The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe

[sawyl]

Inspired by one of Mari Ness' recent posts on Tor, I've been re-reading The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, one of my favourite childhood books. Although I still rather enjoyed it, I was struck by the rather intrusive voice of the narrator and by the wild incoherence of Lewis' mythological borrowings — not for him the meticulously detailed and consistent worlds of Tolkien and Garner.

Returning to the book after an absence, I was surprised to discover how my attitude to some of the characters had changed. I thought that Susan was drippier and more uncertain than I remembered, recommending retreat rather than exploration and being the only member of the group, excluding Edmund, who suffers during the trek from Beaver's Dam to the Stone Table (she picks up a slight blister). I also had more doubts about Mr Tumnus than I'd had previously and found myself worrying that his bourgeois lifestyle — he's noticeably more middle-class than the Beavers — was entirely due to his role as a spy for the Witch. A role he fails to fulfill, when confronted with an authentic and charming daughter of Eve. I wonder if he'd have been quite so keen to abandon his duties as spy had Lucy been sulky and rude instead?

Unlike some, I found that I didn't really have a problem with the trajectory of Edmund's character. I think I've always assumed that, although he's clearly ensorcelled by the Witch, her spell doesn't so much change his nature as allow his worst aspects to come to the surface and govern his behaviour. It seems to me that even before his first encounter with the Witch, his behaviour is far from exemplary; something the narrator blames on his horrid new school &mdsah; Lewis obviously has a thing about mid-20th century educational methods, because he never seems to let an opportunity for school bashing pass unremarked. Which makes Edmund's redemption comprehensible. Having seen the worst parts of character brought to light, he realises that he doesn't much like the person he's turning into and doesn't like many of the things that he has done. Consequently when he escapes from the Witch's clutches, he makes a conscious effort to become a better person, all but sacrificing himself in the battle to disarm the witch — a feat that is all the braver when you realise that he doesn't know that Lucy has a cordial that can heal him — in an attempt to make amends for his past misdeeds.

Despite the passage of the years, my attitude towards the book seems to me to have remained largely consistent. The anachronisms that annoyed me a child, annoying me as an adult — in particular, the idea of the Narnians celebrating the birth of Christ, complete with their very own visits from Father Christmas, despite not having an Incarnation still strikes me as absurd and incoherent. The plot and characters, I still enjoyed, despite chafing at some of the narrator's interjections, while the allegorical elements of the story left me as unmoved as ever. For in a world where there is palpable evidence of the power of magic, where people can be turned to stone, where animals can talk and where the spirits of the trees can walk, it would be foolish to doubt the nature of Aslan. But this doesn't mean that I should expect animals in the world outside the book to start talking or witches to turn people to stone or messianic lions to appear — giving the massive lack of evidence for all these things, it would be madness to believe otherwise.