Majel-Susan appears belately in 2020

After The Space Trilogy group reads, I figured it's time to open up another thread for me and then figure out later what to do with it...

My comfort zone for reading is the literary classics, particularly from the 19th century until WWI, but I am trying to broaden out to read more modern classics, as well as children's books, Christian philosophy, fantasy and science fiction, short stories, and some non-fiction (haven't been too successful on that score so far).

Books I'm currently reading: (Updated Jan 29)
He Came Down From Heaven by Charles Williams
Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
The Dark Is Rising by Susan Cooper
The Curse of Chalion by Lois McMaster Bujold
Mythology by Edith Hamilton
The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan (been stuck on this one since April. Bummer.)

To be read...

Fiction books of interest:
The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis
Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis
The Pilgrim's Regress by C.S. Lewis
All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque
Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy
The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells
Beloved by Toni Morrison
Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse
A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'Engle
The Yellow Wall-paper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman (August group read with Virago Modern Classics)
Passing by Nella Larsen (August group read with 1001 Books)
The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers (November group read with 2020 Category Challenge)

The Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis
The Hunger Games Trilogy by Suzanne Collins
The Dark Is Rising Series by Susan Cooper

Non-fiction books of interest:
The Everlasting Man by G.K. Chesterton
Letters to Malcolm by C.S. Lewis
The Descent of the Dove by Charles Williams
The Practice of the Presence of God by Brother Lawrence
Illness Narratives by Arthur Kleinman
The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank
The Analects by Confucius
Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu
The Art of War by Sun Tzu
The Power of Myth by Joseph Campbell
Infantry Attacks by Erwin Rommel

And since 2020/21 will be the last year of my studies before goodness knows what, so that I won't get hung up reading anything too fresh and exciting while preparing for finals and licensing exams, I've compiled a list of old favourites and books to give a second look...

Rereads for 2020/21:
A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmund Rostand (My most favourite ❤️)
Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte
The Phantom of the Opera by Gaston Leroux
Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen
The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame
Villette by Charlotte Bronte
Dracula by Bram Stoker
Ramona by Helen Hunt Jackson
Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse
Animal Farm by George Orwell
And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain
The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne
Macbeth by William Shakespeare
Babbitt by Sinclair Lewis
Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

Books read so far in 2020:
1. Emma by Jane Austen
2. The Bertrams by Anthony Trollope
3. The Four Loves by C.S. Lewis
4. The Book of Three by Lloyd Alexander
5. A Simple Heart by Gustave Flaubert
6. The Black Cauldron by Lloyd Alexander
7. The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis
8. The Castle of Llyr by Lloyd Alexander
9. A Good Man is Hard to Find by Flannery O'Connor
10. Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie
11. The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster
12. Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
13. The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury
14. Lord Peter Views the Body by Dorothy L. Sayers
15. Taran Wanderer by Lloyd Alexander
16. The Diaries of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain
17. The High King by Lloyd Alexander
18. Miracles by C.S. Lewis
19. Matilda by Roald Dahl
20. Homo Faber by Max Frisch
21. Surprised by Joy by C.S. Lewis
22. The Nose by Nikolai Gogol
23. Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson
24. The Abolition of Man by C.S. Lewis
25. Out of the Silent Planet by C.S. Lewis
26. A Grief Observed by C.S. Lewis
27. Theogony / Works and Days by Hesiod
28. Perelandra by C.S. Lewis
29. Heretics by G.K. Chesterton
30. That Hideous Strength by C.S. Lewis
31. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
32. The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis
33. The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman
34. A Separate Peace by John Knowles
35. Passing by Nella Larsen
36. The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis
37. Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton
38. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis
39. Descent into Hell by Charles Williams
40. Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis
41. The Lottery and Other Stories by Shirley Jackson
42. War in Heaven by Charles Williams
43. We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
44. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
45. The Everlasting Man by G.K. Chesterton
46. Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury
47. The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis
48. The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers
49. Stories of Terror and the Supernatural, compiled by Herman Graf
50. Saint Thomas Aquinas by G.K. Chesterton
51. The Horse and His Boy by C.S. Lewis
52. A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
53. The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis
54. The Chimes by Charles Dickens
55. The Descent of the Dove by Charles Williams
56. The Cricket on the Hearth by Charles Dickens
57. The Battle of Life by Charles Dickens
58. The Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain by Charles Dickens
59. The Last Battle by C.S. Lewis
60. The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle

>3 Majel-Susan: I am really glad to see someone else who loves Cyrano as much as I do. I have only read it in translation though; I mean to tackle the original some day.

>5 -pilgrim-: *Gasp* I love Cyrano!! It's my absolute all-time favourite! I've read two translations of it and skimmed maybe another one or two more, but unfortunately, I've never been able to get my hands on the most famous translation by Brian Hooker. The translation that I own is translated by a Carol Clark: it's not a very well-liked translation, but as I didn't know, it was my introduction and I've been in love ever since. I do also have the book in French, but with my limited knowledge of the language, I wouldn't be able to follow it much without constantly referring to my translation. I'm soo happy to see that someone else loves Cyrano, too! It should really be more out there.

>2 Majel-Susan: The dark is rising sequence is one of my all-time favourites! I used to reread it once a year while I lived in America because it so perfectly captured the landscape and myth of Britain that I was missing. There are one or two parallels to That hideous strength, too! Sure, the child characters are a little flat, as was typical of books written at that time, but the magic and myth spring to life.

Till we have faces is one of my favourite C.S. Lewis books. I was amazed at how well he wrote from the POV of Orual.

And The nine tailors has special meaning for me since I took up church bell-ringing!

>7 Sakerfalcon: The Dark Is Rising has been on my reading list since the start of the year, so I will hopefully get to it sometime. I had also attempted The Earthsea Trilogy late last year, but after A Wizard of Earthsea, I left in the beginning chapters of The Tombs of Atuan due to dwindling interest. I might get back to it, but probably not in a long while.

On the other hand, I am quite looking forward to Till We Have Faces; the book description is really quite beautiful.

I believe Till We Have Faces was Lewis's own favourite among his novels.

ETA And your reading is, um, impressively eclectic, and impressive in quantity also.

>9 haydninvienna: I did read somewhere that Till We Have Faces was Lewis' personal favourite.

And ha, thank you! I don't typically read this much; it's just that I've only recently found a lot more free time and I had a bit of a disappointment in my studies last summer, so I'm making up for it by reading more this year. :)

>1 Majel-Susan: I'm so pleased that you decided to start your own journal thread! You have eclectic tastes indeed, as >9 haydninvienna: has pointed out. I see many of my old favorites on your lists.

>11 clamairy: Actually I find an alarming amount of overlap with my own!

>6 Majel-Susan: Have you seen the Gerard Depardieu film version? It is extremely faithful to the text and superb.

And I would go do far as to say that Cyrano de Bergerac is probably the nearest I have come to the perfect romance.

>11 clamairy: Thank you! I had not thought of them as eclectic before, but I guess the variety comes from being fairly new to all of it. I only really started reading for leisure in the last six years, and even then I relied heavily on public domain books since I didn't have access to the more recent titles until I got access to my national e-library. Since then, it's been more joy!!

>13 -pilgrim-: I did attempt to watch the Depardieu film, but I didn't enjoy it and left halfway through. On the other hand, I have watched the 1950 film with Jose Ferrer and enjoyed it. The BBC radio play featuring Kenneth Branagh and Tom Hiddleston was also alright, but I find that Roxane's presentation is a recurring weak spot for me. She was okay-ish in the 1950 film, though.

Haha, I don't think Cyrano, Christian, or Roxane would agree that the romance was at all perfect, but I do think that is why I love it!

>15 Majel-Susan: In romances, the dramatic tension is usually supplied by one of the parties involved being unreasonable and selfish, or "testing" someone's love. That play is unusual in that no one is behaving badly,except, of course, De Guiche. The behaviour of each member of the "love triangle" towards each other is irreproachable.

>16 -pilgrim-: I can see that. While I wouldn't call their actions irreproachable (Cyrano and Christian did work to deceive Roxane, leading to her double tragedy in the long run---I love the line that goes, "I have only ever loved one man, and now I'm losing him twice"), all three of them shared a tremendous love for each other, and although their choices at the various points of the story were deeply misguided, I admire the dedication they showed in their efforts to live up this love and loyalty in spite of all the personal flaws and insecurities they were up against.

>17 Majel-Susan: But that was the point that the terrible Steve Martin film completely missed: Christian and Cyrano saw themselves s intentionally deceiving. Christian loved Roxane, but despaired of putting his feelings into words, so he leapt at the chance of having a friend enunciate them for him. And Cyrano had so much that he wanted to say to Roxane, but did not dare, because of his own insecurity, so in helping his friend day what he thought the friend (Christian) meant, he was simply overcoming the obstacles in communication between the woman he loved and the man who he believes was right for her.

Cyrano never understands that it is the words, and the mode of expression, that matters to Roxane, rather than simply the sentiments expressed. So he does not see, until too late, that she is falling for Christian for the wrong reason (a false one).

Christian is the one who works that out; and it makes him uncomfortable with the situation, so that he tried to change it.

If it were not for the ordinary difficulties of communication with a secluded ward, who is deliberately being kept isolated because her guardian wants her for himself, them they would all have sorted out who loved who for what quite openly. There is no intention to deceive.

That was the point that the Steve Martin adaptation missed. By making it simply an opportunity for him to write love letters, by putting them "into the mouth" of a young man he despises, he is simply being a pander, and sweettalking Roxane into another man's bed. That is quite a different proposition!

>18 -pilgrim-: Ooh, I remember reading the synopsis for the Steve Martin adaptation, Roxanne (1987), some years ago and it sounded really terrible! I didn't watch it.

Cyrano never understands that it is the words, and the mode of expression, that matters to Roxane, rather than simply the sentiments expressed.

How I understood it from the play was that (laying no blame on Roxane--it is not her fault that Cyrano and Christian set out to deceive her) it is partly her own tragedy as well. She begins as a shallow and immature young girl, and at that point of her life, Cyrano knows that neither he with his wit nor Christian with his beauty can satisfy her in themselves. Roxane demands the perfect man, one who in reality does not exist, beautiful on both the outside and the inside.

She falls in love with Christian's beauty, without even having spoken to him yet, and from that starting point, she becomes convinced that he must also be intelligent.

Cyrano's words on Christian's lips make the perfect man, and Roxane falls even deeper in love with him. But it is when the face of the lover is withdrawn from her and only the words of the lover remain that Roxane realises the immateriality of everything but the soul.

However, Roxane's tragedy is that she only reaches this point of maturity in stages, the beginning of which is her early superficial love for Christian's beauty. Of course, theorising, it might have been possible for her to love Cyrano without all this roundabout drama; but even though she already loved him as her cousin since they had spent a part of their childhoods together, I believe that her vanity would have struggled over the initial hurdle of accepting him as a lover with all his ugliness. (That would be a whole other play...)

So, in a tragic sense, I feel that Roxane herself needed to go through a kind of process before understanding that her love, heretofore, had been directed towards a what, and needed henceforth, to be redirected towards the who, the core essence of the person loved.

In this regard, she matures faster than does either Cyrano and Christian, because while she moves beyond the lie of her youthful folly, that love is flashy, aesthetic, and flattering; both men are shocked and unprepared for this change, because both still cling to their own lie, that in order to be loved, they need to become different people (hence, this "perfect man" that they create together). Christian, in the face of all this, is the next to drop his blinders and then wake Cyrano into the reality that he can be and is loved for himself. Of course, at that point, it's rather too late for any of them.

>19 Majel-Susan: And this thread is turning rapidly into a "why Rostand was a genius" fangirl fest!!

Yes, I agree with most of what you said.

It is an important point that Christian is NOT unintelligent. He is simply not eloquent. His love for Roxane is as deep and as real as Cyrano's, he is just a doer not a thinker. (That is why turning him into a handsome chump that just wants to bed the "hottie", in the Steve Martin film, was such a travesty.) He is the first one to realise what Roxane really loves, and that it is not an attribute that he has. And he wants to abandon the masquerade, as soon as he realises that what she has fallen in love with, is not him. He wants her, but he wants her to live him, not a fake version.

It cannot really be modernised, because the cause of the tragedy is limited information exchange, forced by her guardian's behaviour. Since none of the participants in the triangle are deceitful, everything could have been resolved in conversation.

I am not sure that the young Roxane would have been able to look beyond Cyrano's appearance, but she already admires his bravery and wit. But even if she refused him, they would have remained friends, and as they continued to socialise, v she would have fallen for him eventually.

I knew some people who grew up in a similar culture. There was only a relatively small pool of young people of their own social class, whom it was acceptable for them to socialise with, and they were expected to marry within this group. The only young men that a girl could meet with freely were her brothers and male cousins (and vice versa). Arranged marriages were common, and accepted, because the young people had very little opportunity to meet an alternative that they preferred.

In such an environment there is a tendency to make decisions based on surface impressions, not because the young people involved are necessarily shallow - they could well be looking for a soulmate rather than a "trophy" wife or husband - but because the society did not give them the opportunity to get to know the suitor more deeply.

>20 -pilgrim-: Squee! I adore this play!

And definitely, ineloquent is the word I was looking for rather than unintelligent, even though I think a young Roxane would be likely to confuse the two terms.

One thing which I didn't pick up on from the play before, but which you seem to be saying: Is Cyrano Roxane's guardian? In either case, though, I didn't get the impression that she is being deliberately isolated any more than was conventional for a young woman at the time, or that Cyrano would impede any suitors to Roxane. Cyrano promises to be Christian's friend even before he meets him, so it appears that he is not opposed to Roxane finding a match of her own choice.

But that is also true: I had never considered the fact that people in the past or in smaller, conservative communities would be bound to judge their suitors by their physical qualities rather than by personality, due to a lack of opportunities to get to know each other better.

>21 Majel-Susan: No, De Guiche is Roxane's guardian; and he intends to marry her when she comes of age. That is why Christian and Roxane had a clandestine marriage, with Cyrano running interference with his crazy talk about the Moon. And de Guiche gets his revenge by posting the musketeers to the front line, necessitating the long correspondence..

Which are your favourite moments? My favourite line is when Cyrano says: "Ah, but I have been braver since." when Roxane asks him excitedly to recount his single combat on the bridge, after unwittingly destroying his hopes.

But is the scene in the orchard that always gets me: (MAJOR SPOILER)when Cyrano is reading "Christian's' letters, which Roxane had treasured, and she suddenly realises that it is too dark to see the text, but Cyrano carries on "reading" just the same.

>22 -pilgrim-: Ah! Okay, I misunderstood, but that makes sense! It always puzzled me why Roxane had to get married in secret or why it was such a big deal to De Guiche, but now I get it.

I have so many favourite moments! But I love the wit and bravado displayed in the parley between Cyrano and the Viscount de Valvert. Cyrano's first meeting with Christian is also absolutely hilarious; I love it! And, of course, the romance that happens under Roxane's balcony is unbeatable.

Then the scene where Cyrano pretends to be a moon-man to detain De Guiche is just insanely funny, along with the fact that it actually works. The horror and hope that rises between Cyrano and Christian when Roxane reveals that she no longer loves Christian's beauty, only "his soul," followed by Christian's untimely death, is also a big part of the play's tragedy that gets me.

One of my favourite lines is from the scene you mentioned at the orchard, when Roxane realises that Cyrano was the voice beneath her balcony and he tells her in reply, "My dearest love, I never loved you." It's just beautiful; I swoon every time I read that!

>23 Majel-Susan: I don't count de Guiche as a suitor because he never loved Roxane. By becoming Roxane's guardian when her parents died, he will have gained control of the estates and fortune that she inherited from her parents. Once she comes of age and marries, they will come under the control of her husband - so de Guiche needs her husband to be him.

I don't think that getting her new husband killed in the war will necessarily revert control of her estates to him. But at least he gets a second chance of marrying her. And, of course, IF she and Christian had a child, his plans would be sunk permanently - hence the haste with which Christian is sent far away!

>24 -pilgrim-: Ooh, I did not know that. I think the finer details pertaining to history and culture are things that frequently fly over my head, but knowing them certainly adds more context and background to a story.

Since De Guiche is already married (to the niece of Richelieu), I didn't think that he could be a suitor, not an eligible one, at any rate. Probably the logic goes, though, that if he can't marry her himself and continue to control her money, then the next best thing is to marry her to some man whom he can control. But a lot of things that I didn't understand but took for granted, make sense now. For instance, I assumed his decision to immediately send Christian away was purely out of spite; but now I see that he also wanted to be sure that there would be no heir to complicate his plans, if-when Christian is killed.

Haha, I wasn't sure what I was setting up a thread for or what I would do with it, but this conversation alone makes its own worth! I have all the love for Cyrano!

That's an excellent list of planned reads! :D

I also highly recommend the sequel to All Quiet on the Western Front, The Road Back. Imo, it's even better than the AQOTWF.

>25 Majel-Susan: I did not remember de Guiche being married to Richelieu's niece. So I looked up both the historical figure and the synopsis of the play. Yes, the historical figure was married, and the Wikipedia synopsis says that it was mentioned in the play also. Yet the synopsis agrees with me that de Guiche intended to marry Roxane himself after Valvert was killed.

Since France was a Catholic country, that is puzzling.

I need to find out the relative ages of de Guiche and his wife!

Given your love for C. S. Lewis, I would highly recommend that you try the novels by another Inkling, Charles Williams. There is similar mix of philosophy with a compelling plot.

>27 BrokenTune: Based on your recommendation, I checked out The Road Back and it does sound interesting! Perhaps I will consider it after I finally get to All Quiet on the Western Front. I've been planning to read that for a while now; I even borrowed it from my e-library some months back before getting sidetracked with something else.

>29 -pilgrim-: Oh, yes, Haydninvienna and I had a brief discussion about Charles Williams' books in the Perelandra thread. I was thinking of reading The Descent of the Dove and Descent into Hell. Do you think that these are good picks to get an overview of Williams' writing? Will it make a difference reading one before the other?

Earlier in the year, while I was still reading through C.S. Lewis' non-fiction classics, I decided that I would also try a sample of G.K. Chesterton's Christian philosophy; and now that I have read Chesterton's Heretics and am currently on Orthodoxy, it's not quite what I expected. He isn't as easy for me to follow along as Lewis, but he has a rather diverting style about his writing that is quite enjoyable. I have the feeling of someone given a thing and then turned on my head the next minute, which is kind of fun. Anyway, I thought I might share a passage that struck me rather like poetry earlier today, while reading Orthodoxy:

We have all read in scientific books, and, indeed, in all romances, the story of the man who has forgotten his name. This man walks about the streets and can see and appreciate everything; only he cannot remember who he is. Well, every man is that man in the story. Every man has forgotten who he is. One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star. Thou shalt love the Lord thy God; but thou shalt not know thyself. We are all under the same mental calamity; we have all forgotten our names. We have all forgotten what we really are. All that we call common sense and rationality and practicality and positivism only means that for certain dead levels of our life we forget that we have forgotten. All that we call spirit and art and ecstasy only means that for one awful instant we remember that we forget.

>32 Majel-Susan: Yes, I read Chesterton's Heretics in May last year. It was thoroughly enjoyable, and he certainly has a way of looking at things from interesting angles.

I do find his conviction that there is something a bit wrong with people who do not share his love for a pint and tobacco a bit disconcerting though!

>33 -pilgrim-: I found that Heretics included too many references to other writers that I either didn't know or whose works I hadn't read, but I am rather liking Orthodoxy.

And, haha, yes, if someone doesn't like blank - insert here personal hobby -, there is something wrong with them! Every now and then that sentiment does happen to the best and, well, the worst of us, too!

After 14 days quarantine, I was very sorry to leave the hotel, but I guess the old flat isn't too terrible once we finish cleaning it. Considering that it's been two years since we were back, its condition isn't the worst. The last time we were here, we had only been away for a year, but the cockroaches destroyed nearly all the books we had left after our many moves over the years.

>135 pgmcc: Oh no! I guess there isn't much you can do to protect the books while you're gone for huge chunks of time, is there?

>36 clamairy: Not a lot sadly, but we've always had books in that flat and year after year, the books got old, faded some, rotted a little, but they were more or less fine. It was just that time that year, and the only difference was that we had thrown the old, exposed bookshelves we had always kept the books on and moved them a new closed cabinet. However, instead of protecting the books as we had hoped, the closed cabinet became some sort of cosy, snug, little home for the cockroaches, full of not very tasty books, but still food. By the time we came back, the bookcase had been fully vacated by the cockroaches (thank goodness!), but it was full, FULL of their feces. Yes, it was very upsetting, and we've since decided that it is better to keep the books exposed, at least the very few books that I was determined to save.

>37 Majel-Susan: I had to store some books, supposedly temporarily, in the attic, supposedly temporarily, but it has been over 5 years. Surprisingly, v they survived in plastic crates quite well.

>38 -pilgrim-: True, if we had kept them in tight plastic boxes, they would probably have been okay, but, alas, we have a cockroach problem.

I spent some time debating which order to read The Chronicles of Narnia in: publication order vs chronological order. I read the series ages ago in the chronological order when I was eight, so I don't remember anything about it.

For those in support of the publication order, they often argue that reading The Magician's Nephew first would spoil part of the magic of Narnia, as well as the "nostalgic" value of the book itself. Of course, when I was eight, I wouldn't have noticed a thing like that and since it was the first book in my set, I read The Magician's Nephew more often than the rest. (Back then, I only read for three reasons: 1) my mother was always pressuring me to read; 2) my sister loved to read, and I would make repeated, and often failed, efforts to enjoy a book or, at the very least, find out what it was she liked so much about reading; and 3) it was homework, which was the case more often over the years.)

On the other hand, those in favour of the chronological order tend to cite a letter which Lewis wrote in reply to a boy asking this exact same question. Apparently, the boy had been debating with his mother, who held that the books should be read as they were published, while he felt that they should be read in chronology. Lewis' reply was he agreed with the boy that the chronological order was best, but it didn't really matter either in which order they were read. That was a fairly informal letter, however, and the reason why the books are now published in chronology is Douglas Gresham, Lewis' stepson. A young fan of Narnia, he, too, had asked Lewis in which order the books should be read (boy, did Lewis really muddle his readers with this Narnia series), and according to him, Lewis himself favoured the chronological order.

All this was very nearly enough to sway me into going for the chronological order, but then I read yet another article comparing it to the Star Wars saga. Again the question was: release order or chronological order? The article suggested that watching the movies in the order of their release would make the most impression for the first-time viewer. That made a lot of sense to me, since I had first seen each of the movies more or less in their release order, and I can't really imagine it any other way; it was only after watching Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015) that I watched all of them again in chronology with my sister. Obviously, the series is pretty fun in either order, but there's nothing like the first impressions I had watching the Originals, then the Prequels, and finally the Sequels (what a mess!). So then, I've finally decided to go with the books' publication order for now.

P.S. If anybody wants to discuss the Star Wars movies, I would love to! :P

The Screwtape Letters -- C.S. Lewis


*Possible SPOILERS ahead*

I have no intention of explaining how the correspondence which I now offer to the public fell into my hands.

Classic C.S. Lewis! This line reminded me of another that he wrote a couple of years later:

The association between him (the Devil) and me in the public mind has already gone quite as deep as I wish: in some quarters it has already reached the level of confusion, if not of identification. I begin to realise the truth of the old proverb that he who sups with that formidable host needs a long spoon. ("The Inner Ring")

This one was a re-read for me, since I first read it for an assignment back in my 11th grade. I thought it was humorous and very insightful; and I still do, but even more fantastic.

Lewis as Screwtape is marvellously sly, cynical, and quite simply, a genius. The same topics that struck me the first time, caught my attention this time again. I was just as amused by Screwtape's anecdotal story of the atheist in the British Museum whose contemplations were broken by Screwtape's suggestion that it would be much better to think with a clear mind after lunch, at which point he entered the street where he was shown "a healthy dose of 'real life' (by which he meant the bus and the newsboy)."

Among other things, Screwtape's letters discussing humility (Catch him at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, 'By jove! I’m being humble'), the 'historical Jesus,' and Unselfishness have stayed with me over the years. And naturally, where would one be without the 'law of Undulation'!

I remember how taken I was ten years ago, when I read Screwtape's various suggestions on getting the patient to approach prayer as a 'vaguely devotional mood' or as feelings to be produced by the patient; and I was happily reminded of this letter more recently this year, while reading Surprised by Joy, when Lewis wrote about his difficulties with prayer as a child and his exhausting, scrupulous routine around it.

A few other points caught my fresh attention this time round as well. I was quite interested in Screwtape's discussions about marriage and the state of 'being in love,' particularly the idea that 'being in love' is neither a guarantee of nor a prerequisite to affection in a marriage. But more relevant to my situation, Screwtape cautions Wormwood never to let his patient suspect that the trial that the Enemy wills him to bear is not the myriad of dreaded unknowable scenarios, but the present anxiety, the fear itself of the unknown.

One passage that I really liked, though, and which speaks to a very relatable ambivalence:

This, indeed, is probably one of the Enemy’s motives for creating a dangerous world—a world in which moral issues really come to the point. He sees as well as you do that courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means, at the point of highest reality. A chastity or honesty, or mercy, which yields to danger will be chaste or honest or merciful only on conditions. Pilate was merciful till it became risky.

Seriously, though, reading through C.S. Lewis' works has been such a gem for me this year, I already look forward to reading them again sometime!

It would be rather difficult to write in much detail about Lewis and most of his books without somehow touching on the topic of religion, but I hope I'm not crossing over TGD's threshold. If anybody feels that way, though, drop me a line and I will get a better gauge of the local standard. :)

>41 Majel-Susan: Lovely. I really want to re-read this one and try some of his other books - the sci-fi ones - too.

>42 BrokenTune: C.S. Lewis is lovely! He has such a perfectly simple, yet admirably lucid style to his writing. I've gone through his major non-fiction works; I am catching up to his fiction now. I was delighted to have several members in the group join me in reading his Space Trilogy, and you may have noticed the threads from the previous recent months. If you decide to read the Space Trilogy sometime, feel welcome to add to the threads! I'm currently reading his Chronicles of Narnia series.

>43 Majel-Susan: Did you by any chance read English Literature in the Sixteenth Century: Excluding Drama? Whether or not you're interested in the literature he is writing about, it's a fun if rather long read, and a good way into Lewis the scholarly writer rather than Lewis the religious controversialist. (His most famous strictly scholarly work is still The Allegory of Love, which is a much tougher read.) There's also A Preface to Paradise Lost, which is exactly what its title suggests. Lewis was a literary scholar of the days before PhDs, and before the times of publish-or-perish. His style in his scholarly works is, indeed, "perfectly simple, yet admirably lucid", and he is not shy about taking responsibility for his own opinions. Of course it's an overview but there is an amazing amount of detail in there.

>44 haydninvienna: Thank you for the recommendations! No, I haven't read English Literature in the Sixteenth Century: Excluding Drama. I enjoy literature from the 19th century, but older than that, the struggle begins and only gets worse. I do hope to get there sometime, however, and C. S. Lewis does sound like a nice place to start. As you point out, though, it is a touch long, but I will definitely be adding The Allegory of Love to my reading list and if I ever do decide to tackle Paradise Lost, I will remember to stop by Lewis' A Preface to Paradise Lost.

>44 haydninvienna: One other one that might be worth a look: The Discarded Image. Well worth a look as an introduction to the worldview of the later Middle Ages. I think it was the only long-form literary work that Lewis wrote during his time as Professor of Mediaeval and Renaissance Literature at Cambridge.

Having just checked my own catalogue because I thought I had a copy of The Discarded Image—but it's not there, which may mean it's in the bottom of one of the 11 boxes in storage in Bicester—I looked at Amazon to see if it's available. Hardback copies are available used but are pretty pricey; the paperback is in print and I clicked the button. Thinks: my goodness, he wrote a lot.

>46 haydninvienna: The Discarded Image does sound more manageable and accessible than English Literature in the Sixteenth Century: Excluding Drama. I see that according to a reviewer on Goodreads, "it was originally a series of lectures given to non-academics." That will probably suit the bill nicely for me, and it's conveniently available on Faded Page. Unfortunately, it appears that if I want to read The Allegory of Love, I will have to borrow it from the Open Library, which only allows me to borrow it for an hour at a time, which won't necessarily stop me, though it is a hassle.

>47 Majel-Susan: you are a dangerous person! Since you mentioned that The Discarded Image is available on Faded Page, I went and looked. And read the introduction. Now I’m going to have to read the whole thing. Lewis makes the comment about the book’s origin himself, in the Preface.

The Allegory of Love is still in print in paperback for reasonable money.

I seem to be banging on a bit about Lewis as mediaevalist. I was trying to remember where it is that Lewis refers to himself as a dinosaur. Of course it’s his address on taking up the chair at Cambridge, and it’s reprinted in They Asked for a Paper:

I myself belong far more to that Old Western order than to yours. I am going to claim that this, which in one way is a disqualification for my task, is yet in another a qualification. The disqualification is obvious. You don’t want to be lectured on Neanderthal Man by a Neanderthaler, still less on dinosaurs by a dinosaur. And yet, is that the whole story? If a live dinosaur dragged its slow length into the laboratory, would we not all look back as we fled? What a chance to know at last how it really moved and looked and smelled and what noises it made! And if the Neanderthaler could talk, then, though his lecturing technique might leave much to be desired, should we not almost certainly learn from him some things about him which the best modern anthropologist could never have told us? He would tell us without knowing he was telling. One thing I know: I would give a great deal to hear any ancient Athenian, even a stupid one, talking about Greek tragedy. He would know in his bones so much that we seek in vain. At any moment some chance phrase might, unknown to him, show us where modern scholarship had been on the wrong track for years. Ladies and gentlemen, I stand before you somewhat as that Athenian might stand. I read as a native texts that you must read as foreigners. You see why I said that the claim was not really arrogant; who can be proud of speaking fluently his mother tongue or knowing his way about his father’s house? It is my settled conviction that in order to read Old Western literature aright you must suspend most of the responses and unlearn most of the habits you have acquired in reading modern literature. And because this is the judgement of a native, I claim that, even if the defence of my conviction is weak, the fact of my conviction is a historical datum to which you should give full weight. That way, where I fail as a critic, I may yet be useful as a specimen. I would even dare to go further. Speaking not only for myself but for all other Old Western men whom you may meet, I would say, use your specimens while you can. There are not going to be many more dinosaurs.

>49 haydninvienna: Bravo Lewis!

To read literature you need to be try to put yourself in the mindset of its intended audience. Different eras looked for different things, and none is the worse for but following the dictates of the current fashion.

>48 haydninvienna: Finding more to read is always fun! It's why I came to LT.

What with all our problems with space in the home, having moved so many times, and the cost of English books in all these places, I've pretty much given up on reading on paper, at least for a good while to come. So if I want to read The Allegory of Love, Open Library will do fine.

>49 haydninvienna: Most definitely! I would love to listen to a dinosaur!

By the way, you seem to know all of Lewis' books: have you read them all?

>50 -pilgrim-: True! Of course, though, when one is not very knowledgeable--me, for instance--reading certain older books, I'll be wondering, "Why are they doing this? They wanted to do that, so why aren't they?" when there's actually a proper reason for it, particular to the etiquette and culture of the times for which the book was written. It happened to me a few times while I was reading The Bertrams by Anthony Trollope earlier this year, but happily, I was reading it in a tutored group read and had help along the way.

>51 Majel-Susan: Having called you dangerous this morning, I'm not grateful to you. It's a long time since I last read The Discarded Image, and I had forgotten how good it is. As always, Lewis is "admirably lucid". I thought this was charming: "One gets the impression that medieval people, like Professor Tolkien’s Hobbits, enjoyed books which told them what they already knew.".

>50 -pilgrim-: I'm starting to feel like an Old Western Man myself, however well I may think of Carlo Rovelli.

I find it slightly quaint that Lewis and F L Lucas, whom I have praised elsewhere, overlapped a bit at Cambridge, although I doubt that they had much to say to each other. At least they shared a dislike for T S Eliot's poetry. And both of them wrote clear, limpid, lucid English.

>52 haydninvienna: That line does sound charming!

>44 haydninvienna: Whether or not you're interested in the literature he is writing about, it's a fun if rather long read, and a good way into Lewis the scholarly writer rather than Lewis the religious controversialist.

I read a few pages out of The Discarded Image, and even if you weren't referring to this particular book, I can see what you mean about Lewis' ability to engage, even without having any special interest in medieval literature.

There's mold in our closets this year, so after I set the washing machine to clean the clothes with vinegar this afternoon, I took out my sewing machine to fix up some projects and chill a bit before commencing the big work of actually cleaning out the closet itself. I was just cleaning the machine and checking that everything was fine, when I opened the drawer and found some mold growing on a few spools of thread. Turns out that there's also mold growing on the side of the cabinet where I was keeping my sewing machine. My sister and I spent several hours today cleaning up and sorting through the stuff there. Suddenly the home has mold when for so many years it never had (except for the time my grandmother left some of her clothes behind, but that was more than a decade ago...). The only difference I can really think of is that all these closed cabinets are actually a curse. Goodness, I sure hope vinegar has magical properties.

>54 Majel-Susan: ugh, that's a pain. We used to live in a cottage right on a big pond, which was lovely for most of the year but humid and moldy during the heat of summer. Usually found on natural fibers, like leather shoes and woven baskets. Vinegar should help, as well as anything with a high pH - bleach, peroxide, baking soda.

>55 Darth-Heather: It is a pain, especially when it's the accumulation of two years' worth of mold. When I put it that way, though, I see we should be grateful that it's not worse, but still.

A Separate Peace -- John Knowles

*Possible SPOILERS ahead*

For a novel that isn't all that long, this one took me a while to get through. I think one problem I had with it was that it began a touch too nostalgically, and when it went back in time, it was very idyllic. From the main character Gene's perspective, his best friend, Phineas, was just so perfectly charismatic and quirky, I have to confess that it bored me a bit. However, as I moved closer towards the ending, I started to see that it was about a lot more than just Phineas as this admired person.

On the surface, it's about Devon's class of '43 and their life as on one hand, they prepare for the coming year when they will be drafted into the army, and as on the other, they strive to hold onto the simplicity of boyhood for the little time left to them. However, although many, both the boys and the adults there, see Devon as a kind of summer peace separate from the War looming in the background, Gene recognises that there is always war in the human heart, which is the reason why, in a fit of anger and jealousy, he causes Phineas' accident and why from that point forward, Phineas makes such a deep impression on him.

Unlike most of the boys who view the War with a sense of wariness and resignation, Phineas begins as the most enthusiastic about serving in the army; and even when Phineas takes a turn after his accident, insisting that the War is nothing but an invention created by a select group of "calculating fat old men," he later confesses to Gene how desperately he continued to write to every army in the hopes that someone would take him in.

Throughout the middle part of the story, it was easy to understand the title, "A Separate Peace," as referring to the carefree attitude into which Phineas draws Gene away from his anxieties about being drafted, as bit by bit the War becomes increasingly real to the rest of the class of '43. At one point, the boys set up their own Winter Carnival, and Gene describes their moment of wild merriment in exactly those words:

It wasn't the cider which made me surpass myself, it was this liberation we had torn from the gray encroachments of 1943, the escape we had concocted, this afternoon of momentary, illusory, special and separate peace.

But the "separate peace" that the story is actually about isn't this superficial semblance of peace that Gene initially thinks of; it's about the kind of person Phineas is beneath his cheerful exterior. Layers down, and one finds out that, dang it, he's still cheerful, but that happiness is neither free nor blind. Even after Phineas finally embraces the truth that Gene caused his accident and that it wasn't entirely unintentional, that in short, Gene destroyed all of his athletic dreams and his hopes to serve in the army, Phineas shows himself broken, but able to forgive and move on from that pain.

Anyway, the point is that Phineas could be as enthusiastic as he wanted to be about the War and the War could never touch him because none of what motivates people to begin a war, primarily, selfishness and greed, has any hold on Phineas, not even on the most basic level that most people, most importantly, Gene himself, experience it. All wars have their seed in the heart of the individual; without this most basic and personal of wars, the external war of nations could not happen, and this is what separates Phineas from Gene and the rest: his "separate peace" is a genuine peace, not merely one that plays in defiant oblivion, and the war that, in the end, is most real to Gene, is not the "big war" that he feared for so long, but that which he fights within himself.

I finished reading The Great Divorce by C.S. Lewis, and while not as awesome as his Screwtape Letters, I did enjoy it. It offered a fascinating perspective of the afterlife as a deeper and higher dimension of reality, and I thought it was interesting how Lewis the narrator-character was troubled by the Ghost of the bereaved mother who was damned by her refusal to allow herself and her family to move on from their loss, and also by the Lady Spirit whose happiness was so complete that she remained completely unmoved by the misery of her earthly Drawf husband. There was an apparent, though not veridical, lack of compassion, a kind of indifference to the pains of Hell shown by those dwelling in the happinesss of Heaven that came across in these two particular stories, and which I thought that George MacDonald's character (haha, of course, Lewis would meet MacDonald) justified well by showing that the alternative would be "that Hell should be able to veto Heaven." The two stories also reminded me of the chapter on Affection in The Four Loves and one of the themes in that book: Love, having become a god, becomes a demon.

I would be moving on to Till We Have Faces next, but as I'm pretty busy trying to finish my sewing projects before travelling back for my studies, I'm probably going to focus on the books I'm already reading, so The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis and Descent into Hell by Charles Williams.

I just finished reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis yesterday. I think it's pretty needless for me to say much about this one, but I do wonder how I would have liked it or how I would have felt about Aslan dying and getting resurrected if I had not remembered that particular detail from the movie adaptation I watched some fifteen years ago and more recently when I reread the book four years ago. Who knows, but the Christian allegory of the story might have really just flown by my head. I wasn't charmed by LWW when I read it the last time, as I was looking for a fun, light-hearted children's story, and I remember feeling that the characters were a touch self-righteous and that the children took to Aslan too quickly for my taste. It was all right with me this time round, but I think that, in the interval, I've come to approach children's books a little differently and with a bit of patience as well. I don't remember what happens in the rest of the books, so I am looking forward to Prince Caspian next!

>59 Majel-Susan: Obligatory plug for The Magician's Book by Laura Miller. See my take on it here .

>60 haydninvienna: I'm seeing mixed opinions on the extent of the book's anti-Christian slant, but even so, many of the reviews do acknowledge the book's insight and merit, and I see that The Magician's Book is available in my e-library. When I'm through with The Chronicles of Narnia, I'll probably give The Magician's Book another lookup then. Thanks for the recommendation!

Time to talk about zombie movies!

I went out to see Train to Busan's (2016) sequel Peninsula (2020) last week, and while it wasn't as fantastic as the first film, it was pretty engaging, as well. This one centers around ex-Marine Captain Jung-seok and the guilt he carries after choosing to leave his sister to die with her infected son, in order to protect the rest of the refugee ship headed to Hong Kong, from being infected by the zombie plague that has taken over all of South Korea. Four years pass, and the surviving Korean refugees, having become associated with the zombie virus, are treated as outcasts in Hong Kong, unable either to hold jobs or even to eat out in peace without being verbally abused and ousted by the locals.

In the meantime, Jung-seok and his brother-in-law, Chul-min, who hasn't forgiven him for abandoning his wife and son, have fallen into the company of a certain gang society that persuades them to return to Incheon in order to retrieve an abandoned truck full of money for the gang: their reward will be half of the loot. Chul-min, having already lost everything and desperate to escape their stigma through money, agrees; while Jung-seok, though unwilling to go back to the infected country, is apparently even more unwilling to leave Chul-min to his fate and goes along as well. The plot goes on from there and questions what it means to be "safe," particularly how far the "reasonable" price of this safety extends to.

After watching the first Train to Busan earlier this year, some two months after the country went into lockdown, my sister and I went on to watch a whole string of other zombie movies. It sounds crazy, but I've found zombie movies amusingly relevant to the ongoing COVID-19, what with the social isolation, the paranoia (not that people shouldn't be afraid or careful, but I'm thinking about how that manifested as racism against Asians when the virus first appeared), and even the empty streets.

The thing I like most about zombie films, even before now, is that, most of the time, it isn't about the zombie: zombies aren't the villain, they aren't even the real monster; it's the people caught up in their selfishness and greed, and it's they who end up killing each other. The zombie apocalypse is only a part of the external environment, bringing out of us what is on the inside and forcing us to see what we are really like. It prompts us to think about an impossible scenario, and how we would react in a situation that demands us to make honest, split-second, life-and-death decisions; and most helpfully, the characters in such movies tend to be very real and down-to-earth people, who just want to make it through another day. Who doesn't after all, right?

That said, Peninsula felt more like the typical zombie sequel, complete with the military approach familiar in Romero's Dawn of the Dead (1978) and Day of the Dead (1985). While the original Night of the Living Dead (1968), which marks the initial appearance of zombies in Romero's series, takes place in a civilian setting, guns are a fairly ordinary part of American culture and the characters have that advantage over the zombies from the very beginning. However, guns not being as prevalent in most other countries, particularly not in Asia, Train to Busan was remarkably fresh and unique in that the civilians whose stories the film told, were really just that: as civilian, unarmed, and defenseless as it gets, their panic all the more intense for it. But it wasn't just a good horror movie.

In Train to Busan, the main character, Seok-woo, is the divorced, absent father of nine-year-old Su-an. Preoccupied in his job as a fund manager, he remains unavailable for Su-an even during the period she spends living with him and Seok-woo's mother; he even misses her singing recital when he had promised to be there. Lonely, Su-an asks to go back to her mother in Busan to spend her upcoming birthday, and Seok-woo, guilty, agrees to bring her by train, which is where zombies come into the picture. I won't spoil what happens from then on, but the characters were marvellously relatable, both when they helped others and when they acted in selfishness. Everybody wants to survive after all, no?

. . .

Haha, I was just gonna write a couple of lines, but I'm done now.

Two new middle grade fantasy novels I'm currently interested in and crossing my fingers that my e-library will buy. . .

Eva Evergreen, Semi-Magical Witch by Julie Abe: It's apparently inspired by Kiki's Delivery Service (1989) and the premise is pretty similar, except "Eva only has a pinch of magic. She summons heads of cabbage instead of flowers and gets a sunburn instead of calling down rain. And to add insult to injury, whenever she overuses her magic, she falls asleep." And on top of all her problems, she has to protect the town she lives in, Auteri, from the Culling, "the biggest magical storm in history." Without having read it, my gut already says that she probably succeeds. ;)

Quintessence by Jess Redman: I got interested in this one when I was going through a list of middle grade books coming out this year and I noticed that this one was tagged with mental health, and I thought, "Hmm, mental health discussed in a children's book. Sounds good."

The protagonist is twelve-year-old Alma who has been experiencing panic attacks since moving to a new town. She seems to have a difficult time sharing her difficulties with her parents and even tells them that her panic attacks have stopped when they haven't. Then one day, Alma is gifted with a telescope and a message:

Find the Elements.
Grow the Light.
Save the Starling.

And just like that, she witnesses a star-child fall from the sky that night. . .

I just gotta wait now. My e-library might never buy them after all, but on the other hand, I've just noticed that with the fresh publication of Stephenie Meyer's latest Midnight Sun, my e-library has decided that it's time to buy the Twilight Saga e-books, when they used only to offer audiobooks for them. Hmm, the hype around those books used to be something. . . On the other hand, I would like my e-library to update with the Mistborn Trilogy by Brandon Sanderson: they have the trilogy in audiobook format, but for the e-books, who knows why they bought books 2 and 3, but not book 1. . .

I've been pretty busy, as well as taking a bit of an internet break, but since travelling back for my studies, I've had some more leisure for reading and some cross-stitching and knitting. Here's a fellow I finished in the earlier part of my trip, though:



(Image is sadly not showing up in my preview, so here: https://imgur.com/a/1JIWOlK)

A knitted bear coaster. He looks a little better than in the picture I took and I'm quite pleased with him, but he's still not quite as handsome as in the pattern's own pictures below:



I made a few adjustments to the pattern in Faux Taxidermy Knits by Louise Walker, to make the bear more washable and a little larger to fit better with the size of the cups we use at home, but I'm still nervous about whether he will shrink or his stuffing (used dryer sheets sewn together) will go awry once he gets washed. Ah, well. Time to knit another pair for my parents.

>64 Majel-Susan: Aww. He's gorgeous.

>65 BrokenTune: He is quite, isn't he? Thank you!!!

>64 Majel-Susan: Adorable! Are they machine washable?

>67 clamairy: Mine is—in theory, at any rate. I have yet to wash him, but I do intend to. The original instructions called for the nose and eyes to be glued-on felt, but I stitched mine with black yarn instead. Also, the bear's head and limbs were supposed to be simply stuffed with cotton, which posed a considerable dilemma to me for a while there, as I was thinking, "But, hmm. If I just stuff him, when I wash the fella, wouldn't his stuffing be in all the wrong places?" I fixed the problem by sewing a bunch of old dryer sheets together and then sewing it into the seams of the bear's head, arms, and legs. I only hope that works out the way I intended it to when I finally wash him in the machine.

>64 Majel-Susan: He's lovely! I would be afraid of spilling my tea on him though.

>69 Sakerfalcon: Thank you! I've already spilled some tea on him, but I'd say that he's bearing it well!

>70 Majel-Susan: Hahaha! Well, I do hope he washes well. He'll smell good at any rate.

>64 Majel-Susan: He's lovely.

>64 Majel-Susan: what a darling Christmas gift that would be with a mug and a package of hot chocolate mix and marshmallows, or special teas or coffees!

>71 clamairy: >72 -pilgrim-: Thank you!! I'm crossing my fingers for his first wash.

>73 MrsLee: Haha, that does sound like a marvellous idea!

Descent into Hell -- Charles Williams

*Possible SPOILERS ahead*

On the recommendation of -pilgrim- and Haydninvienna, who thought I might enjoy the works of Lewis' fellow Inkling Charles Williams, I found some time to pick up Descent into Hell, which somehow weaved a local stage drama into the stories of the redemption and damnation of the Battle Hill residents.

It started off a bit slow and confused for me, as it took me a while to understand how the local play tied into the wider plot, and the themes, oftentimes, felt rather allusive and beyond my depth; I was occasionally lost between the two worlds, the spiritual and the corporeal, particularly when they were discussed simultaneously and the sentence ran on further than I could easily follow. One example of this would be:

As if the world of that other life to which this in which Margaret Anstruther lay was but spectral, and it to this, renewed itself with all its force in the groan he heard, as if that groan had been but its own energy of freeing itself, the dead man found when it ceased that he was standing alone among the houses.

I spent maybe five minutes or so, for my own amusement, breaking down that one sentence, which really only goes to demonstrate how pedestrian my own language is...

These difficulties set aside in this first reading, Descent into Hell would be intriguing to revisit some time down the road, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, the philosophy and all. I was fascinated by the concept of substituted love and the idea of multiple realities all existing in a single plane of time, as presented by the main character, Pauline, taking on the fear of her martyred ancestor, who passing on his fear, carried forth to his death a majestic, joyous vision, a singular and rare moment of rapture exchanged from Pauline's life.

However, I'm still struggling to place the dead man in relation to the local historian, Wentworth. Maybe it was the parallel between Wentworth's spiritual suicide and the dead man's bodily suicide, both represented in the rope they chose to go down, and in that death, the utter solitude of the self.

Speaking of Wentworth brings me to Gomorrah and Lilith. While I found his self-made fantasy not only distasteful, but disrespectful to the actual person of Adela, which was part of the point, I rather sympathised with the apparent extent of his loneliness. He was self-involved to begin with, but by no means a terrible person; he saw he was alone and ageing, yet unlikely to succeed over the younger Hugh for the hand of Adela. There was a kind of impenetrable, or at least, so it felt often enough to Wentworth, divide between him and the vitality of the youth that surrounded him; it doesn't justify the injustice he did himself or Adela, but he chose, fatally, to close himself off from that living reality. He collapsed into himself, untouchable and unreachable, wholly supplied within himself.

Men can be in love with men, and women with women, and still be in love and make sounds and speeches, but don't you know how quiet the streets of Gomorrah are? haven't you seen the pools that everlastingly reflect the faces of those who walk with their own phantasms, but the phantasms aren't reflected, and can't be. The lovers of Gomorrah are quite contented, Periel; they don't have to put up with our difficulties.

Wentworth's Gomorrah was remarkably striking to me. Having grown up in a heavily cloistered home that has difficulty with trust, it's easy to fall into oneself and the inward spiral of a dual reality: one that is bright, fantastical, unreal in how real it can be at times, and the other, prosaic and mundane. As it is, I find myself incredibly drawn into my own thoughts, and it's quite startling to realise in the middle of class or a conversation briefly paused, that I can't recall what was just being said or discussed.

It was fitting, but at the same time, I felt rather sorry about Wentworth's descent into Hell, particularly with all the opportunities he rejected to return onto the path of sanity. I really was hoping for him, which reminded me of a definition of tragedy, by Aristotle in his Poetics, that I came across earlier this year:

A perfect tragedy should, as we have seen, be arranged not on the simple but on the complex plan. It should, moreover, imitate actions which excite pity and fear, this being the distinctive mark of tragic imitation. It follows plainly, in the first place, that the change, of fortune presented must not be the spectacle of a virtuous man brought from prosperity to adversity: for this moves neither pity nor fear; it merely shocks us. Nor, again, that of a bad man passing from adversity to prosperity: for nothing can be more alien to the spirit of Tragedy; it possesses no single tragic quality; it neither satisfies the moral sense nor calls forth pity or fear. Nor, again, should the downfall of the utter villain be exhibited. A plot of this kind would, doubtless, satisfy the moral sense, but it would inspire neither pity nor fear; for pity is aroused by unmerited misfortune, fear by the misfortune of a man like ourselves. Such an event, therefore, will be neither pitiful nor terrible. There remains, then, the character between these two extremes,—that of a man who is not eminently good and just,-yet whose misfortune is brought about not by vice or depravity, but by some error or frailty. He must be one who is highly renowned and prosperous,—a personage like Oedipus, Thyestes, or other illustrious men of such families.

To end on a side note, and irrelevantly, Battle Hill sounds like a terrible place to live. I imagine it located in some mythological junction where reality and fantasy; the past, present, and future; Heaven and Hell: all converge and blur into one. In short, it would be just too much to deal with.

On the other hand, I'd love to have Stanhope for a friend:

Pardon, Periel, like love, is only ours for fun: essentially we don't and can't.

>75 Majel-Susan: I haven't read Descent into Hell. You quoted from it twice though, and I found both quotations interesting. The first one is an example of Williams at pretty close to his obfuscated worst; as you said, you have to pick the sentence apart and reassemble it. Perhaps like this:

As if the world of that other life

(to which this (in which Margaret Anstruther lay) was but spectral, and it to this, [that is, each was spectral to the other])

renewed itself with all its force in the groan he heard, as if that groan had been but its own energy of freeing itself, the dead man found, when it ceased, that he was standing alone among the houses.

Almost like lawyers' prose. Nothing wrong with your prose, incidentally. (Confession: I distrust beautiful writing. A review that says something is "beautifully written" is almost a deterrent for me.)

The other one, though, I really liked. I was wondering if Williams had something particular (other than the obvious) when he used the word Gomorrah as the name of his city of self-absorption. A quick resort to Wikipedia suggests that the sins of Gomorrah included "passing wisdom by", in refusing to recognise the angels of the Lord, but it seems to me that it doesn't quite work. One thing I am sure about with Williams is that not only the sentences but the layers of allusion need to be unpacked.

>76 haydninvienna:
One thing I am sure about with Williams is that not only the sentences but the layers of allusion need to be unpacked.

I agree with that wholeheartedly.

I have not read your review, Majel-Susan, because I intend to continue my read of Williams soon, and you mentioned spoilers.

I have been waylaid by not having much time for thoughtful reading - as the chemo drugs are affecting sleep and concentration through pain - and what I have had has been taken up with books that I have an obligation to read and review. ( I really do recommend Reporter: A Memoir to you - it is a slow read, but worth it.)

But I look forward to getting back to Williams, and hope that we can discuss these books in more detail then.

>76 haydninvienna: Haha, oh, goodness! I dissected that sentence in almost precisely the same way. I thought it might be just me getting lost in the sentences, but Williams' prose is still very readable. When I read The Turn of the Screw last year, Henry James nearly drove me nuts; I was relieved at the end, reading other people's reviews, that I wasn't the only one. I do like "beautiful writing," though, just not convoluted sentences.

When I finished with Descent into Hell, I also had to have a double check with Wikipedia on the deal with Gomorrah, which didn't enlighten me much further.

Sodom and Gomorrah were both collectively referred to in an earlier passage as "the self-adoring Cities of the Plain," so, as I understand it, Williams was not exactly setting Gomorrah apart as a city of self-absorption. There was a recurring theme of a kind of peaceful, yet hellish silence in the dead worlds; and in the slightly broader context of my quote above, the speaker was contrasting Gomorrah to Sodom, whose sin, unlike Gomorrah's, is spoken about and widely known. A silence then surrounds Gomorrah, and the implication is that Gomorrah's sin lies in that silence. While Sodom is condemned for the clamourous self-adoration of "men... in love with men, and women with women," Gomorrah goes down in absolute silence, as the self-lovers of Gomorrah, so completely contained within their isolated selves, have no more ears to hear or words to speak: their inability to either give or receive has left them entirely irredeemable. The passage I quoted above runs on:

"The lovers of Gomorrah are quite contented, Periel; they don't have to put up with our difficulties. They aren't bothered by alteration, at least till the rain of the fire of the Glory at the end, for they lose the capacity for change, except for the fear of hell. They're monogamous enough! and they've no children—no cherubim breaking into being or babies as tiresome as ours; there's no birth there, and only the second death. There's no distinction between lover and beloved; they beget themselves on their adoration of themselves, and they live and feed and starve on themselves, and by themselves too, for creation, as my predecessor said, is the mercy of God, and they won't have the facts of creation. No, we don't talk much of Gomorrah, and perhaps it's as well and perhaps not."

>77 -pilgrim-: I'm sorry that chemotherapy has been taking so much out of you, but, yes, when you get back to Williams, I'd love to discuss more about it. In the meantime, I'm thinking about reading Descent of the Dove, All Hallow's Eve, or War in Heaven sometime in the near future.

>79 Majel-Susan: I read War in Heaven back in May, and thoroughly enjoyed it.

>80 -pilgrim-: I went back to look for your review on War in Heaven, and gave it a very brief skimming. It appears to be a sort of mystical fantasy mixed with a how/why-dunnit murder mystery. I like the sounds of that! I think I will pick that up for my next Williams novel.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe / Prince Caspian -- C.S. Lewis

Having recently finished Prince Caspian by C.S. Lewis, I'm fairly certain that by this time I would have caught on to the Christian subtext in The Chronicles of Narnia. It's not very subtle, and I'm not sure that it was meant to be anyway.

I've become extremely partial to Lewis this year, but reading through a Goodreads review on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I am reminded of a couple of minor issues I had with the book, when I last read it four years ago, before I started reading so much of Lewis' work. (Before I got so biased, ahem, is what I really mean.)

The children's instant connection to Aslan seems highly disproportionate to Aslan's very minimalistic introduction as a character. Rereading it now, I understand that Lewis is working on the assumption that God needs no introduction; and I suppose, at any rate, the number of times I've come across people on the internet saying how much they loved the books and had their minds blown when the books' Christian allegory was later pointed out to them, goes to suggest that not every reader demands as much of an introduction to Aslan as I did. I certainly wouldn't have noticed a thing like that back when I read the books for the very first time. For more on the atheist's perspective on The Chronicles of Narnia, I suppose I might give the recommended Laura Miller's The Magician's Book a look when I'm through with the series.

In the meantime, another thing that bothers me, not just in the Chronicles of Narnia, but in various other children's books as well, is when one of the child characters receives the villain's treatment, and worse still is when the reader must understand that the nasty child is also fat (thinking here of Dudley in the Harry Potter books, which I enjoyed immensely, by the way). That said, Edmund's character is handled fairly well for me, and I do like his change of heart, which continues on into Prince Caspian. He's still irritable, but at least, he tries to do the right thing. Unfortunately, this time round, though, it is Susan's turn to get the unsympathetic angle in Prince Caspian, but it all turns out fine for the children in the end.

Prince Caspian was alright, although I found children eating apples and reminiscing on Narnia's glory days fairly uninspiring, and Aslan is re-introduced with as little explanation as before. Caspian's history is interesting, but what I enjoyed the most is probably all of the Drawves' cynicism, especially Nikabrik's argument to bring back the White Witch — a terrible idea, but very fun, nonetheless. Victory for the good guys is inevitable, but I rather appreciate Aslan's offer to return the Telmarines who do not wish to live in equality with the Old Narnians, back to their native island on Earth, their original home and rightful land. There are no bad options, and the conclusion is pretty satisfying for me.

>82 Majel-Susan: I first read these books at about age 7, so identifying with Lucy as the POV character was natural.

I don't remember anything about Edmund being fat - my edition had the original illustrations, and he is drawn as rather skinny, as befits any child who was growing up during wartime rationing (remember the children are sent to stay with the Professor in the country because World War II is going on ). The fact that sweets were rationed may also give some insight into his Turkish Delight interest.

The fact that the children have become adults by the end of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which entails passing through puberty, and then revert to pre-pubertal (in some cases) children thereafter was a concept that bothered me, even as child. (I was aware that teenage boys and girls felt about it other in ways that I didn't share; and could not understand the idea of feeling those things, and then going back to not understanding them!)

That was one of the rare instances where I felt the film adaptation improved on the book - the Prince Caspian film did attempt to address Peter and Susan's frustration at having to go from being responsible, adult rulers, to powerless children, in terms of how adults around them treat them.

Why Aslan gets the instant reaction that he does did not bother me. I think Lewis is trying to convey a sense of the numinous. Through Edmund's initial reaction to the name (and because he misses a lot of the Beavers' explanation), we see the response of someone who is expecting an ordinary person of some sort, being confronted with a Being that is definitively Other.

The existence of dwarves, talking animals etc. demonstrate that "otherness" does not reside in simply not being human, and that the instinctive reaction of everyone to Aslan (whether they like the feeling, are frightened by it, or simply hate it), demonstrates that he represents a different order of Reality.

>79 Majel-Susan: best of luck with war in heaven.

After reading it I've tentatively added several more Williams books to my tbr, but it won't be happening probably until later next year...

>83 -pilgrim-: Nah, the "fat child-villain" didn't refer to Edmund; it was just generalisation about how other books attempt to make the child even more unlikable.

The fact that the children have become adults by the end of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, which entails passing through puberty, and then revert to pre-pubertal (in some cases) children thereafter was a concept that bothered me, even as child.

I noticed that, too, and was wondering about it. There was a kind of interesting divide between the children's two worlds, Earth and Narnia: when they were in Narnia, it was as if their old life on Earth faded away, became almost irrelevant; and then, vice-versa when they returned to Earth.

Numinous is a good word for Aslan's presence! And I definitely agree with you on that point reading the books now, but it was just, unfortunately, not one of the things I was able to appreciate before. Come to think of it, your word "numinous" just made the scope of Aslan's character and role in Narnia so much clearer for me. Thank you for that!

Lucy is the nice, sweet, and kind girl in the stories, nothing to dislike about her. I did like the moment in LWW, though, when she was tending to Edmund's wounds and she half-snapped back at Aslan for asking her to spare time to assist the others as well. We're all human: no one is perfect. On the other hand, I am quite enjoying Edmund's rather (slightly) rougher character so far in the books.

>84 BookstoogeLT: Thank you! I noticed that you had read and reviewed War in Heaven sometime recently as well. I'm still only a few chapters in, but I am liking it.

>85 Majel-Susan: I agree with your comments about Susan, by the way. How Lewis handles her in The Last Battle is probably the worst problem that I have with Lewis' writing. On the other hand, being rather a tomboy myself, I completely sympathised with his view at the time of my first read of the sequence!

>87 -pilgrim-: Ooh, yes, I keep hearing some pretty vague things about Lewis' handling of the Pevensies in The Last Battle, particularly Susan. I do look forward to seeing what it's all about!

The Lottery and Other Stories -- Shirley Jackson

I took my time to get through this collection of twenty-five Jackson stories, so that by the end, when I saw that it had originally been published as The Lottery or, The Adventures of James Harris, I had no idea why. On going through the pages again, I realised that James "Jim" Harris was a recurring name/character in many of the stories. There is, however, completely no continuity, and all I can say is that it was a singularly hapless folk into whose lives Jim Harris casually crossed.

Having read The Haunting of Hill House and this short story collection, as well as started We Have Always Lived in the Castle, I think I'm getting some familiarity with Jackson's themes and the nature of her characters. Her characters live seemingly mundane, but fragile lives, and there is always something vibrating beneath the cord of their reality, ready to upset that equilibrium. They are thoroughly human in their curiosity, sympathetic in their dreamy wishfulness, and painfully relatable in their anxieties that bloom out of proportion, so much so that I found at least a few of the stories, more discomforting than enjoyable to read.

The stories were divided into four segments, and although it would be difficult for me to categorise them, there was a vague, but discernible difference among them.

Among the stories that stood out to me: a woman on the afternoon of her marriage, goes in search of her fiancé; a young man finds himself the guest in his own apartment; a woman struggles to confront her thieving neighbour; another young woman attempts to step into the shoes of an apparently successful stranger; a wife bewildered in the Big City, struggles to cross the road; a young expecting mother is intimidated by her overbearing neighbour; a toothache gradually erodes away at a woman's identity.

One of the segments contained stories that centered around children, and I have to say that there is something very *special* about settling in to sleep and reading an apparently innocuous story about a man chatting to a little boy about how much he loved his little sister, saying:

"My little sister," the man went on, "was so pretty and so nice that I loved her more than anything else in the world. So shall I tell you what I did?"
The little boy nodded more vehemently, and the mother lifted her eyes from her book and smiled, listening.
"I bought her a rocking-horse and a doll and a million lollipops," the man said, "and then I took her and I put my hands around her neck and I pinched her and I pinched her until she was dead." ("The Witch")

Yeah, that was not conducive to sleep. I went to read something else after, and for the rest of the stories, stayed prepared for something unexpected and unsettling to happen around all the children. On the other hand, I told my sister, and she was amused and assured me that Jackson took inspiration from her own children. Um, sure, okay, I guess?

But alright, I'll grant that the short story "Charles" was pretty funny. Laurie has just started kindergarten, and his parents are caught between their feelings of horror and amusement at Laurie's near daily reports of Charles, another misbehaving boy in his class. They are so fascinated that:

With the third week of kindergarten, Charles was an institution in our family; the baby was being a Charles when she cried all afternoon; Laurie did a Charles when he filled his wagon full of mud and pulled it through the kitchen; even my husband, when he caught his elbow in the telephone cord and pulled telephone, ashtray, and a bowl of flowers off the table, said, after the first minute, "Looks like Charles."

That was probably the story I enjoyed the most. As for "The Lottery," Jackson's iconic short story... well, not so much. "The Lottery" was my introduction to Shirley Jackson some years ago, but my first impression stays: "Oh, gosh! Why? Why is this happening?!!"

Oh, here you are! I enjoyed skimming your thread and will try to stay on top of it.

I love your bear cozy.

>63 Majel-Susan: Ooh, hope the library comes through for you. As a fellow middle grade fantasy traveler, I'm looking forward to your reviews. The library consortium to which I belong does not do a great job of ordering recommended children's books. I requested Alice's Farm when it was released a few weeks ago. I live in hope.

>90 libraryperilous: Thank you, and welcome!

Yeah, I don't think I have much hope that I will get to read them soon, but it's a good point! Hmm, I could try recommending them to my library...

It's October! And since I've managed to clear up my reading list a bit, it's time for a Halloween line-up!

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson (READ: Oct 1-10)
Stories of Terror and the Supernatural, short stories compiled by Herman Graf (started Oct 1)
Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury (READ: Oct 10-24)
The Awakening by Kate Chopin
Madness, short stories by Roald Dahl
Carrie by Stephen King

But, okay. Haha, realistically, I'll never make it before the month is out. XD

Oh, no! All of our old spoilers have been uncovered!

>93 Majel-Susan: There is a thread in Site Improvements, I think you can find the link at the top of the page, to let them know about such problems. They are testing right now.

>93 Majel-Susan: Fyi, I have reported the missing spoiler tags earlier today and LT have verified the problem.

>94 MrsLee: The link to the bug report group is:

https://www.librarything.com/groups/bugcollectors

>94 MrsLee: >95 BrokenTune: Wow, that was fast! So our spoiler covers are back.

>96 BrokenTune: Thanks for the link.

Alas! The last six months of staying at home has spoiled me, but I'm counting on the damage not to be permanent. I've been pretty busy these past two weeks, but hopefully I'll be able to chill a bit in the next week, catch up with my Halloween reading, and finish my review on We Have Always Lived in the Castle.

_____

War in Heaven -- Charles Williams

Having read Descent into Hell last month, I decided to go on to try William's earlier War in Heaven, and while I enjoyed Descent into Hell better with its more psychological plot and internal conflicts, the understated humour here was definitely one of the elements I enjoyed most. Besides, War in Heaven has undoubtedly the more exciting plot: it is, after all, basically about a mad dash of sorts over the Holy Graal.

Beneath the surface of the everyday terrestrial, the supernatural is at work, and as the plot opens and three men dither over whether the man lying under the desk is a dead man or not, and an inspector duly comes to investigate a murder, none realise that their lives are about to be disrupted by the occult. I don't remember where I read this, but I would agree that Williams' fiction, at least the two novels I've read, could be described as “mystical thrillers.”

I found the layer of details that make up the chain reaction of the plot amusing, particularly how the Archdeacon gets involved by reading a stray line to be deleted that refers to his own little parish church and its really, very unremarkable chalice. From there, a subtle humour underlies the wrangling that happens between one party's maneuvering to steal the Graal and the other's attempts to rebuff their efforts: to the extent of the Archdeacon and co. grabbing hold of the stolen Graal and then all bolting together from the village like criminals. That one is probably my favourite moment.

All of the involved characters have diverse reasons behind their interest in the Graal and make for an interesting cast of various shades; but between Gregory's callousness and his maddening way of manipulating the victims around him, I was almost starting to think the Graal better off destroyed simply than desecrated endlessly.

In the midst of all this madness, it's easy to forget that the inspector is hard at work trying to figure out who is his murdered man and who killed him, and as he is always some steps behind the central plot, I wondered how he would ever figure it out. Nonetheless, it was fun to see how his path gradually narrows itself down to Gregory, what with his becoming aware of some weird drama over some chalice in some small church somewhere.

The resolution is not effected by any action of the main characters themselves, and so came off a bit passively for me, especially with the arrival of "Prester John." Considering the emphasis given to his name, I figured he was some figure in Arthurian legend, which he is, as it turns out. However, knowing zilch about the mythology, I remain lost in my ignorance as to who he is and how he is relevant here. Oh, well. That part was bound to be lost on me, I guess.

>98 Majel-Susan: I look forward to your thoughts on We have always lived in the castle. It was the first book I read by Jackson, before I knew who she was or anything else that she'd written.

>99 Sakerfalcon: I've got the base notes I made when I finished the book last week, so I just need to compose them together and voila! It's coming. ;)

I read We Have Always Lived in the Castle in high school, and I don't remember much except that I thought it was a bit morose and a bit bland. Also, that Constance was not such a drip after all.

I've made a couple of other attempts to read Jackson and she isn't an author I favor.

>89 Majel-Susan: Yikes, that spoiler. 0.0

I just read We Have Always Lived in the Castle a month or so ago, and I need to recover before I read any more Shirley Jackson. I loved The Haunting of Hill House so I was surprised this one left me so unsettled. Those short stories you read sounds like they are similarly unsettling. I look forward to your review!

>98 Majel-Susan: I knew who the figure under your spoiler tag was, since he is a semi-historical figure, who may or may not be a mythologised version of someone who actually existed, and was generally believed to have existed until doubt set in in the 19th century.

But I had to look up how he fits in to the Grail legend. According to Wolfram Bob Eschenbach's Parzifal, he was the son of the Grail maiden (she who bore the Grail, until a knight was worthy to win it); therefore he is an appropriate figure to appear as its guardian.

>98 Majel-Susan: I agree with you about the carload of eminent Graal " thieves"; but my favourite comedic moment from War in Heaven is still the Duke's explanation as to why he will never be able to get his poetry published. And how utterly convincing his interlocutor finds his reason to be.

We Have Always Lived in the Castle -- Shirley Jackson

*Possible SPOILERS ahead*

All right, so this one comes highly recommended to me by my sister and I knew most of the plot before starting, but a good story stands regardless of how many spoilers one knows, right? And for me, at least, that is still true, even though in this case, it meant that I had a bit of difficulty empathising with Merricat Blackwood at the beginning. However, as Merricat crosses the threshold of the Blackwood grounds, and with her, I meet Constance and Uncle Julian, the ice quickly thawed as I, too, settled into their cosy and domestic routines. Their intensely insular way of life was so... familiar that it was at once disturbing and comfortable. I have to say that this one was a difficult read, as I had a lot of mixed feelings about it because of how much I identified with the characters and how really morbidly funny it was at times, all the while as I was struggling to reconcile myself to how cruel I found the narrative as a whole.

Let's start with what I related to.

Merricat, Constance, and Uncle Julian live in the aftermath of a family tragedy, the unsolved poisoning of the Blackwood clan, but within the four walls of their house and their fields around, the three survivors live so cozily together that it was difficult for me not to wish that they might continue to live in that soothing routine of "harmony." And yet, their lives are lonely and fearful.

Merricat lives in a tightly-wound fear of change and much of her day-to-day efforts are dedicated to forestalling it by such measures as checking on the talismans she has buried or hung about the property, or dressing in her parents clothes on Thursdays, her "most powerful day." She lives in a self-made fantasy of an eternal childhood, nurtured by Constance and complete with things she is "not allowed" to do, and oftentimes I suspected that Constance is not quite the person projected by Merricat: Constance is loved into a distortion and a possession, and worse still, the only possession that really matters to Merricat. And Constance adapts to Merricat's fantasy and her own lonely circumstances.

But while Merricat is terribly unjust to Constance, I get the feeling that I systematically underestimated Constance's level of agency. She is devoted to Merricat, Uncle Julian, their house, and even the Blackwood traditions, and her protective and adaptable nature is easy to sympathise with. Watching Constance with all her homeliness and tending to her garden, I also began to wish that I had my own little farm to shut myself in as well. But, ah, well. It's a bit simplistic of a reading, but I can't stop seeing Constance as the primary tragedy of the narrative, and I felt for her cycle of loss. My sister, I think, has a better understanding of the text and Constance's role in the story, and she assures me that Constance is not merely passive, but makes her own choice to go along with Merricat.

And now for the stuff that made me mad.

I felt terrible for Constance and Uncle Julian, who clearly miss their family. The last six years of Uncle Julian's life has been spent revolving endlessly around the day on which they lost everyone, and by the end, it appears that Constance not only can't keep everything, but she can't even keep anything. Even the little that she has left that she values – Uncle Julian, the house, her mother's immaculate drawing room – Merricat takes, too. Merricat poisons the family, then burns the house; Uncle Julian dies as he was supposed to six years ago; and after so long of saying that she will take Constance to the moon, on the very first morning of their "new" life, Merricat, victorious, announces, "We are on the moon at last."

What else made me mad? The village people. Infuriating. They have so much "fun" destroying the house and taunting the sisters, and then they are only satisfied with their fill when they hear that someone has died. Are they happy now? Isn't that what they wanted? What are they expecting when they destroy a house that is already half destroyed? "Oh, look the Blackwoods are down again and looking so vulnerable: let's kick them down some more and smash their faces in the mud. Careful, there. We want to make sure they never get up again." And on top of that, it ends up fitting so nicely into Merricat's fairytale ending where all hope of Constance reconciling with society is broken and Constance stays with her forever.

On another note, there is an interesting thing that recurs with the Blackwood family clothes. Where their parents once controlled the family, Merricat continues to dress up in their clothes in the attic every week, as if periodically re-establishing her reign over the house. When their cousin Charles attempts to assume authority, he wears their father's pocket watch and chain, and in the midst of change and pondering the control that Charles urges her to take on with him, Constance considers wearing their mother's pearls. By the end, Constance begins to wear Uncle Julian's clothes. This last one is curious to me, because the morning after the fire, she has an exchange with Merricat not unlike what used to pass between herself and Uncle Julian:

"I thought I dreamed it all," she said.
"It really happened," I said.

Odd thing is, though, I don't believe that Uncle Julian and Merricat ever interact with each other. On the one hand – and to my immense shock – Uncle Julian believes that she died of neglect in the orphanage six years ago, and then I often wondered if Merricat feels some kind of guilt or remorse every time she looks at him, what with all her reminders "to be kinder to Uncle Julian." Hmm. I wonder.

>101 libraryperilous: Haha, I have so many mixed feelings about Constance, Merricat, and all of it. To be quite honest, the book has left me feeling absolutely bewildered.

>102 clamairy: I read The Haunting of Hill House last October and it was a little unsettling, but I enjoyed it as well. Overall, I kind of related more to the characters in We Have Always Lived in the Castle, but as I also found it a more maddening read, I've given it the same rating on GR as The Haunting. And, yeah, I think I also need some time to recover from Jackson now, too.

>103 -pilgrim-: Now that makes some sense as to why he appears as the protector of the Graal. I wasn't sure how significant his appearance would be for someone who actually knew who he was, which was why I hid his name in the spoilers.

>104 -pilgrim-: Oh, yes, that reminds me I quite enjoyed the sense of comaraderie between the two gentlemen. I was rather taken by surprise, though, when Kenneth got killed. When Prester John first meets the Rackstraws, Kenneth, and the Duke, and he offers reassurances to Barbara and the Duke, then tells Kenneth: "But for you I have no message," he said, "except the message of the Graal—'Surely I come quickly. To-night thou shalt be with Me in Paradise,'" I was thinking to myself, "Hmm, that's not overly reassuring." But then, again, that made some more sense after.

By the way, I dug out your review from back in May, and definitely, it takes some time and analysis to work through Williams' theology as he uses a lot of imagery. Not the simplest read in short.

>105 Majel-Susan: This is a great review, which perfectly expresses the complex characters and their actions which make this such an unsettling read. I didn't find the actions of the villagers at all surprising, sadly, when one sees stories in the news about the way gangs of self-appointed vigilantes take action against those they suspect to be child molesters or other criminals, often with only the flimsiest evidence.

>105 Majel-Susan: This is a great review. It made want to re-read parts of the book.

>109 BrokenTune: >108 Sakerfalcon: Thank you! And yeah, I wasn't exactly shocked by the behaviour of the villagers, but I still managed to be horrified -- and mad. Haha, I probably need to look for something a bit lighter and easier on the heart next.

October could have been worse, but at least, I did manage to finish reading five books this month and even found time to write on two of them:

War in Heaven by Charles Williams
We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
The Everlasting Man by G.K. Chesterton
Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury

As I've been pretty busy this week, I won't be finished with Stories of Terror and the Supernatural before the end of Halloween tomorrow. But no matter, I am enjoying it and will continue into November, and as Halloween reading comes to an end, I will also be resuming The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and The Chronicles of Narnia.

November isn't looking overly promising from here, but I'm still intending to squeeze in some time for two or three, but probably two, group reads of interest happening next month:

The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers
-- This is part of a monthly Lord Peter Wimsey Group read happening in the 2020 Category Challenge group, and I will definitely be joining in for this one, if nothing else.

Then I'm deciding between The Unknown Soldier by Vaino Linda (in the 1001 Books to read before you die group) and Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe (in the Monthly Author Reads group). I'm leaning towards Things Fall Apart, but I'll figure it out later. Time for horror movies and sleep instead now.

>105 Majel-Susan: Great review! This book drove me nuts because I couldn't get a handle on Merricat at all. My daughter did some research and told me some people seem to think Merricat is a changeling. Others say she's on the autism spectrum and has OCD, which would make the most sense to me. I didn't really enjoy this one, but it certainly sucked me in. I hated the cousin and distrusted him immediately. He destroyed their safe little world.

>112 clamairy: Merricat is a tricky one, I agree! I had not considered her in that light before, but changeling comes close to how I felt about her without finding the word for it. And while I was similarly chafed by Charles' intrusion into their lives, I think that "safe" is a bit of a dubious word to use, especially where Merricat is concerned.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader / The Silver Chair -- C. S. Lewis

I'm four books through now, and somehow writing about these two books together makes sense, as one might call them, "Eustace Clarence Scrubb's Adventures in Narnia."

Eustace is a rather curious boy from a rather curious family, and by curious, I mean interesting or unusual, and not inquisitive. He is quite an intelligent child really, even if unimaginative: he writes a journal of his travels, knows about ships and some about world affairs, and recognises his botany. Of course, though, the child mini-villian role gets delegated to him until his unhappy transformation into a dragon, and I have to say that I really liked Eustace here, miserable and realising everything he has been mistaken about concerning himself and his companions.

He had turned into a dragon while he was asleep. Sleeping on a dragon's hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself. . . . He could get even with Caspian and Edmund now---

But the moment he thought this he realized that he didn't want to. He wanted to be friends. He wanted to get back among humans and talk and laugh and share things. He realized that he was a monster cut off from the whole human race. An appalling loneliness came over him. . . .

When he thought of this the poor dragon that had been Eustace lifted up its voice and wept. A powerful dragon crying its eyes out under the moon in a deserted valley is a sight and sound hardly to be imagined.

For changes of heart in the children, I liked Eustace's better than either Edmund's and Susan's in the previous books, and I thought Reepicheep so sweet for spending so much time comforting Eustace in his solitude.

Lucy and the Magic Book was another fascinating chapter that engaged the more arrogant, less seen side of her personality, which was curious as well.

She saw herself throned on high at a great tournament in Calormen and all the Kings of the world fought because of her beauty. After that it turned from tournaments to real wars, and all Narnia and Archenland, Telmar and Calormen, Galma and Terebinthia, were laid waste with the fury of the kings and dukes and great lords who fought for her favor.

Um. Okay. Wow. I think I'll leave it at that. Unfortunately, though, with the exception of these two adventures, and maybe that of Deathwater, the voyages to the End of the World really didn't do anything for me.

And then, there is The Silver Chair. Now we're talking! I enjoyed nearly every part of Jill and Eustace's adventures here---and of course, I haven't forgotten Puddleglum. Seriously, the moment I met Puddleglum, I knew he was just exactly my type of fellow.

"They all say---I mean, the other wiggles all say---that I'm too flighty; don't take life seriously enough. If they've said it once, they've said it a thousand times. 'Puddleglum,' they've said, 'you're altogether too full of bobance and bounce and high spirits. . . . You want something to sober you down a bit. . . .' That's what they say. Now a job like this---a journey up north just as winter's beginning, looking for a Prince that probably isn't there, by way of a ruined city that no one has ever seen---will be just the thing. If that doesn't steady a chap, I don't know what will." And he rubbed his big frog-like hands together as if he were talking of going to a party or a pantomime.

But as it turns out Puddleglum makes a great and very sensible companion for the children, between his wariness of the Lady of the Green Kirtle and his unwavering support of them.

Another thing about the children, which contrasts with the previous three books: I really appreciate how Eustace and Jill are on a comparatively very even footing here in that neither are perfect nor particularly favoured by the narrative. Both are children of Experiment House trying to make the best of their situation; both are challenged by parallel fears, Eustace being afraid of heights and Jill of dark tunnels; and while "muffing" Aslan's Signs proves a point of disagreement from the start and they begin their adventure quarrelling, they eventually share the burden of their mistakes in spite of having "muffed" all but the last one. (All right, Eustace still has a bit more to learn about graciousness, but I have hope for him yet.)

I loved the humour here as well, from Jill throwing Eustace off the cliff, to Puddleglum's "optimism," his speculations about the Knight, his pluck at Harfang, Jill's cunning among the giants, the recipe book, and especially the trio's simultaneous fascination and predicament during the Prince's unbewitched hour. The Witch's gaslighting dialogue with them was also very engaging, and I really enjoyed it. I'm going to go ahead now and say that The Silver Chair is my favourite of the four Narnia books I've read so far; that is, of course, while hoping that the next books will further top that.

>114 Majel-Susan: I've always been fond of Puddleglum. My mum used to say he was just like my dad, which should give you a pretty good idea of my dad's general disposition. And the words "Puddleglum" and "Marshwiggle" are just so satisfying.

>115 SylviaC: And the words "Puddleglum" and "Marshwiggle" are just so satisfying.

Oh, yes, rather satisfying! Puddleglum is really such a dear, I think.

I just finished reading The Nine Tailors, by Dorothy L. Sayers, a few days ago, and I'm very pleased to say that I enjoyed it more than I had expected to. I'm no expert in detective novels as I've only read a handful, but I found Sayers' story-like narration very refreshing, compared to the rather drier fashion of the Sherlock Holmes novels. I really appreciated as well, how warm and empathetic Wimsey shows himself here, especially in regard to the real victims who must needs have their past dragged out in the ongoing investigations. And while the dead man turns out to be an absolute scoundrel, I liked how Wimsey has pity even for him when he realises the agony in which the man must have died, bound up and essentially battered out of his body by the deafening violence of the bells. Pretty horrifying and gruesome, I'd agree!

The way that the whole mystery came together was great fun and very fair, I thought. I never felt like I was being cheated, and no secrets were discovered "behind the scenes," only to be dumped upon the reader at the very end. (Looking at you, Agatha Christie.) Instead, all of the information is gathered with the reader; Wimsey and co. discuss their theories in the open; and they work it like a jigsaw puzzle, piece by piece and link by link, gradually filling in the details until the picture of who, how, and why is complete. That said, the mystery is solved by degrees over the course of several months, and although there is no big reveal at the end, I actually really enjoyed the pacing here. I'm up for the Gaudy Night group read next!

>117 Majel-Susan: I enjoyed The Nine Tailors all the more when I found allusions to elements of M.R. James's ghost stories, and quotes at the start of some of the chapters from Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. The Nine Tailors is not just a detective story, but also a Gothic novel. Dorothy L. Sayers was a fan of the writings of M.R. James and Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu. It was interesting to spot subtle references to James's stories in the text. The tomb of the renowned cleric at the church is that of a character James made up for one of his stories. The detailed descriptions of the wood carvings in the church follow the pattern James used in another of his stories.

I have found that Sayers loved including little in-jokes or allusions to things outside the story itself; things that only a few people would spot if their reading or interests overlapped with those of Sayers. Sayers was a genius in many ways and she obviously had fun when writing her Lord Peter stories.

I have not read Gaudy Night yet, but I am looking forward to it.

>117 Majel-Susan: & >118 pgmcc: I''ve taken to re-reading The Nine Tailors at the end of the year (in the days between Christmas and New Year's Eve) for a few years now, and I always look for forward to it. It's Gothicky and charming, serious and light all at the same time.

If you haven't read Gaudy Night, yet, I think you'll be in for a treat. Have you read the previous Harriet Vane novels, tho?

>119 BrokenTune: I have been reading the Lord Peter books in chronological publication order, with the exception of The Nine Tailors which was my first. Gaudy Night is my next, so I have met Harriet, a character some people claim Sayers modelled on herself.

I love The Nine Tailors. It was the first Sayers book I ever read, back when I was barely old enough to appreciate it. I've read it many more times since, as well as all her other mysteries, and every time I read it, I am amazed by just how good it is.

>118 pgmcc: I haven't read M. R. James or Le Fanu before, but I thought it was really neat how Sayers tied in two "lost works" by James Barry and Le Fanu into her cipher. Between that and the decoding by bells, I was glad that I didn't spend too much time puzzling over the cipher myself.

>118 pgmcc: >119 BrokenTune: And I hadn't quite noticed it while reading, but yes, I do see now: it is quite a Gothic novel, isn't it!

>119 BrokenTune: Oof! No, I haven't read any of the Harriet novels yet. Unfortunately, I started with Lord Peter Views the Body, which didn't sufficiently interest me enough to read anymore until The Nine Tailors, so I've missed out on everything in between. A pity now, I think...

>121 SylviaC: It was actually very good! I was pleasantly surprised myself; it made me wish I had joined the group read for the other books as well, before jumping into Gaudy Night next.

>122 Majel-Susan: I know this may sound a bit jarring, and I don't mean it to be, but Gaudy Night really isn't one I would recommend reading if you haven't read Strong Poison and Have His Carcase, the preceding two Harriet Vane novels.
GN is a great book - and one of my favourites (not just by Sayers) - but it is the conclusion to a bigger story.

Whatever you do, I hope you'll love it. It is very different from your usual whodunnit.

>123 BrokenTune: Haha, I was afraid someone was gonna say that. Well, then, I'll try to pick up Strong Poison and Have His Carcase first, and continue with Gaudy Night and Busman's Holiday. I hear that the last two are somewhat connected?

>124 Majel-Susan: Strong Poison and Have His Carcase are not favourites of mine, but I would definitely recommend reading them before Gaudy Night. Strong Poison in particular provides important background to Peter and Harriet's relationship, which is relevant to Gaudy Night.

>124 Majel-Susan: I apologise if I disrupted your plans. I hope you'll see there was some sense to it.
All four of the books are connected and this is really the only four in Sayers' work where reading order matters. Busman's Honeymoon follows Gaudy Night but was a bit of an afterthought - Sayers bowed to popular demand and wrote a sequel (first as a play, I believe). I really like that one, too. (But then, I am a fan...)

Btw, if you're looking for autobiographical clues in her work, Philip in Strong Poison is based on John Cournos, who DLS had a relationship with that appears to have been reflected in the novel.

Oh, and spot the Guinness advert (DLS wrote advertising slogans for Guinness while trying to write her first books) at the beginning of Strong Poison.

Enjoy! ;)

>126 BrokenTune: Not at all! I appreciate the input; looking around further, and seeing as >125 SylviaC: advises the same, I think it will be a good thing to catch up first before plunging into Gaudy Night. Thank you!

>127 Majel-Susan: I'm late to the party, but as another long time Sayers fan, and having read all the Wimsey novels multiple times, I can say you have been given good advice. I envy you your first time reading them.

>128 MrsLee: Reading them for the first time was special, wasn't it?

>128 MrsLee: Thank you! First times are fun, especially since I have no idea. I think that the Poirot books might be fun to read, too, only I'm not overly motivated to read them as I've watched the tv adaptation countless times, so I always remember the who-did-how.

>130 Majel-Susan: The tv series is great. Just bear in mind that they changed a few things in some of the adaptations, so the endings are not all the same as the books. Iirc, the books for Sad Cypress, Cards on the Table, and Taken at the Flood were all different from the tv adaptation in ways that surprised me. Some were not good surprises but it made me understand why they changed it for the tv.

Oh, and I thought Five Little Pigs was even better in book form even if I loved the adaptation before I read it.

>131 BrokenTune: Oh, that's good to know in case I consider picking up another Poirot mystery. Sad Cypress could be a good one, especially as that's one of the few stories that I'm not as familiar with. I've also been vaguely thinking about reading Death on the Nile before seeing Branagh's new adaptation. It was one of my favourites in the Suchet series.

>132 Majel-Susan: Oh, that reminds me, the Suchet series changed the ending in Murder on the Orient Express. Some say it's a slight change, some say it's more significant. I like both endings, but there is a bit of a difference.

Death on the Nile is a fun one to read, and there also the Suchet adaptation took some liberties. I'm not sure I want to see the Branagh film (I wasn't a fan of his Orient Express) but I expect I will watch it, too.

When is it out? Do you know? I might take your promt and re-read the book, too.

>133 BrokenTune: It's out next month, but I don't intend to watch it in cinemas anyway, so I'll probably have time to read the book if I choose.

Ah, that was when the Suchet series started getting super-dark! That episode was very grim and depressing, and I rather preferred the 1974 adaptation. I saw Branagh's as well, but I fell asleep unfortunately and will probably need to re-watch it. I read the book earlier this year, but I can't remember that it differed greatly, except Poirot wasn't so hung up about letting the case go.

ETA: December was the old date. Actually nobody knows when it will be released now with COVID-19...

>134 Majel-Susan: I saw Branagh's as well,

I was not particularly impressed with it either.

A Serbian friend of mine was highly amused by it. He knows the area of Russia where the train was trapped in the mountains. In fact he knows the place where the local railway station featured in the film is located. His immediate reaction was disgust but then it turned to amusement. He said his friends living in that town will be amazed to realise that the flat land that extends hundreds of miles in all directions hides a mountain range that is capable of trapping a train in the snow.

>135 pgmcc: He said his friends living in that town will be amazed to realise that the flat land that extends hundreds of miles in all directions hides a mountain range that is capable of trapping a train in the snow.

Shh! The audience isn't supposed to know that!

Haha, that's actually hilarious!

>136 Majel-Susan: We are talking about a friend who once stood watching a roller-coaster with a loop in it which involved the cars going upside-down. He was estimating the height of the loop, the speed of the car entering the loop, the weight of the fully laden car, and, in his head, doing the calculations to determine the centrifugal forces at the top of the loop keeping the car from falling before deciding he would be safe enough to go on the ride. He is into detail and seldom suspends disbelief. Amazing for someone used to have a TV show for discussing Science Fiction stories.

>137 pgmcc: He sounds like a friend who would be very fun and interesting to listen to, but on the the other hand, I can imagine, in that case, that he would be constantly "taken out of the moment" whenever something highly improbable happened during a movie or a show, which I'll take a guess and say is pretty often.

This one's been stolen so many times, I'm just gonna lay all of the blame on fuzzi. Even if she's also a thief. But perhaps she could be our honorary GD thief. :)
___________

1. Name any book you read at any time that was published in the year you turned 18:
Oof, this one is hard. The most recently published book I've read to date that I'd actually consider a book-book, would be Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, published in 2007. But if I'm gonna put anything in here, it'd have to be a textbook, like... Reimagining Global Health: An Introduction by Paul Farmer and well, a lot of people.

2. Name a book you have on in your TBR pile that is over 500 pages long:
Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

3. What is the last book you read with a mostly blue cover?
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis

4. What is the last book you didn’t finish (and why didn’t you finish it?)
Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. It was too much of a stream of consciousness for my liking and I was getting confused by the switching POVs; but it was a classic, and I figured that I'd like to give it another chance later, so best to abandon before my impression of the book was that it was irredeemably boring.

5. What is the last book that scared the bejeebers out of you?
Some of the stories in The Lottery and Other Stories by Shirley Jackson, but still not "bejeebers" level scary

6. Name the book that you read either this year or last year that takes place geographically closest to where you live?
The Nose by Nikolai Gogol

7.What were the topics of the last two nonfiction books you read?
Christian philosophy (The Everlasting Man and Saint Thomas Aquinas, both by G.K. Chesterton)

8. Name a recent book you read which could be considered a popular book?
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

9. What was the last book you gave a rating of 5-stars to? And when did you read it?
Orthodoxy by G.K. Chesterton (Finished in Aug 2020)

10. Name a book you read that led you to specifically to read another book (and what was the other book, and what was the connection)
Descent into Hell led me to read War in Heaven, both by Charles Williams

11. Name the author you have most recently become infatuated with.
C. S. Lewis ❤️

12. What is the setting of the first novel you read this year?
Regency England (Emma by Jane Austen)

13. What is the last book you read, fiction or nonfiction, that featured a war in some way (and what war was it)?
A Separate Peace by John Knowles (WWII)

14. What was the last book you acquired or borrowed based on an LTer’s review or casual recommendation? And who was the LTer, if you care to say.
Strong Poison by Dorothy L. Sayers. Recommended by BrokenTune.

15. What the last book you read that involved the future in some way?
The Martian Chronicles by Ray Bradbury

16. Name the last book you read that featured a body of water, river, marsh, or significant rainfall?
The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers

17. What is last book you read by an author from the Southern Hemisphere?
Cry, the Beloved Country by Alan Paton

18. What is the last book you read that you thought had a terrible cover?
The Red and the Black by Stendhal... which I abandoned

19. Who was the most recent dead author you read? And what year did they die?
The author I've read that died most recently would be Ray Bradbury (2012)

20. What was the last children’s book (not YA) you read?
I'd have said The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis, but GR seems to think it's more YA than children's? Soo, I'm pretty sure Matilda by Roald Dahl is an even surer pick.

21. What was the name of the detective or crime-solver in the most recent crime novel you read?
Peter Wimsey in The Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers

22. What was the shortest book of any kind you’ve read so far this year?
A Simple Heart by Gustave Flaubert

23. Name the last book that you struggled with (and what do you think was behind the struggle?)
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis (Disconnected or very loosely connected adventures just don't speak that much to me)

24. What is the most recent book you added to your library here on LT?
Strong Poison by Dorothy Sayers (currently reading)

25. Name a book you read this year that had a visual component (i.e. illustrations, photos, art, comics)
The Phantom Tollbooth by Norton Juster

BONUS QUESTION!
26. What is the title and year of the oldest book in your physical library that you have reviewed on LT?
Haha, I don't own any of the books I reviewed here, but while I didn't actually review it, I had a very wonderful and lengthy(-ish!) discussion with -pilgrim- on my darling favourite Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmund Rostand. My copy is dated 2006, so very, very old! Of the books I actually reviewed, the "oldest" that I used to own would probably have to be The Chronicles of Narnia, dated 2002.

It's a lot of fun seeing everyone's answers to these questions.

Is Strong Poison working for you so far?

>140 BrokenTune: It is quite a lot of fun to read everyone's lists!

And, yes, so far, so good with Strong Poison, though I only just got to the end of the first trial.

>141 Majel-Susan: Strong Poison was the second Lord Peter novel I ever read. I preferred my first, Unnatural Death, but still think it one of the best of the series.

>143 -pilgrim-: I haven't read Unnatural Death yet, but being more than halfway through Strong Poison by now, I think I can safely say that I do prefer The Nine Tailors by quite a bit.

>143 -pilgrim-:, >144 Majel-Susan: I read the first Wimsey mystery and didn't like it much, but I remain intrigued by the concept of the series. I may try again someday.

>145 libraryperilous: My first taste was Lord Peter Views the Body, which I didn't care much for, and if not for the group read going, I doubt if I'd have bothered with trying anything more either. I noticed, though, that the books seem pretty popular here on LT, so my curiosity was definitely piqued. Doesn't hurt either to learn that Sayers was friends with C.S. Lewis. :P

>146 Majel-Susan: Yes, I have been meaning to try her religious works, but they are a lot harder to find.

I believe Lewis also considered her the best translator of Dante.

>147 -pilgrim-: Well, if Lewis thought she was the best, I gotta look up her translation if I ever get round to Dante!

And somehow I remembered, but it also slipped my mind that she did write religious books. Yes, I think I shall pick up one or two of them. I see that Fade Page offers her The Mind of the Maker, Four Sacred Plays, as well as Unpopular Opinions, among others.

>147 -pilgrim-: I believe Lewis also considered her the best translator of Dante.

...as did Umberto Eco.

>149 pgmcc:,>147 -pilgrim-: I have a nagging suspicion that it may have been Eco that I was thinking of. (In my defence it was posting first thing in the morning and half-asleep.)

Lewis certainly did respect her academic chops, and she was considered an Inkling - if an occasional one. She influenced several of them heavily.

Oh, dear. Nearly a whole month since I've written in my thread, and my last review in November. Too long, too long. But somehow I've kept myself rather occupied during the month, and managed to finish another 10 books to meet my 60 books challenge. Whew! That's as many books as I had read in the previous five years combined (excluding textbooks, of course). Sadly, though, I'm gonna have to try to cut down on my reading to focus on my studies again this year. Sad, to be groping about in life, but I figure everybody goes through cycles of that, from time to time...

Anyway, I have a lot of threads here on GD to catch up with now, as well as one or two more reviews I want to write for December. What a fantastic year for books this was for me!

_____

The Horse and His Boy / The Magician's Nephew -- C.S. Lewis

Now for another two Narnia books, the two that's caused all the discussion about chronological versus publication order. I was a bit confused when I was looking into all these discussions, but having finally read these first six books, I really don't find that it matters much when one reads HHB and MN, as long as the other books are read in order, and even then, every book I've read so far would still work pretty well as a stand-alone and an introduction to the series. That said, the most obvious differences between these two and the rest of books are the new cast of main characters and, well, the timeline.

I loved all the horsey-ness of The Horse and His Boy, the talking horses and the horsey kisses, and how the more animated the horses become, the more their speech slurs into neighs. And for all his efforts at dignity befitting a war-hero horse---a role Bree prides himself on and disdains in one---he is marvellously insecure with not infrequent lapses of courage, and he's just so cute that I want to pat his nose. Arguably (and I think he would agree), the title's emphasis on the Horse implies that Bree, and not Shasta, is the main character; and really, when I look back, Bree is rather the one who stands out the most to me: between his vanity; his indignation when Shasta replies that he knows how to ride a donkey (as if being compared to a dumb horse isn't bad enough!); his distinction between stealing and "raiding"; his readiness to abandon everything whenever faced with his apparently insurmountable fear of lions; and oh, the burning question!---"Do Talking Horses roll?"

"It would be dreadful to find, when I get back to Narnia, that I've picked up a lot of low, bad habits."

Putting Bree aside, I like how Aslan reveals Himself to Shasta by "telling him his story," bringing together various incidents from his adventures and showing him how all were actually Aslan's doing and Providence. He makes a similar revelation to Aravis, and I thought Hwin's response to Aslan so sweet when she approaches overcome with awe: "Please," she said, "you're so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I'd sooner be eaten by you than fed by anyone else."

I appreciated how Aslan in his mercy sends Rabadash back to receive his healing in the temple of Tash. And although I found Rabadash's encounter with Aslan pretty hilarious, I was thinking, "Wow. Do you really want to say all that?" and then the punishment happens, a rather horrific transformation, I think. Lastly, I'll confess myself a bit bothered by Lewis' portrayal of Calormene culture, which to my inexperienced eye, appears to be an imitation of some Eastern sort of culture. If not for Aravis' friend, Lasaraleen, I might be wondering more seriously whether Lewis wasn't implying that Calormen are all a bad and barbaric lot. It comes pretty close to that, though, I think...

The Magician's Nephew has plenty of ridiculously fun moments, particularly all of Uncle Andrew's unfortunate interactions with Queen Jadis and the Talking Beasts. Jadis demanding Uncle Andrew to "Procure for me at once a chariot or a flying carpet or a well-trained dragon, or whatever is usual for royal and noble persons in your land"; her scene with Aunt Letty, who "did not approve of bare arms"; the whole fiasco of Jadis unleashed in London---it is so insanely hilarious. And of course, Uncle Andrew is such a lucky fellow to have so many adorable Talking Beasts make such valiant efforts to attend just to him!

They were really getting quite fond of their strange pet and hoped that Aslan would allow them to keep it. The cleverer ones were quite sure by now that at least some of the noises which came out of his mouth had a meaning. They christened him Brandy because he made that noise so often.

Uncle Andrew starts out pretty villainously, his curiosity and arrogance biting off for him much more than he can chew; and while holding him in contempt, Digory really does show himself to be his uncle's nephew---what with wanting to explore the different worlds and to strike the enchanted bell, even against Polly's warnings---and I'm not sure in spite of his confession to Aslan later, that wonder wouldn't have driven him mad. As it is, Digory has a lot to make up for when Jadis escapes in Narnia, but I enjoyed Aslan's compassionate response to Digory's distraction and grief over his mother's illness.

Ah, every time someone encounters Aslan, the more and more I think I need to magically transport to Narnia, adventure there for a couple of days or weeks, meet Aslan, and get an epiphany to help solve my problems. Yeah, alright, I confess: I'm lazy that way. I'll settle for the toffee-tree instead. Oh. Right. I forgot I can't have that either. Well, I guess I'll just stay in my room and keep reading.

>151 Majel-Susan: I remember that the message I got from reading The Chronicles of Narnia as a child is that being raised in a cruel religion/culture makes it harder to be a good person, because your cultural norms teach distorted moral values - no one had ever suggested to Aravis that whipping slaves is wrong, for example - ultimately it is about you, not your background/label. You are responsible for your own actions, not judged for where you came from. (The Last Battle goes into that aspect in a lot more depth.)

I think that the illustrations - my copies have the original ones by Pauline Baynes - cause problems by making the Calormenes look distinctly Arabian. But, if I remember correctly, Calormenes worship a pantheon of gods.

I think the culture that Lewis had in mind, inasmuch as anything in the world beyond the Wardrobe maps into ours, is the Canaanite. The oiled beards, warlike nature, slavery, and explicitly cruel gods that expect sacrifices, all fit.

So yes, I think the Calormenes are sort of "Middle Eastern", but I don't think it was the contemporary Middle East, or even the mediaeval, that Lewis had in mind. I think they are an analogy for the contemporaries of the ancient Israelites in the land of Canaan, portrayed as if the Canaanite culture had persisted forward into the same quasi-mediaeval level as the Narnians have.

I'd meet you over there in Narnia if we could. But don't forget that the adventuring there is likely to be hard work and stressful, if ultimately extremely rewarding. Loved ones die there too.

>152 -pilgrim-: Ah! I like that take on the Calormenes better! I understand that the Chronicles is largely a Christian tale and accordingly, that its metaphors relate primarily in such direction, but I was just bothered by the recurring emphasis on the white beauty of the Narnians as compared to the dark and cruel faces of the Calormenes; but maybe, I'm just nitpicking. After all, the Queen Jadis was very white, very beautiful, and very cruel. (She actually had a pretty interesting backstory, too...) I think, though, that your interpretation of the Calormenes being an analogy for a matured Canaanite culture is quite interesting, and I can see it too now.

And yeah, adventuring looks particularly arduous work, but I was rather amused by the way, for instance, in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Eustace gets sucked through a picture frame against his will, adventures against his will, and still comes out a better person for all of it. I guess what I meant was that, left to my own devices, I'm far too lazy to change myself, but if I had no other choice---that might maaaybe be a different thing, then! But thanks for stopping by. That's a kind of meeting in Narnia, too. :)

I was a horse-mad child and so The horse and his boy was my favourite of the Narnia books.

Tor.com is doing a series of rereads of the Narnia series, with some very interesting articles. I think they are all tagged if you go to the website.

>154 Sakerfalcon: Ooh, thank you! I will look up those articles!

And, yes, it was a very horsey book, and Shasta learning to ride Bree very much reminded me of the first time I rode a horse. It was supposed to be an introductory sample, and when all the prospective students were gathered, we were prepped on what to do and not do...

"Now; we've got to have reins for the look of the thing, but you won't be using them. Tie them to the saddle-bow: very slack so that I can do what I like with my head. And remember—you are not to touch them."

"What are they for, then?" asked Shasta.

"Ordinarily they are for directing me," replied the Horse. "But as I intend to do all the directing on this journey, you'll please keep your hands to yourself. And there's another thing. I'm not going to have you grabbing my mane."

"But, I say," pleaded Shasta. "If I'm not to hold on by the reins or by your mane, what am I to hold on by?"

"You hold on with your knees," said the Horse. "That's the secret of good riding. Grip my body between your knees as hard as you like; sit straight up, straight as a poker; keep your elbows in. . . ."

Sitting up on a tall horse for the first time, I felt Shasta's despair pretty spot on, but so long as the horse was walking a nice, slow pace everything seemed manageable... manageable until the instructor shouted, "Alright, trot!" and somewhere behind me was my mother's voice screaming in terror for them to stop her horse. And I spent the next hour or so clinging on to the saddle for dear life...

"(Galloping)'s a good deal easier than trotting if you only knew, because you don't have to rise and fall. Grip with your knees and keep your eyes straight ahead between my ears. Don't look at the ground. If you think you're going to fall just grip harder and sit up straighter."

Oh, goodness! the rising and falling that goes with the trot! And the instructor shouting out to various riders, "You have to rise up higher! Higher! Up, down! Up, down! That's right, keep it up!"...

He remembered the exciting events of the previous night and sat up. But as he did so he groaned.

"Ow, Bree," he gasped. "I'm so sore. All over. I can hardly move." . . .

"Oh bother breakfast. Bother everything," said Shasta. "I tell you I can't move."

My memory is probably exaggerating, but that was how I felt for almost a whole week after. It's the most physically exhausting thing I've done in my short existence, but awfully amusing to look back on. Did I mention that was my first time on a horse? Well, it was also the last.

>155 Majel-Susan: I learnt to ride rather late, starting at age 13. Why does age matter? Because of weight. I didn't mind being the oldest in my class, I minded that I had to start on an actual horse, whilst the others were on little Shetland ponies. It's a lot further to fall...

>156 -pilgrim-: Ahhh! Yes, I was 13 at the time, but I didn't know that that's actually considered late for learning. Yeah, I think I might have appreciated a pony better, as well as perhaps a slower introduction to riding.

I was about 10 when I started riding lessons but was put on a Welsh pony, who seemed small to me because I was tall for my age. Ironically my younger, smaller sister was given a much bigger mount. But they were chosen for their personalities; I was more confident so got a livelier pony whereas my sister's was much more docile. I've always preferred to ride tall horses given the choice. It's been so long since I've had the opportunity to ride though that I think I'd be as described in >155 Majel-Susan:!

>158 Sakerfalcon: "tall horses". In this country you can buy wines branded Tall Horse. The label includes a picture of a giraffe. The image of the 10-year-old you riding a giraffe is irresistible.

>159 hfglen: Haha! I don't think giraffes would be very comfortable, if they'd even let you on board in the first place!

>158 Sakerfalcon: You need to meet Mrs H's "Mo" (properly "Manton"). Big bay gelding, 18.2 hands. Fortunately he's a very sweet-natured boy, or so I'm told. And unfortunately, as a result of years of injuries during his competition career (he was a successful show-hunter before Mrs H acquired him), he's now permanently somewhat lame and only marginally rideable.

>160 Sakerfalcon: Surprisingly, they can be almost over-friendly. I almost lost a shirt to one once; he tried to lick it off my back. But here is the picture I'm thinking of :-)

>161 haydninvienna: He sounds lovely. I hope he is enjoying well-deserved days of rest and relaxation.

>162 hfglen: I have been known to choose wines based on the label! I would definitely be tempted by Tall Horse! Great branding.

>163 Sakerfalcon: AFAIK they export to UK. I'm tempted to ask you to support the farm workers by buying a bottle -- under our lockdown regulations all alcohol sales are banned, so the labourers in the Western Cape who depend on wine farms selling their product are in dire straits.

>159 hfglen:, >160 Sakerfalcon: The zoo local to my mom has a giraffe feeding program. You're given whole carrots to feed to them. They come to the railing, you dangle the carrot, and their excellent tongues flick the carrots out of your hand and into their mouths before you even can blink. It's delightful and oddly soothing to feed them.

The Last Battle -- C. S. Lewis

*MAJOR SPOILERS galore*

"He's not a tame Lion."

An ancient, yet progressively distressing axiom for the creatures of Narnia, and certainly one that gives rise to considerable misunderstanding and anxiety among them.

After six books of events taking a turn for the worse, only for our children to come out victorious heroes, I found the most part of this last one rather grim, almost depressing, as the opening words stole much of my habitual optimism before the story even begins: In the last days of Narnia... And as promised, from one chapter to the next, every fresh hope is quickly dashed, the trust and innocence of the ignorant are abused, and the age-old kingdom of Narnia suffers a precipitous collapse. But the most devastating is the fear and grief that set in, that if Aslan the Unchangeable is changed, their whole reality is torn apart, their world turned upside down, and what they once held as knowledge, nothing but a chaos of hell.

"Do you think I care if Aslan dooms me to death?" said the King. "That would be nothing, nothing at all. Would it not be better to be dead than to have this horrible fear that Aslan has come and is not like the Aslan we have believed in and longed for? It is as if the sun rose one day and were a black sun."

So many things go wrong and never let up. King Tirian and Jewel the Unicorn kill unarmed Calormenes; Aslan's name is employed as a threat and a terror to the good beasts of Narnia; Tash arrives, as Cair Paravel falls for the last time; and in the time of Narnia's greatest need, the Dwarfs betray their king and in the end, Narnia is overcome by Calormene reinforcements. I haven't even started on Shift the Ape yet.

"Who said anything about slavery? You won't be slaves. You'll be paid—very good wages too. That is to say, your pay will be paid in to Aslan's treasury and he will use it all for everybody's good."

Shift reminded me of the Pigs in George Orwell's Animal Farm, and one of the things that consistently makes me mad in books is a manipulator who successfully subjugates others into self-injurious conditions; I'm going to remember that Ape for this. And if his constant gaslighting and exploiting of all the Talking Beasts aren't bad enough, I blew a fuse during the cover-up of Puzzle's escape with the lionskin, when he warns everyone to beware a wicked donkey masquerading as Aslan. Speaking of blown fuses, I blew another when the Dwarfs shoot every last Talking Horse as they answer the call of King Tirian. Bleak, absolutely black.

Of course, I'm supposed to take it all in more or less philosophically, but I'll confess I am a little surprised at myself: the longer I think about it, the more depressed and caught up I am by Narnia's last conflict. Questions find readers, and stories give answers and meaning; time, though, doesn't feel much that way.

"I'd rather be killed fighting for Narnia than grow old and stupid at home and perhaps go about in a bathchair and then die in the end just the same."

"Or be smashed up by British Railways!"

All right. Now about the dying, which by the way, I can't say I particularly like the above sentiment about "growing old and stupid" in a wheelchair and dying "just the same." I'm not going to assume Lewis means any disrespect to the dignity and sufferings of such, but on this notion that dying young and dying old are all the same, I find him a touch too simplistic and spoken too much like a true bachelor:

It (war) puts several deaths earlier, but I hardly suppose that that is what we fear. Certainly when the moment comes, it will make little difference how many years we have behind us.
("Learning in War-Time")

While I do understand that the little difference he is here referring to pertains to the state of the individual's soul, I doubt that many fathers would agree that their fear of an early death in war is irrelevant to how many years away from adulthood their children are. I digress.

As it is, in the case of Narnia and the children, their passage through the literal door of death (that stable really becomes something!) sweeps them swiftly from the chaos and loss of life into the untroubled calm of the afterlife, and I really can't complain of any further misfortunes befalling them; but being rather more temporally-minded than not, I still feel like a tremendous and joint tragedy just occurred between Narnia and our own world. Maybe I'm just not feeling it this month.

I had been forewarned that Susan's character receives some kind of untoward treatment, and having reached that controversial turning, I found the rather wholesale condemnation of her character not only distasteful, but jarring. When Tirian enters the stable out into the New Narnia, he is welcomed by the Old Heroes of Narnia: they are all present, except for Susan, and as we soon learn, even the Pevensies' parents are there, making Susan's exclusion all the more conspicuous. Only her name is mentioned, and then it is for the purpose of condemning her for her vanity and shallowness.

I had noticed Susan's somewhat unfavourable portrayal in the earlier books, such as when she ridicules Lucy's claims to have seen Aslan in PC; when it is remarked in VDT, that in spite of being the pretty one, she is behind her peers academically and unlikely to improve (some kids simply struggle or aren't interested in school, so I didn't appreciate how that whispered something of a moral imputation); and in HHB, when her indecision is nearly the catalyst of a terrible war between Narnia and Calormen---but to finally make her out to be "no longer a friend of Narnia" strikes me as unmerited. And even if she has been excluded, I object to the Lady Polly's observation that: "She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age." I find that judgement uncalled for, especially as it relates to Susan's future, a time yet unrealised and certainly not bound to the Lady Polly's uncharitable dictation. Moreover, there isn't the slightest hint of any consideration, any compassion for the impact that losing her entire family will inevitably have on Susan and her life ahead. Actually depressing when I come to think of it.

Moving along, I couldn't help comparing the New Narnia, with how real and vivid it is and with its magnificent mountains, to the Purgatory-Heaven portrayed in The Great Divorce, albeit without the latter's particularly unpleasant analogy of the painful solidness of everything. And somewhat reminiscent of the Ghosts in The Great Divorce who refuse to humble themselves to accept the demands of that Heaven's reality, the Dwarfs are so far down the path of their rejection that they are no longer able to receive goodness, thereby choosing their own hell.

It's taken me a long time to get this much written, and I'm still not sure how I feel about this one. It lacked the touches of humour that I found an improvement in the later books and I didn't enjoy it as much as those, but it was still more interesting than either PC or VDT. And reading through my own review now, it seems a bit much to keep calling it "grim" and "depressing," considering that it is still a children's story with a happy ending, I suppose. I don't really know what it is. Maybe it's the post-series depression or something. I don't know really.

>166 Majel-Susan:
When I first read The Last Battle, I was about nine, and its bleakness was a punch in the guts. About three years later, I said "Goodbye" to my father as usual, and set off to school. That evening, I was told he was in the ICU, unconscious. A week later he was still delirious, and did not know who I was. Sitting in the hospital waiting rooms, I had a very real sense of suddenness of death. My father pulled through, but the sense of how we live with the imminence of death never left me. It was The Last Battle, and the theological message in it, that enabled me to cope.

The Last Battle was published in the year that C. S. Lewis married Joy Davidman, so I think it hard to see in its attitudes those of a "confirmed bachelor". Rather this is a man who has seen a lot of death. His father had died 27 years earlier, his surrogate mother only 5 years earlier, and he had lost a lot of friends in two world wars.

Most importantly, he lost his mother when he was nine.

A lot of modern children's and young adult fiction treat death as trivial. They casually kill off the "beloved" parents of their child or teenage protagonists - who get over it in a matter of hours if there is a cute boy around (c.f. the ending of Divergent, where the heroine had just seen her father shot down in front of her, having given his life to save her, but is nevertheless upbeat in mood, because she has the impression that Four is finally interested in her). I hope that this callousness is simply the result of the author's immaturity - that they have never actually lost someone they cared about.

The Last Battle hits so hard because the deaths feel real. But this study also means that someone is addressing the uncomfortable question "what does it mean when those we love die?"

Lewis came from an era where people did not talk to children about dying. He had the awful experience of being unwell in the night, calling for his mother, and no one coming - and then being told in the morning that his mother would never come to him again, as she had died that night. No chance to prepare, no chance to say goodbye.

That seems to me the motivation behind this book. To discuss, in language suitable for children, the fact that death can come any time, to anyone. And that one had to live life in acceptance of that, not wasting effort in a vain attempt to cheat it.

To compensate for that bleak truth he is trying to explain the Christian view that this should not be a tragedy, because everything lost and everything destroyed, is waiting to be encountered again, only this time, perfect. (Note that other things that are Further Up and Further In.)

And now about Susan.

That is the part that made me the most uncomfortable. (And still does.) But Lewis is not a Universalist.

And I think we are misunderstanding Lewis if we read her sin as being "too girly". As you noted, Susan's problem is that she is a Materialist. She believes nothing that she cannot see for herself. And so she rejects Lucy's sightings of Aslan because she did not see him herself. And now she rejects her memories of Narnia in favour of "reality"; the preoccupations of everyday existence.

Nowadays, seeing relations between men and women as a power struggle, it is easy to read Susan's interest in lipstick and boys as "Lewis portraying feminine girls as silly and trivial". But really her obsession with how others see her is not unique to girls - Lewis could just as well have made his Materialist a male "jock", obsessed with his reputation for sporting prowess, who grows into a man obsessed with the trappings of power and status. Vanity occurs in all genders. I think he chose his Materialist to be a girl, because the other child who goes badly wrong (Edmund), rejecting Aslan, is a boy. He wanted his wrong-doers to be shared out between the genders. (The fact that Lewis does feel equally strongly about male vanity, particular with respect to sport, is evident from his autobiography.) Susan is not in the wrong because she is devoting herself to things that are associated with females and femininity; she is in trouble for being focussed on appearances.

Her sin is so terrible, terrible enough to exclude her from Narnia, because it is not about trivialities at all. It is about vanity. The valuing of Self above the things that are beyond self. By raising an obsession with how others see her as her all-consuming goal, she has forgotten that there is a world beyond her world. As in Lewis' other allegories, God is not portrayed as excluding anybody from Heaven; people are portrayed as doing that to themselves, by choosing to deny its existence. Just like the Dwarfs, sitting in their circle, do in Narnia.

The Traitor, Edmund, in LWW, made a deliberate choice to serve evil. But because it was a conscious choice, he was able to realise that he had made terrible mistake, repent, and choose again.

Because Susan is too distracted by the things of this world, and her Search for approval by her peers (and rejection of external values), she is never conscious of making a choice at all. And so will never have an opportunity to re-think it (literally, repent; μετάνοια, "change of mind"). That is why what she is lost to Narnia. We are back in the territory of Lewis' adult allegories, and the idea that people choose not to go to Heaven by being unwilling to look beyond their mundane lives, and let go of these trivial pleasures.

I hope I am not bending pub rules by trying to explain what I think Lewis was condemning in those comments about Susan. I think it is her material values that he is attacking, not her "feminine" ones.

>167 -pilgrim-: True, Lewis had lost a lot of people who were close to him, especially his mother when he himself was a child. Given the broader context of Lewis' experience, I can see that I'm the one who is being simplistic here, but I did take a moment when I first read that line in his "Learning in War-Time" sermon.

And yes, the deaths do feel real, and I think what really gets me about them is the depression depicted in their last days, their distress and their rising doubts, which, to confess my inexperience, are concepts more real to me than death itself at present. Lewis, as a Christian, presents a light at the end of Narnia's struggles, but nobody really knows-knows what's on the other side of death; but the process of dying, and dying with doubts about one thing or another--just living with those doubts in any time of crisis--those things aren't hidden in shadows: they feel like cliffhangers or open-ended questions... Perhaps it isn't exactly heavy reading, but not what I call light.

I wouldn't take a misogynistic view of Lewis in discussing Susan, since as you point out, it could just as easily have been a materialistic male "jock," but I think that had one of the boys taken such a turn, I would still have been surprised, particularly if it were to be as cursorily explained off as an interest in, I don't know, dumbbells and athletic medals? Perhaps as a contrast or an allegory, her exclusion makes sense, but as regards her own character arc, I felt that Susan had already gone through this process of denial and redemption before in PC. In fact, in every single previous book where a child went astray, they were always presented with a way back toward reconciliation, which they all accepted and took, which made the break in pattern here stand out so much more.

It is an interesting point you make on Susan losing more than she is conscious of, and while I agree that that will make it all the more difficult for Susan to repent, I wouldn't say never, which is really why I take even more offense to the conviction with which the Lady Polly condemns her than the simple fact of Susan's exclusion. For the story's present time and purpose, Susan may have lost faith at the moment and is still left to find her way through life, and although I found it rather disagreeably abrupt, I don't feel that Lewis was necessarily indicating that her exclusion is final either. Lucy, the good girl of the books, and Edmund, who had betrayed and been forgiven once before, I noted, themselves make no remarks on Susan's absence. I only wish that this hope for Susan had been expressed somehow.

>168 Majel-Susan: I do feel that the balance shifts in this last book. Whereas the earlier books are primarily fantasy, with an allegorical message underpinning them, here the allegory is taking priority over the storytelling.

I think the idea that death is something that only becomes relevant in later life is a dangerous fallacy. Lewis had first-hand experience of that effect on a small boy of that error.

There is a Chechen saying that one should "live as if one is already dead". I am not Chechen, but that is very much the ethos that I grew up in. It is only by accepting that death can come at any time that one is freed from worrying about it, or fearing it.

But that implies a necessity not to put off "the important things" until later. Consider the advice of Screwtape: this is not an age of "big sinners", who defy God. This is an age of"grey" people, who casually commit minor offences against each other. They never decide to be bad, but they are preoccupied with their little comforts, and intend to "be good" later.

This is what Lewis sees as the danger of the "modern age". It seems to be the case that, even in this book for children, this is the danger that he wants to warn about.

Of course, his theological position includes the idea that everyone can repent and return. But I think the point he is making is it is not that Susan's sin is, objectively speaking, the worst one. But it is the most dangerous, because it arises "by accident", out of distraction by other things, rather than by conscious choice. Not having consciously made the choice, she is less likely to change course.. Whether you agree with Lady Polly that someone who has always been too interested in the approval of others, rather than desiring and valuing things for their objective value, is unlikely to change later, that is simply her opinion, and does not imply that Susan would not be allowed to. Although, given that Polly is dead, and therefore outside time, maybe the finality of her pronouncement comes from knowing what Susan will actually do in the future?

>169 -pilgrim-: Although, given that Polly is dead, and therefore outside time, maybe the finality of her pronouncement comes from knowing what Susan will actually do in the future?

I think you've come pretty close to what bothers me about that, which looking at it now appears to be a minor beef I have with the narrative itself. It's simply that, yes, outside of time, I do feel that Polly should know better one way or another, and although she may be speaking from a future perspective of what Susan does do until the end of her life, rather than a mere speculation, it almost seems fatalistic. At the same time, I feel that what Susan does is a matter between only her and Aslan; and even if Polly is in a place where all is known, I still feel that, as Aslan told the children in HHB, That's her story, not anyone else's. Of course, though, seeing it in the light you have explained and the precedence allegory takes here, it does make a lot more sense now that Lewis calls Susan out to make the point that her error is not in the "big sins," but the seemingly innocuous "trivialities," which is what made me feel that her exclusion was unmerited.

But alright, I guess, from a plain reader's perspective, I'm just disappointed for Susan that she gets excluded, and it would be even sadder to consider that her situation doesn't improve even given time and the reflection that must surely follow the tragedy of losing her entire family in a day.

>170 Majel-Susan: alright, I guess, from a plain reader's perspective, I'm just disappointed for Susan that she gets excluded
I suspect this too may be Lewis' point. There is an awful lot of tragedy in The Last Battle but the awful things that happen in Narnia, the slaughter, the loss of friends - all the terrible things that follow from war, and betrayal and deceit - all these are "put right" in the New Narnia, Further in. Just as all the losses from the War in England are erased in the ideal version Further In. The things that conventional wisdom tells us to fear, are "never truly lost".
The one thing that IS truly lost - Susan's presence with the rest of her family - did not come about as a result of the big, extremely evil deeds we have just seen, but because of the apparently trivial offences, that society would consider venial, but Lewis is arguing do more real, lasting harm.

As to whether Susan would really carry on down that path, after losing her entire family? Well, think of Flapper Culture, as a response to the losses of the First World War. That was an almost frantic superficiality, as a way to try to block out thinking of the past.

But I can't remember - why was Susan neither on the train not at the station, with the rest of her family?

>171 -pilgrim-: But I can't remember - why was Susan neither on the train not at the station, with the rest of her family?

As Susan is no longer interested in Narnia, she is not there during the Professor's get-together to talk about their adventures in Narnia, which is when they receive the vision of Tirian calling for help. Peter and Edmund, not knowing any other way of getting to Narnia on their own, go to get the old magic rings buried in the former home of the Professor's early relatives, and so they are at the station waiting for Digory, Polly, Lucy, Jill, and Eustace to arrive and take the rings from them. The Pevensie parents, unknown to the riding party and vice versa, are there on the same train on their way to Bristol by mere coincidence. Hence, no Susan.

>172 Majel-Susan: Thanks for filling me in.

And for an enjoyable discussion of one of my favourite children's books.

>173 -pilgrim-: Glad to fill you in! I've enjoyed our discussion too, very fun and thoughtful. :)

>173 -pilgrim-: >174 Majel-Susan: Fun to watch as a spectator too!

>175 Jim53: You're welcome! :)

Books abandoned in 2020:

The Red and the Black by Sendhal: Group read. The main character was unlikable and the story was more scandalous fare than I was keen on keeping up with. Wikipedia and other readers in the group assured me I wasn't missing out on much either.

Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf: Group read. I got nearly halfway through, but I was bored and constantly muddled about whose stream of consciousness was running. I figured that it would be better to salvage my impression of the book for future reading by abandoning it sooner than later.

Dubliners by James Joyce: At the end of every story I read, my reaction was always, "Wait, what??! It ends there??" More relevantly, it just bored me.

The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyun: I really hung on to this one as long as I could and I managed to finish the first book, but really, it was boring, although I do hope to come back to it again sometime in the further future.

Annndd, that's it for the year. Time for a new thread...

>1 Majel-Susan: the books are great! Please text me