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 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 Newphew, Chapter 1: Growing Up is Hard To Do

I've always loved fantasy stories, and I think one of the most influential ones in my life has been The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis. All told, I would read the first four (in chronological order) of The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe; The Horse and His Boy; Prince Caspian. I never quite made it to the three final books, though I owned them all. If anyone ever asked me which book was my favorite (and no one ever did), I would have told them The Magician's Nephew. It was the first in the Narnia series that I ever read, and it opened up a world of magic to me.

When I was in grade school, my Aunt Linda was sick with ovarian cancer. I spent many weekends traveling to hospitals two or three hours away from home to see her. It was a hard time for me, and I think one of the reasons I really fell in love with fantasy books was because I needed some magic in my life.

Right from the first few pages of this book, though, I realized that it wasn't just a need to escape that compelled me to read -- and love -- this book as a child. When the main character, Digory, meets his friend Polly for the first time, she can see that he's been crying. He explains:

"'And so would you [. . .] if your father was away in India--and you had to come and live with an Aunt and an Uncle who's mad (who would like that?)--and if the reason was that they were looking after your Mother--and if your Mother was ill and going to--going to--die.'"

Well, shit. Already something I could relate to, and we're only on page six.

I also forgot how quickly children's books start. Digory and Polly meet, they're friends, they go explore houses. There's not much build-up before they reach Uncle Andrew's study and begin their real adventure.

Now, there's plenty of criticism about C.S. Lewis, but there is at least one thing he does right: captures the enchantment of childhood. Polly has a secret "cave" in the attic of her house, and it's a place that I would have loved to have as a child. Re-reading this, I still wish I had a place like this.

"Polly had used the bit of the tunnel just beside the cistern as a smugglers' cave. She had brought up bits of old packing cases and the seats of broken kitchen chairs, and things of that sort, and spread them across from rafter to rafter so as to make a bit of floor. Here she kept a cash-box containing various treasures, and a story she was writing and usually a few apples. She had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the old bottles made it look more like a smugglers' cave."

A cozy hideaway, a space just for you to be alone in. And there's something about making this in her attic that makes it truly child-like. Perhaps because even if I had a hide-out like that as a kid, I wouldn't be able to fit into it as an adult. If I did, and I returned to it, it would be a place full of nostalgia, certainly, but not a place of wonder as it once had been.

Childhood is a common theme throughout the Narnia series. Peter and Susan get booted out of Narnia at the end of Prince Caspian because they're too old, and the only people who can save Narnia are children. There's a little sadness when it comes to leaving your childhood behind, knowing that magic isn't really real, that you'll never find a secret world in your closet or get a letter delivered by owl. (My owl with my Hogwarts letter just got lost! I swear!) There's one passage in the first chapter that captures this exquisitely, when Digory and Polly are discussing what might be in the empty house they're trying to sneak into.

"'But I don't expect it's really empty at all,' said Digory.

'What do you expect?'

'I expect someone lives there in secret, only coming in and out at night, with a dark lantern. We shall probably discover a gang of desperate criminals and get a reward. It's all rot to say a house would be empty all those years unless there was some mystery.'

'Daddy thought it must be the drains,' said Polly.

'Pooh! Grown-ups are always thinking of uninteresting explanations,' said Digory."  

When we talk about the end of childhood, we talk about children losing their innocence, or gaining responsibilities. Maybe every so often, we should think about their imaginations, too, and keeping our own ones intact. 

We all have to grow up, but our imaginations don't have to be a casualty of adulthood.