atomic bomb. I couldn't have known that when I read this more than a decade ago, nor could I understand just how bad the world could really be.

Now I see that our world is a scary place, and I've been very fortunate to have a comfortable life. Perhaps the question I've asked myself the most over the past two years, the one that I can't answer, is, "Is the world getting worse, or am I just paying more attention?"

Unfortunately, I'm usually an optimist.  I want to believe that there is more good than bad, that love will conquer hate. More and more, it seems like the opposite of that is true.

But there's some good in this world, Mr. Frodo, and it's worth fighting for.

And that fight is terribly, terribly frustrating. Because everyday I want to change the world, but I'm just one person.

And that's why we need books. Because Digory and Polly protect Narnia from the evil they brought into it; because Digory saves his mother with a magical apple. Because they give us simple solutions to our complex problems. Because the world is terrible, the characters we love go through endless trials and tribulations, and things turn out okay.

Because real life needs more happy endings.

Final Verdict: Keep

For now, anyway. This will likely make it to the collection of children's books my mom has on the unlikely chance that I'll ever give her a grandchild.

I'll be taking next week off, but starting on May 30, I'll be back with Angelic Layer by CLAMP, which just happens to be the first manga I ever read. Stay tuned!

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 14: All Allegories Aside, Though...

I thought the last two chapters of this book would be rather short, but it turns out they're more substantial than I remember. Well, maybe not the first part of this chapter, which is all about Uncle Andrew. The animals have now put him in a home-made cage and have tried to feed him their favorite foods, which resulted in squirrels pelting him with nuts and a bear throwing a honey comb at him, for example. It's kind of funny, but like the toffee dinner, just takes up too much time. I guess it's his comeuppance for being disagreeable ant the beginning of the book, but now it just feels undeserved. Ever since Jadis arrived, he's no longer scary or threatening. He's already learned his lesson; cut the guy some slack. And now that I can't unsee all the religious parallels, it's obvious that Uncle Andrew represents atheism, as he simply refuses to hear the animals--and Aslan--talking.

I do like that the animals want to keep Uncle Andrew as a pet, though.

There was more time spent on Uncle Andrew's treatment than there was on the coronation of the new king and queen of Narnia, wherein C.S. Lewis shows us how little he knows about blacksmithing. The dwarves make crowns for them right then and there, with apparently very little effort. I actually do know a bit about smithing (because college was a weird time), and I think it's preeeetty doubtful that the animals were able to make a fire that would get hot enough in just a few minutes to make gold and silver crowns on. Whatever, I'll give it a shrug and chalk it up to magic. I'm fairly certain that this is a point no one else cares about except me.

And while I'm sure that the coronation is terribly important for the history of Narnia, it may be the least interesting part of this chapter. It's not until the tree that Digory planted that I start caring about what's going on. Aslan confirms what the Witch told him--that taking an apple from the tree would make him live forever, and heal his mother. However, Aslan also tells him

"'Understand, then, that it would have healed her; but not to your joy or hers. The day would have come when both you and she would have looked back and said it would have been better to die in that illness.'"

...chilling.

And reveals yet another difference between myself now and the elementary school student who read this long ago. Back then, I couldn't comprehend regret like that, nor could I understand why anyone would think they're better off dead. I could only think of it as a curse, and use the irrational explanation of magic to comprehend something that wasn't rational to me.

Now, unfortunately, I understand regret perfectly well, and can see why someone would rather be dead than alive.

Like I said, growing up is harsh.

To end on a lighter note, I'm glad that Digory is rewarded for his honesty, and loyalty to Aslan, by being allowed to take an apple for his sick mother. That's probably the best message this book has for kids, whether or not it's read as a religious allegory.

I really love the idea that the magical fruit itself is neither good nor evil, and it's all about the person who takes the fruit. The tree would protect Narnia, whether or not its fruit was stolen, but the land it protected would change. Because Digory took the apple at Aslan's bidding, Narnia will become a kind and gentle world. Had he stolen it, Narnia would have become cold and cruel. I really like the idea that the fruit will do its job, no matter what, but the intent of the one who takes it truly determines what happens. I wish my good intentions had that much power in real life.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 13: Does This Remind You of Anything?

There's apparently a lot I've forgotten about this book, but some parts I remember vividly. Chapter 13 has one of those scenes. Recalling the disappointment of re-reading the previous chapter, though, I approached this one with caution.

Polly, Digory, and Fledge all find what's simply called "The Place", where the magical tree is growing. It has high walls and golden gates, warning against climbing the walls or stealing the fruit from one of the trees. Digory goes into the garden alone, and there's a few paragraphs dedicated to that decision.

Near the end of a lot of fantasy stories, the main character finds often her or himself facing off against their main antagonist alone. I'm never sure how I feel about this trope, because if their allies are readily available, then they should also join in the fight. There should be a reason given as to why the protagonist has to go it alone. If the supporting cast is busy fighting a dragon, and the main character is the only one that can kill the sorcerer, fine. If you go it alone for drama, or tradition's sake...that's sort of dumb. The movie Labyrinth probably has the weakest excuse, with Sarah facing off against Jareth (and his mighty crotch) by herself because, "that's the way it's done". I understand that it's an important moment for the character to stand up to something to face their fears, but sometimes doing it alone out of choice is impractical.

In this case, the only reason Digory goes into the grove alone is because Polly and Fledge can see that it's a "private place", somewhere you wouldn't want to walk into unless you've been invited. I'm actually okay with this. Maybe it's the way this scene was written, or maybe it's because even from the air, all three characters could feel that this place was special. I'm also okay with this because Digory isn't in any apparent danger, nor has he been since Jadis ran off.

This chapter was probably the most memorable in the book, and holds up very well even now.  Digory is sorely tempted to take one of the apples for his own, and tries to rationalize eating one for himself. Just like we all do, when we want something really badly but know that we shouldn't. It also shows us the magical quality of the fruit, that he had been planning on returning it to Aslan right away, until he smells it. This passage was as difficult for me to read, because I love fruit, and they all sounded so delicious.

The most important part of the chapter, (and the novel, if you ask me), is Digory finding Jadis in the garden, happily eating one of the apples. It's made her stronger, but also made her skin and hair completely white, setting her up as the White Witch in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It's obvious she hasn't been invited into the garden and that she's stolen the apple for herself. She tries to convince Digory to eat one as well and become strong and immortal like her. When he refuses, she aims below the belt.

"'Do you not see, Fool, that one bite of the apple would heal her? You have it in your pocket. We are here by ourselves and the Lion is far away. Use your Magic and go back to your own world. A minute later you can be at your Mother's bedside, giving her the fruit. Five minutes later you will see the color coming back to her face. She will tell you the pain is gone. Soon she will tell you she feels stronger. Then she will fall asleep--think of that; hours of sweet, natural sleep, without pain, without drugs.  Next day everyone will be saying how wonderfully she has recovered. Soon she will be quite well again. All will be well again. [. . .] And what would your Mother think if she knew that you could have taken her pain away and given her back her life and saved your Father's heart from being broken, and that you wouldn't--that you'd rather run messages for a wild animal in a strange world that is no business of yours?'"

Holy shit.

This is the reason I've remembered this chapter so well. Growing up with a sick aunt and chronic illness as a backdrop in everyday life, I would have given just about anything for an apple like that. I remember holding my breath while this scene was read to me. Of course I wanted Digory to take the apple back to Aslan. That was the right thing to do. I hoped that Aslan would be able to heal Digory's mother, but what if he couldn't? The Witch said that it was Digory's only chance at eternal life--what if it was the only way to heal his mother?

I connected with this passage, this dilemma so well. I was such a shy and straight-laced kid, always doing what I was told. If I were in Digory's shoes, though, I may have very well stolen an apple for my sick aunt. It's a test of faith; how loyal Digory feels towards Aslan, or how much he wants to save his mother. He hesitates, though, giving Jadis an opportunity to remind him that she's evil. The reminder is all Digory needs to refuse, and leave with Polly and Fledge to return to Aslan with the magic fruit.

I chose to read The Magician's Nephew again for a few reasons. It was the first in the Narnia series I ever read; I thought I remembered the basic story well enough and...

Well, this last one just makes me sound silly.

It took me awhile to come around to the "Aslan is Jesus" allegory. Sure, it made sense--Aslan comes around at Christmas, is killed for Edmund's sake and  is then reborn (which just about made me cry)...it's not a difficult connection to make. I never liked it all that much because it sort of demystified this really cool, powerful character. When I was a child, it made Aslan feel less approachable. As an adult, it's because I'm not terribly religious, and don't enjoy having religion shoved down my throat, even if it's in the form of a fuzzy lion. Because, c'mon, you can't watch the Disney Narnia movies and tell me that you don't want to cuddle with Aslan.

But back to the point...I chose The Magician's Nephew because I thought it wouldn't be overly religious.

Oh, how wrong I was.

The scene that I remembered the best was nothing more than a gender-swapped Garden of Eden story. How the hell did I miss that? If it were any more transparent, this book would be made of glass.

Aslan help me, I'm an idiot.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 12: Strawberry's Disappointing Adventure

This was a chapter that I was really excited to get to. I remembered it being so magical. Aslan gives Strawberry wings, and he becomes Fledge, Narnia's first flying horse. He takes Polly and Digory on an adventure, flying far above Narnia. They explore the world, eat toffees, and have a marvelous time. What more could a child want in a story?

As an adult, however, it turns out that this chapter leaves a lot to be desired. I expected that my childhood memory of this chapter wouldn't hold up to the reality, and I was right. I just wasn't aware of how right I was actually going to be. It starts promising, with Digory agreeing to find the magical tree that will protect Narnia. There's also a very sweet part where Aslan grieves with Digory about his ill mother.

"But please, please--won't you--can't you give me something that will cure Mother?' Up till then he had been looking at the Lion's great feet and huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion's eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory's own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his mother than he was himself."

But this chapter is mostly description, like Digory describing the land to Aslan. When Polly and Digory are riding on Fledge's back, most of the narrative is description of what they're flying over. The "adventure" isn't so much a story, as it is a nice sight-seeing tour.

On the other hand, they're the first humans to ever see all this, so I guess that's exciting. Of course I would have loved to be riding on a flying horse through a brand-new world. But I don't get that thrill from reading this. It's like going through a photo album of someone else's vacation. You try to care, you really want to, but you just can't make yourself.

Man, growing up sucks.

There's also a disproportionate amount of time dedicated to the children having dinner. There are two pages that are just Digory and Polly trying to figure out what they're going to eat when they stop flying for the night. Polly has some toffees in her pocket, so they decide that will be their meal.

"The little paper bag was very squashy and sticky when they finally got it out, so that it was more a question of tearing the bag off the toffees than of getting the toffees out of their bag."

Okay, great, but what about the adventure?

"Some grown-ups (you know how fussy they can be about that sort of thing) would rather have gone without supper altogether than eaten those toffees."

No, I still eat candy for dinner sometimes. So about this adventure...

"There were nine of them all told. It was Digory who had the bright idea of eating four each and planting the ninth; for, as he said, 'if the bar off the lamp-post turned into a little light-tree, why shouldn't this turn into a toffee-tree?' So they dibbled a small hole in the earth and buried the piece of toffee."

Man, the word toffee sounds weird now. You ever notice how you say a word a lot, and it loses its meaning? Toffee, toffee, toffee...

At least there's still magic, when the toffee does grow into a toffee tree overnight. That's pretty cool.

There is one small detail in this chapter that I still really like. When Polly and Digory go to sleep, Fledge spreads his wings over them to keep them warm at night. It sounds cozy, and of course I would love to have a pegasus to snuggle with at night. In fact, a great deal of my wish-fulfillment stories I wrote in sixth grade were based on that exact premise. 

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 11: Bit Characters and Other Matters

I've praised some of the ideas C.S. Lewis had, but there's one thing that's a little harder to get over: the chapter titles. Some of them are just so incredibly bland. Take a look:

Chapter 6: The Beginning of Uncle Andrew's Troubles
Chapter 7: What Happened at the Front Door
Chapter 10: The First Joke and Other Matters

And we've finally reached Chapter 11: Digory and His Uncle Are Both in Trouble.

The first half of this chapter is nothing but the animals trying to figure out what, exactly, Uncle Andrew is. They eventually decide that he's a tree, and plant him in the ground. It's amusing, but it has nothing to do with the rest of the story. To be honest, I'm not even sure why Uncle Andrew even had to come to Narnia with the other characters. He's been demoted from intriguing Magician to comic relief, by way of misfortune. At this point, he has nothing to do with the rest of the story. I also don't like to see clever and brave Polly relegated to the background. She should have a much bigger part in the story right now; certainly, she deserves a bigger role than Uncle Andrew. Much more so than the Cabby as well, who has only just been given a name. Seriously, this man's horse is named before he is.

Aslan decrees the Cabby, Frank, will be king of Narnia. This is presumably because Frank is the only human adult in the group who isn't evil. This also begs the question why Aslan wanted a human to run the country in the first place. So far, Uncle Andrew, Jadis, and Digory (to a point) haven't been shining examples of our species. All the sentient beings in Narnia are either animals or some kind of mythological creature, like dryads and fauns. Why not let one of its native people rule the country, maybe someone that Aslan specifically chose for his council? And how is Frank going to know what's best for the animals, talking or otherwise? It reminds me of reading an X-rated fanfiction that was clearly written by a virgin. Maybe you know what's supposed to happen, but it's obvious to everyone reading it that you've got no clue what you're writing about.

Do you think C.S. Lewis was pro-Imperialism?

Despite that head-scratcher, I'm kind of okay with Aslan's reasons that Frank qualifies as king. Writing this during an election year, I wish politics really were this simple and straightforward.

"'Begging your pardon, sir,' he said, 'and thank you very much I'm sure (which my Missus does the same) but I ain't no sort of chap for a job like that. I never 'ad much eddycation, you see.'

'Well,' said Aslan, 'can you use a spade and a plow and raise food out of the earth?'

'Yes, sir, I could do a bit of that sort of work: being brought up to it, like.'

'Can you rule these creatures kindly and fairly, remembering they are not slaves like the dumb beasts of the world you were born in, but Talking Beasts and free subjects?'

'I see that, sir,' replied the Cabby. 'I'd try to do the square thing by them all.'

'And would you bring up your children and grandchildren to do the same?'

'It'd be up to me to try, sir. I'd do my best: wouldn't we, Nellie?'

'And you wouldn't have favorites either among your own children or among the other creatures or let any hold under another or is use it hardly?'

'I never could abide such goings on, sir, and that's the truth. I'd give 'em what for if I caught 'em at it,' said the Cabby."

"And will you build a wall between Narnia and Archenland, and deport all Archenlanders who have not legally come to this country?"*

But between Uncle Andrew being planted in the ground and Frank becoming king, Aslan has to deal with Digory, as he was the one who woke Jadis and brought her into Narnia. Aslan says that Digory must find a magical tree far away, take one of its fruits, and plant it in Narnia. This tree will help protect Narnia from Jadis for hundreds of years. When Digory owns up to the role he had in waking Jadis, his exchange with Aslan is a little...disappointing.

"'She woke up,' said Digory wretchedly. And then, turning very white, 'I mean, I woke her. Because I wanted to know what would happen if I struck a bell. Polly didn't want to. It wasn't her fault. I--I fought her. I know I shouldn't have. I think I was a bit enchanted by the writing under the bell.'

'Do you?' asked Aslan; still speaking very low and deep.

'No,' said Digory. 'I see now I wasn't. I was only pretending.'"

But that was so cool! It was scary and intriguing and now you're saying that the magic was all in Digory's head?

Thanks for taking away the scariest part of the book, Aslan.

Digory, you broke Narnia. C.S. Lewis, you broke my heart.

*Please note that Donald Drumpf's point of view does not reflect the author's, and that Drumpf is a tool.**
**Though it is worth saying that the Calormenes are C.S. Lewis's view of Muslims, and are not portrayed in a flattering light. So really, building a wall between Narnia and Calormen would make more sense for this predictable joke.†
†Please don't vote for Trump. Please, please, please.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 9: Uncle Andrew is "That Guy"

In this chapter we have the first appearance of Aslan, singing the world to life. We have the stars, a young sun, grass and trees...even after all these years, it's still a magical moment. The thing that detracts from it most, however, is the characters. The children, the Cabby, and the horse all know that something important is happening, and that they are witnessing a rare and breath-taking event. Unfortunately, Uncle Andrew and Jadis can't enjoy it, and they let everyone know.

The magic in Narnia is more powerful than Jadis's own magic, but the real reason she can't stand it is because she's evil.  It doesn't get any deeper than that. It's disappointing, but I should have known to expect that by now.

I guess I just don't appreciate it when children's books treat kids like they're idiots. Children are smarter than we give them credit for, I think; they can handle a little moral ambiguity. I remember reading books like The Giver and Tuck Everlasting when I was in elementary school. Books that dealt with pretty heavy themes--euthanasia, mortality, freedom--many of which would not necessarily be called "kid-friendly". They didn't always wrap things up in neat and tidy ways, and would leave me with questions. They challenged the way I usually thought ("Why does my teacher think that Winnie dying was a happy ending?"), and helped introduce us to new ideas. You see that the world doesn't fit in nice, neat boxes, and those are the lessons--and the books--that make a real impact on you. It seems pretty obvious as I write this, considering how well I remember those books, and how much of The Magician's Nephew I forgot over the years.

Don't get me wrong--the Narnia books (at least the ones I've read) are part of a wonderful series that I hold close to my heart, and I'm really enjoying The Magician's Nephew right now. But as an adult, I can now see flaws in the books that I overlooked before.

My favorite part of this chapter was probably when the animals came to life. They rose out of the ground, and Aslan selected two of each kind to be talking animals. Uncle Andrew, however, continues to ruin the birth of a new world by freaking out. He keeps trying to get Polly and Digory to use their rings to get out of Narnia and back to their world, leaving Jadis (and the cabby) behind in Narnia. Digory doesn't want to leave, though, because he believes Aslan could help save his mother.

"Digory's heart beat wildly; he knew something very solemn was going to be done. He had not forgotten about his Mother; but he knew jolly well that, even for her, he couldn't interrupt a thing like this."

Uncle Andrew could learn something from him.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 8: Big Song Theory

Halfway through the book, and we've almost made it to Narnia!

Right now, I think Jadis is my favorite character. She's certainly the most interesting. I suspect that the real reason C.S. Lewis decided to have her return to our world with Digory and Polly is because he wanted to see what would happen if he let someone like her romp around London. I wish we hadn't had to watch Digory wait around in the previous chapter, because Jadis sounds like so much more fun. When she she finally returns to the house, it's with score of people following her, including a Cabby, police officers, and a crowd of spectators. Jadis fully believes that she's going to take over our world, and most of the people following her think this is the most entertaining thing they've seen in their lives. It takes her a minute to realize that her followers are actually laughing at her.

Digory - and Polly, who was finally allowed out of bed - finally spots a chance to take the Witch to the Woods Between the Worlds. Jadis was suffering when she last went to the Woods, probably because she's evil and that place is pure good. Digory acknowledges that it would probably be awful to abandon her there, but he doesn't know what else he can do. Digory does manage to grab Jadis and put on his yellow ring, but in the confusion ends up taking a few extras along for the ride: Polly, Uncle Andrew, the Cabby, and the Cabby's horse, Strawberry.

Maybe the most satisfying part of this scene is Uncle Andrew, finally getting a taste of his own medicine and whining about it.

"'Oh, oh, is this delirium? Is it the end? I can't bear it. It's not fair. I never meant to be a Magician. It's all a misunderstanding. It's my godmother's fault; I must protest this. In my state of health too. A very old Dorsetshire family.'"

This reminds me of playing video games with my friends as a kid, and the sore loser's cries of, "that's not fair", "you're cheating", "my controller's broken", and, the most desperate of all, "MY DAD WORKS AT NINTENDO!"

This is about as much character development that Uncle Andrew gets for the rest of the book. On one hand, it's a little unfortunate. On the other, it's kind of fun to see him miserable. He seemed like such a powerful figure when Polly and Digory first encountered him, but now he's like a small, bratty child.

One thing really intrigues me as the group is in the Woods. Strawberry begins drinking from one of the pools of water, that as we know, is a doorway to another world. My question is, what would happen if Strawberry drank the whole thing? Would the world vanish, or would it just be impossible to get to? This is what I mean when I said I thought Lewis should do more with the Woods, because it's just such  a good idea. So many questions, so many possibilities, and we'll never know the answers.

I volunteer myself to write a spin-off series that answers all the questions I have.

After a little more confusion, the all the characters leave the woods and we're...finally...almost in Narnia. Sort of.

Instead, the characters are whisked away to Nothing. They're in the dark, they're alone, and the world they've stumbled into is empty. They're not in Narnia, because Narnia doesn't exist yet. It's dark, and then they hear a noise; a song, rather.

Most of this chapter is occupied with describing this song. I remember being enchanted by this scene as a child, but I thought I would be bored reading it as an adult. I was -- as I am about many things -- wrong. The world of Narnia is being sung into life, beginning with the stars. When I was a kid, this made sense to me. I didn't know how the world began, (there was something about a Big Bang, but also something about a Garden of Eden...) so why couldn't it have started with a song? It made about as much sense as anything else.

Even if Lewis is on the "Eden" side of the road and I'm now a fan of the Big Bang, I still enjoyed this chapter. As I reflect on it here, I can actually see some similarities between the two. The both have the same theme: From Nothing, Something. And that Something started small and grew until it's the Something that we know today. The difference is the time scale. Here might be a good place to put a creationsim vs. evolution debate, and discuss the obviously correct choice. But that's a little weighty for discussing a children's book, particularly a children's book where one of the characters is Jesus with four legs and fur.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 6: Plus One

We're a third of the way through the book, and I'm getting pumped to go back to Narnia! Digory and Polly haven't quite escaped the clutches of Jadis, but they're able to escape back to the Woods Between the Worlds and...return to London?

Wait, when do they go to Narnia? No, seriously, I read this, I know Digory and Polly accidentally take the Witch to Narnia. Why are they going back to London?

Well, it turns out I forgot a lot more details in this book than I realized.

The children and Jadis wind up back in Uncle Andrew's study, and it becomes immediately apparent that Uncle Andrew just got a lot more than he bargained for.

"In Charn she had been alarming enough: in London, she was terrifying. For one thing, they had not realized till now how very big she was. 'Hardly human' was what Digory thought when he looked at her; and he may have been right, for some say there is giantish blood in the royal family of Charn. But even her height was was nothing compared with her beauty, her fierceness, and her wildness. She looked ten times more alive than most of the people one meets in London."

Maybe that description is a bit cliche now, but I love it. Jadis's presence also puts Uncle Andrew in his place pretty quickly. I like the contrast between the two. When Digory and Polly see Uncle Andrew in the beginning of the book, they see him as someone frighting and powerful. Compared to Jadis, he's weak and cowardly. And, it would appear, not too bright, either.

"Children have one kind of silliness, as you know, and grown-ups have another kind. Uncle Andrew was beginning to be silly in a very grown-up kind of way."

I'll give my compliments to Lewis for that one. Not only does he capture the magic of childhood, but also at least one true fact about adulthood as well: that we have no idea what we're really doing, but pretend that we do.

We also see more of Uncle Andrew's character; along with being totally unprepared to deal with the consequences of meddling with magic, it turns out he's pretty lousy at being...well, being an adult. It's not just the "silliness" of thinking that Jadis would fall in love with him, but you can see it in other details. In one side note, the narrator says that Uncle Andrew has blown through his own money, and quite a bit of his sister's.

Honestly, I'm a little disappointed that Uncle Andrew ends up being this pathetic. He looks small, literally and figuratively, next to Jadis, and is something of a fraud when it comes to being a true Magician. But he was able to use magic to send the children to another world, and have them return (with an unexpected plus one). Using magic in a world where none exists is pretty awesome, even if he was a schmuck about it. But as soon as Jadis comes into the picture, everything interesting and intriguing about him is out the window.

I guess the moral here is: Playing with magic can be cool, but you're a jerk and not as cool as you think you are.

That's a strange lesson.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 5: The Queen Said One Word, You Won't BELIEVE What Happens Next

I remember a fair bit about this book since I last read it. Digory and Polly wake up the evil witch Jadis, and they inadvertently take her to the new world of Narnia. I remember that it was Jadis's spell that put everyone to sleep, and left Charn in ruins.

What I didn't remember was how scary Jadis actually was before Digory and Polly found her. This chapter is dedicated to her backstory, and elucidates how Charn became frozen as it is now. Unfortunately, it doesn't give us an explanation as to why the people sitting outside her chamber start out looking kind and end up looking cruel. I suppose it was just used as a build-up to end in Jadis. That's understandable, because this is a children's book. I'm a little disappointed that there's no (apparent) deeper meaning behind this, because I'm an adult reading a children's book and expecting more depth than the author provides.

Jadis tells us that she and her sister were feuding for the throne,  giving us images that are a bit...graphic for a children's novel.

"'I have stood here (but that was near the very end) when the roar of battle went up from every street and the river of Charn ran red.'" 

Holy hell. I know that children's literature isn't sunshine and roses all the time, but that's pretty dark.

Like Uncle Andrew, Jadis's backstory has a backstory, and holes that I desperately want filled in. It also shows us that she's completely evil. I've been reading Clash of Kings, and some of the dialogue she has sounds like it would fit perfectly into the Game of Thrones series.

"'Then I spoke the Deplorable Word. A moment later I was the only living thing under the sun.'

'But the people?' gasped Digory.

'What people, boy?' asked the Queen.

'All the ordinary people,' said Polly, 'who'd never done you any harm. And the women, and the children, and the animals.'

'Do you understand?' said the Queen (still speaking to Digory). 'I was the Queen. They were all my people. What else were they there for but to do my will? [. . .] You must learn, child, that what would be wrong for any of the common people is not wrong in a great Queen such as I. The weight of the world is on our shoulders. We must be freed from all rules.'"

It's probably not fair to compare the two, but that mentality is basically the reason everyone in  A Song of Ice and Fire gets screwed over.

Jadis tells the children that there is a word--a "Deplorable Word"-- that is so powerful it would end Charn. The Word itself is a deep, dark secret that only the most powerful magicians in Charn ever knew it. And while we're comparing Narnia to things that Narnia shouldn't be compared to, it reminds me of the Monty Python sketch about the funniest joke in the world, which is so funny, you'll die when you hear it.

Most of Charn's magicians refused to learn the Word, and it was forbidden to ever use. Jadis didn't share their reluctance, and set out on an epic quest to learn the Word, and...

"'It was the secret of secrets,' said the Queen Jadis. 'It had long been known to the great kings of our race that there was a word, which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it. But the ancient kings were weak and soft-hearted and bound themselves and all who should come after them with great oaths never even to seek after the knowledge of that word. But I learned it in a secret place and paid a terrible price to learn it.'"

...Really? That's it?

This entire chapter is the story of how Charn ended up in this state, and we don't get to see the most interesting and intriguing part. Hell, we're not even told why Jadis was fighting her sister. I would probably read a whole book on Jadis's rise into power, her learning the Word, and killing Charn with it. That sounds like an awesome story. Or maybe a terribly generic one, but at least I'd get some of my questions answered.

Excuse me, I need to go and write a fanfiction now about Jadis's backstory.

The Magician's Nephew Chapter 4: Curiosity Killed the Kids

The first pool that Digory and Polly jump into is the wrong one. The story would be very different if they'd gone to any other world, but then, they'd never make it to Narnia without going into this one first. Polly and Digory enter the world of Charn, and it's...chilling.

Everything about this world is old and still. They wander through ruins, and there's absolutely no sound. There's no people, no animals, nothing but empty courtyards. Even the light in this world is described as feeling old, as well as reddish. That last detail is more unnerving to me now that it was as a kid. I don't know how much C.S. Lewis knew about astronomy, but the red light makes me think of Red Giants: cool, dying stars, millions of years old. It's not just an old world, it's a dying one.

I was a little wary about re-reading the Narnia books at first, because of the narrator. The last book in the series I read, Prince Caspian, I found the narrator so annoying, I wish I could have skipped the descriptions altogether.  Lewis uses an intrusive narrator to tell the story, and he's not shy about making his presence known. I won't go as far to say that the book's written in first person, but every so often someone - referring to themselves as "I" - pops his head in and gives you his frank opinion on the matter at hand. Either there's not as much of it as there was in Prince Caspian, or it doesn't bother me as much now. It can be a little jarring, but I don't actively hate it. It makes me think of a grandfather telling his grandkids this story, which is probably the way Lewis intended it to be. There's a warmth to it, and it makes me think of my dad, reading this book to me when I was sick. On the other hand, it also allows Lewis to be a bit lazier with his writing, and he sometimes uses it to avoid writing in-depth descriptions, or to fast-forward scenes.

"If you were interested in clothes at all, you could hardly help going to see them closer. [. . .] I can hardly describe the clothes. The figures were all robed and had crowns on their heads."

Digory and Polly inspect the rows of people who resemble wax sculptures. It becomes apparent that they're all set up in a particular order. First come people whose faces are kind, and look like the type of person you might want to have a cup of tea with. But as they continue, the faces get crueler and crueler, until they finally reach the most beautiful - and cruelest - looking person of all.

In a lot of fairy tales (and Disney movies), your inside matches your outside. That is, the more evil you are, the uglier you are. Of course, all the high school outcasts like myself know that the opposite is true, and it's the pretty girls who are the mean ones. I'm glad to see Lewis didn't fall into the same cliche of beautiful people being good, and ugly ones being evil. Perhaps it's too predictable.

It's been a long time since I read this book, and I've forgotten a lot of the details. It's sort of nice, actually; it's almost like reading it for the first time again. The order that Digory and Polly find the frozen people in seems important, starting with the kind people and ending with the evilest. I wonder if there's a point to be made here that I haven't picked up on, or if it'll be revealed why they're arranged in this way. I hope it's explained.

This chapter also played on a fear that I didn't even know I had until I read this book. Digory and Polly come across a bell, a hammer, and a poem:

"Make your choice, adventurous Stranger;
Strike the bell and bide the danger,
Or wonder, til it drives you mad,
What would have followed if you had."

Polly doesn't want to ring the bell; she wants to put on her yellow ring and leave this world. Digory, on the other hand, already feels the magic start to work on him. After an argument with Polly, he rings it, mostly out of spite. After a couple paragraphs describing the sounds it makes, the ruins start collapsing around them.

The choice here is that you can either ring the bell, and something terrible will happen, or go crazy wondering what that terrible thing would have been. I think we all deal with "what-ifs" and "might-have-beens", and they can gnaw away at you. That's bad enough, but when something is magically cursed to make you perpetually wonder what would have happened if you walked away... well, I've never had much willpower, so I would probably give into the temptation of ringing the bell. But the idea of losing my mind, even as a kid, was scarier than the potential risk of whatever would happen when that bell rings. If there's actual, physical danger, then you can find a way to escape it. If it's in your mind, how do you fight it, and will you ever be free of it?

Again, this is one of the hazards of traveling to a new world. I'll have to be very careful not to read any cursed poems that will drive me mad.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 3: Pool Party

It took two chapters, but the adventure has finally begun. Digory takes two green rings, one for himself and one for Polly, puts on a yellow ring, and winds up in the "Other Place". This is one of my favorite things in this book series: the Woods Between the Worlds. Even the name sounds magical.

Digory finds himself, not in Narnia, but in a lush forest. There are shallow pools of water every few feet, and the place is so quiet, it's as though you can hear the trees growing. As enchanting as it sounds, though, the Woods Between the Worlds scared me as a child. Digory isn't there long before he starts to forget who he is, or why he came here.  He finds Polly in a similar state, half-asleep, and she doesn't recognize him. When they see that they're both wearing yellow rings, their memories are jogged, and they remember who they are and what they're supposed to be doing.

While I was still hoping that I'd find a magical world in the back of my closet as a child, this scene helped me be aware of all the risks that might entail. I obviously knew that I'd be charging into battle to fight against evil, but I didn't think of all the obstacles that would come before that. If I ever traveled a magical world, I would have to bring a friend with me, in case I wound up in the Woods Between the Worlds. I also really hoped that friend would be a unicorn.

I love the idea of the Woods Between the Worlds, though. Each pool of water is an entrance to a different world, provided you have your magic ring on. The Woods seem to stretch on endlessly, with pools every few feet. There are so many worlds that the children would just be able to walk into, which is a dizzying thought. As they're about to try one out, Polly suggests that Digory marks their own pool of water, so they can find their way back home.

I rather like Polly. She seems like the brighter of two, and maybe even the braver.

The Magician's Nephew was the second-to-last book written in the Narnia series, which means that Lewis most likely hadn't thought of the Woods Between the Worlds before then. It's a bit of a shame, I think, because it's too good of an idea to waste. With endless worlds you could literally jump into, you could spend a lifetime exploring in the Woods and never visit the same place twice. Hence why it's so important for Digory to mark the pool that will take him and Polly home, when they're ready. That's another scary thought: losing your world, and trying for the rest of your life to find the right pool and get back home. Even though that sounds like it would make a great story, that was another childhood fear of mine.When I discovered a new world (because I knew it would happen, someday) I would also have to take precautions to get home. Because as much fun as exploring other worlds is, sometimes you just need to sleep in your own bed.

The Magician's Nephew, Chapter 2: Ethics Review Board

We've made it the second chapter, and we're on the cusp of the true adventure. Digory's the nephew, and we at last get to meet the Magician. His name is Uncle Andrew, and he's as close to a mad scientist as the Narnia series gets. He's got crazy, fly-away gray hair, everyone around him thinks he's mad, and is, in fact, something of a genius. Before wardrobes and strange cupboards at school, Uncle Andrew figured out a way to send people to someplace...else. He doesn't quite know what that other place is, but he's more than willing to use Digory and Polly as his human guinea pigs.

Most of the second chapter is dedicated to Uncle Andrew explaining how he was able to make magic rings that could travel between the worlds. He received an ancient box from his godmother (who was said to actually have fairy blood), containing dust from Atlantis. After many years of study, learning everything he could about magic, he created several yellow and green rings. The yellow would send anyone who touched it to the "Other Place", and the green ring would, in theory, bring them home again. Before Polly and Digory accidentally found their way into his study, Uncle Andrew had only tested the yellow rings on literal guinea pigs. They all vanished, but none of them returned. Unsuspecting Polly became his first human test subject, when she takes a yellow ring, and disappears from the study, and the universe altogether.

I remember not liking this chapter very much. To me, it cemented Uncle Andrew as a villain in the story (and what nine-year-old likes villains?), and the attention was all on him. When I read it now, I really enjoyed it. In fact, I wanted more.

"'Meanwhile,' continued Uncle Andrew, 'I was learning a good deal in other ways (it wouldn't be proper to explain them to a child) about Magic in general. [. . .] I had to get to know some--well, some devilish queer people, and go through some very disagreeable experiences.'"

Okay, so we're in London, in a world without magic. Uncle Andrew has found a way to use magic to send people to other worlds, and it's suggested that the way he learned things was not on the up-and-up. Tell me that backstory doesn't intrigue you. Who are these people, what are these disagreeable experiences? I want to know!  C.S. Lewis should have just skipped writing The Horse and His Boy and given us Uncle Andrew's story instead. There's no room for moral ambiguity in the Narnia series, though, so he wouldn't be an acceptable Lewis protagonist. And it's made very clear that even though Uncle Andrew is, in fact, "beastly" for sending Polly to another world without telling her what she's getting into.

This is exactly the reason why we have ethics review boards. Sure, they might stop you from doing some of the really fun social experiments, but at least you won't wind up in a different universe when you're filling out questionnaires with Lickert scales.

Wait, is there actually an experiment out there that can send me to a magical world? SIGN ME UP!

Unless you're sending me to Westeros.