11.01.2010

Rebellion and Anticipation (Or, I'm a Narnia Obsessor)

Eventually I may professional enough to fill this blog with organized and edited personal essays, but until that point, I will continue to indulge myself by contemplating one of my favorite non-allegories in the majority of the entries that I post.

C.S. Lewis always said he wasn't writing an allegory. As quoted in Of Other Worlds,


Some people seem to think that I began by asking myself how I could say something about Christianity to children; then fixed on the fairy tale as an instrument, then collected information about child psychology and decided what age group I’d write for; then drew up a list of basic Christian truths and hammered out 'allegories' to embody them. This is all pure moonshine. I couldn’t write in that way. It all began with images; a faun carrying an umbrella, a queen on a sledge, a magnificent lion. At first there wasn't anything Christian about them; that element pushed itself in of its own accord.

So, I don't knock on the back of my closet (just in case) because of potential allegories to deconstruct, even though I certainly have this tendency as a recently-graduated English major; instead, I love to imagine Narnia as a place, a parallel universe just as Lewis did. He wrote it as an imaginative work, not as a tract-children's book cross breed. And my inner child loves to imagine a world with fauns and  lyres and children that can save the world. I'm a teacher; of course I think children can save worlds.

The most fascinating part about Narnia is the idea that God, as Aslan, walked physically among the Narnians and the Pevensies. How I long for that! And I believe in a God that, if God were magnificent lion, would let you ride on his back as he ran, roaring into the fray, or who would romp around with you like a giant kitten after tasting life again.

Also, you'll find that my favorite of the Pevensie children is not Peter, the noble, nor Edmund the clever and courageous, nor Lucy, the ever faithful. Instead, my favorite is Susan, the lost Queen, the one that never made it to the New Narnia. Instead, she survived. You'll find I write about her often.

As far as the title of this post is concerned, I'm convinced the latter choice was more appropriate. (See above.) However, to address the former: the rebellion here is simple: I bought a book called A Year with Aslan: Daily Reflections from The Chronicles of Narnia. The book has an excerpt for each day of the year taken from one of the 7 books followed by simple reflecting questions. I love reflecting; English majors and teachers are pretty much full-time mirrors, we love it so much. The rebellion lies in the fact that instead of starting to read it on January 1st, as one might do, I'm going to start today, November 1st.

As far as anticipation goes, I am highly anticipating a) my day off tomorrow. and b) the release of the newest Narnia film, Voyage of the Dawn Treader in December!

The first excerpt comes from The Last Battle, the toughest book for a Susan devotee to read. This excerpt however, is a poignant retelling (as I see it) of Christ's words when He separated the goats from the sheep. However, I have pontificated enough for tonight; the question and my answer are fairly simple.

Question: What makes the creatures react to Aslan either with fear and hatred or with love?  Why were they divided not by how Aslan treated them, but by how they reacted to Aslan?
Answer: The loveliest and harshest part of our humanity is the gift of choice; we choose whom to serve and when to rise. The creatures were divided by their reaction to Aslan because their reaction reflected their lives. Those that reacted with fear and hatred fear and hated the Lion they had not chosen to serve. Those that loved Aslan could still fear him and would be wise to do so (He is a Lion, after all), but their love overpowered their fear, as it always should.

There is beauty in Narnia, beauty and potential and truth and imagination. These, in the right quantity, keep me reading and keep me tapping on the back of my closet (just in case).

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