C.S. Lewis and the Quest for Truth

C.S. Lewis wrote about his early work, The Pilgrim's Regress, to express his dissatisfaction with it. If the author himself didn't think he was successful, then how do you approach it as a reader? Naturally, I expected imperfection; but I still thought it would be an interesting read, one piece in the collective body of Lewis's work. I was quite pleased then to find it a better read than expected. 

Granted, one of Lewis's critiques of the book was that he felt like it wasn't easy to understand all the references simply from the text itself. And that is true. I did need the headers on each page to help me follow along with the symbols--but when I read The Pilgrim's Progress two years ago, my copy was simply crawling with footnotes and endnotes. True, it's some centuries older than Lewis's book, but my point is that, even with a text that needs no notes when it is new, it will quickly need them as the years go by. Besides this, I also knew that I was following along with the text fairly easily because I'm pretty familiar with Lewis's writing. I've read most of his non-fiction and fiction alike, and he kind of has his favorite topics that he likes to revisit and keep exploring. It was fascinating to see those same concepts at play in this book, before he wrote Narnia or The Space Trilogy or his non-fiction. But, of course, I can see how a reader would be at a disadvantage trying to read The Pilgrim's Regress without having read his later works.

All of that aside, this is a genuinely good book. Sure, it may need a little explaining or notes or previous familiarity with Lewis, but it's a wonderful look at a man's intellectual pursuit of Truth. He wanders and pokes into all the wrong places and keeps finding himself dissatisfied until he finally starts looking into the right places and finally starts reaching clarity. When he embraces the Truth, the world looks completely different. He goes back to where he started and it's all completely changed because his perspective has completely changed (which is like a predecessor of thought to Till We Have Faces or the dwarves in The Last Battle who think they are still in a dark barn--but we could go on all day about "references" like that). 

As I was finishing up this book, the movie Jesus Revolution came out--and what an overlap there is between the two. Lewis's other criticism of his own book was that it was too obscure. He believed that he came to realize the Truth of Christianity in an uncommon way, and so therefore his description of his process of exploring different lines of thought and philosophy until finally accepting this one was not one with which many people can relate. Now that may be true. But I was struck by how similar the coming to faith in this movie was to what Lewis describes.

The film covers the early days of Calvary Chapel and how Chuck Smith came face to face with the hippie generation. At first, he doesn't understand them and has no thought of trying to reach them. But through people he meets, he comes to realize that the hippies are just young people searching for the Truth in all the wrong places. As they're introduced to the gospel, they embrace it by the thousands. While C.S. Lewis was never out doing drugs to have a spiritual experience or protesting on the streets, he was sitting philosophizing about life. He even dabbled in the occult. He was aware from the start that there was some sort of meaning to life--and he kept pondering it until he finally had to admit that he knew that there was a God and then eventually came to accept Jesus, too. Is that so unlike the hippie generation's quest and the eventual realization by people like Greg Laurie that Jesus wasn't just another high but the ultimate Truth?

Greg's baptism scene in the movie is also reminiscent of the ones Lewis writes. He writes a great scene in The Pilgrim's Regress about having to dive right in and pass through death--like how Greg feels like he (that is, the "old man") is sinking away into the water only to break through the surface to new life. Lewis also writes that wonderful baptism analogy in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader when Aslan turns dragon Eustace back into a boy. Maybe I just haven't watched a lot of baptism scenes in movies, but this one really carried the symbolic weight of the act--in a way that matches how Lewis describes it.

Lewis's book focuses on the self's realization. The film, though, focuses more on how, after we've had our individual realizations, we can spread what we've found to others. By a few people being willing to get to know and talk to and love the young generation, whole waves of change begin; they allow themselves to be used by God to enact these changes in people's lives. And that's the convicting part. I consider this primarily a movie by Christians for Christians. Maybe it'll reach some non-Christians. But what I primarily consider its goal is to wake those of us up who already say we've found the Truth. If the hippie generation felt so unreachable and people let God use them to reach them, then the same can be done today. Even though the searching may look a little different for different generations, we're all born searching--we just need a few people willing to act as signposts to point us in the right direction. 

Further Up & Further In

Last fall, I had my first two introductions to The Fellowship for Performing Arts, first with their live play of The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis and then with the film version of C.S. Lewis: The Most Reluctant Convert. While I did enjoy both, the film had two main critiques from me. I find both of those addressed in their newest play, C.S. Lewis on Stage: Further Up and Further In, which had its first live performance in Phoenix this past weekend (and will probably be back in town once they have the finalized version ready). 

I wished, going in, that I knew more what to expect. C.S. Lewis has so many books, and yet here was a play that wasn't based on a specific of his writings. All I knew was that it was a kind of sequel to The Most Reluctant Convert. Whereas that story centered around Lewis's journey toward belief in God, this one was meant to show how he became such a prominent voice in Christian writing and speaking. It turned out that this was less biographical than the first part of the story; this time around we heard certain beats of what was happening in Lewis's life simply in terms of what he was writing or thinking or working on at the time. Like, for instance, hearing about the war in order to know the context in which he was giving his radio talks. 

I in fact found this a benefit. Instead of being distracted by whether we're supposed to be watching action unfold or hearing narration go on, the audience knew that we were simply watching a monologue about philosophical, spiritual, and religious concepts. When watching the film, I'd mentioned that the monologue style probably worked better in a live play, and yes that was indeed the case. While we are still seeing Lewis the scholar approaching various deep discussions, Max McLean in person is able to take you through these intellectual journeys in an engaging way. He keeps to the scholarly tone of voice that Lewis has in the surviving radio dialogue, while also somehow subtly giving his dialogue more dramatic beats. 

And the digital screen that they used at the back of the stage was wonderful in aiding those beats. I had thought that they made good use of a screen with The Great Divorce, but this took it a step further (in a different way, of course, for a very different type of production). The set was a sparse portrayal of Lewis's office; it more gives the actor a place to move around in. So it was the screen that matched the content of each sub-topic he brings up. We got to see either context (like the war) or a visual portrayal of emotion, if you will. The galaxies, or the tree growing beside living water. There are no words to express to you what I felt when I saw that tree. While there are plenty of trees in Lewis's writing and in the Bible, that specific tree isn't described in that specific way anywhere that I know of. And yet I've seen that tree before in my mind, and so when I saw it on the screen it was perfect visual for the concepts that the monologue was approaching.

Besides the live play versus film format, the other comment I'd had after watching The Most Reluctant Convert was that they hadn't emphasized Lewis's focus on the concept of joy as much as I'd expected. They did in this play, though. I vastly appreciate that because, though I've used different words perhaps to describe it, I know exactly what Lewis means when he talks about joy. I love engaging with that concept. While the film was largely based on Surprised by Joy, which focuses on joy so much that it's part of its title, the truth is that FPA in these two pieces combines various of Lewis's writings. So there will be something from this book here, from that talk there, from this letter over there, from this fictional book next. If The Most Reluctant Convert was meant to be Lewis's introduction into accepting the existence of God, Further Up and Further In gets into the meat of Lewis's contributions to Christian dialogue. Besides joy, another notable topic that came up was his assessment that Jesus had to be either lying, mad, or telling the truth. I do wish we could, as a society, get back into more dialogue like this. Lewis convinced a lot of people that Christianity was true because he answered the questions he himself had had.

This brings me me to one of my lingering questions about FPA. I'm really enjoying the way in which they provide me with engaging, intellectual Christian content. Contemporary Christian content doesn't always have enough meat on its bones to interest me; I like to go deep. But FPA also states that they way to reach a wide audience, and isn't deep intellectual content more niche? C.S. Lewis talked about presenting ideas for the person who would like to believe in Christianity but "finds his intellect getting in the way" (which might not be the exact quote), and yet he was also someone who could speak to the masses and present deep concepts in a stripped down, simple, easy-to-understand way. So is FPA striving for a similar balance? It's a high goal. And I suppose all three shows I've gone to see (the two plays and the film) have all been about sold out, so the audience is responding. 

I almost skipped this one, and I'm so glad I didn't. I had one of those artistic response moments in which I was elevated out of myself. I came back into my skin refreshed. Just like with The Great Divorce, I felt my perspective renewed, and boy do I need that constantly renewed. 

The Reluctant Lewis

Last month, I talked about the stage play C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce by The Fellowship for Performing Arts. They released their first film this month, C.S. Lewis: The Most Reluctant Convert, and what was originally going to be a one-night-only release continued to get extended as theatres saw the interest C.S. Lewis brings. 

Though the film is based largely on Lewis's book Surprised by Joy, they also bring in other of his writings. And they did change the angle or focus slightly. After all, I wouldn't call this one of Lewis's better books--it's not only a fairly dry read, but he spends much of the time talking about the late Edwardian English school system. While that's all good and well to learn about, it's also not necessarily what I was expecting when I went to read the autobiographical book that describes Lewis's conversion from atheist to theist. So if the film focused less on describing the social dynamics of the schools Lewis went to, well, I can understand.

I do think that perhaps this film, which is based on a play, would have worked better as a play. It's narrated by Max McLean, who also wrote the original play; Norman Stone wrote the screenplay and also directs. Norman Stone also directed Shadowlands, which tells the story of C.S. Lewis's relationship with Joy Gresham. That is, he directed the 1986 one, not the 1993 one with Anthony Hopkins (I've watched both and remember that I liked one and not the other, but I'm not sure which was which). But back to this film. 

The format of having one actor narrate makes sense given that this is a non-fiction book describing not just events but also concepts. It isn't Lewis's life story: it's his way of going through certain points in his life to describe his changing perspectives and the various things that influenced his ideas. This monologue-like style would probably have worked well as a live play. In a movie, though, it worked but also sometimes felt like it detracted from the action onscreen. 

For instance, you will see a scene playing out with characters while Lewis is narrating. Instead of observing everything for yourself, you get him telling you what's happening or interrupting what's happening. There's some rich content in his life, so you kind of just want to sit back and watch it all unfold. But instead, you have the narration. This is what grade school teachers would call showing rather than telling. Now, I did say that it works. It just makes this more of a niche film. Films reach a wider audience than plays, so it would have been nice to have a less niche approach so that more people (who are only aware of Narnia) could enjoy learning about C.S. Lewis's story. 

Yet I'm aware that I'm critiquing them making an intellectual film about a very intellectual book. The whole point of Surprised by Joy is that Lewis was engaging in philosophy and intellectualism that he thought did not allow for the existence of God--until he found that intellectual thought in fact cannot deny the existence of God. Even the very existence of intellectual thought proves the existence of God. So perhaps it would have been worse to try and not make a very intellectual, even niche, film out of this story. 

Here's one thing I was a little thrown off by at first. The very title of the original book describes what Lewis refers to as "joy," something that he caught glimpses of at various times in his life through nature or fantasy stories, something that awakened a longing in him, a longing that he only wanted to feel more and more. He came to realize that it was this longing feeling that he wanted, not the things that created it. Nature itself did not satisfy, the more he learned about the literature the less he encountered the feeling, and romantic entanglements were also empty. Essentially he comes to realize that the feeling is a longing for something outside of one's self--what we might call a longing that only God can fill. 

Yet it took a while for the film to introduce this concept and even then it didn't seem so much the focus. The focus is more on a general sense of atheism turned into a slow, reluctant willingness to accept that atheism does not make sense. This might make sense as an artistic choice in order to, well, make the film less niche and give it a broader theme. But the concept of joy is so tied into Lewis's other writings that I regret to see it lose any focus.

Besides his non-fiction, it's all over Narnia, that with which the casual audience-goer is most likely to have familiarity (even if they haven't studied its themes). Lewis writes Narnia as fantasy because to him fantasy awakens that awareness of the spiritual realm and creation and God's presence. So Surprised by Joy touches on very core Lewis concepts, even if I did call it one of his drier works. Granted, though, it's also more difficult to focus on in the film because the book makes mention of many literary works that most people today have not read, if they've even heard of them. They did work in the main points, but I suppose it also makes sense that there was less focus on what young Lewis read.

All of this sounds like I'm grilling the film. I don't mean to: I enjoyed it, and it's definitely one for the Lewis fans. Even though his trademark was to make things simple and understandable, C.S. Lewis dug into deep concepts--and you can see that in this movie. So that's why I'm nitpicking their handling of this or that theme or chewing through their decisions to do this or that: an intellectual film invites intellectual discussion (not that you would call a rambling blog post intellectual discussion--but it's angled in that direction at least). So if you enjoy Lewis and haven't yet seen the film, I'd recommend trying to make it over to the theatre in the next couple days while it's still out. 

C.S. Lewis on Stage

The journey into Heaven must, by necessity, mean ridding away every trace of Hell. C.S. Lewis's The Great Divorce describes a bus ride from Hell into Heaven; the narrator observes various other characters and what they are unwilling (or occasionally willing) to shed or leave behind in order to proceed into Heaven. The Fellowship for Performing Arts was in town with their production based on the book (previously they have also done The Screwtape Letters, though I didn't catch that one--and they have the upcoming film The Most Reluctant Convert fast approaching). This take was adapted by Max McLean and directed by Christa Scott-Reed.

The excellence of the production is shown by the fact that it would seem to be, based on the book, to be a tricky adaptation to make, and yet watching the production itself felt so seamless and fluid. Four actors took on all of the roles, set dressing was mainly limited to their four suitcases, and a large screen on the back of the stage that allowed the transition through the, um, limitless spaces. So there was a stripped down quality to it all and yet great richness in what was portrayed. This was a case of positive use of a screen; it allowed the audience to see the many landscapes described in a way that set dressing could not have done. And yet it didn't detract from the simplicity of a plain set, and the plain set allows for focus on the dialogue.

This story is, after all, mainly dialogue. At 90 minutes, it was short enough to keep attention spans from wandering. The interactions between the characters also keep rolling along at such a pace that each mini scene only has to hold your attention for so long before it is over and replaced by another. So there were no pacing issues; never did I feel like I was getting bogged down or like the pace was too slow. Instead, the interactions made quick work of describing the core features of each character and his/her struggle or vice. 

Like I said with the book, it's easy to see oneself most strongly in a particular character. I'm not sure if this was because of the adaptation or simply from seeing it on stage instead of on the page, but I also felt particularly like I was seeing aspects of society and of the church in the different characters. Rather than this being accusatory (that is, for us to see others as "the problem" rather than ourselves), it helps with compassion. C.S. Lewis in general addresses people's real concerns and questions. So with this sort of portrayal, you have a chance to get into someone's perspective and see what holds them back or what they don't quite understand about your perspective that leads them to not agree with you. 

Even though there is heavy content in this story, the play ended up being ultimately uplifting. There is the consciousness of the danger of holding ourselves back--but there is also hope in the realization of that departure out of all things related to Hell and the entrance into Heaven. There is great joy in the hope of one day leaving pain and the shadow of death behind. So you could say that this play helped put things in perspective. 

Aslan Revisited

I've been mentioning that I'm trying to work through more of the books that I own but have not yet read. First I brought it down to under a hundred; now I'm trying for under ninety. It's hard because I don't want to completely stop buying new books, either. I just can't let them build up so much anymore, so now I have to prioritize new books (and not buy anymore new books if I haven't finished the ones I've just bought) and yet also make my way through the old ones. 

Sometimes that means I look for the quick reads. I thought that Thomas Williams's The Heart of the Chronicles of Narnia: Knowing God Here by Finding Him There would be quick. When I picked it up, though, I was a little embarrassed to see that it was published in 2005 and I probably bought it in 2005 (or maybe 2006) as well. So that means I've had this book for over 15 years without reading it. Oops. 

When I was fourteen, I loved the symbolism or "applicability" of Narnia. But reading a non-fiction book like this may have seemed more intimidating than reading articles online or even reading all the entries in Paul F. Ford's Companion to Narnia. Maybe that's why I didn't read it at the time? And then later, it seemed like I already new all the symbolism. Aslan is a Christ type, Eustace has his baptism scene, The Last Battle mirrors the book of Revelation, etc. I knew background on C.S. Lewis, as well. So what was the point in a book that so clearly was designed by publishers to capitalize on the monetary opportunities brought up by Disney and Walden Media's 2005 Narnia movie? 

The thing is, though, Thomas Williams did a great job with this book. If you haven't thought about all the applicability in Narnia, then this is a quick and easy way to revisit the stories with that perspective. But even if you have, the revisiting is still worth it. Maybe you get a reminder of a certain scene you hadn't considered--or you even take things to a deeper level. Because the symbolism, if that's what we agree to call it, can be pretty easy. Obviously Aslan is like Jesus. The Magician's Nephew obviously describes creation and the fall. Obviously Turkish delight is sin and temptation. But there is more to it. 

There is also the exploration of the spiritual journey. Narnia contains examples of morality: sin but also redemption, failure but also repentance, faith in action, and consequences for our failure. This book delves into all of this and provides that direct application to our own lives. That is, we'll hear about the example in Narnia, the equivalent in the Bible, and what that means toward us today. You could really easily make a Bible study out of this book. It's about Narnia but it's also about growing our own Christian walk.

Thomas Williams takes not just Narnia but also other writings of Lewis. He references his other fiction and non-fiction. I've read most of that, which is helpful. But you don't have to have read any of it. Each idea that he references he also explains. So this book is also a nice overview of C.S. Lewis's ideas in general. Again, it may not necessarily have completely new ideas--but it doesn't need to have them. Just as Lewis is known for presenting deep concepts in simple form, Thomas Williams takes the whole of what C.S. Lewis aimed to do with his writing and interprets it with simplicity. 

So I ended up enjoying this book so much more than I'd been expecting. I certainly wasn't expecting that I'd feel like blogging about it. But it reawakened my interest in Narnia. I remembered not just why I loved those stories, but also what I respond to and what excites me. I like pondering visuals and concepts both that remind me of God's presence, his existence, his creation. Narnia reminds us that we're all searching and grasping and constantly getting reminded of something that we can't quite explain--and that's us seeking God because as his creation we crave him more than anything else and nothing else will satisfy. So even though this book is no longer new, I would still highly recommend if you have a strong or even just a mild interest in Narnia. 

When Did You Read?

Back when the Internet was young and online shopping even younger, I was enchanted by the idea of C.S. Lewis's Poems because of talk that the volume contained some Narnia poetry. Then being obsessed with Narnia, Poems then seemed like the unattainable portal to more Narnia content. Now that some fifteen or more years later I find Poems in my hands, I'm rather glad that I didn't get a copy of it back then.

There isn't much Narnia content in here. Despite the unicorn on the cover, that angle is covered quite thinly. So if that is your sole reason for coming to this book, well, you'll probably be disappointed in that regard. And I would say you're best off if you're already familiar with several of Lewis's writings, maybe a touch of Narnia but more so with his non-fiction or even at times with The Space Trilogy.

The book was put together posthumously and first published in 1964. It loosely goes by topic rather than year since many of these poems are written at unidentified times. And yet from the content and style, you can begin to guess at what point in his life he wrote them.

You see the young man enraptured by his college studies and writing poems about it all. The imaginative mind dreaming up unicorns and gnomes. Quite frankly, though, reading all this as who I am today, these were the pages I found least interesting. They felt more shallow and uninteresting to my mind at this moment. Better I found the reflections on nature versus industry and the pain of life and love.

Poetry is a very honest art form--perhaps even more so if, like many of these, it is not written specifically with publication in mind. So the titles that show with stark honesty all the pain that we cannot shut away or escape in living are the most thought-provoking. You can see the thoughts that were part of certain concepts Lewis explores in both his fiction and non-fiction writings. While a few of these poems are quite nice on their own, overall I'd say this book's best value is as a kind of companion piece to his other works.

The Great Divorce of Heaven and Hell

Literature students will remember Blake's "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell." I also remember hearing C.S. Lewis's reaction to such a concept as is presented in the title: he affirmed that no, we should not be combining heaven and hell, but rather separating them. He wrote The Great Divorce based on that idea. Being in the mind to read some more Lewis, I chose to (curbside) pick up this title. The notion of not taking anything from hell with you into heaven felt quite appealing to me right now. I got the idea of something cleansing, I suppose.

Not exactly so, though that isn't a bad thing; it's just slightly different from what I'd expected. I'd also had the impression until I actually looked at the book's page online that this was simply non-fiction like The Problem of Pain or Mere Christianity. Not quite. It's fiction, but more of a direct allegory and less of a novel than Till We Have Faces. It is the story of a man who gets on a bus from hell into heaven--everyone acts like they're just visiting, though whoever chooses to stay can stay.

So this narrator walks around observing the others who came with him on the bus and what he sees in this sort of threshold territory of heaven. So what you are seeing along the way are all the things that are holding these people back from accepting the gift of heaven. The things they won't let go of, the things that they refuse to put in second place, even if it's to put a loving God in first place.

You also see how these things do not practically fit inside of heaven. The book expires the concept of how it is exactly that you literally cannot put hell inside of heaven, nor does hell have any power over heaven. This concept is somewhat reminiscent of Till We Have Faces and certain moments in Narnia, too: it's that sense of not being able to understand or partake until you have given up your old eyes and taken on your new ones.

Probably everyone will find a character in this book that they most identify with (that is, from the people who go up to visit heaven). We all have different weaknesses (I mean, the one that is strongest varies from person to person). What's nice in this book is seeing a physical illustration of how we need only accept the offered gift, we need only place the highest thing in the highest place, in order to be released from our old selves and enjoy ultimate hope.

It's a short book. And honestly, it probably works better if you're coming from a perspective where you believe in Purgatory and/or the whole Hell-as-annihilation-theory-or-whatever-it's-called that Lewis addressed in The Problem of Pain (maybe elsewhere, too, that's just where I know I've seen it). But if you just take it for what it is, a fictional story that is the setting for exploring the concept of the separation of heaven and hell, it's definitely a thought-provoking piece.

Lewis & the Direct Approach

Well, well, there I was thinking I would read more C.S. Lewis--at a steady pace of about one new book a year. I believe, though, it has been quite a while since I last picked up one of his books. This time I decided to go with what felt would be a core Lewis read, Mere Christianity.

What I didn't know was that this book was originally a series of talks on the radio during WWII; the BBC asked Lewis to speak on Christianity during that difficult time. So the title of "mere" refers to the fact that Lewis, here, aims to describe Christianity in its most basic context--that is, in the things that apply apart from everyone's individual religious subdivisions and interpretations and such.

So while certain parts of the beginning of The Problem of Pain, for instance, were a little more challenging perhaps to read and follow or wrap your head around, Mere Christianity is very easy to read. Being originally a radio talk (and being C.S. Lewis), the tone is simple and approachable even when he is describing abstract and large ideas.

And his audience? A bit of both sides. Part of what he does here is correct certain incorrect concepts about what Christianity is--many impressions of which still exist even all these decades later. So all of that is especially helpful for any non-Christian readers. But Lewis also gives reminders to Christians. There are certain things that we might either forget or ignore or maybe even some things that we haven't quite realized before that he reminds us of. He talks about beliefs and about how those beliefs then affect behavior. All of this makes me think of something that I think people tend to forget: when people talk about certain guidelines for life/behavior that are in the Bible, they tend to ignore the fact that those are guidelines for Christians. Like if someone doesn't eat a certain food for their religion--you won't expect other people to not eat that food as well or for that person to be surprised that other people eat that food. A Christian lifestyle just means that people, who have already accepted to follow Christ, have decided that there are certain guidelines for living that they would personally like to follow. The belief comes first; then the lifestyle starts to follow. It isn't the other way around. Anyways.

Overall, Lewis does a good job here of getting to the core of things, even of certain things that we would might like to forget. So definitely a good read, from whichever side of things you're coming. Also a nice starting place if you've mainly read Lewis's fiction and want to move on to his other writings. All of his talk about shadows or mere glimmers of things to come is, of course, very reminiscent of what he talks about in The Last Battle (the last book in The Chronicles of Narnia). We are in the Shadowlands and "there are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal" (Lewis The Weight of Glory). We were all created to be immortal. How's that to give you a heart for people, eh?

Lucy & Susan with Aslan

In one of my college classes, we read a couple of The Chronicles of Narnia (LWW and LB, I believe), and at some point a conversation arose about C.S. Lewis's portrayal of female characters. There was some question of whether he portrayed femininity in a positive light; some people pointed out that the good characters are generally less feminine (Lucy, for instance, wields a bow and Aravis is rather what we once called a tomboy) and the weaker characters are more feminine (Susan gives up on Narnia in favor of "nylons and lipstick" and Lasaraleen loves clothing and shopping). Now, I think it's all a little more complicated than that. Being feminine, for one thing, isn't just about liking makeup and lipstick--Lucy is also feminine. And sometimes the disdain for makeup/clothing is meant more as disdain for materiality. Additionally, these are children's adventure stories, and often children aren't particularly feminine or masculine yet: they're just children. C.S. Lewis is actually fairly equal in his portray of children, if you think about it: LWW focuses on two girls and two boys, and MN, HHB, SC, and LB all focus on a girl and a boy. PC and VDT do have more boys than girls, but Caspian is such a great character that I don't really mind--and I never even thought about it before, anyway.

All of this was just leading in to a newer thought I was having. I was on the side to defend C.S. Lewis's portrayal of female characters (some people also pointed out that he himself simply didn't know very many women very closely; after all, he didn't marry Joy until fairly late in life), so I realized another way of looking at scenes. It's kind of like when people talk about women in the Bible, saying that there aren't very many or that they're in inferior place to men or whatever--when you actually look at individual women, there are some very important, positive things to notice about who they were, what they did, and how they were received. Same thing with Narnia.

There are several instances, from as small a thing as the arrival of the cabman's wife in MN to something bigger like Aslan's "choosing" of Lucy to receive his messages and help bring the others to Narnia (I'm thinking of scenes in both LWW and PC). In fact, Lucy is the most "chosen" character out of the whole series, followed perhaps by Caspian (though he is chosen simply to lead a country, while Lucy is chosen for almost more of a spiritual position). (Peter may be the High King and he does play that role well, but he never really feels as important as Lucy.) Aslan is constantly appearing to Lucy, often to Lucy alone. Yes, he appears to other characters, like that wonderful scene with Shasta in HHB (that scene is one of my favorites, where he's walking next to him), but those scenes are usually more on a persona, one-on-one basis. When Aslan appears to Lucy, he is asking her to tell others what he wants; he is trusting her with his messages and asking her to have faith for them all. That's a big deal.

So the main scene I've been thinking of is in LWW when Lucy and Susan walk with Aslan to the Stone Table. Just think about that scene. I remember watching it in the animated movie, and even when I was young, that scene just had such a resonance, such a weightiness, such a sense of significance. The fact that Aslan is allowing these two characters, these two girls, to walk with him on this night, to set hands in his mane, really says something about how they are viewed. They are special and important in order to be welcomed into this place. And they repay their favor by being with Aslan after the White Witch kills him, by trying to untie the ropes that bind him. In turn, they are rewarded by being the first to see him come to life again. And that, too, is big. Okay, you can say that C.S. Lewis wasn't giving any special place to women because he was only mimicking Biblical scenes, but wouldn't that make you pause, too? Because if this position is special for Lucy and Susan, then it really was for the women in the Bible. It's a special place, definitely a special place.

What a beautiful moment in fiction it is, too: Lucy and Susan, walking side by side with a great lion during the darkened night while he willingly walks to his death with only their company.

Till We Have Faces

Most people seem to still think of C.S. Lewis mainly as the author of The Chronicles of Narnia. As loved, however, as those books are and as much as I care for them, they are not always considered his best and he did write many other books, both fiction and non-fiction. The Space Trilogy is pretty good and so is The Screwtape Letters, but (other than some articles and things) those are the only other of his books I've read. It was time, I decided, to broaden out. I had heard amazing things about Till We Have Faces, that it's his best book and a life-changing book and such, so Till We Have Faces it was.

For some books, timing matters greatly. For some books, it seems that you loved them so much because you read them at exactly the time that you needed to read them. Your reaction to a book can be very different depending on what age you are, what you're going through at the moment, or simply where you are in life. I find myself wondering if I read Till We Have Faces at the wrong time. Did I read it too old? Or too young? Why, my question is, didn't it touch me so deeply as it did for other people?

As you can see from the cover, it is "A Novel of Cupid and Psyche." The title page calls it "A Myth Retold." You probably know this myth: Cupid marries Psyche but only lets her see him at night in the dark, so she brings a lamp one night and is struck by how beautiful he is because he's a god, but then he is angered that she disobeyed him, etc. I kind of wondered, before reading, what this story had to do with C.S. Lewis. But he tells it from the perspective of Psyche's sister, Orual. (C.S. Lewis writing from a woman's perspective? Weird--this is the first person I've come across it, not counting the brief moments from girls' perspectives in Narnia.)

For most of the book, you know that something is coming, something to contrast with everything Orual has been saying. Because you know she is wrong. At least, you know she must be partially wrong--it's just hard to see how wrong. She has doubts about this god that has taken her sister, about all the gods that her people and other people believe in. The bulk of the book is about her doubts, about her struggle to live her life after her sister is taken from her. And then, almost at the end, comes the contrast (if you haven't read it yet, I'll leave you to experience it for yourself). 

And I get that. I get how, when you understand and see and accept the truth, it changes everything. Your whole life before, you understand how that was twisted or in darkness or whatever else. And I love what the title of this book expresses. That concept, which you don't get until the end, is wonderful. Till we have faces. It's very good. The answer that is in itself complete. That's very good. I like it. But the book as a whole? I don't know. I keep pausing over it.

It took me longer than I'd expected to read. I moved slowly. I didn't always know why there was so much page length devoted to certain things. I wanted to get to the part I could contemplate. Why do I feel this way? (Let's also take a moment to acknowledge that, whatever great things people who've read it say about it, it's never been his most popular book.) Maybe it's the kind of book that you do just need to read slowly and rethink from time to time, reread every so often. And maybe, the very fact that I'm pausing over it instead of just saying that it was a wonderful book means that it was a good book. If it has you thinking, that's success. And maybe the structure of this book is how life is: there is bulk beforehand that we don't always want to sit through or we don't always understand its place, and then when we know the truth, all the repetition or confusion and such all fade away. Till we have faces. 

Reflection on the Blood Moon

It seems there are so few times for us now to really take in Nature and to experience its awe, beauty, and sublimity. "The world is too much with us," eh? So when I heard about the lunar eclipse, I thought, well, I can stay up that night, so I will, even though I don't know if it'll be a great sight or not, but at least it'll be an excuse to just go and sit outside and enjoy the night. Sometimes I forget to do that.

I set up my bench, wrapped myself in a blanket, and dug from a bag of tortilla chips. And I listened to the silence of the night, remarking on the absolute contrast of the calm quiet with the rapid, hurried chirp of the crickets. I watched as the night grew steadily colder and darker, as I could no longer see the outline of the bushes and as more and more stars appeared in the sky. And it was beautiful. 

 And I watched as a shadow steadily grew across the bright moon's surface and as the edge of the shadow grew faintly tinted in red. I watched the moon fade before my eyes, with a ragged and blended line unlike the line that appears on a normal night's partially eclipsed moon. It was like watching a full cycle of the moon right occur right before my eyes.

And then the moon was entirely covered and it was a glowing, matte shade of golden orange. It was less red than it appears in my poor pictures. It was orange like a a golden berry, or like the sun if it lost all its power. It looked neither like the moon, nor like the sun. It looked not of the sky. 

It reminded me of science fiction stories where another world comes with its own set of colors, except that the sky remained the same despite the altered shade of the moon. I thought to myself of C.S., of The Space Trilogy, particularly of Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra, and also of The Chronicles of Narnia--not so much The Last Battle but more of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader and the island near the edge of the world where Ramandu lives and swallows a bright berry from the sun every morning. 

The sublime is beautiful and stirring, as is the world. 

King Caspian = King Arthur?

On further thought, I have decided to divide out my (in truth, brief) comparison of Narnia and Arthuriana. This first section will focus on Caspian and his relation to Arthur; the second will be more about the "after events" of the searches for Rilian and the Holy Grail. I know I spoke very briefly on this subject three or four years ago, but I won't be concerned about repeating myself. If I do, I think it will be very little (since it was so briefly that I talked about it before), and I trust that most of my readers now weren't here quite so long ago.

We all know the story of King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone and thereby showing himself rightful heir to the throne. Caspian may not have quite a grand moment like this, but aren't the basics the same? He, too, was not raised by his parents, and he, too, became the young king endowed by fate and divinity into this position. Like Arthur, he became a Narnian legend--Caspian the Seafarer. Instead of his Knights of the Round Table, he has those who accompanied him on the voyage into the East.

And like Arthur, his death is complicated. Arthur receives his deadly wound from Mordred and is carried off to Avalon--leaving us with a more symbolic than practical hope that he will recover and return. Caspian, in his old age, sails off once more; when he dies, Eustace and Jill see him once more in Aslan's Country. After Aslan has restored him to youth, he even accompanies the two back to England briefly before going back with Aslan. So while Caspian definitely died and never came back to that Narnia again, his death is connected to life and continuance in a way that is similar to Arthur's.

You see, I am in a class right now on Arthurian legends and their many re-imaginings. Reading this material has made me in greater and greater awe of The Chronicles of Narnia. Their brilliance is in their fantastic simplicity; yet they still reference and evoke so much. Back when I first compared Eustace's constant failures on his search for Rilian to Percival's shortcomings searching for the Holy Grail, I didn't realize how right on the mark my "random" comparison actually was. But that is the topic for next time.

To read Part 2, click here. 

Et Cetera Update

Having some time extra about a month ago, I spent an hour browsing Barnes & Noble. Just the fiction section. I have plenty of books at home that I haven't gotten to reading yet; I was hence only planning on buying a book that stood apart. Author to three short, tiny, plain-covered books was Laura Wiess. The microscopic size intrigued me, as did the few words I skimmed in one or two of the books. The style seemed unique, so when I finally left the store, Leftovers came with me. As you must be gathering, I was in the mood for something different. Vastly different, on an opposite scope, yet still something I could enjoy for whatever reason. Nothing predictable. Amazingly, this book was the perfect choice for my mood. Told from the perspective of two teenage girls whose home lives are more than trying, it switches between third person and second. I'd have to check, but I think there is more second person than third. I never would have thought that would work so well; it doesn't make the narrative drag, only working to further the girls' perspective. The book's material can be a little depressing and isn't the sort of thing I seek out to read, yet the style is unique, as I had guessed. Refreshing even while depressing. Enough that I'd like to try out Laura Wiess's other books.

Then we have the audio drama for CS Lewis's The Screwtape Letters, starring Andy Serkis (aka Gollum) as Screwtape.

Since most of it is straight from the book, there was nothing new to me there, yet the listening was still well worth it. I don't

know how Andy Serkis does it, but he makes every line a pleasure to listen to. That is, as far as it is pleasurable to listen to a

senior demon describe how to tempt humanity . . . The additions of conversations on earth and between Screwtape and his

nephew make effective ways of drawing the audience into the audio as a story. I only wish the CD's weren't so pricey.

Twenty-six dollars at Amazon was the lowest price I could find, which was a little steep, I thought. Maybe not as far as audio

dramas go, but as far as I wanted to pay, yes.

And no, I'm not quite sick of Twilight and New Moon yet. A word on the latter's movie companion: I thought it was much better than the former's. The Twilight companion, for me, lacked the personal element I go to companion's for. I want to know what it was like for the cast and crew on set. The New Moon companion gives an abundance of quotes that satisfied my wants. Movie companions also describe some of the technology used; they can't go into too much detail lest readers get confused by technical descriptions, but after you read a couple of books, the brief info starts to repeat. Not so with this book. Sure, some processes I knew about, but I also learned a couple of things about moviemaking in general. I feel more satisfied with Mark Cotta Vaz's work as a companion writer now.
I think I mentioned that I'm a Disneyland fan? Naturally, I'm a sometimes mild fan of Disney in general. I was looking forward to Disney's "grand" return to hand-drawn animation with The Princess and the Frog last month. Probably I'm biased, but I don't usually like their more recent movies so much. Not that I went into the movie with too many expectations . . . I just didn't expect to enjoy it as much as I did. It was my minor reward to myself after my Latin final (and the end of the fall semester), and a rather nice reward it was. Color, artistry, movement, composition, these are the things I think animation has been lacking lately. We focus on how real animation looks instead of these aspects that make it so beautiful. Particularly with song sequences, it was a treat to see Disney remember how to use them. And a great job adapting a fairy tale as a fairy tale (aka with the happy, unrealistic ending we want to see), while adjusting it to a modern audience (Tiana's dream isn't a prince, and the prince is only half of her happy ending.)

That's it, I believe. Until next time.

Eustace and the Holy Grail

Two weeks into my time at ASU, I think I can safely spend a few minutes on a post without thinking I should be spending my precious leisure time more leisurely. So, we come once more to The Chronicles of Narnia. As I went through The Silver Chair, I started likening Eustace and Jill's search for Prince Rilian to Percival's search for the grail. True, there are a lot of stories about searches and I've only read a little bit of Percival's story, but there's a similarity in the tone as well as the content.

Percival and Jill/Eustace fail to see the obvious: Percival doesn't realize he's found the grail and the other two don't realize they've reached one of the signs (the "Under Me.") Their quests are also faith-based. This is obvious on Percival's part, but Jill and Eustace have to go off of a very small bit of info, then put their trust in Aslan to do the rest.

. . . and that's it. I picked up a couple of books from Barnes and Noble's "Discover Great New Authors" section. It's a great place to find uniqueness. I have another book to read first, but hopefully I'll be getting to the new ones soon (especially since one is about Charlotte Bronte . . . . )

Oliver Twist and Shasta

Comparing Oliver Twist to The Horse and His Boy may seem far-fetched, but the stories are more similar than you might think.

First we have Oliver and Shasta (unlike Aravis, I prefer to keep calling him this name instead of Cor.) They both have an innocent quality. Oliver's is more because he's a little younger and it's central to the story that he's the innocent victim. Shasta's is less because C.S. Lewis never leaves accountability out of his stories. For Shasta to be accountable for his actions, he can't be entirely innocent. In him, it's more just an air of innocence, coupled with a lot of ignorance. Oliver also has some ignorance, though, as he falls into his den of thieves, as compared with Shasta's Calormen. They're both on a quest to get away from this griminess to where they originated, with the London elite and with the Narnians.

Now on to Bree and . . . Mr. Jack Dawkins, the Artful Dodger. That's a funny image; I don't think either one would like it very much. The reason for both statements? They both have such an ego. They both think so much of themselves. Of course, in Bree's case, his ego handicaps him, while the Artful nearly always keeps his head because of his confidence. Their relationship to Oliver/Shasta is similar, as well. The Dodger teaches Oliver to pick pockets and Bree teaches Shasta to "raid" the Calormenes during their journey. Sure, it seems like Bree is justified in this (what else could they do?), but then we come back to accountability. They were stealing, justified or no.

The female characters are a little harder. I've settled on Nancy and Aravis, and Rose Maylie and Hwin. The first two have spirit and manage to see right and wrong even in difficult situations. Rose and Hwin are both sweet, gentle, and kind.

And there it is. I could try to go on by saying that Rabadash and Bill Sykes both were willing to kill and loved one of the female characters or that Arsheesh is greedy like Fagin, but I think my comparisons will start to run dry if I go so far.

Rereads

I felt like reading something simple right now, and as I don't seem to have much in that way that I haven't read yet, I opted for a quick reread of The Chronicles of Narnia. It's always nice to get all the things I've forgotten for another time while revisiting favorites. With Narnia, there's plenty that you might not notice until reading it a few times and other things that you never tire of reading. Simple, but still encouraging mind activity.

There are so many books I haven't read that I've been busy enough lately trying to get to them, but I do miss the days when I didn't feel like I wasn't making any progress by picking up an old favorite. I don't like forgetting things, books included. There's just never enough TIME.

Which is why I'm in a race to finish all seven Chronicles on Friday. That's one a day. I'm on The Horse and His Boy right now, going in chronological order. This time around, I'm finding Shasta very much an Oliver Twist character, with Arsheesh as Fagin and Bree could be . . . but that could be another whole post.

Ivanhoe

(I haven't posted in a while again because my computer's been having trouble. I had to send it to Apple for a while, but it still isn't working right. Think it's time to demand a new one. Also, the picture is blurry because I had to take it on my phone.)

I just finished Sir Walter Scott's Ivanhoe last Friday. Interesting read. At first, I was looking at the poetry of its writing/descriptions, which in itself make it worthwhile. Then I thought about it historically. If Scott is the father of the historical novel, historical fiction has still changed very much since his time. The way he described medieval clothing or mechanisms reminded me of how C.S. Lewis talks to his readers in The Chronicles of Narnia. They both give a comparison to something the reader will be familiar with. Today, though, historical fiction seems to envelope itself in the time period. Authors don't want to remind you that there is such thing as the present day; everything they say is a part of the period. Then again, a lot of people today seem to like using a first person perspective, which eliminates the possibility for Scott's style.

So that's what I was thinking about earlier in the book. That and the fact that Rebecca struck me as a much more interesting character than Rowena, despite the fact that Rowena was the one Ivanhoe loved. I was surprised to find Rebecca become even more important in the story than Rowena. No wonder the book could've been called Rebecca the Jewess. It's more about Rebecca than Ivanhoe, I think.

After I finished reading, I looked a little at the controversy over the ending. And yes, I can see how people would want Rebecca and Ivanhoe to end up together, but that ending wouldn't be as powerful. In keeping with the feel of the entire novel, Ivanhoe and Rowena have to be the ones together. There's just no other way. Even if Rebecca weren't Jewish or there was no discrimination, the knight and his lady have to have their "happy ending." That it isn't completely happy is what makes it interesting. Though I still do wish that there was a way to ensure Rebecca's happiness. She doesn't need to be with Ivanhoe, I'd just love to see her with a more bright future than simply servitude.

"Into the Sea"

Blondfire doesn't have a single song that I don't like and there are only a couple that I don't love. "Into the Sea" is one of my favorites of favorites because it reminds me of C.S. Lewis. Don't know what he'd think of that. . . oh, well, he can't worry about it now, anyway. This song has a nice smooth sound with lyrics that put you right in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. "All across this great divide, we'll make friends below the tide." Like Lucy when she's looking down into the water and sees the Sea Girl, instantly becoming friends with her.

"So come with me, into the sea. Walk with me and we'll be in a different world tonight. Walk with me and we'll be alright. Don't let go, the water's warm, we'll be safe below the storm." That's the really addicting chorus, which also sounds a little like his The Space Trilogy. The second book, Perelandra, to be specific. All the "warm water" and "different world" parts. If you wanted to get really creative, I guess you could also say that " 'casue our love is ocean wide" is like the King and Queen on Perelandra, but that's probably a little too much.

Well, you get the picture. It's a really cool song (by a really cool group), so I'm bound to compare it to some really cool characters/settings.