Chapter Summary:
This chapter opens with the timeline of Edmund's escape from the Beaver's house (he had indeed heard about the meeting at the Stone Table and about Aslan's arrival). Edmund hikes through the cold and snowy land, which is growing quickly dark, in the direction of the Witch's palace. During his march, he justifies to himself his reasons for betraying his siblings.
Suddenly the Witch's palace comes into view. Edmund circles it, and enters into an open archway on the far side of the castle. Edmund is initially spooked by a lion in the courtyard, but he quickly realizes that it is made of stone, and he draws on it with a pencil. He notices that the courtyard is filled with stone animals and beings of all different types.
Upon trying to step over a wolf (which Edmund thought was stone), the wolf awakens. The wolf, named Maugrim, is Chief of the Witch's police and is both startled and enraged by Edmund's presence. Edmund states his errand, and the wolf then goes into the palace and returns to grant Edmund access to the Witch. Edmund meets with the Witch and tells her that his siblings are nearby at the Beaver house and that Aslan is coming. The Witch is angry that Edmund came alone, but shouts to her dwarf to ready her sleigh.
Reflection:
This chapter would be another good time to talk about premeditation versus chance versus fate. For instance, I think it's rather telling that when Edmund is traveling across the barren, snowy country that the heavy snow suddenly and arbitrarily stops and the sky clears, allowing Edmund to find the Witch's palace. Since the text says that Edmund could not see even three feet in front of him, we can assume that unless the snow had stopped, Edmund might not have made it to the Witch's palace (or anywhere, for that matter). Indeed, the narrator says that Edmund "would never have found his way if the moon hadn't come out by the time he got to the other river" (p. 103).
And speaking of fate, how realistic is it that Edmund was somehow able to sneak out of the Beaver's house, right under the nose of his three siblings and the two Beavers, one of whom was already suspicious of him? Much like the progression of events leading up to Jesus's death in the Gospels, it seems that the events that are occurring in Narnia were fated to occur, and that they continue to occur in spite of the unlikelihood of their occurrence.
By the end of the chapter, we have come to the point where the events of the rest of the chapter now seem to be set in motion--past the point of no return, if you will. Once the betrayal has been done, there is no doubt what the Witch will do, and the result is the plot of the remainder of the book.
And all of this is in spite of the ridiculous number of "THIS IS EVIL AND YOU SHOULD STOP" indicators along the way--between the ominous castle (which Edmund is frightened of), the courtyard filled with stone creatures, the wolf-guard, and the angry Queen/Witch, you would think that Edmund would get the message loud and clear. The narrator even tells us that toward the beginning of Edmund's march, he knew "deep down inside him ... that the White Witch was bad and cruel" (p. 102). Nevertheless, Edmund marches on. Whether it is predestined or not, Edmund ignores sign after sign until he betrays his siblings to the Witch.
I suppose we ought to cut him a little slack. Edmund is probably no more than about ten years old, and we are told that he doesn't really think that the Witch will do anything too horrible to his siblings.
Anyway, I don't think I'm going in any particular direction with this reflection at this point. I just think it's interesting to speculate about how much of the plot is completely out of the control of the four children--I would venture to guess that the answer is "most of it."
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Wednesday, July 30, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 8: What Happened after Dinner
Chapter Summary:
The chapter begins after the four children and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver finish dinner. Mr. Beaver explains that Mr. Tumnus has likely been taken to the White Witch's house, where the Witch keeps a courtyard full of people she has turned into stone. The children want to go try and save Mr. Tumnus, but Mr. Beaver says that their best chance is to go meet Aslan, which they plan to do the next day.
Mr. Beaver explains that Aslan is a lion and the King of Narnia--and that he has returned to Narnia to meet with the four children the next day at a location called the Stone Table.
The children also learn that their peril in Narnia is due to a few prophesies. One prophesy says that when Aslan returns, winter will finally end. Another says that when humans return to Cair Paravel (royal palace of Narnia) that a time of evil will end. And a third prophesy says that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve will sit on the four thrones at Cair Paravel, at which time the White Witch's reign and life will end.
Suddenly, everyone notices that Edmund is gone. Mr. Beaver confirms with Peter, Susan, and Lucy that Edmund had been to Narnia before, but had never spoken about who he met or what he did. Mr. Beaver points out that there is no need to search; he is certain that Edmund has gone to betray them to the White Witch (he could see treachery in Edmund's eyes). There is also much discussion about how much Edmund heard of the conversation about Aslan and the prophesies.
Mr. and Mrs. Beaver agree that their best chance of survival is to set out for the Stone Table immediately (though there is disagreement about whether the Witch will come to the Beaver home first or go directly to the Stone Table once Edmund has betrayed them).
Reflection:
Judging not only from the length of my chapter summary above, but also from my own reading of the chapter, I would venture to say that this is the most plot-filled chapter of the entire book (perhaps the entire series) thus far. This chapter focuses a great deal not only on Narnian history and lore, but we learn a great deal about the White Witch and Aslan as well. Any moderately well-read person of any age can also see into the future of the story by reading this chapter. Ultimately, we are pretty sure we know what is going to happen, we just don't know how it's going to happen--and we definitely don't know what's going to happen afterwards (there are, after all, 5 more books after this one).
I don't think there's going to be much focus to today's reflection (is there ever, really?). Instead, I think it will be fun to take a look at a couple of my favorite passages from this chapter, because I have quite a few. Here's the first one, in which Mr. Beaver is talking about the White Witch:
Here's another interesting one:
With that in mind, it is ironic that it is likely Peter, Susan, and Lucy's failure to forgive Edmund with any due haste that leads to his ultimate decision to betray them. I wonder what would have happened if they had forgiven Edmund as quickly as Lucy forgave Peter for not believing her tale about the wardrobe.
The chapter begins after the four children and Mr. and Mrs. Beaver finish dinner. Mr. Beaver explains that Mr. Tumnus has likely been taken to the White Witch's house, where the Witch keeps a courtyard full of people she has turned into stone. The children want to go try and save Mr. Tumnus, but Mr. Beaver says that their best chance is to go meet Aslan, which they plan to do the next day.
Mr. Beaver explains that Aslan is a lion and the King of Narnia--and that he has returned to Narnia to meet with the four children the next day at a location called the Stone Table.
The children also learn that their peril in Narnia is due to a few prophesies. One prophesy says that when Aslan returns, winter will finally end. Another says that when humans return to Cair Paravel (royal palace of Narnia) that a time of evil will end. And a third prophesy says that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve will sit on the four thrones at Cair Paravel, at which time the White Witch's reign and life will end.
Suddenly, everyone notices that Edmund is gone. Mr. Beaver confirms with Peter, Susan, and Lucy that Edmund had been to Narnia before, but had never spoken about who he met or what he did. Mr. Beaver points out that there is no need to search; he is certain that Edmund has gone to betray them to the White Witch (he could see treachery in Edmund's eyes). There is also much discussion about how much Edmund heard of the conversation about Aslan and the prophesies.
Mr. and Mrs. Beaver agree that their best chance of survival is to set out for the Stone Table immediately (though there is disagreement about whether the Witch will come to the Beaver home first or go directly to the Stone Table once Edmund has betrayed them).
Reflection:
Judging not only from the length of my chapter summary above, but also from my own reading of the chapter, I would venture to say that this is the most plot-filled chapter of the entire book (perhaps the entire series) thus far. This chapter focuses a great deal not only on Narnian history and lore, but we learn a great deal about the White Witch and Aslan as well. Any moderately well-read person of any age can also see into the future of the story by reading this chapter. Ultimately, we are pretty sure we know what is going to happen, we just don't know how it's going to happen--and we definitely don't know what's going to happen afterwards (there are, after all, 5 more books after this one).
I don't think there's going to be much focus to today's reflection (is there ever, really?). Instead, I think it will be fun to take a look at a couple of my favorite passages from this chapter, because I have quite a few. Here's the first one, in which Mr. Beaver is talking about the White Witch:
"But in general, take my advice, when you meet anything that's going to be human and isn't yet, or used to be human once and isn't now, or ought to be human and isn't, you keep your eyes on it and feel for your hatchet" (p. 100).I'm pretty sure Voldemort would fall into most of those categories. Or pretty much any fictitious villain ever. But that's precisely what I think it neat about this quotation--it really does cover pretty much every fantasy-based villain ever imagined. This is what stories tell us is most consistent about villains--in the midst of their villainous behavior, they lose track of what it means to be themselves (which is often human, except in cases like Gollum, who loses track of what it means to be a hobbit). Even the vampire craze of the last ten years (thanks a lot, Twilight) has been consistent with this one.
Here's another interesting one:
"Then mark my words ... he has already met the White Witch and joined her side, and been told where she lives. I didn't like to mention it before (he being your brother and all) but the moment I set eyes on that brother of yours I said to myself 'Treacherous.' He had the look of one who has been with the Witch and eaten her food. You can always tell them if you've lived long in Narnia; something about their eyes" (p. 101).What Mr. Beaver says here is interesting, because he has made a great deal of correct assumptions in this short passage (and to this point we have nothing to lead us to believe that Mr. Beaver has any sort of psychic or prophetic abilities). He correctly assumes that (1) Edmund has met the White Witch, (2) that he knows where she lives, (3) that Edmund intended treachery, and (4) that Edmund had eaten the Witch's food. He deduces all of this simply by looking at Edmund's eyes. A good deal has been written about eyes in a variety of novels (can anyone say Dr. T.J. Eckleberg?)--and throughout these novels the eyes are often equated with the way things really are (Harry Potter fans remember Snape's last words). It all comes from the cliched statement that eyes are the window to the soul--whatever that means--and I think this is probably what C.S. Lewis has in mind here. Unfortunately for Edmund, he is off to play his role as Judas, and his siblings have noticed far, far too late.
With that in mind, it is ironic that it is likely Peter, Susan, and Lucy's failure to forgive Edmund with any due haste that leads to his ultimate decision to betray them. I wonder what would have happened if they had forgiven Edmund as quickly as Lucy forgave Peter for not believing her tale about the wardrobe.
Tuesday, July 29, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 7: A Day with the Beavers
Chapter Summary:
The chapter begins with the four children following the robin through the woods of Narnia, when suddenly the robin disappears and the children see a beaver beckoning to them from behind some trees. The children decide to follow the beaver, who leads them into thicker parts of the woods.
The beaver confirms with the children that they are Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. The beaver explains that even some of the trees are on the side of the Witch, but that rumor has it that Aslan is coming (this gives the children unexplained warm fuzzy feelings, except Edmund who feels afraid). The beaver explains that Mr. Tumnus gave him orders to find the children if they ever entered Narnia (his proof is Lucy's handkerchief, which she had left with Mr. Tumnus after their first visit).
Mr. Beaver then takes the children to his home--a dam on the (quite frozen) river, where Mrs. Beaver is waiting. Edmund notices that the way to the White Witch's palace is just beyond the dam. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver then treat the children to a dinner of fresh fish, potatoes, rolls, and hot tea.
Reflection:
The protagonist of this chapter is not Peter, Susan, Edmund, or Lucy. No, it's not even Mr. or Mrs. Beaver, nor the robin, nor Mr. Tumnus or Aslan. You probably can't tell from my summary above, but the real highlight of this chapter is the food. Sounds a bit silly perhaps, but Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy mention hunger no less than four times in this chapter, and a full 25% of the chapter (the last quarter) is spent describing the incredible meal being served by Mr. & Mrs. Beaver.
I will say that C.S. Lewis is awfully practical. I often find it amusing that the characters in many stories never seem to have to eat (or it's just so completely irrelevant that the details are left out). The Harry Potter series attends to food somewhat--most often in the setting of grand meals in the great hall of Hogwarts. But in Narnia, food is something that is important, and when it's forgotten (like in real life), people get hungry! I appreciate this, because it's realistic. Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy might be in a different world with a different time scheme, but that doesn't mean that their stomachs don't get grumbly after 3-4 hours. (Edmund might even be getting a little hangry... I just wanted to use the word hangry. It's hungry + angry.)
Now all the details about the food at the end of the chapter--I'm not as much of a fan of. (C.S. Lewis has gone a little Charles Dickens on us for a few paragraphs. I get that you can do imagery and I get that you like adjectives, but I don't need six of them to describe dinner rolls, even if they're the best dinner rolls I've ever had.) Perhaps the details are useful for some reason later in the story that I'm currently unaware of, but I don't think so. If I can't taste the food, I don't want to hear all about it. Hmm, I think I might be getting hangry.
Anyway, cheers to the unsung hero of chapter seven--the food. Most stories just go on without it, but C.S. Lewis wants Narnia to be a realistic country in many ways, and to be realistic, food must be eaten when the kiddos get hungry. Thank goodness they ran into Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, or they would be up a frozen creek, without... ice skates? Certainly a paddle wouldn't help.
The chapter begins with the four children following the robin through the woods of Narnia, when suddenly the robin disappears and the children see a beaver beckoning to them from behind some trees. The children decide to follow the beaver, who leads them into thicker parts of the woods.
The beaver confirms with the children that they are Sons of Adam and Daughters of Eve. The beaver explains that even some of the trees are on the side of the Witch, but that rumor has it that Aslan is coming (this gives the children unexplained warm fuzzy feelings, except Edmund who feels afraid). The beaver explains that Mr. Tumnus gave him orders to find the children if they ever entered Narnia (his proof is Lucy's handkerchief, which she had left with Mr. Tumnus after their first visit).
Mr. Beaver then takes the children to his home--a dam on the (quite frozen) river, where Mrs. Beaver is waiting. Edmund notices that the way to the White Witch's palace is just beyond the dam. Mr. and Mrs. Beaver then treat the children to a dinner of fresh fish, potatoes, rolls, and hot tea.
Reflection:
The protagonist of this chapter is not Peter, Susan, Edmund, or Lucy. No, it's not even Mr. or Mrs. Beaver, nor the robin, nor Mr. Tumnus or Aslan. You probably can't tell from my summary above, but the real highlight of this chapter is the food. Sounds a bit silly perhaps, but Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy mention hunger no less than four times in this chapter, and a full 25% of the chapter (the last quarter) is spent describing the incredible meal being served by Mr. & Mrs. Beaver.
I will say that C.S. Lewis is awfully practical. I often find it amusing that the characters in many stories never seem to have to eat (or it's just so completely irrelevant that the details are left out). The Harry Potter series attends to food somewhat--most often in the setting of grand meals in the great hall of Hogwarts. But in Narnia, food is something that is important, and when it's forgotten (like in real life), people get hungry! I appreciate this, because it's realistic. Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy might be in a different world with a different time scheme, but that doesn't mean that their stomachs don't get grumbly after 3-4 hours. (Edmund might even be getting a little hangry... I just wanted to use the word hangry. It's hungry + angry.)
Now all the details about the food at the end of the chapter--I'm not as much of a fan of. (C.S. Lewis has gone a little Charles Dickens on us for a few paragraphs. I get that you can do imagery and I get that you like adjectives, but I don't need six of them to describe dinner rolls, even if they're the best dinner rolls I've ever had.) Perhaps the details are useful for some reason later in the story that I'm currently unaware of, but I don't think so. If I can't taste the food, I don't want to hear all about it. Hmm, I think I might be getting hangry.
Anyway, cheers to the unsung hero of chapter seven--the food. Most stories just go on without it, but C.S. Lewis wants Narnia to be a realistic country in many ways, and to be realistic, food must be eaten when the kiddos get hungry. Thank goodness they ran into Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, or they would be up a frozen creek, without... ice skates? Certainly a paddle wouldn't help.
Monday, July 28, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 6: Into the Forest
Chapter Summary:
The chapter begins with all four children in the wardrobe hiding from Mrs. Macready's tour. Suddenly, the four children find themselves in Narnia. Peter apologizes to Lucy. They all put on fur coats from the wardrobe and begin to explore. Edmund accidentally lets slip that he has been to Narnia before, and he is immediately shunned by his siblings for being cruel to Lucy.
Lucy leads her siblings to Mr. Tumnus's house, but they find that it has been destroyed. A notice reads that Mr. Tumnus has been arrested for treason against the Queen (for harboring spies and meeting with humans) and is awaiting trial. Lucy explains who the Queen/Witch is, and is then determined to go rescue Mr. Tumnus.
The children then see a robin nearby and Lucy speculates that animals may speak in Narnia. She asks if the robin could lead them to Mr. Tumnus, and the robin promptly begins to lead them along a path through the forest. During their walk, Edmund mentions to Peter the danger of following an unknown guide and wonders which 'side' (Mr. Tumnus or the White Witch) is the 'right' side.
Reflection:
In this chapter, we see Edmund continue down a very dangerous path--filled with lies and secrets. As most lies of any substance are prone to do, Edmund's former travel into Narnia is revealed when Edmund says "oughtn't we to be bearing a bit more to the left, that is, if we are aiming for the lamp-post?" (p 92). As soon as he says this, Edmund's lie is gone, but his secret (his meeting with the White Witch) remains, as well as his motive (get his siblings to the White Witch's house). Interestingly, Peter, Susan, and Lucy react to Edmund's lie as a form of betrayal (particularly against Lucy). In his anger, Edmund plans an even larger betrayal--that is, to bring his siblings to the White Witch's house, which I would suspect, deep down, Edmund knows is a rather bad idea (at the least, a selfish one).
Thus, Edmund is on the treadmill of lies, secrets, and betrayal--his lie is revealed, he is treated as one who betrays, and then in his anger he plots a larger betrayal. The situation looks pretty bleak for Edmund, unfortunately (and it is, which we will learn in later chapters).
The good news is that because this is a children's book, we can probably count on Edmund's eventual redemption from his lie/secret/betray treadmill (I won't spoil the outcome). After all, this is an important lesson for people of any age to learn--no matter how much you screw up, there are always ways to seek forgiveness, redeem yourself, and get off of the treadmill--whatever treadmill that might be.
But Edmund has a long way to go until he gets to that point. He could learn a thing or two from observing his siblings, but his pride prevents him. Look at the very first thing that happens when Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy emerge into Narnia together for the first time:
But--Edmund doesn't watch and learn. Which brings me to an interesting point. In the Bible, while no one ever sympathizes with Judas, who betrays Jesus, the fact that he does is meant to be--there is nothing that can prevent it, and it must happen in order for Jesus's death, resurrection, and so forth. Thus, in a very backwards way, does Judas initialize something that would have happened anyway? If he didn't do it, certainly someone would have done it, right? And if no one ever did it, would Jesus have ever died and risen? Similar questions surround Edmund. Is he predetermined to run on his treadmill of lies/secrets/betrayal? After all, much evil will come of his actions, but much good will as well. (I realize I've spent a paragraph on what the church has been asking for thousands of years, and I know I don't do it justice, nor am I trying to do so--just something to think about as it relates to TCON.)
The chapter begins with all four children in the wardrobe hiding from Mrs. Macready's tour. Suddenly, the four children find themselves in Narnia. Peter apologizes to Lucy. They all put on fur coats from the wardrobe and begin to explore. Edmund accidentally lets slip that he has been to Narnia before, and he is immediately shunned by his siblings for being cruel to Lucy.
Lucy leads her siblings to Mr. Tumnus's house, but they find that it has been destroyed. A notice reads that Mr. Tumnus has been arrested for treason against the Queen (for harboring spies and meeting with humans) and is awaiting trial. Lucy explains who the Queen/Witch is, and is then determined to go rescue Mr. Tumnus.
The children then see a robin nearby and Lucy speculates that animals may speak in Narnia. She asks if the robin could lead them to Mr. Tumnus, and the robin promptly begins to lead them along a path through the forest. During their walk, Edmund mentions to Peter the danger of following an unknown guide and wonders which 'side' (Mr. Tumnus or the White Witch) is the 'right' side.
Reflection:
In this chapter, we see Edmund continue down a very dangerous path--filled with lies and secrets. As most lies of any substance are prone to do, Edmund's former travel into Narnia is revealed when Edmund says "oughtn't we to be bearing a bit more to the left, that is, if we are aiming for the lamp-post?" (p 92). As soon as he says this, Edmund's lie is gone, but his secret (his meeting with the White Witch) remains, as well as his motive (get his siblings to the White Witch's house). Interestingly, Peter, Susan, and Lucy react to Edmund's lie as a form of betrayal (particularly against Lucy). In his anger, Edmund plans an even larger betrayal--that is, to bring his siblings to the White Witch's house, which I would suspect, deep down, Edmund knows is a rather bad idea (at the least, a selfish one).
Thus, Edmund is on the treadmill of lies, secrets, and betrayal--his lie is revealed, he is treated as one who betrays, and then in his anger he plots a larger betrayal. The situation looks pretty bleak for Edmund, unfortunately (and it is, which we will learn in later chapters).
The good news is that because this is a children's book, we can probably count on Edmund's eventual redemption from his lie/secret/betray treadmill (I won't spoil the outcome). After all, this is an important lesson for people of any age to learn--no matter how much you screw up, there are always ways to seek forgiveness, redeem yourself, and get off of the treadmill--whatever treadmill that might be.
But Edmund has a long way to go until he gets to that point. He could learn a thing or two from observing his siblings, but his pride prevents him. Look at the very first thing that happens when Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy emerge into Narnia together for the first time:
"Peter turned at once to Lucy.
'I apologize for not believing you,' he said, 'I'm sorry. Will you shake hands?'
'Of course,' said Lucy, and did" (p. 92).The very first action that is taken by Peter upon entering Narnia is apologizing and asking forgiveness--and Lucy grants it. Edmund should watch and learn.
But--Edmund doesn't watch and learn. Which brings me to an interesting point. In the Bible, while no one ever sympathizes with Judas, who betrays Jesus, the fact that he does is meant to be--there is nothing that can prevent it, and it must happen in order for Jesus's death, resurrection, and so forth. Thus, in a very backwards way, does Judas initialize something that would have happened anyway? If he didn't do it, certainly someone would have done it, right? And if no one ever did it, would Jesus have ever died and risen? Similar questions surround Edmund. Is he predetermined to run on his treadmill of lies/secrets/betrayal? After all, much evil will come of his actions, but much good will as well. (I realize I've spent a paragraph on what the church has been asking for thousands of years, and I know I don't do it justice, nor am I trying to do so--just something to think about as it relates to TCON.)
Sunday, July 27, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 5: Back on This Side of the Door
Chapter Summary:
The chapter begins with Edmund's decision to deny--in front of all of his siblings--Lucy's claim that he too had been to and seen Narnia; Lucy storms off, very upset. Peter then scolds Edmund for being so mean to Lucy.
The next morning, Peter and Susan go tell the Professor (Digory) what has occurred. They are surprised when the Professor believes them. The Professor explains that one of three situations must be true--either Lucy is lying (which she historically doesn't do), she's crazy (which she isn't), or she's telling the truth. When Susan explains that Lucy was only gone for a few moments, the Professor says that this further reinforces Lucy's story. The Professor says that the other world probably has a separate time of its own, a concept that Lucy would not likely invent herself. The Professor ends the conversation abruptly, suggesting that they all just mind their own business.
One day not much later, the housekeeper, Mrs. Macready, was giving a historical tour of the house. The children had been told to stay out of the way of these tours, so all four of them fled into the wardrobe room and then into the wardrobe (by fate or chance) to escape the tour.
Reflection:
Thus we come to the conclusion this way through deductive reasoning:
- Conflict: Lucy thinks Narnia is real
- Evidence 1: Lucy tells the truth (Lucy is truthful 100% of the time)
- Evidence 2: Lucy is not mad (there is 0% chance that Lucy is crazy)
- Conclusion: Therefore, Narnia is real
Now while this argument probably wouldn't hold up in court, Susan and Peter have learned an important lesson that will likely assist them when they (spoiler alert) enter Narnia in the next chapter. Indeed, logic and reasoning are important for everyone to learn and understand--and our failure to understand these simple concepts have been detrimental at times in history (if it acts like a dictator and looks like a dictator and says that all Jewish people should be murdered, it's probably an evil dictator). What should be interesting is to watch Peter and Susan throughout their time in Narnia to see if the Professor's lesson has set in.
This lesson in reasoning is certainly enough to help the reader see the allegory throughout the text; after all, allegory is nothing more than metaphors crossed with deductive reasoning. (If it speaks like Jesus, is present at the creation of the world like Jesus, lives like Jesus, dies like Jesus, and is resurrected like Jesus, even if it looks like a lion... it's probably still Jesus.)
The chapter begins with Edmund's decision to deny--in front of all of his siblings--Lucy's claim that he too had been to and seen Narnia; Lucy storms off, very upset. Peter then scolds Edmund for being so mean to Lucy.
The next morning, Peter and Susan go tell the Professor (Digory) what has occurred. They are surprised when the Professor believes them. The Professor explains that one of three situations must be true--either Lucy is lying (which she historically doesn't do), she's crazy (which she isn't), or she's telling the truth. When Susan explains that Lucy was only gone for a few moments, the Professor says that this further reinforces Lucy's story. The Professor says that the other world probably has a separate time of its own, a concept that Lucy would not likely invent herself. The Professor ends the conversation abruptly, suggesting that they all just mind their own business.
One day not much later, the housekeeper, Mrs. Macready, was giving a historical tour of the house. The children had been told to stay out of the way of these tours, so all four of them fled into the wardrobe room and then into the wardrobe (by fate or chance) to escape the tour.
Reflection:
'Logic!' said the Professor half to himself. 'Why don't they teach logic at these schools? There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn't tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth' (p. 90).I believe that what the Professor is doing is called deductive reasoning. It is simple, and it goes like this: If there are three options: A, B, and C, and options A and B are eliminated, then it is clear that option C is correct. Funny enough, this is actually one of the skills that is focused on in schools today, primarily because it helps children narrow down answers in their standardized, multiple-choice tests. The Professor further assists with the reasoning by showing just how unlikely options A and B are--Lucy does not have a history of lying, and anyone who interacts with her could tell you that she is not crazy. Another way to look at the reasoning is this: Either Narnia does not exist, Lucy thinks Narnia exists (but it doesn't), or Narnia does exist.
Thus we come to the conclusion this way through deductive reasoning:
- Conflict: Lucy thinks Narnia is real
- Evidence 1: Lucy tells the truth (Lucy is truthful 100% of the time)
- Evidence 2: Lucy is not mad (there is 0% chance that Lucy is crazy)
- Conclusion: Therefore, Narnia is real
Now while this argument probably wouldn't hold up in court, Susan and Peter have learned an important lesson that will likely assist them when they (spoiler alert) enter Narnia in the next chapter. Indeed, logic and reasoning are important for everyone to learn and understand--and our failure to understand these simple concepts have been detrimental at times in history (if it acts like a dictator and looks like a dictator and says that all Jewish people should be murdered, it's probably an evil dictator). What should be interesting is to watch Peter and Susan throughout their time in Narnia to see if the Professor's lesson has set in.
This lesson in reasoning is certainly enough to help the reader see the allegory throughout the text; after all, allegory is nothing more than metaphors crossed with deductive reasoning. (If it speaks like Jesus, is present at the creation of the world like Jesus, lives like Jesus, dies like Jesus, and is resurrected like Jesus, even if it looks like a lion... it's probably still Jesus.)
Saturday, July 26, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 4: Turkish Delight
Chapter Summary:
This chapter opens with Edmund revealing to the Queen (the White Witch) that he is a human, and has come into Narnia through a wardrobe. The Queen asks Edmund to sit next to her, and she makes him a hot drink and some (enchanted) Turkish Delight.
While eating the Turkish Delight, Edmund reveals that his sister Lucy has already been in Narnia and met with a Faun. He also reveals that he has two sisters and one brother (this is very significant to the Queen). The Queen tells Edmund that he will get more Turkish Delight and become a Prince of Narnia if he brings his siblings to her, and she gives him directions to her home.
As the White Witch drives away, Lucy emerges from the woods. She has been having lunch with Mr. Tumnus. Lucy mentions the White Witch--whom everyone in Narnia fears and hates. Edmund is nervous about what Lucy says, but he mostly just wants more Turkish Delight. Lucy and Edmund go back through the wardrobe, and Lucy is excited that her adventure is now being shared.
Reflection:
Today's reflection topic should be obvious--it's guilty pleasures! Turkish Delight is obviously a metaphor in this chapter. It's simultaneously a bribe, a temptation, and a guilty pleasure--and I think that deep down, Edmund probably knows this--he just won't admit it to himself. Heck, Turkish Delight is so much of a metaphor that it even comes with tolerance--the idea that the more of X guilty pleasure a person has, the more of X guilty pleasure a person wants. (This is, of course, a term most commonly associated with drugs.)
In a world where there are a ton of truly guilty pleasures out there, it's easy to find an escape in one of them. You name it--drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, social media, porn, Candy Crush, television--basically anything that you can get addicted to (and no, not all of these are created equal by any means). Rather, there are a whole lot of things out there that aren't really guilty pleasures when used appropriately. For instance, watching an hour of TV a day wouldn't be considered a guilty pleasure or a risky behavior by virtually anyone. Watching 12 hours a day would be an entirely different story. Thus we come to the interesting fact that we generally define "guilty pleasure" as something that we enjoy doing, but something that does not really qualify as an addition--but it could if taken to the next level.
For instance, one of my guilty pleasures is sugar-filled candy. Airheads, Blow Pops, Jelly Beans, Starbursts, Sweet Tarts, Nerds, Gobstoppers, etc, etc, etc. My teeth are not rotting out of my head and my blood sugar is not dangerously high, so I can call it a guilty pleasure and not an addition. I've had a bowl full of a majority of these candies sitting on my desk (just out of arm's reach!) for a little over a week, but I haven't had any yet--thus, not an addiction. Nevertheless, I do love some sugar-filled candy. Thus, guilty pleasure.
Another definition of guilty pleasure is something that is not necessarily harmful, but something that one might feel ashamed of based on social convention. If you're a 40-year-old man who reads Twilight twice a year, you would probably call this a guilty pleasure. Your behavior is not harmful, but is it by most standards considered unusual.
Often, there is a fine line between a guilty pleasure, a temptation, and an addiction. And for better or for worse, a large part of the "line" is defined by social convention. Unfortunately for Edmund, his guilty pleasure is about to have some major consequences.
This chapter opens with Edmund revealing to the Queen (the White Witch) that he is a human, and has come into Narnia through a wardrobe. The Queen asks Edmund to sit next to her, and she makes him a hot drink and some (enchanted) Turkish Delight.
While eating the Turkish Delight, Edmund reveals that his sister Lucy has already been in Narnia and met with a Faun. He also reveals that he has two sisters and one brother (this is very significant to the Queen). The Queen tells Edmund that he will get more Turkish Delight and become a Prince of Narnia if he brings his siblings to her, and she gives him directions to her home.
As the White Witch drives away, Lucy emerges from the woods. She has been having lunch with Mr. Tumnus. Lucy mentions the White Witch--whom everyone in Narnia fears and hates. Edmund is nervous about what Lucy says, but he mostly just wants more Turkish Delight. Lucy and Edmund go back through the wardrobe, and Lucy is excited that her adventure is now being shared.
Reflection:
Today's reflection topic should be obvious--it's guilty pleasures! Turkish Delight is obviously a metaphor in this chapter. It's simultaneously a bribe, a temptation, and a guilty pleasure--and I think that deep down, Edmund probably knows this--he just won't admit it to himself. Heck, Turkish Delight is so much of a metaphor that it even comes with tolerance--the idea that the more of X guilty pleasure a person has, the more of X guilty pleasure a person wants. (This is, of course, a term most commonly associated with drugs.)
In a world where there are a ton of truly guilty pleasures out there, it's easy to find an escape in one of them. You name it--drugs, alcohol, cigarettes, social media, porn, Candy Crush, television--basically anything that you can get addicted to (and no, not all of these are created equal by any means). Rather, there are a whole lot of things out there that aren't really guilty pleasures when used appropriately. For instance, watching an hour of TV a day wouldn't be considered a guilty pleasure or a risky behavior by virtually anyone. Watching 12 hours a day would be an entirely different story. Thus we come to the interesting fact that we generally define "guilty pleasure" as something that we enjoy doing, but something that does not really qualify as an addition--but it could if taken to the next level.
For instance, one of my guilty pleasures is sugar-filled candy. Airheads, Blow Pops, Jelly Beans, Starbursts, Sweet Tarts, Nerds, Gobstoppers, etc, etc, etc. My teeth are not rotting out of my head and my blood sugar is not dangerously high, so I can call it a guilty pleasure and not an addition. I've had a bowl full of a majority of these candies sitting on my desk (just out of arm's reach!) for a little over a week, but I haven't had any yet--thus, not an addiction. Nevertheless, I do love some sugar-filled candy. Thus, guilty pleasure.
Another definition of guilty pleasure is something that is not necessarily harmful, but something that one might feel ashamed of based on social convention. If you're a 40-year-old man who reads Twilight twice a year, you would probably call this a guilty pleasure. Your behavior is not harmful, but is it by most standards considered unusual.
Often, there is a fine line between a guilty pleasure, a temptation, and an addiction. And for better or for worse, a large part of the "line" is defined by social convention. Unfortunately for Edmund, his guilty pleasure is about to have some major consequences.
Friday, July 25, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 3: Edmund and the Wardrobe
Chapter Summary:
Lucy emerges from the wardrobe and tells Peter, Susan, and Edmund that she has returned, but her three siblings are confused. To Lucy, many hours have elapsed, but to her siblings, only seconds have passed since they left the room with the wardrobe. Lucy explains about Narnia, and they all go back to the wardrobe, only to find a normal wardrobe.
Lucy is teased by her siblings for days, especially by Edmund. A few days after Lucy's adventure, the siblings play hide-and-seek. Edmond sees Lucy hide in the wardrobe, and follows her. Instead of finding Lucy, Edmund finds himself in the very quiet woods in Narnia. Edmund realizes that Lucy had been telling the truth. Edmund calls out for Lucy, but can't find her.
A sleigh comes through the woods, with two reindeer in front, driven by a dwarf. In front is a tall, pale, beautiful woman who is wearing a crown. The lady commands that the sleigh stop, and she asks Edmund what he is. Edmund replies with confusion. The lady introduces herself as the Queen of Narnia.
Reflection:
I think the appropriate reflection for today's reading involves the concept of imagination. I will begin with a quote by one of my favorite individuals (as you've figured out by now): "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" - Albus Dumbledore; HP7, King's Cross scene.
Lucy gets teased by her three siblings after her return from Narnia, for what they believe to be an overactive imagination. From their point of view, Lucy has either devised an elaborate lie, or her youthful imagination has gotten the best of her, and she actually believes that she can enter into a snowy forest through the back of a wardrobe. Kind of sounds absurd when you say it that way.
And so that set me thinking--we definitely encourage children to have active imaginations. (Most of us would much rather see young kids inventing a world like Narnia on the playground than sitting on the floor playing with iPhones, right? ... right?) But, what I also find interesting is that we encourage kids to have an imagination, but only to a point. There's a range of imagination that adults deem as "normal." If a child has too little imagination, it's hardly ever noticed. (After all, who is ever accused of having a profoundly underactive imagination?) Then, there's the range where children are admired for their imagination (adults, nod approvingly). These are the kids who invent worlds on the playground, pretend that their toy trucks are real, and dress up / act out scenes as their favorite movie characters (Buuuuuuzzlightyear to the rescue).
But then there's a point where we, as adults with underactive imaginations, start to question a child for his or her imagination. These are the kids with invisible friends, or the ones that spend more time talking to themselves than to other people. When I was growing up, I remember a family friend's child who acted like and talked like (and talked about) her favorite Disney princesses about 90% of the time she opened her mouth--and this lasted for years. Sure, some of these kids are Autistic or perhaps have social/identity issues of other kinds, but many of them grow up to be fully-functioning, non-disabled, typical (if there is such a thing) adults.
In this chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, this is basically what is happening to Lucy. Her siblings are giving her a hard time for advancing past the threshold of "normal" imagination, even though all four siblings appear to have active imaginations themselves. Hardly fair to Lucy, especially because she is telling the truth.
Lucy emerges from the wardrobe and tells Peter, Susan, and Edmund that she has returned, but her three siblings are confused. To Lucy, many hours have elapsed, but to her siblings, only seconds have passed since they left the room with the wardrobe. Lucy explains about Narnia, and they all go back to the wardrobe, only to find a normal wardrobe.
Lucy is teased by her siblings for days, especially by Edmund. A few days after Lucy's adventure, the siblings play hide-and-seek. Edmond sees Lucy hide in the wardrobe, and follows her. Instead of finding Lucy, Edmund finds himself in the very quiet woods in Narnia. Edmund realizes that Lucy had been telling the truth. Edmund calls out for Lucy, but can't find her.
A sleigh comes through the woods, with two reindeer in front, driven by a dwarf. In front is a tall, pale, beautiful woman who is wearing a crown. The lady commands that the sleigh stop, and she asks Edmund what he is. Edmund replies with confusion. The lady introduces herself as the Queen of Narnia.
Reflection:
I think the appropriate reflection for today's reading involves the concept of imagination. I will begin with a quote by one of my favorite individuals (as you've figured out by now): "Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?" - Albus Dumbledore; HP7, King's Cross scene.
Lucy gets teased by her three siblings after her return from Narnia, for what they believe to be an overactive imagination. From their point of view, Lucy has either devised an elaborate lie, or her youthful imagination has gotten the best of her, and she actually believes that she can enter into a snowy forest through the back of a wardrobe. Kind of sounds absurd when you say it that way.
And so that set me thinking--we definitely encourage children to have active imaginations. (Most of us would much rather see young kids inventing a world like Narnia on the playground than sitting on the floor playing with iPhones, right? ... right?) But, what I also find interesting is that we encourage kids to have an imagination, but only to a point. There's a range of imagination that adults deem as "normal." If a child has too little imagination, it's hardly ever noticed. (After all, who is ever accused of having a profoundly underactive imagination?) Then, there's the range where children are admired for their imagination (adults, nod approvingly). These are the kids who invent worlds on the playground, pretend that their toy trucks are real, and dress up / act out scenes as their favorite movie characters (Buuuuuuzzlightyear to the rescue).
But then there's a point where we, as adults with underactive imaginations, start to question a child for his or her imagination. These are the kids with invisible friends, or the ones that spend more time talking to themselves than to other people. When I was growing up, I remember a family friend's child who acted like and talked like (and talked about) her favorite Disney princesses about 90% of the time she opened her mouth--and this lasted for years. Sure, some of these kids are Autistic or perhaps have social/identity issues of other kinds, but many of them grow up to be fully-functioning, non-disabled, typical (if there is such a thing) adults.
In this chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, this is basically what is happening to Lucy. Her siblings are giving her a hard time for advancing past the threshold of "normal" imagination, even though all four siblings appear to have active imaginations themselves. Hardly fair to Lucy, especially because she is telling the truth.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 2: What Lucy Found There
Chapter Summary:
The Faun introduces himself to Lucy as Mr. Tumnus, asks whether Lucy is a Daughter of Eve, and asks where she has come from. Lucy says that she is human, and has come from the wardrobe in the spare room. Mr. Tumnus then invites Lucy to tea in his home. The two walk arm-in-arm until they reach Mr. Tumnus's home, which is in a small cave.
Mr. Tumnus prepares food and tea, and then tells Lucy stories from Narnia. Suddenly (hours later), Mr. Tumnus cries inconsolably for a length of time. He finally admits that he is in the service of the White Witch, and that he had been instructed to kidnap any Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve he might meet in the woods, and deliver him/her to the White Witch. Mr. Tumnus explains that the White Witch keeps Narnia in perpetual winter, and holds all of Narnia in a great deal of fear and in her control.
Despite being certain that the White Witch would find out, Mr. Tumnus agrees to bring Lucy back to the lamppost in the woods so that she can return home. The two stealthily return, and Lucy goes back through the wardrobe, announcing to her siblings that she has returned.
Reflection:
This chapter has me thinking about changes of heart and major life decisions. From reading the chapter, it seems that Mr. Tumnus is not really the type of creature to follow the orders of the White Witch and kidnap little girls--but he has chosen to do so, most likely because he is terrified. (Can anyone say Nazi influence?) What catches Mr. Tumnus off guard and makes him unable to complete the kidnapping is that Lucy ends up being a very kind, compassionate creature. (And the more Mr. Tumnus cries, the more compassionate Lucy becomes.)
The whole episode is rather upsetting to Mr. Tumnus, and understandably so. He is genuinely concerned that the White Witch will discover his transgression if he helps Lucy escape--he notes that the White Witch has spies all throughout the forest, and that even some of the trees are aligned with her. He truly believes that he will almost certainly be discovered, and subjected to torture (or worse) by the Witch. As a result, Mr. Tumnus's decision to help Lucy escape is most definitely a change of heart, and most certainly a significant life decision.
Now that you can see how this topic connects, I can connect it to my own experience. Here is something not many people know about me--I make important life decisions (and changes of heart) incredibly fast. Everything I have read tells me that this is impulsive, dangerous, and concerning behavior, but it has really only come to bite me in the butt once or twice (and I've never been incarcerated so I guess they weren't that bad). But in general, the decisions I have made have quickly resulted in positive outcomes.
While I can't (won't) share all of the major life decisions I've made, I can definitely share a few. Here's one: When I was a rising-senior at Baylor in July of 2010, it took me only 3 days--less than 36 hours--from the time that I knew what Student Affairs was to the time that I decided I wanted to go to graduate school in Student Affairs and build a career in that field. Here's another one: I knew within 2 hours of being on the Baylor campus in September of 2005 that I wanted to attend Baylor. And another one: The average time I have taken to accept job offers is about 45 minutes. One more: When I first started attending church in Waco in August of 2006, I knew from the first time I attended that this was the church I wanted to go to. During my 4 years at Baylor, I never went to another church (ironically I've been to 4 different churches in the last 4 weekends here in Waco).
There are plenty of other examples, but those will suffice. I'm not sure what it is--I think perhaps I just know what I want before I begin the process of looking. For instance, I knew that I wanted a career where I could help others but still make enough money to support a family, and as soon as I knew that I could do that by remaining on college campuses and working with students, I was pretty much sold on that idea. Perhaps I'm impulsive, but perhaps I just know myself rather well (if many of my decisions had resulted in negative circumstances, I might disagree with that statement, but most of them do not).
And what's funny is that I can't share my best examples of the major life decisions I've made, since they are a little more on the private (non-internet) side of things, but suffice to say that a majority of those have had positive outcomes as well. Let's hope that Mr. Tumnus's major decision works out just as well for him.
The Faun introduces himself to Lucy as Mr. Tumnus, asks whether Lucy is a Daughter of Eve, and asks where she has come from. Lucy says that she is human, and has come from the wardrobe in the spare room. Mr. Tumnus then invites Lucy to tea in his home. The two walk arm-in-arm until they reach Mr. Tumnus's home, which is in a small cave.
Mr. Tumnus prepares food and tea, and then tells Lucy stories from Narnia. Suddenly (hours later), Mr. Tumnus cries inconsolably for a length of time. He finally admits that he is in the service of the White Witch, and that he had been instructed to kidnap any Son of Adam or Daughter of Eve he might meet in the woods, and deliver him/her to the White Witch. Mr. Tumnus explains that the White Witch keeps Narnia in perpetual winter, and holds all of Narnia in a great deal of fear and in her control.
Despite being certain that the White Witch would find out, Mr. Tumnus agrees to bring Lucy back to the lamppost in the woods so that she can return home. The two stealthily return, and Lucy goes back through the wardrobe, announcing to her siblings that she has returned.
Reflection:
This chapter has me thinking about changes of heart and major life decisions. From reading the chapter, it seems that Mr. Tumnus is not really the type of creature to follow the orders of the White Witch and kidnap little girls--but he has chosen to do so, most likely because he is terrified. (Can anyone say Nazi influence?) What catches Mr. Tumnus off guard and makes him unable to complete the kidnapping is that Lucy ends up being a very kind, compassionate creature. (And the more Mr. Tumnus cries, the more compassionate Lucy becomes.)
The whole episode is rather upsetting to Mr. Tumnus, and understandably so. He is genuinely concerned that the White Witch will discover his transgression if he helps Lucy escape--he notes that the White Witch has spies all throughout the forest, and that even some of the trees are aligned with her. He truly believes that he will almost certainly be discovered, and subjected to torture (or worse) by the Witch. As a result, Mr. Tumnus's decision to help Lucy escape is most definitely a change of heart, and most certainly a significant life decision.
Now that you can see how this topic connects, I can connect it to my own experience. Here is something not many people know about me--I make important life decisions (and changes of heart) incredibly fast. Everything I have read tells me that this is impulsive, dangerous, and concerning behavior, but it has really only come to bite me in the butt once or twice (and I've never been incarcerated so I guess they weren't that bad). But in general, the decisions I have made have quickly resulted in positive outcomes.
While I can't (won't) share all of the major life decisions I've made, I can definitely share a few. Here's one: When I was a rising-senior at Baylor in July of 2010, it took me only 3 days--less than 36 hours--from the time that I knew what Student Affairs was to the time that I decided I wanted to go to graduate school in Student Affairs and build a career in that field. Here's another one: I knew within 2 hours of being on the Baylor campus in September of 2005 that I wanted to attend Baylor. And another one: The average time I have taken to accept job offers is about 45 minutes. One more: When I first started attending church in Waco in August of 2006, I knew from the first time I attended that this was the church I wanted to go to. During my 4 years at Baylor, I never went to another church (ironically I've been to 4 different churches in the last 4 weekends here in Waco).
There are plenty of other examples, but those will suffice. I'm not sure what it is--I think perhaps I just know what I want before I begin the process of looking. For instance, I knew that I wanted a career where I could help others but still make enough money to support a family, and as soon as I knew that I could do that by remaining on college campuses and working with students, I was pretty much sold on that idea. Perhaps I'm impulsive, but perhaps I just know myself rather well (if many of my decisions had resulted in negative circumstances, I might disagree with that statement, but most of them do not).
And what's funny is that I can't share my best examples of the major life decisions I've made, since they are a little more on the private (non-internet) side of things, but suffice to say that a majority of those have had positive outcomes as well. Let's hope that Mr. Tumnus's major decision works out just as well for him.
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe | Chapter 1: Lucy Looks into a Wardrobe
Chapter Summary:
Four children have moved to a large country home of an old professor in England to escape the London air-raids of WWII: Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. Upon arriving, the four children realize that their new home will afford them many freedoms, including exploration of the large house and surrounding area.
It's raining the next day, so the four children spend the day exploring the house. In one room, they find nothing but a wardrobe. Lucy is the only one remains to look into the wardrobe. When she does, she walks through coats and furs, expecting to find the back, but instead finds herself in a forest with snow on the ground, and a gleaming light in the distance. She turns around and can still see the professor's house from the woods. Lucy follows the light and finds that it's a lamppost in the woods. Then, a Faun (goat on bottom, human on top, basically) steps out of the trees into the lamplight.
Reflection:
The first chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe contains several of the most recognizable images from the entire TCON series: Lucy peering into the wardrobe, Lucy emerging from the wardrobe, and probably the most famous, Lucy at the lamppost in the snowy woods. This last image always brings to mind a certain Robert Frost poem--Stopping by woods on a snowy evening. For those of you who haven't seen the image, here is generally what it looks like (or similar enough):
This has gotten me thinking--why is the image of Lucy at the lamppost the most iconic image from the entire series? I mean, there are some pretty intense, interesting, and significant images that Lucy has to compete with in TCON. (I would name them, but they are pretty much all major spoilers. If you've read the books before, you know what images come to mind.)
Here's my main theory: It is probably one of the happiest images from the entire series. This isn't to say that the entire series is gloom and doom, but for better or for worse, a lot of the memorable moments in the series are rather dark. (Of course, once we find out why it's snowy and cold rather than sunny and warm, we realize that this image is also rather dark, but as of Chapter 1 of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we technically don't know any better.)
I think another reason this image is so famous is all that it embodies--and some of these things I have spoken about in previous entries. Lucy's discovery of the lamppost brings to mind childhood adventure and exploration (you know you explored every room of Great Aunt Mary's giant house). It brings to mind our own childhood discoveries and adventures, of when we learned things for the first time. For those of us who grew up in warmer climates, the snow itself is magical, and brings to mind memorable childhood moments. If you were in Houston on December 24, 2004, you know what I'm talking about, and if you weren't, it's worth reading about: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Christmas_Eve_snowstorm). It is also an image of profound innocence (and along with that, ignorance), an innocence that is present only for a very brief moment in time, because as soon as the events of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe progress, that innocence disappears rather quickly. So we remember it not only because it is happy and emits happy memories in ourselves, but because it is a very fleeting sort of happy, because those of us who have read the series before know exactly what comes next.
Four children have moved to a large country home of an old professor in England to escape the London air-raids of WWII: Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. Upon arriving, the four children realize that their new home will afford them many freedoms, including exploration of the large house and surrounding area.
It's raining the next day, so the four children spend the day exploring the house. In one room, they find nothing but a wardrobe. Lucy is the only one remains to look into the wardrobe. When she does, she walks through coats and furs, expecting to find the back, but instead finds herself in a forest with snow on the ground, and a gleaming light in the distance. She turns around and can still see the professor's house from the woods. Lucy follows the light and finds that it's a lamppost in the woods. Then, a Faun (goat on bottom, human on top, basically) steps out of the trees into the lamplight.
Reflection:
The first chapter of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe contains several of the most recognizable images from the entire TCON series: Lucy peering into the wardrobe, Lucy emerging from the wardrobe, and probably the most famous, Lucy at the lamppost in the snowy woods. This last image always brings to mind a certain Robert Frost poem--Stopping by woods on a snowy evening. For those of you who haven't seen the image, here is generally what it looks like (or similar enough):
This has gotten me thinking--why is the image of Lucy at the lamppost the most iconic image from the entire series? I mean, there are some pretty intense, interesting, and significant images that Lucy has to compete with in TCON. (I would name them, but they are pretty much all major spoilers. If you've read the books before, you know what images come to mind.)
Here's my main theory: It is probably one of the happiest images from the entire series. This isn't to say that the entire series is gloom and doom, but for better or for worse, a lot of the memorable moments in the series are rather dark. (Of course, once we find out why it's snowy and cold rather than sunny and warm, we realize that this image is also rather dark, but as of Chapter 1 of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, we technically don't know any better.)
I think another reason this image is so famous is all that it embodies--and some of these things I have spoken about in previous entries. Lucy's discovery of the lamppost brings to mind childhood adventure and exploration (you know you explored every room of Great Aunt Mary's giant house). It brings to mind our own childhood discoveries and adventures, of when we learned things for the first time. For those of us who grew up in warmer climates, the snow itself is magical, and brings to mind memorable childhood moments. If you were in Houston on December 24, 2004, you know what I'm talking about, and if you weren't, it's worth reading about: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2004_Christmas_Eve_snowstorm). It is also an image of profound innocence (and along with that, ignorance), an innocence that is present only for a very brief moment in time, because as soon as the events of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe progress, that innocence disappears rather quickly. So we remember it not only because it is happy and emits happy memories in ourselves, but because it is a very fleeting sort of happy, because those of us who have read the series before know exactly what comes next.
Tuesday, July 22, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 15: The End of This Story and the Beginning of All the Others
Chapter Summary:
Aslan brings Digory, Polly, and Uncle Andrew to the Wood between the Worlds. The puddle that contained Charn is gone, and Aslan cautions that earth could go the way of Charn, if trends continue. Aslan also tells Digory and Polly to bury the magic rings when they return to earth.
Suddenly, Digory, Polly, and Uncle Andrew are back in the scene on earth where they had disappeared from last, and nearly no time has elapsed. Digory goes to his mother, while Polly goes to collect Uncle Andrew's other magic rings. Uncle Andrew goes to drink brandy and go to bed.
Digory gives his mother the apple and she eats it, causing her to progressively become healthier and healthier over the next month. Digory and Polly bury the apple core with the rings surrounding it in the back yard. A tree grows from the apple core.
Time elapses on earth and in Narnia; Digory and Polly remain friends. When Digory is much older, a storm knocks down the tree, and Digory has its remains made into a wardrobe and the wardrobe placed in his country home.
Reflection:
This chapter is a pretty neat one for several reasons, and I can't dwell on all of those reasons, but what interests me most is that this chapter is truly a product of its time. The Magician's Nephew was published in 1955 with World War II still recent memory and in the midst of the beginning of the Cold War. When Aslan gives Digory and Polly the following warning, the historical background is clear and relevant:
If you take a look at the Doomsday Clock (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doomsday_Clock), you will see that during the time that C.S. Lewis was writing this novel, nuclear holocaust was a very real danger in our world. According to the Doomsday Clock, the time period of 1953-1960 was the closest our world has come to nuclear war.
But of course, Aslan's message resonates even today. It is not much to correctly predict that tyrannical leaders will come to rule nations across the earth, because it happened often prior to 1955 and thus will certainly happen often after 1955 (as it indeed has). Of course, what is most clever about Aslan's warning to Digory and Polly is that his warning actually reaches beyond Digory and Polly, to every reader of TCON since it was published. Today, Digory and Polly are probably around 70 years old, and Aslan's warning has remained true throughout their lives, and continues to be true today.
Onward to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe!
Aslan brings Digory, Polly, and Uncle Andrew to the Wood between the Worlds. The puddle that contained Charn is gone, and Aslan cautions that earth could go the way of Charn, if trends continue. Aslan also tells Digory and Polly to bury the magic rings when they return to earth.
Suddenly, Digory, Polly, and Uncle Andrew are back in the scene on earth where they had disappeared from last, and nearly no time has elapsed. Digory goes to his mother, while Polly goes to collect Uncle Andrew's other magic rings. Uncle Andrew goes to drink brandy and go to bed.
Digory gives his mother the apple and she eats it, causing her to progressively become healthier and healthier over the next month. Digory and Polly bury the apple core with the rings surrounding it in the back yard. A tree grows from the apple core.
Time elapses on earth and in Narnia; Digory and Polly remain friends. When Digory is much older, a storm knocks down the tree, and Digory has its remains made into a wardrobe and the wardrobe placed in his country home.
Reflection:
This chapter is a pretty neat one for several reasons, and I can't dwell on all of those reasons, but what interests me most is that this chapter is truly a product of its time. The Magician's Nephew was published in 1955 with World War II still recent memory and in the midst of the beginning of the Cold War. When Aslan gives Digory and Polly the following warning, the historical background is clear and relevant:
"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 soon, 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 Empress Jadis. Let your world beware. That is the warning" (p. 69).With atomic and nuclear warfare a very real possibility in those times, Aslan warns Digory and Polly (and therefore every single reader) of the danger of using a weapon such as the Deplorable Word (which, if you recall, is an unnamed word that Jadis uses to destroy all of life on Charn aside from herself).
If you take a look at the Doomsday Clock (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doomsday_Clock), you will see that during the time that C.S. Lewis was writing this novel, nuclear holocaust was a very real danger in our world. According to the Doomsday Clock, the time period of 1953-1960 was the closest our world has come to nuclear war.
But of course, Aslan's message resonates even today. It is not much to correctly predict that tyrannical leaders will come to rule nations across the earth, because it happened often prior to 1955 and thus will certainly happen often after 1955 (as it indeed has). Of course, what is most clever about Aslan's warning to Digory and Polly is that his warning actually reaches beyond Digory and Polly, to every reader of TCON since it was published. Today, Digory and Polly are probably around 70 years old, and Aslan's warning has remained true throughout their lives, and continues to be true today.
Onward to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe!
Monday, July 21, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 14: The Planting of the Tree
Chapter Summary:
The chapter opens with Aslan congratulating Digory on a successful journey. Aslan tells Digory to throw the apple toward the river bank, and he does so.
While preparing for the coronation of King Frank (the Cabby) and Queen Helen (his wife), Aslan asks the Talking Beasts to release Uncle Andrew from a naturally-constructed cage. (We learn that Uncle Andrew has spent the last 48 hours captive by the Talking Beasts, who want to show him to Aslan.) Aslan explains to Digory and Polly that Uncle Andrew cannot hear his voice. Mercifully, Aslan tells Uncle Andrew to sleep, and he does.
Dwarves then set to work making crowns for the King and Queen using a golden tree (grown from Uncle Andrew's coins that fell from his pockets).
Suddenly, everyone notices the newly-sprouted tree that has grown by the river. Aslan explains that the Witch won't come within 100 miles of the tree. Polly and Digory tell Aslan that the Witch has already eaten a silver apple--and Aslan says that this will indeed give the Witch endless days (but at great cost).
Aslan also explains why Digory's difficult choices were the correct ones. Indeed, deciding not to follow the Witch's temptations saved significant grief for Narnia, Digory, and his mother. Aslan gives Digory permission to pick a silver apple from the tree to give to his mother, and Digory does so.
Reflection:
What we learn in this chapter is what we--as readers--had likely suspected all along. Intention is what matters when it comes to the silver apples of Narnia. Aslan explains how the apples work in the following passage:
As we can see from the passage above, the fruit itself does not create good or evil situations, but it becomes a product of why it has been picked. If picked and used for the wrong reason--or even for seemingly the correct but ultimately selfish reason--then a negative situation results. If Digory had tried to prevent his mother's death by curing her illness, the result would have been regret and remorse by both he and his mother. As Aslan says earlier, the fruit always works ("thing always work according to their nature" [p. 69]), but the result is not always what a person truly desires. Essentially, the theological lesson here is that things always work out well when it's God's plan, but things will certainly go awry when a person proceeds without God's guidance (or intentionally sidesteps God's plan). By healing his mother by his own choosing, Digory would be playing God. Now that he can do so with Aslan's permission, he is following Aslan's plan, not his own.
The Witch, on the other hand, will soon discover the long-term consequences of having eaten one of the silver apples. Aslan says that "she has won her heart's desire; she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess. But length of days with an evil heart is only length of misery and already she begins to know it. All get what they want; they do not always like it" (p. 69). It seems the Narnian stage has been set for The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Further up and further in.
The chapter opens with Aslan congratulating Digory on a successful journey. Aslan tells Digory to throw the apple toward the river bank, and he does so.
While preparing for the coronation of King Frank (the Cabby) and Queen Helen (his wife), Aslan asks the Talking Beasts to release Uncle Andrew from a naturally-constructed cage. (We learn that Uncle Andrew has spent the last 48 hours captive by the Talking Beasts, who want to show him to Aslan.) Aslan explains to Digory and Polly that Uncle Andrew cannot hear his voice. Mercifully, Aslan tells Uncle Andrew to sleep, and he does.
Dwarves then set to work making crowns for the King and Queen using a golden tree (grown from Uncle Andrew's coins that fell from his pockets).
Suddenly, everyone notices the newly-sprouted tree that has grown by the river. Aslan explains that the Witch won't come within 100 miles of the tree. Polly and Digory tell Aslan that the Witch has already eaten a silver apple--and Aslan says that this will indeed give the Witch endless days (but at great cost).
Aslan also explains why Digory's difficult choices were the correct ones. Indeed, deciding not to follow the Witch's temptations saved significant grief for Narnia, Digory, and his mother. Aslan gives Digory permission to pick a silver apple from the tree to give to his mother, and Digory does so.
Reflection:
What we learn in this chapter is what we--as readers--had likely suspected all along. Intention is what matters when it comes to the silver apples of Narnia. Aslan explains how the apples work in the following passage:
"'For the fruit always work--it must work--but it does not work happily for any who pluck it at their own will. If any Narnian, unbidden, had stolen an apple and planted it here to protect Narnia, it would have protected Narnia. But it would have done so by making Narnia into another strong and cruel empire like Charn, not the kindly land I mean it to be. And the Witch tempted you to do another thing, my son, did she not?'
'Yes, Aslan. She wanted me to take an apple home to Mother.'
'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'" (p. 69).
As we can see from the passage above, the fruit itself does not create good or evil situations, but it becomes a product of why it has been picked. If picked and used for the wrong reason--or even for seemingly the correct but ultimately selfish reason--then a negative situation results. If Digory had tried to prevent his mother's death by curing her illness, the result would have been regret and remorse by both he and his mother. As Aslan says earlier, the fruit always works ("thing always work according to their nature" [p. 69]), but the result is not always what a person truly desires. Essentially, the theological lesson here is that things always work out well when it's God's plan, but things will certainly go awry when a person proceeds without God's guidance (or intentionally sidesteps God's plan). By healing his mother by his own choosing, Digory would be playing God. Now that he can do so with Aslan's permission, he is following Aslan's plan, not his own.
The Witch, on the other hand, will soon discover the long-term consequences of having eaten one of the silver apples. Aslan says that "she has won her heart's desire; she has unwearying strength and endless days like a goddess. But length of days with an evil heart is only length of misery and already she begins to know it. All get what they want; they do not always like it" (p. 69). It seems the Narnian stage has been set for The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. Further up and further in.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 13: An Unexpected Meeting
Chapter Summary:
Fledge, Digory, and Polly awaken the next day, eat breakfast (the toffee they planted has grown into a tree), and continue on their flight. Soon, they arrive at the top of the green hill where Aslan said the apple could be found. Digory sees that it is an enclosed, private garden, and senses that he must enter alone. A poem at the gates to the garden warns of entering the garden only through the gate, and never taking the fruit inside for oneself.
Digory enters the garden and takes one giant silver apple. As he is leaving, he encounters the Witch (who is eating a silver apple), who chases him out of the garden and tempts him: First, the Witch points out that Digory could eat the apple in his hand and become immortal. Digory easily resists this temptation.
Then, the Witch points out that the solution to Digory's mother's ailment is in Digory's hand, and could be used to heal her immediately. Digory battles with the choice, but when the Witch suggests that Digory leave Polly in Narnia to return to his mother, Digory's head clears and his decision is made.
Polly, who has been silent throughout, tells Digory he has made a good choice. Digory, Polly, and Fledge fly away and make the return trip to Aslan.
Reflection:
It's Adam and the Serpent--I mean--Digory and the Witch--in a conversational battle in the Garden of... Silver Apples. It is clear when reading this conversation between Digory and the Witch that a lesson has been learned. And we know this especially because the Witch pulls out all the stops. Jadis appeals to Digory's greatest weakness--his desire to heal his mother's ailment and make her well again. But Jadis makes two mistakes--her first is similar to the one that Lord Voldemort makes--she underestimates the power of a mother's influence. Even while still making the decision, Digory contemplates that even his mother, in her state, would tell Digory not to bring her the apple, because he made a promise to bring the apple back to Aslan.
Jadis's second (and critical) mistake comes because she doesn't realize that Digory has learned a lesson. Here is where the tide turns. (The first "she" is Digory's mother.)
Jadis's mistake here, then, is that she is offering Digory a situation that he now sees as undeniably cruel. Perhaps before striking the bell and receiving forgiveness, Digory might have been swayed in the other direction. Instead, Digory might have very well made a decision even more important than his (unwise) decision to strike the bell--it is entirely possible that Digory's action saved all of Narnia.
Fledge, Digory, and Polly awaken the next day, eat breakfast (the toffee they planted has grown into a tree), and continue on their flight. Soon, they arrive at the top of the green hill where Aslan said the apple could be found. Digory sees that it is an enclosed, private garden, and senses that he must enter alone. A poem at the gates to the garden warns of entering the garden only through the gate, and never taking the fruit inside for oneself.
Digory enters the garden and takes one giant silver apple. As he is leaving, he encounters the Witch (who is eating a silver apple), who chases him out of the garden and tempts him: First, the Witch points out that Digory could eat the apple in his hand and become immortal. Digory easily resists this temptation.
Then, the Witch points out that the solution to Digory's mother's ailment is in Digory's hand, and could be used to heal her immediately. Digory battles with the choice, but when the Witch suggests that Digory leave Polly in Narnia to return to his mother, Digory's head clears and his decision is made.
Polly, who has been silent throughout, tells Digory he has made a good choice. Digory, Polly, and Fledge fly away and make the return trip to Aslan.
Reflection:
It's Adam and the Serpent--I mean--Digory and the Witch--in a conversational battle in the Garden of... Silver Apples. It is clear when reading this conversation between Digory and the Witch that a lesson has been learned. And we know this especially because the Witch pulls out all the stops. Jadis appeals to Digory's greatest weakness--his desire to heal his mother's ailment and make her well again. But Jadis makes two mistakes--her first is similar to the one that Lord Voldemort makes--she underestimates the power of a mother's influence. Even while still making the decision, Digory contemplates that even his mother, in her state, would tell Digory not to bring her the apple, because he made a promise to bring the apple back to Aslan.
Jadis's second (and critical) mistake comes because she doesn't realize that Digory has learned a lesson. Here is where the tide turns. (The first "she" is Digory's mother.)
"'But she need never know,' said the Witch... 'You wouldn't tell her how you'd got the apple. Your Father need never know. No one in your world need know anything about this whole story. You needn't take the little girl back with you, you know'" (p. 64).Recall that in Charn, Digory is cruel to Polly--forcing her hand away from her magical ring while simultaneously striking the bell that awakened Jadis. Later, Digory admits that he is sorry for this act, and Polly tells Aslan that she has forgiven him.
Jadis's mistake here, then, is that she is offering Digory a situation that he now sees as undeniably cruel. Perhaps before striking the bell and receiving forgiveness, Digory might have been swayed in the other direction. Instead, Digory might have very well made a decision even more important than his (unwise) decision to strike the bell--it is entirely possible that Digory's action saved all of Narnia.
Saturday, July 19, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 12: Strawberry's Adventure
Chapter Summary:
The chapter begins with Aslan asking Digory if he is ready to correct the wrong he has done (bring the Witch into Narnia), and Digory says that he is. Digory again asks if there's anything Aslan can do to help his mother, and Aslan does not answer, only agreeing that Digory's grief is great.
To correct his wrong, Aslan wants Digory to travel far across Narnia to retrieve an apple. The apple is to be used to plant a tree that the Witch will not come near, thereby protecting Narnia from her for a long time.
Aslan then asks Strawberry, the horse, to take Digory on his journey. As a result, Aslan gives the horse wings (they sprout from Strawberry's back), and renames the horse Fledge. Polly says that she wants to go on the journey as well, so Digory and Polly fly away on the newly-winged, newly-named Fledge.
Fledge, Digory, and Polly travel for hours through the air across Narnia. Eventually they stop for dinner; Fledge eats grass, and Digory and Polly only have some leftover toffee to eat. Then, they sleep for the night. During the night, they hear a noise, and are fairly certain that something else is in the area with them.
Reflection:
An amusing point of this chapter is when Fledge, Digory, and Polly cease their flight for the evening to stop and have dinner. Fledge immediately begins to eat the grass, and invites Digory and Polly to join him. Digory replies that they cannot eat grass--and here is the short conversation that ensues between Fledge, Digory, and Polly:
I believe the other message being sent here is a more theological one. I remember from a religion course in college discussing the debate within the early church--does God help those who help themselves, or does God help those who are helpless (have no other way of being helped)? I think it's fairly clear which side of the discussion Lewis stands on. In a just-slightly-sarcastic way, Fledge tells Digory and Polly that he's pretty sure dinner would have been provided for them, if only they had remembered to ask. (Another way to read Fledge's statement is that Digory and Polly still could ask Aslan for dinner; notice that Fledge doesn't use the past tense.)
And in the back of my mind, this is also an interesting conversation because if Fledge is saying that Aslan helps those who ask to be helped, then it is notable that Digory has twice asked for help for his mother's ailment, and has twice been met with a vague or unhelpful answer from Aslan. Or perhaps we just see it as vague or unhelpful at the time--I don't know how the situation with Digory's mother turns out. Time will tell.
The chapter begins with Aslan asking Digory if he is ready to correct the wrong he has done (bring the Witch into Narnia), and Digory says that he is. Digory again asks if there's anything Aslan can do to help his mother, and Aslan does not answer, only agreeing that Digory's grief is great.
To correct his wrong, Aslan wants Digory to travel far across Narnia to retrieve an apple. The apple is to be used to plant a tree that the Witch will not come near, thereby protecting Narnia from her for a long time.
Aslan then asks Strawberry, the horse, to take Digory on his journey. As a result, Aslan gives the horse wings (they sprout from Strawberry's back), and renames the horse Fledge. Polly says that she wants to go on the journey as well, so Digory and Polly fly away on the newly-winged, newly-named Fledge.
Fledge, Digory, and Polly travel for hours through the air across Narnia. Eventually they stop for dinner; Fledge eats grass, and Digory and Polly only have some leftover toffee to eat. Then, they sleep for the night. During the night, they hear a noise, and are fairly certain that something else is in the area with them.
Reflection:
An amusing point of this chapter is when Fledge, Digory, and Polly cease their flight for the evening to stop and have dinner. Fledge immediately begins to eat the grass, and invites Digory and Polly to join him. Digory replies that they cannot eat grass--and here is the short conversation that ensues between Fledge, Digory, and Polly:
"'Well--h'm--don't know quite what you'll do then. Very good grass too.'
Polly and Digory stared at one another in dismay.
'Well, I do think someone might have arranged about our meals,' said Digory.
'I'm sure Aslan would have, if you'd asked him,' said Fledge.
'Wouldn't he know without being asked?' said Polly.
'I've no doubt he would,' said the Horse (still with his mouth full). 'But I've a sort of idea he likes to be asked'" (p. 60).What an interesting passage. Taking TCON as allegory (which of course a great deal of it is), I think C.S. Lewis is sending a 2-part message to the reader here. First, I think Lewis is teaching the important lesson of critical thinking. When Digory agrees to go on a long journey, he just assumes that everything is going to work out perfectly without giving a second thought to his basic needs (let's hope he remembered to ask Aslan for some toilet paper and a toothbrush at least). It is most definitely important to think about what to pack for a journey before beginning that journey--otherwise you could end up eating jut toffee for dinner, which is what happens to Digory and Polly. But the lesson goes beyond packing--it's important to be forward-thinking in general, which is what Digory and Polly have failed to do. (Digory has actually failed to be forward-thinking a huge number of times, which has resulted in a large number of the events of The Magician's Nephew, but at least here the only consequence is an empty stomach.)
I believe the other message being sent here is a more theological one. I remember from a religion course in college discussing the debate within the early church--does God help those who help themselves, or does God help those who are helpless (have no other way of being helped)? I think it's fairly clear which side of the discussion Lewis stands on. In a just-slightly-sarcastic way, Fledge tells Digory and Polly that he's pretty sure dinner would have been provided for them, if only they had remembered to ask. (Another way to read Fledge's statement is that Digory and Polly still could ask Aslan for dinner; notice that Fledge doesn't use the past tense.)
And in the back of my mind, this is also an interesting conversation because if Fledge is saying that Aslan helps those who ask to be helped, then it is notable that Digory has twice asked for help for his mother's ailment, and has twice been met with a vague or unhelpful answer from Aslan. Or perhaps we just see it as vague or unhelpful at the time--I don't know how the situation with Digory's mother turns out. Time will tell.
Friday, July 18, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 11: Digory and His Uncle Are Both in Trouble
Chapter Summary:
The chapter opens with a variety of Talking Beasts attempting to determine what type of creature Uncle Andrew is, who has since fainted from fear. Eventually the Talking Beasts determine that Uncle Andrew is a tree, and they plant him in the ground up to his knees, and then water him.
Meanwhile, Strawberry, Digory, Polly, and the Cabby reach Aslan, who is in council with some of the Talking Beasts. When Digory asks whether he may have something to heal his mother, the question goes unanswered by Aslan. Instead, Aslan asks Digory to recite how the Witch came to be in Narnia in front of everyone present.
Then Aslan addresses the Cabby, and asks whether he would like to remain in Narnia. The Cabby said he would, if his wife were present. Aslan makes the Cabby's wife appear using his song, and when she does, Aslan tells them (after a little convincing) that they will be the first King and Queen of Narnia.
Aslan finally asks Polly if she has forgiven Digory for the violence he did to hear in Charn, and she says that she has.
Reflection:
The middle of his chapter--in which Digory is retelling the story of how the Witch came to Narnia--reads like a scene out of the movie Liar, Liar, in which a boy wishes that for one day his father would be unable to tell a lie (the father is a trail lawyer and played by Jim Carrey, so you get the idea). When Digory is telling Aslan what has occurred, it becomes rather apparent that this is Digory's confessional, and that he both cannot and will not lie to Aslan or himself, about the events that have transpired. The short passage below is only a small sample of this, but you will get the idea:
This chapter reminds us just how easy it is to lie to ourselves and others without giving it a second thought. We are taught by society to do this from an incredibly young age, and it is thus engrained in most of us. Observe yourself--when is the last time you lied? (You probably can't remember.) But you'll probably notice the next time you do, and it will probably catch you off-guard, because most of us do it every day without even realizing it.
The chapter opens with a variety of Talking Beasts attempting to determine what type of creature Uncle Andrew is, who has since fainted from fear. Eventually the Talking Beasts determine that Uncle Andrew is a tree, and they plant him in the ground up to his knees, and then water him.
Meanwhile, Strawberry, Digory, Polly, and the Cabby reach Aslan, who is in council with some of the Talking Beasts. When Digory asks whether he may have something to heal his mother, the question goes unanswered by Aslan. Instead, Aslan asks Digory to recite how the Witch came to be in Narnia in front of everyone present.
Then Aslan addresses the Cabby, and asks whether he would like to remain in Narnia. The Cabby said he would, if his wife were present. Aslan makes the Cabby's wife appear using his song, and when she does, Aslan tells them (after a little convincing) that they will be the first King and Queen of Narnia.
Aslan finally asks Polly if she has forgiven Digory for the violence he did to hear in Charn, and she says that she has.
Reflection:
The middle of his chapter--in which Digory is retelling the story of how the Witch came to Narnia--reads like a scene out of the movie Liar, Liar, in which a boy wishes that for one day his father would be unable to tell a lie (the father is a trail lawyer and played by Jim Carrey, so you get the idea). When Digory is telling Aslan what has occurred, it becomes rather apparent that this is Digory's confessional, and that he both cannot and will not lie to Aslan or himself, about the events that have transpired. The short passage below is only a small sample of this, but you will get the idea:
"'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?' said Aslan, still speaking very low and deep.
'No,' said Digory. 'I see now I wasn't. I was only pretending'" (p. 55).I have read articles on the Internet (so we know it's true) that we lie to ourselves (and to our spouses, friends, and family) significantly more often than we are aware of. I think the article says that the average married person tells 17 white lies to their spouse a day, on average. Numerical accuracy aside, I think that if most of us were to observe our day-to-day behavior, we would realize how often we lie. For a great example, how many times this week did you tell an acquaintance, co-worker, or passer-by that you were "doing good, thanks!" when you really weren't? I know I'm guilty of that one. Or when is the last time you've told a salesperson "no, I'm just browsing" when asked if you were looking for something specific (and you were, and you probably could have used some help, but you really just wanted to be left alone during the process)?
This chapter reminds us just how easy it is to lie to ourselves and others without giving it a second thought. We are taught by society to do this from an incredibly young age, and it is thus engrained in most of us. Observe yourself--when is the last time you lied? (You probably can't remember.) But you'll probably notice the next time you do, and it will probably catch you off-guard, because most of us do it every day without even realizing it.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 10: The First Joke and Other Matters
Chapter Summary:
This chapter begins with other creatures (of the mythological sort) emerging to the Lion's song. We learn the Lion's name: Aslan. Aslan proclaims the animals in front of him 'Talking Beasts,' and tells them to never go back to the ways of the Dumb Beasts. A bird speaks too loudly; the Talking Beasts laugh at him, and the first Narnian joke has been made. Aslan encourages the joy/laughter.
Digory, Polly, and the Cabby go forward toward the Talking Beasts, while Aslan goes the other direction to speak to a council of Talking Beasts about the evil that has already entered Narnia.
The Talking Beasts try to make sense of Digory, Polly, and Cabby. The Cabby's horse, named Strawberry, can now talk as well; Strawberry and the Cabby have a lengthy interaction about pros/cons of their life that they have lived together. Strawberry agrees to let Digory ride on his back to go toward Aslan.
The Talking Beasts spot Uncle Andrew hiding at the edge of the woods and chase after him. Uncle Andrew has so deluded himself that he cannot understand the Talking Beasts, and he runs from them in terror. (The Talking Beasts simply want to figure out who/what he is.)
Reflection:
I think the most interesting part of this chapter, with rather upsetting undertones, is the interaction between the Cabby and his horse, Strawberry. The Cabby, excited to speak with his beloved horse, seems ready for Strawberry to verbally recollect how well he has been taken care of by the Cabby. Strawberry does indeed remember the treats (oats and sugar cubes), but a majority of the horse's memory is not too fond. In particular, Strawberry remembers how the Cabby "used to tie a horrid black thing behind me and then hit me to make me run, and however far I ran this black thing would always be coming rattle-rattle behind me" (p. 50). Strawberry is referring to a carriage, of course. Strawberry remembers London only as "a hard, cruel country... There was no grass. All hard stones" (p. 50)
For those of you who know Laura and I, we are owners of a very vocal black cat, named Andy. Here is an offensively cute picture of him:
For those of you who know Laura and I, we are owners of a very vocal black cat, named Andy. Here is an offensively cute picture of him:
Andy misbehaves on occasion (several times daily), and we sometimes respond with something like, "After all the things we do for you... We give you food, shelter, comfort, play, treats, and we even scoop your POOP--several times a week--and this is how you repay us?!"
But then reading the interaction between the Cabby and Strawberry makes me wonder what our cat is really thinking. Who knows how many obscenities he has shouted at us via meows. I suppose it's important to remember that while we may see Andy's life as perfect and privileged, he might not always see it that way--and that's not really anyone's fault necessarily. Of course Andy would love a 6-bedroom house to explore, but we don't have a 6-bedroom house, and I suspect that sometimes he probably feels that his territory is rather small in a 2-bedroom (3.5 total rooms) apartment. This chapter of The Magician's Nephew reminds me to not necessarily assume what Andy is thinking, and despite the fact that we think his life must be perfect, he might not necessarily agree 100%.
For animals, like humans, their situations are relative I think. Laura and I know that Andy is better off than 99.9% of stray cats in the world, but he doesn't know that. Listen to your animals, and don't make assumptions--that is what I took from this chapter.
This chapter begins with other creatures (of the mythological sort) emerging to the Lion's song. We learn the Lion's name: Aslan. Aslan proclaims the animals in front of him 'Talking Beasts,' and tells them to never go back to the ways of the Dumb Beasts. A bird speaks too loudly; the Talking Beasts laugh at him, and the first Narnian joke has been made. Aslan encourages the joy/laughter.
Digory, Polly, and the Cabby go forward toward the Talking Beasts, while Aslan goes the other direction to speak to a council of Talking Beasts about the evil that has already entered Narnia.
The Talking Beasts try to make sense of Digory, Polly, and Cabby. The Cabby's horse, named Strawberry, can now talk as well; Strawberry and the Cabby have a lengthy interaction about pros/cons of their life that they have lived together. Strawberry agrees to let Digory ride on his back to go toward Aslan.
The Talking Beasts spot Uncle Andrew hiding at the edge of the woods and chase after him. Uncle Andrew has so deluded himself that he cannot understand the Talking Beasts, and he runs from them in terror. (The Talking Beasts simply want to figure out who/what he is.)
Reflection:
I think the most interesting part of this chapter, with rather upsetting undertones, is the interaction between the Cabby and his horse, Strawberry. The Cabby, excited to speak with his beloved horse, seems ready for Strawberry to verbally recollect how well he has been taken care of by the Cabby. Strawberry does indeed remember the treats (oats and sugar cubes), but a majority of the horse's memory is not too fond. In particular, Strawberry remembers how the Cabby "used to tie a horrid black thing behind me and then hit me to make me run, and however far I ran this black thing would always be coming rattle-rattle behind me" (p. 50). Strawberry is referring to a carriage, of course. Strawberry remembers London only as "a hard, cruel country... There was no grass. All hard stones" (p. 50)
For those of you who know Laura and I, we are owners of a very vocal black cat, named Andy. Here is an offensively cute picture of him:
For those of you who know Laura and I, we are owners of a very vocal black cat, named Andy. Here is an offensively cute picture of him:
Andy misbehaves on occasion (several times daily), and we sometimes respond with something like, "After all the things we do for you... We give you food, shelter, comfort, play, treats, and we even scoop your POOP--several times a week--and this is how you repay us?!"
But then reading the interaction between the Cabby and Strawberry makes me wonder what our cat is really thinking. Who knows how many obscenities he has shouted at us via meows. I suppose it's important to remember that while we may see Andy's life as perfect and privileged, he might not always see it that way--and that's not really anyone's fault necessarily. Of course Andy would love a 6-bedroom house to explore, but we don't have a 6-bedroom house, and I suspect that sometimes he probably feels that his territory is rather small in a 2-bedroom (3.5 total rooms) apartment. This chapter of The Magician's Nephew reminds me to not necessarily assume what Andy is thinking, and despite the fact that we think his life must be perfect, he might not necessarily agree 100%.
For animals, like humans, their situations are relative I think. Laura and I know that Andy is better off than 99.9% of stray cats in the world, but he doesn't know that. Listen to your animals, and don't make assumptions--that is what I took from this chapter.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 9: The Founding of Narnia
Chapter Summary:
Chapter 9 opens with the Lion's song creating the grass and trees (which grow very quickly) in the new world. Uncle Andrew and Jadis argue about their situation, but the Cabby tells them to be silent, and to simply watch and listen.
The Lion gets closer and closer, until Jadis throws the piece of lamppost that she is holding in her hand directly at the Lion. The Lion is unphased and passes by; Jadis runs in fear. Uncle Andrew again tries to find a way to escape, but is interrupted by the sight of a lamppost growing quickly from the ground where the piece of lamppost had recently landed. This causes Uncle Andrew to reflect on all of the fame and money this discovery could make him.
Digory goes to ask the Lion if there is anything here that can cure his mother. Instead, he watches an unusual scene: The ground boils, and from it comes animals of every sort. The Lion then chooses specific pairs of each type of animal; these animals encircle him. The Lion breathes on them, and visible changes take place (the animals change size; shape).
Then everyone hears a voice say, "Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking trees. Be talking beasts. Be divine waters" (p. 48).
Reflection:
This is a chapter where both noise and lack thereof (henceforth known as silence) play an important role. As Narnia is being created, Uncle Andrew and the Witch Jadis are having an argument about the horrible situation that has unfolded. In the middle of Uncle Andrew's lengthy rant, the Cabby says, "Oh stow it... Watchin's and listenin's the thing at present; not talking" (p. 44). Meanwhile, the Lion is creating the new world with his song, and Polly realizes that the notes in the song are directly reflecting the changes that are occurring in the world around them (i.e. a series of quick, light notes are accompanied by the emergence of flowers).
Later in the chapter, the emergence of the animals from the ground is accompanied by what you would expect--a great amount of animal noises (I imagine standing in the middle of a zoo just before it opens for the day). But as soon as the Lion marks indicate which animals should encircle him, they do so, and become completely silent (out of reverence, one would assume, based on the allegory). Here is the brief passage in which this occurs:
"For the first time that day there was complete silence, except for the noise of running water. 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" (p. 48).
Noise and silence are important things in our lives and society--and we don't often understand the impact unless we are actively thinking about the impact. If I sit here and think about it, there have been rather significant moments where I have been incredibly aware of sound or silence. I remember driving away from my wedding reception with Laura, and within seconds of leaving the venue, I think the first thing I said was, "It is so quiet!" Compared to the noise and celebration of the last 3-4 hours, the silence was both surprising and much-needed!
If you've ever been at a sporting event, you know the impact of noise (and you know what loud noise or silence mean about your team's performance). Consider this video below, which is one of my favorite sports videos of all time, and think about the difference in noise had that shot not been made: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8KbNmJQllmg
And depending on where you live, you are used to some degree of noise. When you are laying down to go to sleep in an unfamiliar place, you notice the difference in noise, don't you? Most of us who don't live in a flight zone know the unfortunate circumstance of staying in an airport hotel near a busy airport. And those of us who live in a city of any size at all know the weird feeling of visiting that relative out in the country--and how ridiculously silent it is when you're trying to fall asleep (you can hear your heart beating in your ear, and it's annoying the hell out of you, isn't it?).
This is getting lengthy, so I will conclude. Noise and silence are important in our society and in Narnia. Important enough that even children (Digory & Polly) are keenly aware of its impact and importance.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
The Magician's Nephew | Chapter 8: The Fight at the Lamp-Post
Chapter Summary:
In Chapter 8, The crowd begins to mock the Queen, who becomes angry and assaults the nearest civilians. Digory (quickly joined by Polly) manages to grab onto Jadis's ankle and put on his magical ring.
Everyone who is touching Digory by some degree of connection (Digory, Polly, Jadis, the horse, the Cabby, and Uncle Andrew) is transported into the woods between the worlds, and then subsequently into a completely dark, cold place. Jadis proclaims that they have arrived in an empty world; they are literally nowhere.
Just as Uncle Andrew is plotting an escape, a beautiful voice begins to sing. All at once, stars appear and many other voices begin to sing as well. A sun very slowly begins to rise, and a barren river/valley are revealed, along with a lion (the original voice) who is facing in the direction of the sun. Everyone reacts differently to the scene & voices: The Cabby is enchanted, and the horse appears gleeful. Uncle Andrew appears surprised, and Jadis is angry, with the knowledge that the magic here is stronger than her own.
Jadis breaks the silence and tells them to prepare a way out; Uncle Andrew reveals the secret of the rings. The chapter ends with the sound of the voices beginning to change.
Reflection:
I remember reading TCON just enough to know that we have now arrived at the creation of Narnia (or as some like to refer to it, Genesis 1: 1-10). It's going to be rather difficult to discuss this chapter without discussing allegory or Biblical parallels, and there's enough controversy and variety of opinion on those subjects to keep me going for quite a while. Besides, there will be plenty of time for this later.
What I think is most telling, aside from the two pieces above, is the reaction of each of the characters to what they are witnessing--the formation of a new world. Here are a few snippets of their reactions:
"The Cabby and the two children had open mouths and shining eyes; they were drinking in the sound, and they looked as if it reminded them of something. Uncle Andrew's mouth was open too, but not open with joy... His shoulders were stooped and his knees shook. He was not liking the Voice. If he could have got away from it by creeping into a rat's hole, he would have done so. But the Witch looked as if, in a way, she understood the music better than any of them. Her mouth was shut, her lips were pressed together, and her fists were clenched. Ever since the song began she had felt that this whole world was filled with a Magic different from hers and stronger... the horse stood with its ears well forward and twitching... It no longer looked like a tired old cab-horse; you could now well believe that its father had been in battles" (p. 43).
Remember how we talked about the parallels between Uncle Andrew and Queen Jadis--here again, we see that they are the only two characters (horse included) who are negatively impacted by the scene unfolding before them. You could even venture to guess that this reaction is the result of the connection with magic--Jadis's reaction so much more negative because of her deeply evil connection with magic. Interestingly, the above statement is all we ever hear about Digory and Polly's reaction to this moment. The Cabby is by far the most talkative individual during this creation scene, and one of the most enchanted. And finally, the horse is the character that shows the greatest indication of personal impact based on the events unfolding. It seems, perhaps, that there is a (negative) correlation between magical experience and the emotion each character associates with this scene. Perhaps there are other explanations, but that's the one I see. It will be interesting to see how each character reacts as the remainder of the creation story unfolds before them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)