This series is so inextricably wound up in my memory it’s difficult to tease out something concrete and meaningful for me to say about it, so this may end up rather scattered (not that my previous postings have been models of organization either).
I will start off by saying that I honestly did not recognize the religious themes in these books for many years, and certainly not during my first readings. I grew up in a church-going Protestant family so it’s not that I wasn’t exposed to Christianity, but I just had a clear separation in my mind that God was in one box and Stories were in another, and so I remained oblivious to any influence the former had on the latter. I recall feeling rather silly when I finally realized what I’d been missing, but on the other hand I’m kind of glad that I came to the understanding more slowly, and read them first simply because they were rousing tales with interesting characters and fabulous worlds. Now that I know more about Lewis himself, and have thought more deeply about religious issues personally, the books have taken on different meanings. But I still think of them first and foremost as just plain stories.
The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe stands out most strongly in many respects, being the first of the series (at least in the traditionaly sense, if not chronologically). I’ve never passed by a wardrobe since first reading this book without wondering could it be…? How lovely to find my own doorway into another world, especially one inhabited by creatures like the beavers, and Mr. Tumnus, and of course Aslan. I identified strongly with Lucy (preferring to be Valiant than Gentle) and ached with her at the pain of not being believed when she first tries to tell her siblings about Narnia. I think Lewis tapped into a very strong emotion there, and one in some ways peculiarly strong for kids. That feeling that you’ve discovered something wonderful and magical (be it Narnia, or a cool bug on the doorstep, or a funny looking cloud) that you desperately want to share with others and having them simply dismiss it. My own parents always took me seriously (thanks Mom and Dad!) but not all adults, or even other children, did.
Prince Caspian stands out to me in memory primarily for Reepicheep, for the tree-people feasting on all sorts of different soils and loams at the victory feast, and for the sorrow of learning Susan and Peter wouldn’t return to Narnia. It seemed very cruel and sad to me when I first read it (I also thought Peter and Susan should be more upset than they seemed). Over time I’ve come to understand better why it happens. I also remember being rather affronted that Lucy seemed to be held as the one in the wrong for not following Aslan when the others didn’t believe her (again!) when she said she’d seen him. I didn’t understand at the time why Aslan couldn’t just show himself and make the rest of them see him. But I was very proud of Edmund for believing her.
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader made me very happy by bringing back Reepicheep and Caspian, even if I had to also deal with Eustace. My strongest memories of this book are of Lucy reading the Magician’s book (I understood the temptation she felt to read the spells!), most especially the spell for the refreshment of the spirit, which ends up being a story she forgets almost as soon as she finishes reading it. I have often felt like I myself read that story, in a dream perhaps:
And she never could remember, and ever since that day what Lucy means by a good story is a story which reminds her of the forgotten story in the Magician’s Book.
I must admit I don’t have particularly strong memories of The Silver Chair, but strongest of all is probably Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle. Then there was The Horse and His Boy which confused me at first, being a tale of an entirely different part of the world beyond the wardrobe, taking place back when the four Pevensies ruled Narnia. But I loved it as much as the rest — in fact it remains in my recollection one of my favorites, though I really ought to re-read the entire series again.
Then came the beginning of the story: The Magician’s Nephew. I was delighted to finally learn the origin of the lamp-post, of the wardrobe, of the Professor, of the White Witch, and of Narnia itself. And, finally, The Last Battle. My very strongest memory of which is the scene in which Aslan stands before the doorway, as streams of creatures and beings come forth and look into his face. And how when some look, their expressions change to one of the fear and hatred, and those pass into Aslan’s shadow, never to be seen again by the children. But the rest, those who looked on Aslan with love, went instead into the Door — including some who had done wrongs in their life, and many thought to be dead and gone. That image has stood vividly in my mind every since I first read it.
There is much more I could say about these books, but it would require a long post on my own religious and spiritual beliefs, which would require considerably more thought and time than I have at the moment. I will add one more thing, however, since it comes up so often in discussions of these books. That is the “Problem of Susan”. My short commentary on this is: I felt it quite sad that Susan did not return to Narnia — I didn’t feel angry, but I did feel a little resentful, because I felt that she was being depicted as the stereotypical shallow female obsessed with her looks. And while there are certainly a good number of women out there who feed that stereotype, I was sad that Susan fulfilled it. I really wanted her to thwart it. I will point anyone else interested in this to this thoughtful posting by my friend and fellow writer R. J. Anderson. It has given me a lot to think about and consider on the topic, some of which I am still mentally digesting.
All that said, I remain very grateful to C. S. Lewis for these books, for Lucy, for the wardrobe, for Mr Tumnus, for Aslan, for all of it. My greatest disappointment in these books was that Turkish Delight, when I finally got the chance to sample it a few years ago, was nothing like the delicious delicacy I imagined. I’m not sure what Edmund was thinking. Why didn’t he ask for divinity, or toffee, or fudge?