YAY IT'S FINALLY TIME!!
...
Sorry. Crazy fangirl moment over.
It's finally time for The Horse and His Boy, my favorite Narnian Chronicle! Having a "mercurial" personality (in a very medieval sense), I enjoy this book in so many ways. For one thing, it has so many amazing characters that I'll have to employ a whole 'nother blog post to explore them. For another, the setting and plot are unique among the books, with tight pacing and sly humor. Rereading this book in the aspect of Mercury has been a tremendously meaningful experience, and a lot of fun as well. Thus, I will respond to this blog post from Mari Ness on Tor.com with what may be an overabundance of glee. Be forewarned. And read the original post first, because I will respond without repeating it.
Before we get into things, let's spend a little time thinking about Mercury: the planet, the element, and the mythological deity. The element, also known as "quicksilver" ("quick" in the older sense meaning "alive"), gives perhaps the clearest definition to Mercury's nature and the aspect that we see the most in the book. If you were to roll a bit of mercury around in a dish (which I think you're not allowed to do now we know it's poisonous), you would notice a very strange phenomenon: the droplets. When disturbed, quicksilver scatters into tiny little spheres that roll around wildly until they bump into each other, at which point they merge again, eventually unifying back into the smooth surface you started with. This behavior of quicksilver was a favorite metaphor of Lewis' (see Michael Ward, Planet Narnia), who used it in literary criticism, poetry, and fictional descriptions. But in HHB, he did something even cooler: he dramatized it throughout the story as characters are united and separated and united again. Bree and Shasta get together, then later meet Aravis and Hwin. The group is separated in Tashbaan, only to be reunited on the other side, and then Shasta splits off from the others at the Hermit's house, later returning after his reunion with his true father and brother. In the end, the Horses and humans go their separate ways to Narnia and Archenland, but the very last line of the book indicates that they would keep getting back together for many years in the future.
Mercury the planet supposedly presided over two (that I know of) constellations in the zodiac: Gemini and Virgo. Gemini provides Lewis with another constant imagery for his story: twins or pairs. It even starts with the dedication, which is to a pair of brothers. Shasta and Corin are, of course, the main pair of twins in the story, and clearly based on Castor and Pollux (the former being a horse-tamer and the latter a boxer). The imagery continues with the horses galloping neck and neck, the slaves on either side of the Tisroc's couch, Mount Pire with its double point, and the two kings shaking hands across the battering-ram at Anvard, just to name a few. Virgo, as a footnote in Ward's book points out, may be responsible for the two subplots of virgins escaping forced marriage. They are certainly very different, and the contrast is almost certainly deliberate, but I will say more about that later.
Mercury the myth seems to have ruled over many things. He was the god of language, of crossroads, of speed, and of theft. Language is the concept that Michael Ward takes under consideration in his Mercury chapter of Planet Narnia, which is well worth reading. Mercury's rule of the spoken and written word includes elevated style (Aravis' storytelling), pithy wit ("Does it ever get caught on a hook halfway?"), puns, double meanings (there's that twin picture again!), and symbolism. All other aspects of Mercury's character, I believe, can be summarized under one concept: Mercury is the god of change. Crossroads mean a change of direction. Speed, a change of location. Theft, a change in ownership, or at least possession. In my next post about the characters of HHB, one main focus will be on how they respond to change. And now, to the response.
First, about coincidences: The Hermit of the Southern March tells Aravis that in his long life he's never met such a thing as Luck, and Lewis clearly agrees. Even in this world, he was convinced that everything was working out according to a divine plan. His works on the efficacy of prayer and the problem of pain, just for a few examples, are adamant that God is to be conceived of as being in control of every little circumstance. As Cor later notes of Aslan, "He seems to be at the back of all the stories."
Then to deal with Calormen. I congratulate Ms. Ness on recognizing the influence of the Ottoman Empire on Lewis' portrayal. One must remember, Lewis was not a man of his time; he was a man of medieval times, especially when writing the Narnia books, which take place in a medieval-type world and are ordered by a medieval cosmology. And in medieval times, the Ottoman Empire was much, much bigger than the little island nation of England. Thus, the depiction of the Calormene Tisroc as a powerful tyrant who dreams of "swallowing up" the little countries of Archenland and Narnia. But more to the point, Lewis is not using Calormen (at least, not in this book) to comment on Islam. They're clearly polytheists, as Aravis demonstrates by swearing in the names of multiple gods and preparing sacred rites for the goddess Zardeenah. What he is doing with it is highlighting the evils of empire. Most of the character flaws in the Calormenes--greed, tyranny, entitlement, servility, corruption, and so on--are things we see in every bloated empire, from the Babylonian to the British to the Galactic. Most of all, the characteristic of Calormen is anti-Mercurial. Their habits of language are cumbersome and verging on the meaningless, as demonstrated in Ahoshta's constant quoting of the "poets" who used ten-dollar words at every opportunity. Their resistance to change (Mercury's nature) is even more pronounced. Things in Calormen are the way they are, and no one except Aravis questions them. In fact, they go so far as to denounce the ways of the Northerners as "barbaric", childish, and demonic. Sound familiar? How long ago was it that we in America were calling people "savages" and treating them like children or idiots?
The anti-Mercurial nature of Calormen can be summed up nicely in their catchphrase: "The Tisroc (may he live for ever)." Bree points out how silly this is in the first chapter: "I don't want him to live for ever, and I know that he's not going to live for ever whether I want him to or not." Even the people who say it know that it's not true. They refer to the year the present Tisroc began his reign, which would have to be when the previous one died. (Also, incidentally, the same year LWW took place.) The Tisroc himself notes that several before him have been killed before their time by impatient princes like Rabadash, and when Rabadash eventually takes the throne, he won't let his generals go out and win glory in battle because that's the way Tisrocs get overthrown. One wonders how many Tisrocs died while their subjects muttered "may he live for ever". And yet, one can see how such a practice might have started and been encouraged. Strict anti-treason laws might have prohibited talking about the Tisroc's eventual death, or even thinking about it. This might have grown into a command to wish for his eternal life. And when you repeat something often enough, you start to internalize it and believe it. The saying keeps the Tisroc's people content with the status quo. Even if they're sensible enough to realize the present Tisroc won't live forever, at least there will always be a Tisroc. There will always be a Grand Vizier, Tarkaans and Tarkheenas, soldiers and sellers and slaves, and the whole structure of their society. For isn't it the most enlightened and civilized way of doing things? Of course it is. Because everyone else is a barbarian.
On the subject of Aravis, I agree: she is awesome. And I will talk about her awesomeness in depth in the next post on character contrasts. Only a couple of notes here: First, her physical punishment by Aslan is one of the ways she's brought out of the mentality of imperial Calormen. There, people (especially lower-class people) are seen as tools to be used for one's own pleasure or advancement. (Again, sound familiar?) Aravis even refers to the servant as a "tool" of her stepmother's. Aslan makes it clear that such an attitude is not acceptable in his realm. People feel pain, no matter who they are. Second, her eventual marriage can be seen as another statement of the coupling theme that runs throughout the book. Even the separation-and-unity of quicksilver is featured in the humorous way they get together, by "quarrelling and making it up again" over and over.
Susan, on the other hand, is the exception to the Northern Mercurial character. At council, she breaks down in tears instead of saying anything useful, and as Ms. Ness points out, she can't see beyond appearances. She and Aravis are apparently meant as opposites, with Lasaraleen providing a foil for Aravis in a more present way. Again, I will go much more in depth on all of them later.
"Bad luck" as part of a divine plan: see above, under coincidences. Also, which would you rather believe about your own suffering: that it's random and meaningless, meant by no one for no purpose; or that it's intended by an all-knowing deity for the good of many, including yourself? If you truly believe suffering is easier to endure with no meaning or purpose to it, then I don't understand where you are coming from.
One more note: Mari Ness expresses confusion that the characters are so excited about finding freedom in Narnia when "both Narnia and Archenland are monarchies believing in the divine right of kings." Firstly, as some of the commenters on her post pointed out, monarchy and freedom are not mutually exclusive. Secondly, given King Lune's comment on how "the king's under the law", Archenland might well be seen as a constitutional monarchy. And finally, the philosophy of kingship espoused by King Lune (which he presumably got from his ancestor Frank, who got it from Aslan) is one that puts severe limitations on the king's power and how it may be used. In Narnia and Archenland, kingship is not just a divine right, but a divine responsibility; a duty, like a sentry at his post. Their job is to take on hardship and danger so their subjects don't have to. Power is to be used for the sake of the powerless. This is why the Northern countries don't have forced marriage (as Hwin tells Aravis), slavery, or "dangerous" princes like Rabadash. Again, I will be coming back to all of this in my next post.
With that said, let's get to it, eh? ;)
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
Planet Narnia, A Responsive Reread: The Silver Chair
Hello all, I'm sorry it's been so long since updating this series. In my defense, this book is one of the more "miserable" of the seven, as Mari Ness points out in the first paragraph of her blog post here. There are good reasons for this in the planetary scheme of things, and I'll get to them below. Hopefully, this post will be short, since there wasn't much in Ms. Ness' article that I disagreed with. (And I CAN'T WAIT to get to HHB, which is my absolute favorite and will take two full posts at least!) Again, please read the original post, since I will (as usual) be responding without repeating.
The Silver Chair has as its presiding planet what we consider not a planet at all: Luna, or the moon. But when you think about the original meaning of the word "planet" (as Lewis was wont to do with many words), the name might be more fitting than we think. "Planet" means "wanderer", and is there any heavenly body in our terrestrial sky that wanders more than the moon? The stars remain in their positions as the sky turns, such that one can find them in the same configuration any day of the year. The planets move much more freely, but still show up predictably and generally stick to the same course. The sun, of course, defines days and seasons, rising faithfully every morning and setting every evening. But the moon seems to be all over the place, waxing and waning and showing up in the daytime sky and getting closer to and further from the earth. Granted, we can predict a lot of that now, after millennia of study. But it's hardly a surprise that the changeable, wandering moon was associated in the medieval mind with wanderlust, fickleness, and insanity (or "lunacy"--moon pun!). Hence, "the first and only quest tale of the Narnia series", where the destination is uncertain, leading the characters to wander a great deal with confusing or "not always clear instructions."
But there's another important reason why the instructions are not always clear. Luna, in the medieval model of the universe, was the boundary marker of our fallen world. All the other planets' spheres (between one orbit and another, their territory if you will) were in heaven; or more accurately, were "the heavens". Out beyond the moon, everything was clear, orderly, and perfect. Confusion, or indeed evil itself, only existed below the moon, in our terrestrial sphere. Aslan makes this difference part of the story when he tells Jill before blowing her into Narnia, "Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly; I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind." And in Planet Narnia (pp. 128-129), Michael Ward points out that this is not the only Lunar-esque divide in SC: first there's Aslan's mountain, where everything is perfectly clear; then there's Narnia and Ettinsmoor, where things are not always what they seem and Jill and Eustace "muff" the signs; then there's Underland, where you can barely see a thing and the witch's deception rules. (And then there's the deeper land of Bism, but we see so little of it that it's hard to comment on.) Thus, the answer to the question I posed at the end of my last post is that in the system of Narnia and Lewis' wider imagination, it's this side of the moon that is truly "dark".
As Ms. Ness astutely points out, the northern lands beyond Narnia are "very wet", and this is yet another aspect of Luna's influence. By association with the tides and by its fluctuating nature, the moon was closely tied to water in the medieval mindset. And I am very impressed by how C. S. Lewis manages to make the landlocked journey of SC atmospherically wetter than the sea voyage of the preceding VDT. The overwhelming aesthetic of VDT, despite taking place on a large body of water, is light, glowing, shining, white and gold. Jill and Eustace's journey with Puddleglum (whose very name seems to drip) is overwhelmingly cold and wet and dim and gray. And that's the above-ground portion. Even in England, the laurels are dripping, and Eustace can't sit down for the wet grass.
Regarding the underground portion, just a personal note: I was never scared of underground places like Jill and Ms. Ness. I'm more on Eustace's side, being afraid of heights. Enclosed spaces, to me, feel safe and cozy. This is why I was so content to live in basement apartments for about two and a half years. But, moving on...
The question is raised of why Aslan doesn't just rescue Rilian himself, since he obviously knows where he is and how to get there. I struggled a bit with how to answer this, until my husband said succinctly, "Why don't I do my child's math homework?" It's because the point isn't only to get the right answers, or in this context, the point isn't just to rescue Rilian. It's important for the person experiencing it to learn how to solve the problem, to make mistakes and struggle and grow. Given Ms. Ness' praise of how Jill does just that, I doubt she would really want to take the opportunity away from her. (Not to mention Eustace and Puddleglum, but we don't see their growth as much.)
This educational aspect of the story might also help to shed some light (moonlight, naturally) on one of the most controversial scenes in Narnia: the corporal punishment of the bullies at Experiment House at the hands of Jill, Eustace, and Caspian, abetted by Aslan. As Ward explains in Planet Narnia, "the Moon was associated with grammar", one of the "seven medieval arts". Grammar could be extrapolated to mean an entire educational system, and discipline was a huge part of that. At Experiment House, though, discipline is nonexistent. Anyone who gets caught in wrongdoing is deemed an "interesting psychological case" and brought in for a conversation in which manipulation is easy for those who know what grown-ups like to hear. Very little real learning is going on in their ostensible subjects, because real learning involves effort. It involves difficulty, struggle, and hard work. The poor victims are already expending all their energy in staying safe, and the bullies (this is important) are skating by on their forceful personalities, never facing anything difficult, anything that might hurt them in any way. Not only is this unfair, but it's harmful to the bullies themselves. When they get outside the school environment, where such things as math and reading and science--and diligence and perseverance and recovery from failure--actually matter, they'll be completely unprepared. This is a wake-up call to them and to the adults who have made this situation possible. Appropriately, the Head is found "behaving like a lunatic" (moon pun!) after the incident.
Now, briefly, to respond to the penultimate paragraph: why enchant Rilian to be such an obnoxious person? This isn't answered in Planet Narnia, but I think I can make a guess. The witch didn't want to hang out with him for the rest of her life, despite what she might have told him. After she used him to take over Narnia, giving its inhabitants a large dose of bitter irony, her plan was probably to get rid of him and just rule it by herself. Perhaps she would have allowed him one moment of clarity before the end, just to make him suffer with the knowledge of what he had done. But in the meantime, his grating personality was likely to drive away potential rescuers, as even the Aslan-sent party is heartily sick of his company after one dinner.
That's all I have for now, but next comes (drum roll, please)...The Horse and His Boy! And this will be tons of fun, because it contains one of my favorite plots as well as some of my favorite scenes and characters. Under analysis, it also revealed plenty of deeper meanings and fun connections, so I'll probably take two posts to discuss everything I found. :)
See you then!
The Silver Chair has as its presiding planet what we consider not a planet at all: Luna, or the moon. But when you think about the original meaning of the word "planet" (as Lewis was wont to do with many words), the name might be more fitting than we think. "Planet" means "wanderer", and is there any heavenly body in our terrestrial sky that wanders more than the moon? The stars remain in their positions as the sky turns, such that one can find them in the same configuration any day of the year. The planets move much more freely, but still show up predictably and generally stick to the same course. The sun, of course, defines days and seasons, rising faithfully every morning and setting every evening. But the moon seems to be all over the place, waxing and waning and showing up in the daytime sky and getting closer to and further from the earth. Granted, we can predict a lot of that now, after millennia of study. But it's hardly a surprise that the changeable, wandering moon was associated in the medieval mind with wanderlust, fickleness, and insanity (or "lunacy"--moon pun!). Hence, "the first and only quest tale of the Narnia series", where the destination is uncertain, leading the characters to wander a great deal with confusing or "not always clear instructions."
But there's another important reason why the instructions are not always clear. Luna, in the medieval model of the universe, was the boundary marker of our fallen world. All the other planets' spheres (between one orbit and another, their territory if you will) were in heaven; or more accurately, were "the heavens". Out beyond the moon, everything was clear, orderly, and perfect. Confusion, or indeed evil itself, only existed below the moon, in our terrestrial sphere. Aslan makes this difference part of the story when he tells Jill before blowing her into Narnia, "Here on the mountain I have spoken to you clearly; I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind." And in Planet Narnia (pp. 128-129), Michael Ward points out that this is not the only Lunar-esque divide in SC: first there's Aslan's mountain, where everything is perfectly clear; then there's Narnia and Ettinsmoor, where things are not always what they seem and Jill and Eustace "muff" the signs; then there's Underland, where you can barely see a thing and the witch's deception rules. (And then there's the deeper land of Bism, but we see so little of it that it's hard to comment on.) Thus, the answer to the question I posed at the end of my last post is that in the system of Narnia and Lewis' wider imagination, it's this side of the moon that is truly "dark".
As Ms. Ness astutely points out, the northern lands beyond Narnia are "very wet", and this is yet another aspect of Luna's influence. By association with the tides and by its fluctuating nature, the moon was closely tied to water in the medieval mindset. And I am very impressed by how C. S. Lewis manages to make the landlocked journey of SC atmospherically wetter than the sea voyage of the preceding VDT. The overwhelming aesthetic of VDT, despite taking place on a large body of water, is light, glowing, shining, white and gold. Jill and Eustace's journey with Puddleglum (whose very name seems to drip) is overwhelmingly cold and wet and dim and gray. And that's the above-ground portion. Even in England, the laurels are dripping, and Eustace can't sit down for the wet grass.
Regarding the underground portion, just a personal note: I was never scared of underground places like Jill and Ms. Ness. I'm more on Eustace's side, being afraid of heights. Enclosed spaces, to me, feel safe and cozy. This is why I was so content to live in basement apartments for about two and a half years. But, moving on...
The question is raised of why Aslan doesn't just rescue Rilian himself, since he obviously knows where he is and how to get there. I struggled a bit with how to answer this, until my husband said succinctly, "Why don't I do my child's math homework?" It's because the point isn't only to get the right answers, or in this context, the point isn't just to rescue Rilian. It's important for the person experiencing it to learn how to solve the problem, to make mistakes and struggle and grow. Given Ms. Ness' praise of how Jill does just that, I doubt she would really want to take the opportunity away from her. (Not to mention Eustace and Puddleglum, but we don't see their growth as much.)
This educational aspect of the story might also help to shed some light (moonlight, naturally) on one of the most controversial scenes in Narnia: the corporal punishment of the bullies at Experiment House at the hands of Jill, Eustace, and Caspian, abetted by Aslan. As Ward explains in Planet Narnia, "the Moon was associated with grammar", one of the "seven medieval arts". Grammar could be extrapolated to mean an entire educational system, and discipline was a huge part of that. At Experiment House, though, discipline is nonexistent. Anyone who gets caught in wrongdoing is deemed an "interesting psychological case" and brought in for a conversation in which manipulation is easy for those who know what grown-ups like to hear. Very little real learning is going on in their ostensible subjects, because real learning involves effort. It involves difficulty, struggle, and hard work. The poor victims are already expending all their energy in staying safe, and the bullies (this is important) are skating by on their forceful personalities, never facing anything difficult, anything that might hurt them in any way. Not only is this unfair, but it's harmful to the bullies themselves. When they get outside the school environment, where such things as math and reading and science--and diligence and perseverance and recovery from failure--actually matter, they'll be completely unprepared. This is a wake-up call to them and to the adults who have made this situation possible. Appropriately, the Head is found "behaving like a lunatic" (moon pun!) after the incident.
Now, briefly, to respond to the penultimate paragraph: why enchant Rilian to be such an obnoxious person? This isn't answered in Planet Narnia, but I think I can make a guess. The witch didn't want to hang out with him for the rest of her life, despite what she might have told him. After she used him to take over Narnia, giving its inhabitants a large dose of bitter irony, her plan was probably to get rid of him and just rule it by herself. Perhaps she would have allowed him one moment of clarity before the end, just to make him suffer with the knowledge of what he had done. But in the meantime, his grating personality was likely to drive away potential rescuers, as even the Aslan-sent party is heartily sick of his company after one dinner.
That's all I have for now, but next comes (drum roll, please)...The Horse and His Boy! And this will be tons of fun, because it contains one of my favorite plots as well as some of my favorite scenes and characters. Under analysis, it also revealed plenty of deeper meanings and fun connections, so I'll probably take two posts to discuss everything I found. :)
See you then!
Thursday, January 22, 2015
Planet Narnia, a Responsive Reread: The Voyage of the "Dawn Treader"
This is perhaps my second favorite Narnia book, a close second to The Horse and His Boy, which I will be reviewing later. No surprise there; like Olaf, I've always loved summer, and the sun, and warmth. Going on a voyage to the sun here in the middle of winter was like a soothing vacation for the soul.
Here, again, is the blog post on tor.com to which I will be responding. First, allow me to compliment the author on her choice of title. "Into Light" is a deeply apt description of VDT, and I will explain why in the comments below. Again, I recommend you read her post first or along with mine, as I will be responding to it without repeating it.
First, let's get our bearings by getting to know the presiding planetary "spirit" of the book: Sol, Apollo, or the Sun. (Remember, in the medieval cosmology, the sun went around the earth; and it appears to be the case in Narnia, which we learn is a flat world.) This is certainly the most obvious planetary influence out of the seven, as the literal rising sun is the goal of the journey, even giving the ship and the book their names. What might not be so obvious is the way the Solar spirit inhabits other aspects of the story, such as the several island visits and what the characters do there. There are two main ideas related to the sun which Lewis explores through the story: gold and light.
In the medieval mindset, each planet was responsible for creating a certain metal in the earth. Jupiter produced tin, valued for its shining quality; Mars produced iron, the strongest natural metal. The sun produced gold, that coveted metal that was alchemy's goal. Gold is prominently featured in VDT, with the ship's gilded sides, golden images of Aslan, the dragon's hoard of gold coins, and the alchemical pool on Deathwater Island. People can have two different attitudes toward gold: hoarding it or giving it away. It is the second impulse that Sol generates in responsive pupils, and we see generosity praised and greed condemned in many an episode. Greed is symbolized, often, by a dragon. It's common knowledge that dragons are hoarders of gold, and Eustace's greed turning him into a dragon is only the most obvious example. Notably, this is the only Chronicle in which dragons appear (the strange beasts of SC and LB are more like dinosaurs, in my opinion). Ominously, the ship herself is shaped like a dragon, which portends that her king is more susceptible to greed than he thinks. But more about that in a bit. (For a much more extensive treatment of Solar gold, see Planet Narnia, the chapter about VDT.)
Light pervades the story, made more striking by contrast with episodes of darkness such as the Dark Island. As a concept, light is rife with meaning, and Ward touches on some of those meanings in Planet Narnia, but one that I don't think he deals with sufficiently is that light reveals truth. The whole voyage is not a "cruise", as Ms. Ness calls it, but a quest of discovery, boldly going where no man (besides the seven lords) has gone before, shedding light on uncharted seas and lands and the fate of the missing Telmarines. As a result, the travelers also discover much about themselves. Seeking knowledge, finding out the truth, revealing hidden things; all of these are operations of the Sun. With all of this in mind, let us proceed to the response.
C. S. Lewis did certainly disapprove of Eustace's "modern" parents and the mindset that they represent. But it's not just their tastes in underwear or drinks that he disapproves of. By describing them as "very up-to-date and advanced people" and then listing all the fads they're following, he implies that they are just that; fads. Harold and Alberta Scrubb aren't doing all of these things for reasons of conviction, or even of preference, or so it seems to me. The stress on being "up-to-date" seems to indicate that all these things they do are simply for the sake of being "up-to-date". This is the same mind we later encounter in Governor Gumpas, who views the growth of the slave trade in the Lone Islands as "Progress" and "Development" ("We call it 'Going Bad' in Narnia," says Caspian), "Necessary" and "Unavoidable". This is progress for the sake of progress, not caring where one is going as long as one is going forward. But Lewis points out in several of his writings that this is a bad idea, likely to lead astray. If you're going the wrong direction, moving forward will only get you further lost. Sometimes the best way to get where you want to be is to turn around, as the crew does literally at the Dark Island. And one of the functions of light is to show you where you've gone wrong and guide you back to the right path.
I commend Ms. Ness on seeing the theme of "temptation and self knowledge" so clearly. I would put it differently, though. Almost every island is a test, but each test reveals something about the one taking it. For instance, Eustace's transformation brings what was inside him to the outside, causing him to finally see clearly who he and the others really are. And Lucy's temptation of beauty reveals to her just how jealous of Susan she really was, and how much she craved recognition. Moving on to the second, failed test, the temptation of eavesdropping, I have a few replies to what the blog says: First, it was Lucy, not Aslan, who suggested that she and her friend would have remained good friends all their lives if only she hadn't heard what she said. Aslan gently reminds her that "no one is ever told what would have happened." He said this before in Prince Caspian, but it gains new significance under the revelatory nature of Sol. Some things are not meant to be revealed, at least not to our finite understanding. And some revelations, like the conversation overheard, need further light (Aslan's words) to interpret them correctly. So the lesson for Lucy from that temptation might be put thus: Beware of being deceived by partial revelation, and be aware of the limits of your own knowledge. Some things should not be known. (And if you object to my use of the word "should" as a moral aspect of knowledge, I refer you to the movie Jurassic Park and Ian Malcolm's brilliant indictment of the dinosaur-cloning scientists.)
Eustace's transformation and un-transformation is indeed one of the best subplots in the book, and Ms. Ness is perceptive to note the baptismal nature of the "undragoning" process. I would disagree with her assessment of the characters as "bland", even Caspian. He's more of a man and less of a boy than we saw in the previous book, but still young enough to be a lot like Edmund, Lucy, and the reading child. His great temptation is to greed, as seen on Deathwater and in his near abdication in the Last Sea. In the latter, we are told that for one moment he looked a great deal like his uncle Miraz. By seeking the World's End despite his duties as king, Caspian is revealing a selfish, tyrannical, dragonish attitude (foreshadowed by the shape of his ship); he wants what he wants when he wants it and doesn't care about anything else. Aslan, in the form of the golden lion's head on the wall, strikes him like the noonday sun on unshaded eyes, leaving him shaken.
And it is Aslan that will be the focus now, as Ms. Ness' blog post spends a lot of time on his last words to Edmund and Lucy (in this book; he talks to them in LB before leaving off His lion form). I'll spend a good deal of time on it, too, combining it with the Christian focus that is usually my last section.
Ms. Ness makes several errors here, mostly to do with her understanding of Christianity. She interprets Aslan's words as making Narnia "a spiritual testing ground", pits this reason against the reason of saving Narnia, and seems to think the main purpose of "becom[ing] evangelicals" is to convert others. But that is to miss the whole point. The point is the self-revelation of the Light of the world. Aslan's purpose is that the children may know him, both in Narnia and in our world. This is not merely a knowledge about him, but a relational intimacy, a friendship. Whoever you are reading this, you obviously know a few things about me, but unless I've met you in person, you don't really know me. And it is the second kind of knowledge that Aslan wants for the Pevensies, Eustace, and indeed all the Narnians.
This makes sense out of every objection. Was there an easier way for them to know Jesus in our world? Maybe, but would it have had the richness and depth that it had in Narnia? Probably not. And that was why they would have shared it with the narrator, so others could enter into that deeper understanding. Yes, the children were brought in to save Narnia, and so to reveal Aslan's character to them and to the rest of Narnia as the one who saves, who rules, who fights, who illumines, etc. Aslan's purposes are much larger than the children, but they are not at odds with his individual plans for them. All tie together under the auspices of his creatures knowing him. It's not "a spiritual testing ground", but a place of spiritual revelation. Why these children? Because he loved them and wanted them as his friends. Becoming "evangelicals" or Christians is not just about converting others, though that's a part of it. It's about knowing the one in whom we believe and revealing him to the world. Letting Eustace come back makes sense, because Aslan has yet more ways to reveal himself to him, whereas it seems Edmund and Lucy are ready to go back to their own world with what they have learned in Narnia. They're too old in terms of experience, not in terms of age. And yes, I know Peter and Susan had less experience than they did, but presumably it was enough (though maybe not for Susan, but that's another topic).
But why is knowing Aslan such a big deal? I'm glad you asked. Seriously, this is one of the most important questions one can ask. Hopefully I can make the answer clear.
Consider: If Aslan is indeed Christ under another name, taking the Narnia stories as true, then He is the being who created the universe--all the universes, if there are more than one. He had nothing to work with besides himself, so everything that exists in every universe is a reflection of his character in some way. In this fallen world, it is twisted and marred by evil, but the image is still there, "clearly seen", in the words of Romans chapter one. This is what theologians call "general revelation". But we don't see. We are like the Dufflepuds, refusing point-blank to see what's obvious and right in front of us. Imagine poor Coriakin, a star who once performed in a cosmic dance, saw everything that happened in his world, and predicted the future, set to govern such stubbornly stupid idiots! It certainly was more of a punishment than a retirement. Now think of the gap that must exist between our minds and that of the Creator. We invented the light bulb; He invented Light itself. He made human beings with all their capability for reason and understanding, solely so that we could know Him. And imagine what it would be to know this person, this Creator! To be the intimate friend of the eternal being at the back of all the stories, the ultimate cause of all life, the true Light that gives light to everyone in the world! It is the greatest honor anyone could have! And it is our true purpose, the reason we were created in the first place. There is nothing more important, no activity more worthwhile, than knowing Him.
Like the sun, though, He is too glorious to be looked upon without harming us. If you've seen Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, you have some idea of what I'm talking about [SPOILER ALERT]. When Cate Blanchett's character wishes to know everything, it's too much for her. She experiences intense pain and then explodes. Something like that would happen to us if we met God unmediated. So He reveals Himself to us gradually, gently, almost like a parent using baby talk, guiding us to know, love, and trust Him; which is our purpose in life. That's what we'll be doing for eternity, we Christians. Heaven is misconstrued so often as a boring place. One wonders what anyone could do forever. The answer is simple: get to know the infinite Creator.
Whew. Fangirl moment over. For now. :)
This next post is where things get a little odd to me. Ms. Ness goes on to The Silver Chair from here, as does Planet Narnia, which is strange because The Horse and His Boy was evidently published before it (SC, 1981; HHB, 1980). It's even obvious from reading the books themselves, for in The Silver Chair, Jill and Eustace hear a Narnian bard tell the story of The Horse and His Boy. So it would make much more sense (in my mind) to go on to HHB from here and leave the two Jill-Eustace adventures to flow together. Oh, well. Since this is a response, I suppose I'll go from the sun to the moon instead of Mercury. Until then, I leave you with a question for your consideration: Which side of the moon is really the dark side?
Happy landings!
Here, again, is the blog post on tor.com to which I will be responding. First, allow me to compliment the author on her choice of title. "Into Light" is a deeply apt description of VDT, and I will explain why in the comments below. Again, I recommend you read her post first or along with mine, as I will be responding to it without repeating it.
First, let's get our bearings by getting to know the presiding planetary "spirit" of the book: Sol, Apollo, or the Sun. (Remember, in the medieval cosmology, the sun went around the earth; and it appears to be the case in Narnia, which we learn is a flat world.) This is certainly the most obvious planetary influence out of the seven, as the literal rising sun is the goal of the journey, even giving the ship and the book their names. What might not be so obvious is the way the Solar spirit inhabits other aspects of the story, such as the several island visits and what the characters do there. There are two main ideas related to the sun which Lewis explores through the story: gold and light.
In the medieval mindset, each planet was responsible for creating a certain metal in the earth. Jupiter produced tin, valued for its shining quality; Mars produced iron, the strongest natural metal. The sun produced gold, that coveted metal that was alchemy's goal. Gold is prominently featured in VDT, with the ship's gilded sides, golden images of Aslan, the dragon's hoard of gold coins, and the alchemical pool on Deathwater Island. People can have two different attitudes toward gold: hoarding it or giving it away. It is the second impulse that Sol generates in responsive pupils, and we see generosity praised and greed condemned in many an episode. Greed is symbolized, often, by a dragon. It's common knowledge that dragons are hoarders of gold, and Eustace's greed turning him into a dragon is only the most obvious example. Notably, this is the only Chronicle in which dragons appear (the strange beasts of SC and LB are more like dinosaurs, in my opinion). Ominously, the ship herself is shaped like a dragon, which portends that her king is more susceptible to greed than he thinks. But more about that in a bit. (For a much more extensive treatment of Solar gold, see Planet Narnia, the chapter about VDT.)
Light pervades the story, made more striking by contrast with episodes of darkness such as the Dark Island. As a concept, light is rife with meaning, and Ward touches on some of those meanings in Planet Narnia, but one that I don't think he deals with sufficiently is that light reveals truth. The whole voyage is not a "cruise", as Ms. Ness calls it, but a quest of discovery, boldly going where no man (besides the seven lords) has gone before, shedding light on uncharted seas and lands and the fate of the missing Telmarines. As a result, the travelers also discover much about themselves. Seeking knowledge, finding out the truth, revealing hidden things; all of these are operations of the Sun. With all of this in mind, let us proceed to the response.
C. S. Lewis did certainly disapprove of Eustace's "modern" parents and the mindset that they represent. But it's not just their tastes in underwear or drinks that he disapproves of. By describing them as "very up-to-date and advanced people" and then listing all the fads they're following, he implies that they are just that; fads. Harold and Alberta Scrubb aren't doing all of these things for reasons of conviction, or even of preference, or so it seems to me. The stress on being "up-to-date" seems to indicate that all these things they do are simply for the sake of being "up-to-date". This is the same mind we later encounter in Governor Gumpas, who views the growth of the slave trade in the Lone Islands as "Progress" and "Development" ("We call it 'Going Bad' in Narnia," says Caspian), "Necessary" and "Unavoidable". This is progress for the sake of progress, not caring where one is going as long as one is going forward. But Lewis points out in several of his writings that this is a bad idea, likely to lead astray. If you're going the wrong direction, moving forward will only get you further lost. Sometimes the best way to get where you want to be is to turn around, as the crew does literally at the Dark Island. And one of the functions of light is to show you where you've gone wrong and guide you back to the right path.
I commend Ms. Ness on seeing the theme of "temptation and self knowledge" so clearly. I would put it differently, though. Almost every island is a test, but each test reveals something about the one taking it. For instance, Eustace's transformation brings what was inside him to the outside, causing him to finally see clearly who he and the others really are. And Lucy's temptation of beauty reveals to her just how jealous of Susan she really was, and how much she craved recognition. Moving on to the second, failed test, the temptation of eavesdropping, I have a few replies to what the blog says: First, it was Lucy, not Aslan, who suggested that she and her friend would have remained good friends all their lives if only she hadn't heard what she said. Aslan gently reminds her that "no one is ever told what would have happened." He said this before in Prince Caspian, but it gains new significance under the revelatory nature of Sol. Some things are not meant to be revealed, at least not to our finite understanding. And some revelations, like the conversation overheard, need further light (Aslan's words) to interpret them correctly. So the lesson for Lucy from that temptation might be put thus: Beware of being deceived by partial revelation, and be aware of the limits of your own knowledge. Some things should not be known. (And if you object to my use of the word "should" as a moral aspect of knowledge, I refer you to the movie Jurassic Park and Ian Malcolm's brilliant indictment of the dinosaur-cloning scientists.)
Eustace's transformation and un-transformation is indeed one of the best subplots in the book, and Ms. Ness is perceptive to note the baptismal nature of the "undragoning" process. I would disagree with her assessment of the characters as "bland", even Caspian. He's more of a man and less of a boy than we saw in the previous book, but still young enough to be a lot like Edmund, Lucy, and the reading child. His great temptation is to greed, as seen on Deathwater and in his near abdication in the Last Sea. In the latter, we are told that for one moment he looked a great deal like his uncle Miraz. By seeking the World's End despite his duties as king, Caspian is revealing a selfish, tyrannical, dragonish attitude (foreshadowed by the shape of his ship); he wants what he wants when he wants it and doesn't care about anything else. Aslan, in the form of the golden lion's head on the wall, strikes him like the noonday sun on unshaded eyes, leaving him shaken.
And it is Aslan that will be the focus now, as Ms. Ness' blog post spends a lot of time on his last words to Edmund and Lucy (in this book; he talks to them in LB before leaving off His lion form). I'll spend a good deal of time on it, too, combining it with the Christian focus that is usually my last section.
Ms. Ness makes several errors here, mostly to do with her understanding of Christianity. She interprets Aslan's words as making Narnia "a spiritual testing ground", pits this reason against the reason of saving Narnia, and seems to think the main purpose of "becom[ing] evangelicals" is to convert others. But that is to miss the whole point. The point is the self-revelation of the Light of the world. Aslan's purpose is that the children may know him, both in Narnia and in our world. This is not merely a knowledge about him, but a relational intimacy, a friendship. Whoever you are reading this, you obviously know a few things about me, but unless I've met you in person, you don't really know me. And it is the second kind of knowledge that Aslan wants for the Pevensies, Eustace, and indeed all the Narnians.
This makes sense out of every objection. Was there an easier way for them to know Jesus in our world? Maybe, but would it have had the richness and depth that it had in Narnia? Probably not. And that was why they would have shared it with the narrator, so others could enter into that deeper understanding. Yes, the children were brought in to save Narnia, and so to reveal Aslan's character to them and to the rest of Narnia as the one who saves, who rules, who fights, who illumines, etc. Aslan's purposes are much larger than the children, but they are not at odds with his individual plans for them. All tie together under the auspices of his creatures knowing him. It's not "a spiritual testing ground", but a place of spiritual revelation. Why these children? Because he loved them and wanted them as his friends. Becoming "evangelicals" or Christians is not just about converting others, though that's a part of it. It's about knowing the one in whom we believe and revealing him to the world. Letting Eustace come back makes sense, because Aslan has yet more ways to reveal himself to him, whereas it seems Edmund and Lucy are ready to go back to their own world with what they have learned in Narnia. They're too old in terms of experience, not in terms of age. And yes, I know Peter and Susan had less experience than they did, but presumably it was enough (though maybe not for Susan, but that's another topic).
But why is knowing Aslan such a big deal? I'm glad you asked. Seriously, this is one of the most important questions one can ask. Hopefully I can make the answer clear.
Consider: If Aslan is indeed Christ under another name, taking the Narnia stories as true, then He is the being who created the universe--all the universes, if there are more than one. He had nothing to work with besides himself, so everything that exists in every universe is a reflection of his character in some way. In this fallen world, it is twisted and marred by evil, but the image is still there, "clearly seen", in the words of Romans chapter one. This is what theologians call "general revelation". But we don't see. We are like the Dufflepuds, refusing point-blank to see what's obvious and right in front of us. Imagine poor Coriakin, a star who once performed in a cosmic dance, saw everything that happened in his world, and predicted the future, set to govern such stubbornly stupid idiots! It certainly was more of a punishment than a retirement. Now think of the gap that must exist between our minds and that of the Creator. We invented the light bulb; He invented Light itself. He made human beings with all their capability for reason and understanding, solely so that we could know Him. And imagine what it would be to know this person, this Creator! To be the intimate friend of the eternal being at the back of all the stories, the ultimate cause of all life, the true Light that gives light to everyone in the world! It is the greatest honor anyone could have! And it is our true purpose, the reason we were created in the first place. There is nothing more important, no activity more worthwhile, than knowing Him.
Like the sun, though, He is too glorious to be looked upon without harming us. If you've seen Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, you have some idea of what I'm talking about [SPOILER ALERT]. When Cate Blanchett's character wishes to know everything, it's too much for her. She experiences intense pain and then explodes. Something like that would happen to us if we met God unmediated. So He reveals Himself to us gradually, gently, almost like a parent using baby talk, guiding us to know, love, and trust Him; which is our purpose in life. That's what we'll be doing for eternity, we Christians. Heaven is misconstrued so often as a boring place. One wonders what anyone could do forever. The answer is simple: get to know the infinite Creator.
Whew. Fangirl moment over. For now. :)
This next post is where things get a little odd to me. Ms. Ness goes on to The Silver Chair from here, as does Planet Narnia, which is strange because The Horse and His Boy was evidently published before it (SC, 1981; HHB, 1980). It's even obvious from reading the books themselves, for in The Silver Chair, Jill and Eustace hear a Narnian bard tell the story of The Horse and His Boy. So it would make much more sense (in my mind) to go on to HHB from here and leave the two Jill-Eustace adventures to flow together. Oh, well. Since this is a response, I suppose I'll go from the sun to the moon instead of Mercury. Until then, I leave you with a question for your consideration: Which side of the moon is really the dark side?
Happy landings!
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Planet Narnia, A Responsive Reread: Prince Caspian
It's been a while, both since I posted my response about The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and since I reread Prince Caspian in preparation for this one. Blame the holidays and a bout of stomach flu that hit our house. Anyway, here we are now, ready to return to Narnia after a year/about a thousand years/whatever.
Here is the blog post on tor.com to which I will be responding, and again, you might want to read her comments before reading mine, since I'll be answering them without repeating them.
For this book, it would perhaps make more sense to describe the planetary character before we get into things. As LWW was a Jovial book, full of the character of the astrological Jupiter, Prince Caspian is a Martial book, built around the theme of Mars; or I should say, the themes of Mars, since there are two. Mars began as a god of vegetation, of growing things, especially trees. This is why the month of March was named after him, the only month to be named after a planet. It was only later that he became a god of war. Lewis considers him under both of these characters.
This tension between life and death, growing and destroying, may be one of the reasons the book is (as Lewis admitted) the weakest of the seven Chronicles. It was also probably difficult for him to portray the theme of war in a way that children could understand and even enjoy; a tall order for a sophomore effort. And any writer of a sequel, a series, or a television show faces the challenge of making a story connected to the established story but not the same. Lewis gets better at this as he goes along, but this story is his first attempt, and rather fails. "Things never happen the same way twice," Aslan tells Lucy; and yet, a lot of the same things happen in PC as in LWW. The Pevensies are all pulled into Narnia, which is under the reign of a tyrannical usurper. Lucy sees something that none of the others do, and is disbelieved until proven right. Everyone winds up at the Hill of the Stone Table. The boys and girls are split up, the girls staying with Aslan while the boys fight an important battle against the tyrant. Aslan and the girls bring in surprise reinforcements that turn the tide of the battle into a Narnian victory. A new ruler is crowned. The four Pevensies return to England, having left something of our world back in Narnia. The way all these things happen is different, of course, but the similar story structure can make those differences rather jarring.
Most differences have to do with the difference between Jupiter and Mars, that is, the difference between kingship and knighthood. For of course, Lewis the medieval man filtered war through the lens of knighthood, with all the chivalry and courtesy that came with it. Unfortunately, there are many, many similarities between a good king and a good knight. Peter demonstrates this at the single combat when he spares Miraz' life, and Edmund grumbles, "Comes of being a knight and a High King." Both aspects would motivate him to mercy.
So what is a good knight, according to Prince Caspian and the character of Mars? One major aspect is orderly obedience. Everyone has his place in the ranks and defends it to the best of his ability. The subordinates don't seek to subvert their leaders, and the leaders don't seek to abandon their responsibilities. Trumpkin is a prime example, as even when he disagrees with his superior officer, he'll still follow and obey him. Another important aspect is courage, which is defined not only as facing one's fears, but as doing what is right even when it's very hard. We see this in countless ways, portrayed by Caspian, the Pevensies, Trumpkin, Doctor Cornelius--pretty much all the good characters, Susan being the least receptive to the Martial spirit but catching on eventually. ("You have listened to fears, child....Are you braver now?" "A little, Aslan.") And just as the White Witch was the antithesis to Jovial joy, with her stoic and deadening winter, here the Telmarines are the antithesis to Martiality (if that's a word). Instead of faithfully keeping their places in the ranks, Glozelle and Sopespian scheme against Miraz, convincing him to join single combat through fear of being thought a coward, and eventually murdering him. Miraz himself is a usurper, coming to the throne through treachery and murder. He rules in a large part through fear, as Cornelius explains to Caspian about the Black Woods: The Telmarine kings fear the sea because Aslan comes over it, so they let the trees grow up to cut off the coast. "But because they have quarrelled with the trees, they are afraid of the woods" and imagine them full of ghosts, encouraging their people to believe the same, because they're also afraid of what might happen if the people started making friends with the trees, the sea, and all that they represent.
Now to the response. First of all, yes, the Telmarines don't like Miraz either, but again, their culture is full of treachery and fear. Caspian didn't just want to take his rightful place as king; he wanted to take it in the right way, turning his back on all that the Telmarine kings have done for many generations. That would indeed be considerably harder.
"[H]is route to the throne is not at all clear": this might be another instance of Lewis working in the aspects of Mars. In war, things are often unclear, and the only thing the soldier or the knight can do is make the best decision possible with the situation presented to him. Also, Caspian is still a very young prince, forced into this situation by necessity (another word that Lewis associated with Mars; see Planet Narnia, chapter four). He's not a very good commander yet, which is why he needs the aid of the more experienced kings Peter and Edmund, and of his great Commander-in-Chief, Aslan.
Bacchus, the Maenads, and Silenus. Those were always a weird part of the story to me, too. Michael Ward makes a brief connection in Planet Narnia with the month of March, during which, in ancient Rome, the Bacchanalia occurred after a festival in honor of Mars. This is a loose connection at best, and perhaps another weakness in the Chronicle, but the revelers are more sturdily rooted in the story (lol) by their association with plant life. They are quintessentially wild, like the untamed forest, and their function in the story is mainly to remove all the unnecessary/unwanted restrictions that the Telmarines have put in place: Beruna's Bridge (which the river-god calls "my chains"), a school where falsehood is taught, a man beating a boy, etc. They serve as a reminder that, although the Martial spirit is one of orderly obedience and hard necessity, those things are means rather than ends; means to abundant life, peace, friendship, and joy. (P.s.: Glozelle and Sopespian, as I said above, are not just there to help out the plot, or to save the children from being murderers, but to portray the general character of the bad guys as anti-Martial.)
Oh, yes. The next paragraph is one that I can hardly disagree with. The flashback method is confusing and makes it harder to totally immerse in the story. This may be one of the reasons for the book's poorer quality, and is probably connected with Lewis' desire to change things up a bit for the sequel.
No moral depth? On the contrary. Courage (as a few people have said) is not just one of the virtues, but is what is needed for any of the virtues to become strong. It's easy to have love, or gratitude, or self-control, or faith, when everything is going well for us. It's when things get hard, when the going gets tough, that we see how strong those virtues really are in us. The whole journey for Caspian and the other children (and Trumpkin, to some extent) is a lesson in courage, in doing the hard, necessary, right thing. Indeed, faith and disbelief may be studied almost the hardest here. The Last Battle is definitely the most in-depth journey of faith without sight, but Lucy's trial with her unseeing siblings is a great example to the Christian of the duty of witnessing even to the stubborn unbeliever, trusting that God will work through our obedience even if we don't see results right away. It takes courage for Lucy to "stick to her guns", and at first, she doesn't. It's something she has to learn. And the others change, too; the boys harden into warriors after the hard journey to Aslan's How, and Susan eventually admits how wrong she was and submits to Aslan's influence.
The worst consequence of disbelief is not just "a day's delay and exile to a tropical island". Those were the consequences meant to teach Aslan's children and to reward those who trusted his promises, respectively. How about the man who turned into a tree? The class full of boys who apparently turned into pigs? (Interestingly, it was apparently their fear that accomplished the latter transformation.) And think about the other two kinds of Telmarines who stayed in Narnia. Some were like Caspian and were glad that the Old Days had come again. They were on Aslan's side and probably became well-loved citizens of Narnia. But those who didn't like the new order of things, nor trust Aslan to give them a new country, must have been miserable the rest of their lives. Imagine a Nazi, or a member of the KKK, being forced to live in Africa. Caspian wouldn't have put up with them trying to assert their "rights" over his other subjects for a minute. Most of these probably ended up in prison or banished, or leaving the country voluntarily, as Pittencream does later in VDT.
On the subject of humans ruling the animals, see the previous post in this series, on kingship and the order of creation as Lewis saw it. Also, consider this: all or most of the animals we see have their own particular prejudices. The Bulgy Bears want to have dinner first and council afterwards; the squirrels want everyone to eat and talk at the same time; the mice want to storm Miraz' castle right away; the moles want to dig trenches all over the place; the fauns and satyrs want to start with a dance; later, in SC, the owls have all their meetings at night; etc. A Centaur might be a good choice for a ruler to tie all these disparate races together, but Narnian Centaurs have their own job of stargazing and prophecy. (Dwarfs tend to be racial supremacists, as in the case of Nikabrik and the Dwarfs of The Last Battle.) A human king, ruling under the guidance of the animal-yet-divine Aslan, can know what's best for all.
Trumpkin's doubt of the Pevensies' abilities is another way Lewis shows that he (Trumpkin, that is) is not quite in tune with Aslan's Martial influence. A soldier obeys his commanding officer, even if he doesn't think much of him. Trumpkin realizes this under Caspian, but has trouble accepting the authority of the four Kings and Queens from England. In part, this is because their authority comes from Aslan, in whom Trumpkin also disbelieves until proven wrong. His skepticism is another way the issue of faith is explored, and reminds me of the character of MacPhee in That Hideous Strength, whom the leader of the faithful company describes affectionately as "our skeptic" and the best man you could have on your side in a losing battle. His loyalty and faith are not easy to win, but nearly impossible to lose once gained. And when Trumpkin does believe in who the Pevensies are, he steps in and reminds them whenever they start to forget who they are in Narnia; their place in the ranks. Peter would rather not have to make a decision; "You are the High King," Trumpkin points out. If anyone has to make tough choices, it's the leader. Susan obstreperously declines to follow Aslan in the middle of the night, even when everyone else is doing so; "Obey the High King, your Majesty," says Trumpkin, "and let's be off." Trumpkin doesn't believe it, either, but he knows the difference between giving advice and taking orders, which shows how he's somewhat receptive to Aslan even before coming to faith.
Susan, as I have said, is the least receptive to the Martial influence in this book. Because of the theme of facing hardship hardily, the result is that Susan is quite the "wet-blanket", complaining more than anyone else and refusing to obey her older brother/High King or Lucy's vision of Aslan. She's not completely useless, as she takes the initiative to rescue Trumpkin at the beginning of the story and uses her shooting skills to prove her identity as Queen. We're told that archery and swimming are the things she's good at. But talent alone is not enough. Being on Aslan's side is about commitment and loyalty, even when things don't go smoothly, and Susan apparently can't handle that. Is this one reason she turns her back on Narnia in LB? Maybe.
Nobody seems to learn anything in this book? Really? See the above paragraph on "moral depth". I would say all four Pevensies learn a great deal about holding onto faith and making the right choice when it's hardest. Maybe it's not as clear as it should be (another result of the confusing story structure?), but studying Prince Caspian under the character of Mars made it very clear to me. (No comment on the shortness of the trip, except to note that when peace has come, the knights can return home, unlike kings whose jobs are never over.)
On the subject of Peter and Susan leaving Narnia, it's impossible to say much from this book because it doesn't say much about it (another case of obeying orders even when they're difficult to understand). We get much better closure in VDT when Aslan speaks to Edmund and Lucy about not coming back. There, Aslan explains that as they get older, they "must begin to come close to [their] own world" and that the reason they were brought to Narnia was to know him better here. I'll talk more about this in the next post, of course, dealing with the book it appears in; but for now, let me just note that Aslan/Christ is the creator of both of these worlds, and He would have put the Pevensies in this world for a purpose, just as He had a purpose in sending them to Narnia temporarily. We're not told much about what Peter and Susan (nor Edmund and Lucy) began to do in our world once their adventures in Narnia ended, but if they began to follow Jesus with the same commitment they had to Aslan, one can see how that would have been life-changing. Unfortunately, it seems Susan didn't, as far as we know. But anything might have happened after the events of LB, which I will address in their proper place. They will have a lot to do with this "too old for fairy tales" concept that keeps coming up.
And now to get specifically Christian. What is Christian about war? you may ask. Much, the Bible answers. Its pages are full of physical and spiritual battles, in which many a true believer must take part as his (or her) duty. Several of these battles, like that of Prince Caspian, are wars of deliverance against wicked tyrants. In no place is this truer than in the Christian's spiritual warfare against the forces of darkness. Satan has taken over this world, and our job is to "resist him, steadfast in the faith", as Caspian and his ragtag band continue to resist Miraz even in the worst of circumstances. However, in the current stage of our warfare, our struggle is not with flesh and blood (as, for example, the Israelites against the Philistines) but against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, the weapons of our warfare are not physical, but spiritual, and are listed famously in Ephesians 6. And one of the main ways we defeat our spiritual enemy is simply by being faithful through hard times, like the persecuted saints in Revelation who overcame "by the blood of the Lamb, by the word of their testimony, and because they did not love their lives to the death." This is what we call martyrdom, and it doesn't always have to involve literal physical death. A martyr is literally a witness, and witnesses to the truth no matter how others respond. Dante, in the Paradiso, puts martyrs in the sphere of Mars, possibly for other reasons, but it might be that he understood witness as warfare. And Lewis in many places expressed strongly his views on the uneven dualism of the universe. He believed no one could remain neutral; all of life is choosing between one side and the other, and then fighting for that side, whether you know it or not.
Where does Aslan, or Christ, fit into all of this? Not only is He the Commander-in-Chief of our forces, but He is also the brave knight who has already won the decisive victory and directs all things to His ultimate conquest, which will bring peace throughout the world. We fight because we have assurance in Him that the war will someday be over, and He and His will be victorious. Our circumstances, however difficult, cannot change that. Let the enemy trick us, hurt us, torture us, and even kill us; if we are on the Winner's side, we have already won. We are "more than conquerors" through Him. Not only does His victory motivate us, but it enables us to do our part and fight our personal battles faithfully. That armor listed in Ephesians 6? It's the armor of God. He's the source of our strength and courage. He is also our example of fighting technique, and the Old and New Testaments are full of exhortations to be like the God who has rescued us from the enemy and made us His people. It's a tall order, but He is always with us to help us, even when it may not seem like it.
There is so much in these books, especially when you start delving into the planetary themes and Christian meanings. It is very impressive, at least to me, that Lewis was able to communicate so much in such simple language, that a child can understand it, but an adult will understand it much more. That's why these posts are going to be very long. That, and I'm just a long-winded person. :)
Whew! See you next time, on a voyage to the sun!
Here is the blog post on tor.com to which I will be responding, and again, you might want to read her comments before reading mine, since I'll be answering them without repeating them.
For this book, it would perhaps make more sense to describe the planetary character before we get into things. As LWW was a Jovial book, full of the character of the astrological Jupiter, Prince Caspian is a Martial book, built around the theme of Mars; or I should say, the themes of Mars, since there are two. Mars began as a god of vegetation, of growing things, especially trees. This is why the month of March was named after him, the only month to be named after a planet. It was only later that he became a god of war. Lewis considers him under both of these characters.
This tension between life and death, growing and destroying, may be one of the reasons the book is (as Lewis admitted) the weakest of the seven Chronicles. It was also probably difficult for him to portray the theme of war in a way that children could understand and even enjoy; a tall order for a sophomore effort. And any writer of a sequel, a series, or a television show faces the challenge of making a story connected to the established story but not the same. Lewis gets better at this as he goes along, but this story is his first attempt, and rather fails. "Things never happen the same way twice," Aslan tells Lucy; and yet, a lot of the same things happen in PC as in LWW. The Pevensies are all pulled into Narnia, which is under the reign of a tyrannical usurper. Lucy sees something that none of the others do, and is disbelieved until proven right. Everyone winds up at the Hill of the Stone Table. The boys and girls are split up, the girls staying with Aslan while the boys fight an important battle against the tyrant. Aslan and the girls bring in surprise reinforcements that turn the tide of the battle into a Narnian victory. A new ruler is crowned. The four Pevensies return to England, having left something of our world back in Narnia. The way all these things happen is different, of course, but the similar story structure can make those differences rather jarring.
Most differences have to do with the difference between Jupiter and Mars, that is, the difference between kingship and knighthood. For of course, Lewis the medieval man filtered war through the lens of knighthood, with all the chivalry and courtesy that came with it. Unfortunately, there are many, many similarities between a good king and a good knight. Peter demonstrates this at the single combat when he spares Miraz' life, and Edmund grumbles, "Comes of being a knight and a High King." Both aspects would motivate him to mercy.
So what is a good knight, according to Prince Caspian and the character of Mars? One major aspect is orderly obedience. Everyone has his place in the ranks and defends it to the best of his ability. The subordinates don't seek to subvert their leaders, and the leaders don't seek to abandon their responsibilities. Trumpkin is a prime example, as even when he disagrees with his superior officer, he'll still follow and obey him. Another important aspect is courage, which is defined not only as facing one's fears, but as doing what is right even when it's very hard. We see this in countless ways, portrayed by Caspian, the Pevensies, Trumpkin, Doctor Cornelius--pretty much all the good characters, Susan being the least receptive to the Martial spirit but catching on eventually. ("You have listened to fears, child....Are you braver now?" "A little, Aslan.") And just as the White Witch was the antithesis to Jovial joy, with her stoic and deadening winter, here the Telmarines are the antithesis to Martiality (if that's a word). Instead of faithfully keeping their places in the ranks, Glozelle and Sopespian scheme against Miraz, convincing him to join single combat through fear of being thought a coward, and eventually murdering him. Miraz himself is a usurper, coming to the throne through treachery and murder. He rules in a large part through fear, as Cornelius explains to Caspian about the Black Woods: The Telmarine kings fear the sea because Aslan comes over it, so they let the trees grow up to cut off the coast. "But because they have quarrelled with the trees, they are afraid of the woods" and imagine them full of ghosts, encouraging their people to believe the same, because they're also afraid of what might happen if the people started making friends with the trees, the sea, and all that they represent.
Now to the response. First of all, yes, the Telmarines don't like Miraz either, but again, their culture is full of treachery and fear. Caspian didn't just want to take his rightful place as king; he wanted to take it in the right way, turning his back on all that the Telmarine kings have done for many generations. That would indeed be considerably harder.
"[H]is route to the throne is not at all clear": this might be another instance of Lewis working in the aspects of Mars. In war, things are often unclear, and the only thing the soldier or the knight can do is make the best decision possible with the situation presented to him. Also, Caspian is still a very young prince, forced into this situation by necessity (another word that Lewis associated with Mars; see Planet Narnia, chapter four). He's not a very good commander yet, which is why he needs the aid of the more experienced kings Peter and Edmund, and of his great Commander-in-Chief, Aslan.
Bacchus, the Maenads, and Silenus. Those were always a weird part of the story to me, too. Michael Ward makes a brief connection in Planet Narnia with the month of March, during which, in ancient Rome, the Bacchanalia occurred after a festival in honor of Mars. This is a loose connection at best, and perhaps another weakness in the Chronicle, but the revelers are more sturdily rooted in the story (lol) by their association with plant life. They are quintessentially wild, like the untamed forest, and their function in the story is mainly to remove all the unnecessary/unwanted restrictions that the Telmarines have put in place: Beruna's Bridge (which the river-god calls "my chains"), a school where falsehood is taught, a man beating a boy, etc. They serve as a reminder that, although the Martial spirit is one of orderly obedience and hard necessity, those things are means rather than ends; means to abundant life, peace, friendship, and joy. (P.s.: Glozelle and Sopespian, as I said above, are not just there to help out the plot, or to save the children from being murderers, but to portray the general character of the bad guys as anti-Martial.)
Oh, yes. The next paragraph is one that I can hardly disagree with. The flashback method is confusing and makes it harder to totally immerse in the story. This may be one of the reasons for the book's poorer quality, and is probably connected with Lewis' desire to change things up a bit for the sequel.
No moral depth? On the contrary. Courage (as a few people have said) is not just one of the virtues, but is what is needed for any of the virtues to become strong. It's easy to have love, or gratitude, or self-control, or faith, when everything is going well for us. It's when things get hard, when the going gets tough, that we see how strong those virtues really are in us. The whole journey for Caspian and the other children (and Trumpkin, to some extent) is a lesson in courage, in doing the hard, necessary, right thing. Indeed, faith and disbelief may be studied almost the hardest here. The Last Battle is definitely the most in-depth journey of faith without sight, but Lucy's trial with her unseeing siblings is a great example to the Christian of the duty of witnessing even to the stubborn unbeliever, trusting that God will work through our obedience even if we don't see results right away. It takes courage for Lucy to "stick to her guns", and at first, she doesn't. It's something she has to learn. And the others change, too; the boys harden into warriors after the hard journey to Aslan's How, and Susan eventually admits how wrong she was and submits to Aslan's influence.
The worst consequence of disbelief is not just "a day's delay and exile to a tropical island". Those were the consequences meant to teach Aslan's children and to reward those who trusted his promises, respectively. How about the man who turned into a tree? The class full of boys who apparently turned into pigs? (Interestingly, it was apparently their fear that accomplished the latter transformation.) And think about the other two kinds of Telmarines who stayed in Narnia. Some were like Caspian and were glad that the Old Days had come again. They were on Aslan's side and probably became well-loved citizens of Narnia. But those who didn't like the new order of things, nor trust Aslan to give them a new country, must have been miserable the rest of their lives. Imagine a Nazi, or a member of the KKK, being forced to live in Africa. Caspian wouldn't have put up with them trying to assert their "rights" over his other subjects for a minute. Most of these probably ended up in prison or banished, or leaving the country voluntarily, as Pittencream does later in VDT.
On the subject of humans ruling the animals, see the previous post in this series, on kingship and the order of creation as Lewis saw it. Also, consider this: all or most of the animals we see have their own particular prejudices. The Bulgy Bears want to have dinner first and council afterwards; the squirrels want everyone to eat and talk at the same time; the mice want to storm Miraz' castle right away; the moles want to dig trenches all over the place; the fauns and satyrs want to start with a dance; later, in SC, the owls have all their meetings at night; etc. A Centaur might be a good choice for a ruler to tie all these disparate races together, but Narnian Centaurs have their own job of stargazing and prophecy. (Dwarfs tend to be racial supremacists, as in the case of Nikabrik and the Dwarfs of The Last Battle.) A human king, ruling under the guidance of the animal-yet-divine Aslan, can know what's best for all.
Trumpkin's doubt of the Pevensies' abilities is another way Lewis shows that he (Trumpkin, that is) is not quite in tune with Aslan's Martial influence. A soldier obeys his commanding officer, even if he doesn't think much of him. Trumpkin realizes this under Caspian, but has trouble accepting the authority of the four Kings and Queens from England. In part, this is because their authority comes from Aslan, in whom Trumpkin also disbelieves until proven wrong. His skepticism is another way the issue of faith is explored, and reminds me of the character of MacPhee in That Hideous Strength, whom the leader of the faithful company describes affectionately as "our skeptic" and the best man you could have on your side in a losing battle. His loyalty and faith are not easy to win, but nearly impossible to lose once gained. And when Trumpkin does believe in who the Pevensies are, he steps in and reminds them whenever they start to forget who they are in Narnia; their place in the ranks. Peter would rather not have to make a decision; "You are the High King," Trumpkin points out. If anyone has to make tough choices, it's the leader. Susan obstreperously declines to follow Aslan in the middle of the night, even when everyone else is doing so; "Obey the High King, your Majesty," says Trumpkin, "and let's be off." Trumpkin doesn't believe it, either, but he knows the difference between giving advice and taking orders, which shows how he's somewhat receptive to Aslan even before coming to faith.
Susan, as I have said, is the least receptive to the Martial influence in this book. Because of the theme of facing hardship hardily, the result is that Susan is quite the "wet-blanket", complaining more than anyone else and refusing to obey her older brother/High King or Lucy's vision of Aslan. She's not completely useless, as she takes the initiative to rescue Trumpkin at the beginning of the story and uses her shooting skills to prove her identity as Queen. We're told that archery and swimming are the things she's good at. But talent alone is not enough. Being on Aslan's side is about commitment and loyalty, even when things don't go smoothly, and Susan apparently can't handle that. Is this one reason she turns her back on Narnia in LB? Maybe.
Nobody seems to learn anything in this book? Really? See the above paragraph on "moral depth". I would say all four Pevensies learn a great deal about holding onto faith and making the right choice when it's hardest. Maybe it's not as clear as it should be (another result of the confusing story structure?), but studying Prince Caspian under the character of Mars made it very clear to me. (No comment on the shortness of the trip, except to note that when peace has come, the knights can return home, unlike kings whose jobs are never over.)
On the subject of Peter and Susan leaving Narnia, it's impossible to say much from this book because it doesn't say much about it (another case of obeying orders even when they're difficult to understand). We get much better closure in VDT when Aslan speaks to Edmund and Lucy about not coming back. There, Aslan explains that as they get older, they "must begin to come close to [their] own world" and that the reason they were brought to Narnia was to know him better here. I'll talk more about this in the next post, of course, dealing with the book it appears in; but for now, let me just note that Aslan/Christ is the creator of both of these worlds, and He would have put the Pevensies in this world for a purpose, just as He had a purpose in sending them to Narnia temporarily. We're not told much about what Peter and Susan (nor Edmund and Lucy) began to do in our world once their adventures in Narnia ended, but if they began to follow Jesus with the same commitment they had to Aslan, one can see how that would have been life-changing. Unfortunately, it seems Susan didn't, as far as we know. But anything might have happened after the events of LB, which I will address in their proper place. They will have a lot to do with this "too old for fairy tales" concept that keeps coming up.
And now to get specifically Christian. What is Christian about war? you may ask. Much, the Bible answers. Its pages are full of physical and spiritual battles, in which many a true believer must take part as his (or her) duty. Several of these battles, like that of Prince Caspian, are wars of deliverance against wicked tyrants. In no place is this truer than in the Christian's spiritual warfare against the forces of darkness. Satan has taken over this world, and our job is to "resist him, steadfast in the faith", as Caspian and his ragtag band continue to resist Miraz even in the worst of circumstances. However, in the current stage of our warfare, our struggle is not with flesh and blood (as, for example, the Israelites against the Philistines) but against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places. Therefore, the weapons of our warfare are not physical, but spiritual, and are listed famously in Ephesians 6. And one of the main ways we defeat our spiritual enemy is simply by being faithful through hard times, like the persecuted saints in Revelation who overcame "by the blood of the Lamb, by the word of their testimony, and because they did not love their lives to the death." This is what we call martyrdom, and it doesn't always have to involve literal physical death. A martyr is literally a witness, and witnesses to the truth no matter how others respond. Dante, in the Paradiso, puts martyrs in the sphere of Mars, possibly for other reasons, but it might be that he understood witness as warfare. And Lewis in many places expressed strongly his views on the uneven dualism of the universe. He believed no one could remain neutral; all of life is choosing between one side and the other, and then fighting for that side, whether you know it or not.
Where does Aslan, or Christ, fit into all of this? Not only is He the Commander-in-Chief of our forces, but He is also the brave knight who has already won the decisive victory and directs all things to His ultimate conquest, which will bring peace throughout the world. We fight because we have assurance in Him that the war will someday be over, and He and His will be victorious. Our circumstances, however difficult, cannot change that. Let the enemy trick us, hurt us, torture us, and even kill us; if we are on the Winner's side, we have already won. We are "more than conquerors" through Him. Not only does His victory motivate us, but it enables us to do our part and fight our personal battles faithfully. That armor listed in Ephesians 6? It's the armor of God. He's the source of our strength and courage. He is also our example of fighting technique, and the Old and New Testaments are full of exhortations to be like the God who has rescued us from the enemy and made us His people. It's a tall order, but He is always with us to help us, even when it may not seem like it.
There is so much in these books, especially when you start delving into the planetary themes and Christian meanings. It is very impressive, at least to me, that Lewis was able to communicate so much in such simple language, that a child can understand it, but an adult will understand it much more. That's why these posts are going to be very long. That, and I'm just a long-winded person. :)
Whew! See you next time, on a voyage to the sun!
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