Narnia: Counterpoint The Surrealism Of The Underlying Metaphor

Content Note: Religious Violence

Narnia Recap: Trumpkin and the Pevensies have decided to join Caspian by boat rather than take the dangerous and grueling over-land route Trumpkin previously traveled. 

Ana's Note: It's been a long day month and I'm on some incredibly heavy medication at the moment. I'm trying to write this with a "tongue-in-cheek" writing style and I sincerely hope that this post comes off as light-hearted and cheery. If it doesn't, I apologize.

Prince Caspian, Chapter 9: What Lucy Saw

So we're in Chapter 9 of a book that is fifteen chapters long. That means we have seven chapters -- including this one -- to wrap things up and actually do something with all this backstory and narrative setup that has been plopped in our laps over the course of the last eight chapters or so.

In my current drug-addled state, I kind of imagine Lewis panicking a little at this point. Whole chapters have been invested into dropping the Pevensies into Narnia, helping them to discover when and where they are, and feeding them with copious amounts of increasingly-unappetizing apples. When it became clear that we were getting nowhere fast with that tack, we hopped laterally -- and with a bit of a flashback -- over into Prince Caspian's viewpoint and got a huge info-dump on his childhood, his genealogy, his family history, his classical education, his daring escape from his evil uncle, and a Recruiting Montage, before being dumped into the middle of an unwinnable war (Because Astrology Centaur). And now that we've painted ourselves into that little corner, NOW WHAT DO WE DO?

Well, if we look back at the last book in the series, we need some kind of heavy-handed theological lesson about Christianity to hang everything on. And we pretty much have to have a badly-behaving Pevensie so that they can muck up God's Greater Plan by thinking they know so much better than God does (spoiler: they totally don't, ya'll! Christian Message Accomplished!). And then we can wrap everything up by solving all the war-related problems with a triumphant return of the King-of-Kings-and-Lord-of-Lords backed by a magically unstoned awakened army that is completely unstoppable, and then topped off with convenient portals to send everyone back home.

@KnowYourMeme

Why mess with a formula when it works, yeah?

But you've got to jazz things up, you know? For instance: we can't do the Passion of Christ again all over again, because the whole point (or, at least, one of the whole points) of the sacrifice of Christ is that he doesn't have to keep being re-crucified every couple of centuries. Just the one time was good enough for everyone, at least here on Earth, and it seems like that should probably hold true for Narnia too, because otherwise the allegory starts sprouting plot holes. And while we're on the topic of Edmund, he really can't be the Sinful Pevensie this time around, because if he hasn't radically reformed his personality as a result of Aslan's ultimate sacrifice in the last book, then it's going to kind of cheapen it in retrospect, no?

So clearly we're going to need to start making some minor alterations if we want to keep following the overall established Narnia pattern so far. And this is the chapter in which we're going to return to those tried-and-true LWW roots... with a vengeance. And, well, if some of my criticisms today sound a little familiar, it's not my fault that we're in the same song, second chorus.

   SUSAN AND THE TWO BOYS WERE BITTERLY tired with rowing before they rounded the last headland and began the final pull up Glasswater itself, and Lucy's head ached from the long hours of sun and the glare on the water.

And I'm going to give a kudos here because it's nice to see Susan helping with the boat rowing.

I mean, she could easily not, what with her being a girl and Queen Gentle Susan (whose gentleness may or may not extend to not getting blisters on her hands) and what with work being ugly when noble-born ladies do it or whatever else Lady-on-a-Pedestal theories people like Father Christmas have always been fond of spouting. And for all that, the two boys and Trumpkin might have tried to actively prevent her from helping out of a sense of chivalry (girls shouldn't have to help row!) or sexism (girls aren't strong enough to help row!) but either they didn't or Susan prevailed over their objections because here she is, rowing with the best of them.

But, really, why shouldn't she? Everything about Susan's established character telegraphs that she's the sort of person who would help in a situation like this. Way back in LWW, she was mediating arguments between her siblings, she was gathering up warm coats as a survival tactic in a harsh winter landscape, and she was advocating to save a faun she'd never met simply because she felt vaguely responsible for his imprisonment by the local evil queen. Here in PC, she was the one who was digging around in the dirt for clues to their whereabouts, she was stringing bows and shooting arrows in order to save innocent dwarves from death-by-drowning, and when called upon by her brother to show off her archery prowess she tried to blame her opponent's loss on the wind because she felt so badly about hurting his feelings.

Everything about Susan's character so far has been that of a young woman who exudes love and kindness to friends and family alike; who expends an excess of effort to avoid, mediate, and end disputes; and who never hesitates to get her hands dirty when there's work to be done.

Naturally, this is all going to have to change now that we need an Evil Pevensie To Learn A Moral Lesson. What? Don't look at me like that. It can't be Edmund; we already talked about how if he fell into that role again, it'd cheapen the earlier Passion of Aslan. And it can't be Lucy; the series is dedicated to her for crying out loud. That leaves Peter and Susan as available candidates for Worst Pevensie, and I think we already know which way the wind is going to blow in that contest.

   They went ashore at last, far too tired to attempt lighting a fire; and even a supper of apples (though most of them felt that they never wanted to see an apple again) seemed better than trying to catch or shoot anything. After a little silent munching they all huddled down together in the moss and dead leaves between four large beech trees.
   Everyone except Lucy went to sleep at once. Lucy, being far less tired, found it hard to get comfortable. [...]
    Lucy's eyes began to grow accustomed to the light, and she saw the trees that were nearest her more distinctly. A great longing for the old days when the trees could talk in Narnia came over her. She knew exactly how each of these trees would talk if only she could wake them, and what sort of human form it would put on. She looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft, showery voice and would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face, and fond of dancing. She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened, but hearty old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his face and hands, and hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beech under which she was standing. Ah! -- she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the lady of the wood.

I've banged on a bit -- some would probably say too much of a bit -- about the Platonic essentialism in this series, but there's a reason why I take all this so very seriously. I don't like Animals whose personalities can be divined simply by knowing their breed, for the same reason that I don't like Trees whose body types can be known simply by virtue of their species. I don't like these things because they tie into a fantasy world of Privilege, the Sherlock Holmes world, where people -- especially minorities -- can be neatly and easily pegged into clearly defined categories at a single glance. It's a world where individuals do not exist, only Archetypes and Stereotypes, and the Privileged need never waste any effort getting to know the marginalized because such an effort would only be confirming the obvious.

I care about this framing deeply because it has affected me very personally throughout my entire life. So much of my life's interactions have been with people thinking that they can know something, anything, about me based on how I look, how I was raised, or whatever little factoids they can gather about me.

I am a cis-gendered woman, and thus follows assumptions about my skills at software engineering and spacial reasoning. (This is one of many reasons why scholarly articles in my field are signed with initials instead of with names, in an attempt to reduce gender bias.) I am fat, and therefore assumptions may be made about my self-control and eating habits. I appear able-bodied, and clearly any claims to the contrary are steeped in laziness, depression, and neediness. I have unruly hair; surely we can deduce from that fact that I am slovenly and either too poor or too gauche to take pride in my appearance.

Even superficial details about my past and background haven't been safe from this Sherlock Holmes style of social prying: I have been asked on multiple occasions if being home-schooled left me with "no social skills". (The correct answer, for any home-schoolers out there reading this, is that we have enough social skills to recognize how rude that question is. Just don't expect the response to be pretty.) I genuinely cannot count how many friends and lovers in my lifetime have treated me as some kind of puzzle to be opened up and solved, and I cannot express strongly enough how othered and isolated this behavior makes me feel.

And I don't think this just happens to me. Maybe I'm an exception, but I find it difficult to believe that other women aren't subjected to this as well -- and, I suspect, people of color and people of other minority walks of life. There seems to be almost a cultural game of "getting to know" minorities -- not by, say, becoming close friends and confidantes and asking about minority experiences, but rather by sidling up long enough to harvest a few personal quirks and historical details and then running off to gleefully piece together the puzzle. I don't understand the motivation, but I've seen it happen too many times not to recognize the impulse.

So when I see these passages, yes, I see the prettiness of Narnia, the land where the trees are all silvery maidens or wizened old men depending on tree type. But I also see the conservative side of Narnia, the side that never challenges or surprises, the side that serves marmalade and butter instead of frog sashimi or fried crickets. It's a child's fantasy, to be sure, this magical land that is also fundamentally conservative and comforting. But it's also a fantasy land that wouldn't be out of place in, say, the minds responsible for "Left Behind" -- a world where you can tell the political leanings, the sexual orientation, and the very status of a woman's soul just by the types of shoes she wears.

   "Oh Trees, Trees, Trees," said Lucy (though she had not been intending to speak at all). "Oh Trees, wake, wake, wake. Don't you remember it? Don't you remember me? Dryads and Hamadryads, come out, come to me."
   [...] But the moment did not come. The rustling died away. The nightingale resumed its song. Even in the moonlight the wood looked more ordinary again. Yet Lucy had the feeling (as you sometimes have when you are trying to remember a name or a date and almost get it, but it vanishes before you really do) that she had just missed something: as if she had spoken to the trees a split second too soon or a split second too late, or used all the right words except one, or put in one word that was just wrong.

I think one of the saddest things of all about PC is the lack of agency on the part of the children in it. Lucy and Susan will spend pretty much their entire time here in Narnia chillin' with Aslan while he wakes the trees and romps with members of Greek mythology, which is basically what they did the last time they were here, but with even less pluck and determination because this time around they're not bravely witnessing the crucifixion. Peter and Edmund don't fight in a war this time; Peter will fight in a duel and Edmund will watch, but Peter won't even be allowed to win the duel because that might have a touch of moral ambiguity and we can't have that now can we.

So you have scenes like this one where Lucy feels she might just be able to wake the trees -- she was their queen once, after all, wasn't she? -- but it's all ultimately just a big tease because she doesn't have the right power or the right words or the right something and the moment passes and we might as well have not had it at all. (But then I wouldn't have been able to rant about essentialism, so there's that.)

   It was a cold and cheerless waking for them all next morning, with a gray twilight in the wood (for the sun had not yet risen) and everything damp and dirty. [...]
   "I suppose your Majesties know the way all right?" said the Dwarf.
   "I don't," said Susan. "I've never seen these woods in my life before. In fact I thought all along that we ought to have gone by the river."
   "Then I think you might have said so at the time," answered Peter, with pardonable sharpness.
   "Oh, don't take any notice of her," said Edmund. "She always is a wet blanket. You've got that pocket compass of yours, Peter, haven't you? Well, then, we're as right as rain. We've only got to keep on going northwest -- cross that little river, [...] and strike uphill, and we'll be at the Stone Table (Aslan's How, I mean) by eight or nine o'clock. I hope King Caspian will give us a good breakfast!"
   "I hope you're right," said Susan. "I can't remember all that at all."
   "That's the worst of girls," said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf. "They never carry a map in their heads."
   "That's because our heads have something inside them," said Lucy.

And here we go. I'll bet half of you thought I was joking when I said that Susan was going to be changed from her established character as a kind, conflict-adverse, helpful young woman, didn't you? It's okay, I won't blame you for doubting me. It's not like any of the Pevensies come off well in this exchange, but I assure you that things are only going to get worse as far as Susan is concerned.

So what do we have here? We have Susan snapping that she certainly doesn't know the way and that she thought they shouldn't have gone by the river at all. We have Peter snarking back at her, but the narrator assures us that his snarking is quite "pardonable" (THANK YOU, NARRATOR), and how could it not be pardonable, seeing that Susan is a girl who really should know her place by now. I mean, she was already the quietest Pevensie, but can't she dial it down a little bit further and just not talk at all?

Then Edmund piles on, very nicely I might add, to say that Susan is "always a wet blanket" which is a very helpful detail for him to add because had he not asserted that just now, I might not have noticed, what with Susan's character being established as anything but a "wet blanket" over the course of the last book-and-a-half. Then we get Susan being either snarky or submissive -- I can't quite tell -- and Edmund gets to have a nice moment of sexism with the other males in the party to talk about how girls can't navigate worth shit.

Unfortunately, Lucy does not get points for calling Edmund out for his bad behavior because participating in the flip-side of misogynistic stereotypes ("girls rule, boys drool") does not actually solve the problem or even address it in a meaningful way. However, I'm tempted to blame this one on the author more than the character since I feel like established Lucy would be more likely to point out that Edmund is being beastly rather than sniping back with an "oh, yeah, well you suck" response, but then again we've already thrown character consistency to the wind, so who knows at this point.

   Just as they were passing the place, there came a sudden something that snarled and flashed, rising out from the breaking twigs like a thunderbolt. Lucy was knocked down and winded, hearing the twang of a bowstring as she fell. When she was able to take notice of things again, she saw a great grim-looking gray bear lying dead with Trumpkin's arrow in its side.
   "The D.L.F. beat you in that shooting match, Su," said Peter, with a slightly forced smile. Even he had been shaken by this adventure.
   "I -- I left it too late," said Susan, in an embarrassed voice. "I was so afraid it might be, you know -- one of our kind of bears, a talking bear." She hated killing things.
   "That's the trouble of it," said Trumpkin, "when most of the beasts have gone enemy and gone dumb, but there are still some of the other kind left. You never know, and you daren't wait to see."
   "Poor old Bruin," said Susan. "You don't think he was?"
   "Not he," said the Dwarf. "I saw the face and I heard the snarl. He only wanted Little Girl for his breakfast. And talking of breakfast, I didn't want to discourage your Majesties when you said you hoped King Caspian would give you a good one: but meat's precious scarce in camp. And there's good eating on a bear. It would be a shame to leave the carcass without taking a bit, and it won't delay us more than half an hour. I dare say you two youngsters -- Kings, I should say -- know how to skin a bear?"
   "Let's go and sit down a fair way off," said Susan to Lucy. "I know what a horrid messy business that will be." Lucy shuddered and nodded. When they had sat down she said: "Such a horrible idea has come into my head, Su."
   "What's that?"
   "Wouldn't it be dreadful if some day in our own world, at home, men started going wild inside, like the animals here, and still looked like men, so that you'd never know which were which?"
   "We've got enough to bother about here and now in Narnia," said the practical Susan, "without imagining things like that."

A few little things.

1. TRUMP-KIN. It's two syllables. Two! "The D.L.F." is four. Unless you're somehow pronouncing it as a word and not three letters, like "The Dilf". In which case it's still two syllables but with a glottal stop in between in order to differentiate the "the" from the "dilf". It's even harder to type because you have to keep slapping those periods in there. Why? What good is this stupid nickname other than to de-personify Trumpkin and make him seem like less of an adult being worthy of respect?

2. "Even" Peter had been shaken by the adventure of his youngest sister nearly being killed. Nice to see that the patriarchy isn't hard at work here proactively shaming Peter if he isn't braver than the bravest thing ever at all times. But at least he can make a joke about the "shooting match" in order to lighten the mood, which is actually something I would probably do too, only after checking to see if my lying-on-the-ground sister was alright first.

3. Does it really have to be a wild bear instead of a Bear in order to hunt and kill human girls at this point? It's been three hundred years of war and genocide between Humans and Animals, and I'll bet just about anything that the Humans haven't scrupled to differentiate between Animal and animal when they sit down at the dinner table. If food really is scarce in the forest, I don't know why "he wanted to eat Lucy" is evidence that he wasn't intelligent. That doesn't make it wrong to kill him in self-defense, I don't think, but I just don't understand the reassurance here.

4. Please note that Lucy thinks there is no harm in speculating that humans -- even really good humans -- might some day go wild against their will on Earth. This will be relevant later.

   They had come, without seeing it, almost to the edge of a small precipice from which they looked down into a gorge with a river at the bottom. On the far side the cliffs rose much higher. None of the party except Edmund (and perhaps Trumpkin) was a rock climber.
   "I'm sorry," said Peter. "It's my fault for coming this way. We're lost. I've never seen this place in my life before."
   The Dwarf gave a low whistle between his teeth.
   "Oh, do let's go back and go the other way," said Susan. "I knew all along we'd get lost in these woods."
   "Susan!" said Lucy, reproachfully, "don't nag at Peter like that. It's so rotten, and he's doing all he can."

It's going to turn out that Peter was Right All Along and that the landscape of the gorge has just changed in the time since the Pevensie's reign, so you can all breath a sigh of relief knowing that Peter is right and Susan is wrong, but I bring this up to say this:

If someone says early in the morning that they think the party is going the wrong way, and then later in the afternoon evidence is presented that the party is going the wrong way, it's not "nagging" to point out that you'd presented this "wrong way" theory before and that you're still a firm believer in it. 

Because, seriously: Grr.

But, then, this is going to be a running thing. In a few paragraphs, the sides will be switched and Lucy will be saying they are going the wrong way and when it's finally proved that Lucy was right, she'll just meekly say that well, I guess we'll have to go the other way after all and Peter will profusely praise her for not saying "I told you so" or anything like that.

And this irks me as it's deliberately held up as model behavior for a good woman, because surely there's enough social pressure on women in our culture to always keep our opinions to ourselves and to never speak to the contrary and if by some miracle we do happen to be right, we're not supposed to draw attention to it. Do we really need more examples of how Bad Women are nags who refuse to shut up after the men have made a decision but Good Women are calm and meek when circumstances finally prove them to be right?

   "I'm not sure the High King is lost," said Trumpkin. "What's to hinder this river being the Rush?"
   "Because the Rush is not in a gorge," said Peter, keeping his temper with some difficulty.

There's that narrator pulling for Peter again. He's not being rude or stubborn or obstinate -- I mean, I myself would have said to Trumpkin, "What makes you think so?" or "Why do you say that?" as opposed to just repeating the obvious as though Trumpkin didn't hear me the first time -- but no, he's keeping his temper with some difficulty because honestly, ya'll, between the dwarves and the women it's getting to be Stress City in High King Town. Poor Peter. Anyway, Trumpkin gives a perfectly logical explanation about how landmarks change over time and they all decide that Peter has been right all along (sorry, Susan!) and they press on. We will, too. 

   "Look! Look! Look!" cried Lucy.
   "Where? What?" asked everyone.
   "The Lion," said Lucy. "Aslan himself. Didn't you see?" Her face had changed completely and her eyes shone. [...]
   "Where did you think you saw him?" asked Susan. 
   "Don't talk like a grown-up," said Lucy, stamping her foot. "I didn't think I saw him. I saw him."
   "Where, Lu?" asked Peter.
   "Right up there between those mountain ashes. No, this side of the gorge. And up, not down. Just the opposite of the way you want to go. And he wanted us to go where he was -- up there."

And then there's this.

I'm not even sure how to approach this, except to tell you to settle in because this is going to be a LONG one. (Seriously, this plot-line of "only Lucy can see Aslan" will continue through to the end of Chapter 11. ELEVEN.) I guess I'll go ahead and give the spoilers: The children can either go up or down. Lucy sees Aslan telling them to go up, but no one else sees him at all and they decide to go down. Later on, it'll turn out that down was absolutely the wrong way to go and they'll have to backtrack and go up. And then eventually one-by-one the children will see Aslan -- with Susan seeing him last, natch -- and also Aslan will criticize Lucy for not going off alone when he told her to go up even if it meant leaving the others to go off in the wrong direction down.

And this will take pages and pages and pages of material to plow through.

BECAUSE IT'S A DEEP, PHILOSOPHICAL POINT.

But what it's a deep, philosophical point of, precisely, I'm not sure. So far, it's a point that Susan continues to be the Worst Pevensie Evar because not only does she not believe Lucy, she's also talking like a grown-up which is obviously condescending and rude and not at all fair despite the fact that Lucy may well have sunstroke from being in the boat all day yesterday and then sleeping on the hard ground all night and then walking without resting for most of the day and nearly getting killed by a bear and possibly being concussed after hitting the ground like that and with almost no clean water and nothing but apples and bear meat to eat but STILL, Lucy should be believed without question.

Despite the fact that no one has ever seen Aslan appear "selectively" before. And despite the fact that it wouldn't make sense for him to be messing around with something important like "how to get to the battle that will save Narnia" by appearing selectively. And despite the fact that a selective appearance seems kind of rude and disrespectful and childish, especially under these dire circumstances.

   "Her Majesty may well have seen a lion," put in Trumpkin. "There are lions in these woods, I've been told. But it needn't have been a friendly and talking lion any more than the bear was a friendly and talking bear."
   "Oh, don't be so stupid," said Lucy. "Do you think I don't know Aslan when I see him?"
   "He'd be a pretty elderly lion by now," said Trumpkin, "if he's one you knew when you were here before! And if it could be the same one, what's to prevent him having gone wild and witless like so many others?"
   Lucy turned crimson and I think she would have flown at Trumpkin, if Peter had not laid his hand on her arm. "The D.L.F. doesn't understand. How could he? You must just take it, Trumpkin, that we do really know about Aslan; a little bit about him, I mean. And you mustn't talk about him like that again. It isn't lucky for one thing: and it's all nonsense for another. The only question is whether Aslan was really there."

And now it seems to be a deep, philosophical point about how it's perfectly alright to violently attack someone if they question that a lion or a man or anything else you've chosen to worship might possibly not be immortal and unchanging from the last time you saw him 1,300 years ago. And I find this especially disappointing because not five minutes ago Lucy was chatting idly about how wouldn't it be awful if humans ever went wrong somehow, but for someone who has never seen Aslan, doesn't know him, and doesn't mean any harm to bring up the very possibility, Lucy is ready to cause serious and genuine physical harm. And that's really terrible.

And Peter defusing the situation by telling Trumpkin -- *cough* "The D.L.F." *cough* -- that he simply can't say such things around his sister lest he get, I dunno, his eyes gouged out or whatever for his troubles is also not cool. Once again, these people don't seem that far removed from a Left Behind novel.

   "There's nothing for it but a vote," said Edmund. [...]
   "Don't be angry, Lu," said Susan, "but I do think we should go down. I'm dead tired. Do let's get out of this wretched wood into the open as quick as we can. And none of us except you saw anything."
   "Edmund?" said Peter.
   "Well, there's just this," said Edmund, speaking quickly and turning a little red. "When we first discovered Narnia a year ago -- or a thousand years ago, whichever it is -- it was Lucy who discovered it first and none of us would believe her. I was the worst of the lot, I know. Yet she was right after all. Wouldn't it be fair to believe her this time? I vote for going up."
   "Oh, Ed!" said Lucy, and seized his hand.
   "And now it's your turn, Peter," said Susan, "and I do hope -- "
   "Oh, shut up, shut up and let a chap think," interrupted Peter. "I'd much rather not have to vote." [...] "Down," said Peter after a long pause. "I know Lucy may be right after all, but I can't help it. We must do one or the other."
   So they set off to their right along the edge, downstream. And Lucy came last of the party, crying bitterly.

Trumpkin voted against Lucy. Peter did, too.

But it's Susan who tries to "nag" Peter into voting her way, Susan who has to be told to "shut up" and know her place while the High King works out his thoughts. It's Susan who will see Aslan last of all the children. It's Susan who will, in Chapter 11, make the most fuss when Luck throws down an ultimatum. And it's Susan who will 'admit' that she knew she was wrong all along (just like Edmund 'knew' the White Witch was really evil all along) and that she was just making trouble to... make trouble, I guess. She doesn't really get fleshed out as a character beyond that, and we don't get any motivation to hang our hats on.

But, really, why would we need any motivation or expect to receive one? IT'S A DEEP PHILOSOPHICAL POINT. That we'll explore in further depth next week in Chapter 10.

61 comments:

Nick said...

I remember -- this is when, in my opinion as a seven-year-old, the book got really boring.

(And now to read the deconstruction.)

Nick said...

Ugh. I'd forgotten how... mean-spirited this is towards Susan.

That's a bit of a pattern in the earlier Narnia books: whoever the book's example of a Bad Child is (Edmund in LWW, Susan in PC, Eustace in VoDT) gets mocked or belittled not only by the other "good" children but also *by the narrator*. It's probably supposed to reinforce to the reader "This Bad Child is most definitely a bad child and you should think they are a bad child" but it reads more like the Bad Child is on the receiving end of schoolyard bullying from the entire universe.

This isn't so strong in the later books: I think that Jill in SC, Shasta & Aravis in HAHB and Digory in TMN (all of whom do bad things or screw up in some way) are treated more sympathetically.

Smilodon said...

Way back, when Survivor was still a Cool Show, I saw one of the starting episodes of a season. It was the first season where they gave them food at the beginning (so they wouldn't be all hungry and boring all the time) and they were given heavy food to carry, a map and a compass, and told to hike to their campsite. One of the teams, a dude grabbed the map and compass and started directing people. Turned out, he couldn't read a map. Which they found out 2 hours into their hike. One of the girls got really upset, and once they started out on the correct direction with someone else leading, she demanded that they check the map every 15 minutes to make sure they were on the right track. Guess which one of those two was voted out the first episode, the incompetent nice guy, or the girl who was deemed "unpleasant" (not the word they used.)

Which just goes to show that CS Lewis is a keen observer of human nature, I suppose?

Ana Mardoll said...

Digory is treated REMARKABLY sympathetically, given that at that point in the series we're full-on into Evil Girl-Mauling Aslan Mode, and a decent case could be made that Digory is deliberately physically violent towards Polly, which is way worse than anything Edmund, Susan, or Aravis did to their companions.

One might almost think, if one were inclined to be cynical, that the author's sympathy for his characters depended on how closely the said character resembled him as a person. (Since Digory grows up to be the Author Expy Professor Kirke.)

Ana Mardoll said...

Guess which one of those two was voted out the first episode, the incompetent nice guy, or the girl who was deemed "unpleasant" (not the word they used.)

I... I... I...

Really? Really? Really.

I just. What.

*sobs*

Smilodon said...

Also, the title of this post made me the happiest ever.

Ana Mardoll said...

I do love me my Hitchhiker references. :D

chris the cynic said...

Counterpoint The Surrealism Of The Underlying Metaphor

Not because it's on topic, mostly because I can:VOGON CAPTAIN: So Earthlings I present you with a simple choice. Think carefully for you hold your very lives in your hands. Now choose: either die in the vacuum of space, or…
[Dramatic music]
VOGON CAPTAIN: …tell me how good you thought my poem was.
FORD: I liked it…
VOGON CAPTAIN: Good…
ARTHUR: Oh yes, I thought that some of the metaphysical imagery was particularly effective.
VOGON CAPTAIN: Yes?
ARTHUR: Oh…. and um, interesting rhythmic devices, too, which seemed to counterpoint the, er…
FORD: Counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the, um…
ARTHUR: Humanity of the er -
FORD: Vogonity.
ARTHUR: What?
FORD: Vogonity.
ARTHUR: Oh. Oh! Vogonity. Sorry. Of the poet’s compassionate soul which contrived through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other. And one is left with a profound and vivid insight into… err…
FORD: Into whatever it was …
FORD and ARTHUR: …that the poem was about!
FORD: Well done Arthur, that was very good.
VOGON CAPTAIN: So what you’re saying is that I write poetry because underneath my mean, callous, heartless exterior, I really just want to be loved. Is that right?
FORD: Er, well... I mean yes, yes, don’t we all, deep down… you know..?
VOGON CAPTAIN: No, well, you’re completely wrong. I just write poetry to throw my mean, callous, heartless exterior into sharp relief. I’m going to throw you off the ship anyway! Guard! Take the prisoners to number three airlock and throw them out.

[Snip]

[The door opens, and the prisoners are dragged through. The door closes.]
VOGON CAPTAIN: “…counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor…” Hm-hm. Death’s too good for them.

"That's the worst of girls," said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf. "They never carry a map in their heads."

Yes. The problem with girls is that they do not bear closer resemblance to octopi. If they could breathe underwater, and had multiple hearts, and different colored blood, and could carry a map in their heads then they'd be perfect.

Or, you know, maybe the fact that the landscape has had over a thousand years to change has somewhat screwed with the map in her head. All of the familiar landmarks, especially if the landmarks were things like non-redwood trees, would be dead.

Plus, on what basis do you judge that Susan not doing this thing means that no girls can, jerkface?

"Don't talk like a grown-up," said Lucy, stamping her foot. "I didn't think I saw him. I saw him."

I think this would work better as something more like:

"Don't treat me like a child, "said Lucy cooly. "This body may be young but you know as well as anyone how many years I've lived. I didn't think I saw him. I actually saw him. I don't assume you to be delusional, I'd appreciate it if you returned the favor."

Or, you know, something like that.

-

The words he chooses aren't the best, but Edmund makes a good point. Lucy has been the only one to get difficult to believe world altering information before, and the only way Narnia was saved last time was by the others following Lucy, largely against their will, to where that information led.

Based on passed experience Lucy saying, "You have to see this thing that logic and reason tell you can't be there," means that the appropriate response is to follow her.

Patrick Knipe said...

Noo, Susan! Don't listen to the mean nasty everything! You've got a good head on your shoulders.

From what I remember from my days of reading this with my grade 2 class, the book felt like such a slog at this point. I treated the Caspian flashback part of the book in basically the same way I treat the Dursley parts of the Harry Potter books, and it seemed like the flashback would never end. I wanted to get back to the Pevensies!

And then they're all arguing and I hated that as a kid.

And despite the fact that it wouldn't make sense for him to be messing around with something important like "how to get to the battle that will save Narnia" by appearing selectively. And despite the fact that a selective appearance seems kind of rude and disrespectful and childish, especially under these dire circumstances.

The thing I get from Aslan's activity here is that this is all about the Pevensies. This isn't really about Caspian's cause, or the Narnian people, or the trees or the like. It's about the Pevensies. Now, it's ok to have a story centre on a certain group of characters exclusively, but Aslan's actions here suggest that even he feels that the most important thing here is to teach moral lessons to the Pevensies and everything else is elaborately set up to help him deliver that lesson.

John Magnum said...

It's a bit shocking how little actually happens here in Prince Caspian. The only Narnia books I've re-read recently are Dawn Treader, Silver Chair, and Last Battle (which is also weirdly uneventful, for all that it makes Big Theological Points). So it's so weird to have a book that's so short, and spends so much time recapitulating material from the previous book, and then even when the plot DOES start happening it's basically the same thing as happened in LWW. At least in Dawn Treader we kept moving from episode to episode of bizarre sea-shenanigans.

Brin Bellway said...

"I know," said Peter. "The one that joins the big river at the Fords of Beruna, or Beruna's Bridge, as the D.L.F. calls it."
"That's right. Cross it and strike up hill, and we'll be at the Stone Table (Aslan's How, I mean) by eight or nine o'clock. I hope King Caspian will give us a good breakfast!"
"I hope you're right," said Susan. "I can't remember all that at all."
"That's the worst of girls," said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf. "They never can carry a map in their heads."


Dude, your mental map is thirteen hundred years out of date. As you've just shown, you've already needed correcting twice, though so far the differences have been fairly minor. Don't be too smug about your map until you've successfully navigated using it.

"Because the Rush is not in a gorge," said Peter, keeping his temper with some difficulty.
"Your Majesty says *is*," replied the Dwarf, "but oughtn't you to say *was*? You knew this country hundreds--it may be a thousand--years ago. Mayn't it have changed? [...]"
"I never thought of that," said Peter.


Gee, what a surprise.

So if we go down-stream, to our right, we'll hit the Great River. Perhaps not so high as we'd hoped, but at least we'll be no worse off than if you'd come my way."
"Trumpkin, you're a brick," said Peter.


I can't even tell if that's an insult or a compliment. Possibly both.

Will Wildman said...

I can't even tell if that's an insult or a compliment. Possibly both.

I'm assuming it means 'you're very reliable and unshakeable', but under the circumstances it seems endlessly condescending. "Gosh, person-who-has-actually-spent-time-in-this-country-this-millennium-and-who-has-been-bullied-into-submission-while-trying-to-cope-with-incredibly-dire-circumstances, I'm sure glad you're our quaint native guide!"

But that's partly because it's what I expect of book-Peter. I don't remember the most recent PC movie in much detail, but I have confidence that the actor who played Peter would be able to make it work, probably by delivering it with a strongly ironic tone of 'I am aware that this is such an understatement'.

muscipula said...

Peter's "it isn't lucky" is strange. Is there anything elsewhere in the series to the effect that expressing doubts about Aslan causes bad luck? I can't think of any examples right now, though there are plenty of characters in the same position. Sure, Edmund asked whether the Witch could turn Aslan to stone ("what a simple thing to say!") and he had bad things happen to him, but it's not like asking the question actually caused his misfortune.

Peter shuts down the discussion so quickly: dismissing the question as "nonsense", arguing from authority, and telling Trumpkin that he can't possibly understand until he's seen Aslan in person, so until then he should keep quiet. Peter doesn't try to explain anything about Aslan, even though he could perfectly well just tell Trumpkin what they know factually (example: they know he came back from the dead, therefore he's unlikely to suffer from illness). Avoiding the topic entirely suggests that he's genuinely worried about a capricious Aslan taking revenge on them all.

I get the whole "not a tame lion" thing, but so many conversations with Aslan just feel more like they're talking with Smaug. Jill's first meeting in The Silver Chair, say. Or Lucy in the next chapter of this book. There's a constant desperate sense of trying to say just the right thing to stop him eating you.

depizan said...

Wait... how did Trumpkin get to where he found the Pevensies? Didn't he come from Aslan's How? So, why in hell couldn't they just retrace the path he took? What are they doing wandering around the countryside being stopped by giant gorges that weren't there before? Did I miss something or is there a large plot hole here?

EdinburghEye said...

The route Trumpkin took (presumably the most direct route between Aslan's How and Cair Paravel) turned out to lead directly past a Telmarine castle. The commander of the castle captured Trumpkin and sent a couple of guards to leave him to be "killed by ghosts". That is, to be dropped into the sea, tied tightly so that he was bound to drown.

Susan saves his life by quickly stringing her bow and shooting one of the guards (deliberately aiming to hit his helmet, which she can do because she is such a very skilled archer) and both guards run away. Trumpkin says to the children that hopefully, the guards will assume that the ghosts are real and did kill him.

So, probably not a good idea for the five of them to return the way Trumpkin came. (I would have thought that they might be able to sneak by after dark, etc, but... can't fault them for preferring an alternate route.)

depizan said...

Ah, yes. Still, now that they know the Telmarine castle exists, wouldn't it still make more sense to use an altered version of Trumpkin's route (avoiding the castle), rather than to just strike off across the countryside? Especially when they seem to be relying more on Peter's incredibly out-of-date memory than Trumpkin's knowledge.

It just feels like they're more lost than they should be. That may just be because I'm only reading the sporkings, not the book (though I could grab a copy from work...), and so my mental map of where things are in relation to other things is off.

Of course, I'm also distracting myself with logistics because Aslan is... Where to even begin with Aslan? Why did he abandon Narnia this time? Why is he dicking around playing hide and seek when his followers are being massacred? What the everliving FUCK? Aslan has to be one of the worst "good" deities ever.

Steve Morrison said...

“Brick” is a compliment; at least, it is in various E. Nesbit books.

Thomas Keyton said...

Of course, I'm also distracting myself with logistics because Aslan is... Where to even begin with Aslan? Why did he abandon Narnia this time? Why is he dicking around playing hide and seek when his followers are being massacred? What the everliving FUCK? Aslan has to be one of the worst "good" deities ever

Maybe that's why they need a rightful monarch. Maybe the Deep Magic blocks Aslan from manifesting unless there's someone present who's been acclaimed as king or queen regnant and is Good (by the Emperor's standards)*.

Doesn't make him or the Emperor any better, of course, but it at least fits with their record of putting massively inconvenient things in the metaphysics and then arbitrarily deciding they can't change their own laws.

*Except at the creation, presumably.

Amaryllis said...

"That's the worst of girls," said Edmund to Peter and the Dwarf. "They never carry a map in their heads."

Yes, I know women are supposed to be bad at spatial reasoning. And I know that, whether or not that's true of "women" it's pretty true of me.

And yet..when, in my house yesterday, a man and a woman were trying to move a large piece of furniture up a narrow stairwell, it was the woman who took one look and said, "that'll never fit." It was the man who said, "I think it will, if we just turn it this way...Oh, it's stuck! Who'd have thought it!" Me, that's who. So there we were, taking it apart in situ before it fell on my head...oh yes, the post...

Amaryllis said...

Okay, about those selective appearances... do you want the probable theological intentions, or not? Because that's what this book is about, really: pre-Crucifixion Jesus may have been visible to anyone who happened to be around him, but, post-Resurrection Jesus, not so much. And post-Ascension Jesus, very selective in his manifestations and messages. Or at least, very individually targeted.

Lucy, female and the youngest, is no doubt supposed to remind us of the women at the tomb. The Apostles didn't believe them at first either: they were only women, after all. And maybe the point of that story is that the Church should listen to ALL its disciples, not just the male hierarchy. If so, it's a pity that lesson got lost along the way.


...real-world interruption...

Marie Brennan said...

Lucy, female and the youngest, is no doubt supposed to remind us of the women at the tomb. The Apostles didn't believe them at first either: they were only women, after all.

Having just reviewed that bit recently, I think you're right about the parallel.

I want to ditto Ana and everybody else who's scratching their heads at the sheer lack of plot or agency in this book. It's why PC is one of my less-favorite Narnia books, and why I think the movie vastly improved on the text (in structural terms, but also on a number of thematic points). On the whole, this should have been Caspian's book: he should have been the protagonist, with the Pevensies showing up as helper-figures in much the same way that Aslan is a helper-figure for them in LWW. Most of the action centers on him -- which is why we have to stop dead for the giant infodump flashback -- and he, not being a follower of Aslan, has plenty of room to grow in the faith department. You'd still want to restructure things so that Caspian initiates more in the way of productive action, rather than just reacting to everything around him, but you'd already be on better footing.

Thematically, I very much appreciated the film taking a moment to reflect on Susan's ambivalence. When Movie!Lucy says delightedly to Movie!Susan that they're back in Narnia (this clearly being a wonderful thing), her answer is "Yes . . . but for how long?" She knows now that it won't last, and there's a hint that she's less than thrilled with the way Aslan handles such things. (Gee, I wonder why?) There's still a weird theological knot lurking in her characterization, but it's far more internally consistent: Susan's flaw is not doubt or pettiness, but an understandable reluctance to surrender herself to the will of God.

Mind you, it also helps that the end of the movie flat-out rewrites the reason why Peter and Susan don't get to come back. But that's a topic for a later post.

And yes, "brick" is meant as a wholeheartedly positive thing. It's Victorian slang, but it must have still been around in Lewis' time, at least for men of his generation.

Marie Brennan said...

Meant to add: I swear it didn't use to to this before, but Disqus is now defaulting to sorting comments by popularity instead of posting order. I keep forgetting to rearrange them, and then getting confused. ::sigh:: Sorting comments by popularity is nonsense anyway. It's totally destructive to the flow of a conversation.

Ana Mardoll said...

I think you can change that in your Disqus profile. It used to be site-determined and they changed it to beuser-determined.

Peter said...

The thought occurs that already at this stage of the book, he's exclusively referred to as King Caspian. So why is the book called Prince Caspian?

Marie Brennan said...

Can anybody tell me how? The only profile I can find for myself is the one I get by clicking on the icon next to my name, and that doesn't seem to offer me any kind of "setting" options.

Amaryllis said...

she looked at a silver birch: it would have a soft, showery voice and would look like a slender girl, with hair blown all about her face, and fond of dancing. She looked at the oak: he would be a wizened, but hearty old man with a frizzled beard and warts on his face and hands, and hair growing out of the warts. She looked at the beech under which she was standing. Ah! -- she would be the best of all. She would be a gracious goddess, smooth and stately, the lady of the wood.
So I'm still under the influence of MacDonald's Phantastes, and this sounds very familiar:
"Trust the Oak," said she, "trust the Elm and the Oak and the great Beech. Take care of the Birch, for though she is honest, she is too young not to be changeable. But shun the Ash and the Alder..."

Later, after he's met the Ash ogre:
...At the same moment, I felt two large soft arms thrown round me from behind, and a voice like a woman's said "Do not fear the goblin; he dares not hurt you now."... I found I was seated on the ground, leaning against a human form, and supported by those arms still around me, which I knew to be those of a woman who must be rather above the human size...The face seemed very lovely, and solemn from its stillness, with the aspect of one who is quite content, but waiting for something.
"Why do you call yourself a beech tree?" I said.
"Because I am one," she replied..."There is an old prophecy in our woods, that someday we shall be men and women like you."


Which, what? Why shouldn't a tree be a tree?Aren't things supposed to be what they are?

So you have scenes like this one where Lucy feels she might just be able to wake the trees -- she was their queen once, after all, wasn't she? -- but it's all ultimately just a big tease because she doesn't have the right power or the right words or the right something and the moment passes and we might as well have not had it at all.
I don't know; it's disappointing, a little, when moments like that pass without apparent result. But, not, it's still better to have them, even as limited as they are, than not have them at all.

Not that I disagree with you about the Pevensies' lack of agency in this book. Nobody ever seems to do much of anything except stumble along and hope for the best and snipe at each other; it may be realistic and it may have allegorical meanings, but it's not very interesting as a story.

chris the cynic said...

And yes, "brick" is meant as a wholeheartedly positive thing. It's Victorian slang, but it must have still been around in Lewis' time, at least for men of his generation.

It just makes me think of thick as a brick, though not that particular 11 minute long version I've never encountered before today.

Amaryllis said...

Re You're a brick:

brick of a man -- A good, solid, substantial person that you can rely upon. The expression is said to have originated with King Lycurgus of Sparta, who was questioned about the absence of defensive walls around his city. 'There are Sparta's walls,' he replied, pointing at his soldiers, 'and every man is a brick.'" From the "Encyclopedia of Word and Phrase Origins" by Robert Hendrickson (Facts on File, New York, 1997).

Amaryllis said...

And now it seems to be a deep, philosophical point about how it's perfectly alright to violently attack someone if they question that a lion or a man or anything else you've chosen to worship might possibly not be immortal and unchanging from the last time you saw him 1,300 years ago.
I'm not sure I entirely agree that Lucy's behavior is supposed to be considered "perfectly all right." Peter does stop her from attacking Trumpkin, after all. And it may not be admirable, but it's fairly natural to get upset if someone accuses a friend, someone you know well and care for, of witless savage behavior. Of course Lucy isn't entitled to "gouge his eyes out," but I don't think it's unreasonable for Peter to ask Trumpkin not to speak that way about their friend to them.

Although I don't know what to make of that "unlucky" comment. "Luck" seems kind of a pagan concept to introduce in the middle of all these deep theological points, doesn't it?

But Lucy is definitely not behaving well here, for a Queen of Narnia. More like a spoiled and tired child, with all that "You're so stupid!" business, and shouting and footstomping. Which is definitely getting old.

Whereas Susan's perfectly understandable comments are treated like the height of rudeness. Definitely some narratorial (is that a word?) favoritism going on here.

Amaryllis said...

Did you ever find out the answer? Because I could swear I remember doing this, and now I can't figure it out either. But I know there's a way.

Theo said...

I second Marie's points on the film improving vastly on the book. I also find it interesting that the film clearly shifts the role of - well, not exactly Bad Pevensie, but Pevensie Who Screws Up A Lot - from Susan to Peter.

Fluffy_goddess said...

The kitties are adorable!

I'll go read the post now.

Nick said...

I think the reason why Caspian isn't the actual main protagonist (and Marie Brennan is right: that would've been a lot better) is because Lewis wasn't really planning on writing a proper series at this point -- this was just a sequel to LWW, and the idea of switching protagonists may have simply not occurred to him.

depizan said...

There's a comment sorting thingy right at the beginning of the comments. At least for me.

Makabit said...

"Don't treat me like a child, "said Lucy cooly. "This body may be young but you know as well as anyone how many years I've lived. I didn't think I saw him. I actually saw him. I don't assume you to be delusional, I'd appreciate it if you returned the favor."

But Lucy is not actually allowed to be an adult. Her charmed status depends on her not being a grown woman. Ever.

Marie Brennan said...

I can sort them, yes; what I can't get Disqus to do is remember that I never ever ever want "Most Popular First," so the next time I read a comment thread here it will be "Oldest First," the way I want.

Nick -- I don't doubt you're right. But it makes for a bloody awkward and unsuccessful structure. (Let it be a lesson to us all . . . .)

depizan said...

Weird. It stays sorted for me. *puzzled*

Bificommander said...

@ Amaryllis: I dunno if I agree with your explanation for Lucy's outburst. In a meta-sense, I'm pretty sure it's an illustration of the appropriate response to anyone doubting Jesus's awesomeness. As Peter demonstrates, physical violence isn't approved of because good Christians are peaceful, but being angry enough to WANT to engage in physical violence is perfectly understandable, and it is the responsibility for the other person who never saw and doesn't believe in Jesus to never ever say so because that's just incredibly offensive.

Even if we cut my suspicion about the real-world point out, it doesn't work in the story well either IMHO. This doesn't sound like an accusation, in the sense that Thrukin is indicating a moral failing on the part of their friend Aslan. This 'going wild' process sounds like it's a consequence of just living for a long time in bad circumstances, like their mind regresses with old age. That happens to some people, and not to others. And with the children knowing Aslan for such a short period of time (he left pretty soon after the battle with the White Witch didn't he?) and then missing him for 1300 years they shouldn't be so sure that Aslan is fine. True, he'd been missing for a long time before the first book, but in that period the Animals were just fine mentally.

Actually, Lucy's outburst would have been understandable if she DID think Aslan might be affected. If Thrukin is voicing a terrible prospect that Lucy didn't dare think about, I can understand she'd be angry if someone points it out to her. But I don't think that's the idea. The reader is meant to see Aslan as Jesus-level infallible, and none of the children seem to seriously consider this possibility. And as Ana pointed out, Lucy just wondered if the same thing could happen to humans, like them. So she considers it possible that it could happen to someone like herself, but not to Aslan. And yet the 'reasonable' Peter's view is that although Thrukin knows nothing about Aslan and has never seen him in action, he doesn't just disagree with him, he declares it his responsibility to never say Aslan might not be perfect again. That's not anger at someone who doubts your friend. That's zealous fury at someone who doubts your Diety.

Rakka said...

Poor Susan.

Hey, what's the deal with Ash and Alder being bad trees? Is it a reflection of those trees maybe having had connections to the pre-Christianity religions in British isles? Over here it's aspens and alders that were right out demonized...

Lonespark said...

I wondered that, too, about the Ash and Alder. (I was looking at images comparing tree branching and blood vessels and was reminded of the story.) Mostly I kinda want to go back and read MacDonald again.

Theo said...

I'm with Amaryllis here. I don't think that too much should be made of Lucy losing her temper with Trumpkin. While her blind faith in Aslan might be held up as a model, I don't think every one of her emotional reactions is, and I certainly think it's a stretch to suggest that the passage is somehow meant to be a model of righteous Christian fury at blaspheming skeptics. (And IMO it's a stretch to suggest that Trumpkin is seriously physically threatened - if it had been Edmund, maybe, but Lucy isn't shown to be a physical threat to anyone even if she wanted to.)

In general, while I agree completely that the whole Aslan-only-appears-to-Lucy subplot is way messed up, I don't quite agree with the reading of some of you of the narrator being hostile to Trumpkin. I certainly agree that his portrayal is condescending and backhanded, but it seems fairly clear to me that he is [i]meant[/i] to be a variant of a recurring Lewis character, the sympathetic skeptic. He has some similarities, not least his bluffness and down-to-earth smarts, with MacPhee in That Hideous Strength. (Though MacPhee is a better character IMO, partly because he's an equal 'party member'. And he doesn't even become religious at the end.)

Mr Son said...

Another point on the "mental map" put down that itches several of my buttons: Even presuming truth* in the "girls don't have mental maps, boys do" statement, it's... *double checks comment policy for cussing rules* it's an assnozzle thing to talk about as if it was a bad judgement decision ("Girls are so stupid, they should make mental maps so they won't get lost!"), because it's not something most people can help. My mother and I contrast in our directional senses. Mine is pretty damn good for someone who almost never leaves his apartment, and hers is probably average at best. It can be amusing and sometimes frustrating to watch my mom play video games; She once got lost in a small spherical room with two exits exactly opposite from each other. She couldn't find the door; she kept circling the bottom of the room. But I don't think, let alone say anything like "You just need to learn to picture your surroundings better! Why aren't you better at this? It's not like it's hard!" She's a math person, not a spacial person. She's just going to take longer than I am to orient herself, and unless we're in a hurry, either I offer to help find the way for her, or trust her to do it herself and wait until she does.

((*One of the arguing tools I'm somewhat fond of for pointing out buttishness is to take a moment to presume the point is true, and then point out that's it's an ass thing to say even if it's true, so stop being an ass. You're wasting energy making other people unhappy when you could spend that energy on something else. Such as eating a doughnut or taking photos of squirrels.))

Ana Mardoll said...

Marie, I believe that if you go to Disqus.com, you can customize your profile and options there, but I'm not certain. You may also be able to do it by clicking on your post avatar. I'll try to figure it out this week when I have a chance.

Bificommander said...

@ Theo. Still not quite with you I'm afraid. First of, I wouldn't take Lucy's ability or lack thereof to be a threat to a dwarf into account for a morality discussion. The narrative suggest that she was so angry she might have attacked him to the best of her abilities. Even if those are the best abilities of a young child, that still implies at least an intent to hurt based on that comment. And I think that is significant.

Now, you're right that the narrative doesn't approve of it. I'm pretty sure Peter is the authorial voice here. And while he disapproves of Lucy, his argument is that "The DLF" doesn't know any better. THEY knew Aslan for like a week 1300 years ago in Narnia time, so THEY know nothing could have gone wrong with him. And based on that, they tell Trumpkin never to voice opinions to the contrary again. Even though you have a point that the narrative doesn't condemn Trumpkin for it, this seems to be based on him being an ignorant disbeliever and assuming that he won't bring up something so upsetting to them again. The story doesn't tell us to hate him, but does put him in his place, below the oh-so knowledgeable believers who saw this country 1300 years ago. And I stand by my arguments that this cannot be explained by the children being upset about their friend.

And if I may take a step back and explore something that probably wasn't intended in the message (but that's not magic after all), I would also like to point to the context of Trumpkin's comment. Trumpkin is leading the rebellion's last hope to the main camp before all his friends and comrades are wiped out. The downward route is, to his knowledge, the fastest one. And now the youngest, least useful looking for a war, of them says she saw a legendary being Trumpkin doesn't believe in, and that she wants everyone to follow him to a longer route. Even the girl's companions sound skeptical that there's anything there. Trumpkin has thus some very good reasons to bring up arguments why this Aslan might not be what Lucy would have been expecting. I won't say the children don't have any stake in this, given that unlike the first book they lack a clear way back, but Trumpkin has more and he makes (from his point of view) some very valid points to make sure the children he risked his life for to contact don't go on a wild goose chase. Now, Peter agrees with the 'no wild goose chase' part, but does make it clear that this is no reason to use any valid arguments because they upset them personally. And Trumpkin's race might be exterminated if they arrive too late, but that's no reason to not consider their feelings.

Again, this last part is not a clear and intentional message of the narrative, but it is in there IMHO. And while not nearly as awful, it reminds me of the decision to kick out a female witness during a contraception debate because she used the word 'vagina'. That too is a case where the more powerful, more privileged and more RTC-y party was more interested in their right not to be offended by anything the person who would be directly and severely affected by this ruling said in defense of her position, than in the actual effects this ruling would have on that party.

Amaryllis said...

"Wouldn't it be dreadful if some day in our own world, at home, men started going wild inside, like the animals here, and still looked like men, so that you'd never know which were which?"

This 'going wild' process sounds like it's a consequence of just living for a long time in bad circumstances, like their mind regresses with old age. That happens to some people, and not to others.
I don't think it's a reference to senile dementia. I think it's another of those post-WW2 references, talking about the War without talking about it. Because, of course, C. S. Lewis had just lived through a time when men did indeed seem to "go wild inside" in large numbers. And not for the first time in human history, either.

"Bad circumstances" has something to do with it, in that people will find themselves doing things during a war that they'd never have thought of otherwise. But even during times of relative peace, you can't tell just by looking which people are dangerous. You have to get to know them. And Lucy knows Aslan, both as friend and as deity. She knows what he is, and what he is not, which is subject to that kind of change. Whether it's one year (which after all, is subjectively that last time she saw him) or 1300.

It's reasonable for Trumpkin to voice strategic objections to changing course based on a sign from a deity that he doesn't believe in. It's also reasonable for Peter to ask Trumpkin not to speak disrespectfully about a dearly beloved friend with whom he (Trumpkin) is not acquainted.

Lily said...

Everything about Susan's character so far has been that of a young woman who exudes love and kindness to friends and family alike; who expends an excess of effort to avoid, mediate, and end disputes; and who never hesitates to get her hands dirty when there's work to be done.

So, what's so bad about Susan? I'm like her in that I'm caring, so why would Lewis not like that.

There seems to be almost a cultural game of "getting to know" minorities -- not by, say, becoming close friends and confidantes and asking about minority experiences, but rather by sidling up long enough to harvest a few personal quirks and historical details and then running off to gleefully piece together the puzzle.

Content note: disability, sexuality

This has definitely happened to me; I'm a straight, physically disabled female and in spite of all that, I've been very uncomfortable with my sexuality because society and an able-bodied friend was uncomfortable with it. (Online dating is easier for me.) My able-bodied friend would talk about her romantic life to me and spend about two minutes on me. I had to stop being friends 'cause it bothered me so much. Sorry, probably shouldn't talk about myself so much, but it's always been something that bothered me.

~Lily~

Ana Mardoll said...

Sweetheart, if people didn't talk about themselves here, we wouldn't have any comments. Don't apologize. :-)

Lily said...

Alright, thank you, Ana. :D Also, Lucy being the only one to see Aslan sort of bothers me for a reason I can't put my finger on; maybe it's because the narrator might berate them for not believing Lucy? :/

~Lily~

Rowen said...

Even though I have major issues with Susan Bishop's work, I liked one scene where someone's is asking about a sentient tiger, and says "Is he tame?" and the answer give is something to the effect of "If you mean, 'does he pee on the carpets?' the answer is no, but neither do you." which I feel carries a better feeling to it. Like, we're not talking about the difference between a wolf and a pet dog, so "tame" shouldn't even be a part of the equation.

depizan said...

Wow. Maybe it's because I don't like Aslan, so I haven't paid attention to the language used about him, but you've nailed something really interesting there. Why are we using animal language with a god? (Or any other sapient creature, for that matter.)

"Is ____ tame?" is something you'd say about a sapient you were insulting. I have trouble seeing a sapient speaking of themselves as tame, whether or not they looked "human" to the person they were speaking to. I mean, who says "I'm a tame human" or "I am not a tame human"? (Besides extreeeeeme sports stars maybe for the latter.)

Makabit said...

Wow. Maybe it's because I don't like Aslan, so I haven't paid attention to the language used about him, but you've nailed something really interesting there. Why are we using animal language with a god? (Or any other sapient creature, for that matter.)

Because he is true God, and true lion, something that gets emphasized several times, for all the good it does for the underlying metaphor. Because, while 'true man' means one thing to men, (generically speaking), 'true lion' means something entirely different. The metaphor is harder to maintain, because while 'man is a wolf to man', lions eat people with no moral issues involved. So making God a lion may be a way to explore some interesting corners of theology, it's not really Lewis's theology.

On the bright side, I have finally tracked down a poem I have been looking for for YEARS, "The Shape God Wears". My quest was somewhat confused by the fact that I thought that William Blake, rather than Sara Henderson Hay wrote it, something that I suspect was brought about by the mention of a tiger, and the fact that I think "The Lamb" by Blake may have been on the facing page of the book I first read it in as a child.

I love this:

The Shape God Wears

By Sara Henderson Hay

But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the
fowls of the air, and they shall tell thee . . .
JOB 12, 7.

SO questioning, I was bold to dare
The sinewy 'tiger in his lair.
"Come forth, striped sir, make known to me
What God it was who fashioned thee."

Out leapt he like a muscled blaze,
Patterned in black and gold he was.
"Jehovah is his name," he cried,
"Tiger of Tigers, beryl-eyed,

"Flat flanked and sleek. His paws are curled
About the margins of the world.
He stalketh in His jungles grim-— ,
I, even I, am like to Him!"

I sought that moving mountain side
The elephant, with ears fanned wide.
Treading the forests. "Sir, tell me
What manner of a God made thee?"

He swirled his trunk about an oak
And wrenched it up before he spoke,
Then answered in a trumpet blast,
"Old Super-Pachyderm, that vast

"Lord of the Elephants, the great
Trampler upon the worm's estate.
Crag-shouldered, terrible is He
Who of His substance fashioned me!"

I scaled the precipice, to seek
The eagle on his drafty peak.
"Tell me, O Gazer at the sun.
The nature of that Mighty One

Your Lord." He turned his crested head
And screamed athwart the wind and said
"Ancient of Eagles, wild and free.
Rider of tempests. He made me!

"His wing is stretched above the thunder.
His claws can rip the hills asunder.
His beak of two hooked knives is made—
Look on His likeness. Be afraid!"

Then turned I to the whorled snail
Whose house is exquisite and frail,
Most deftly wrought. "Sir, I would know
What God it was Who shaped thee so."

Then cried he proudly to my face,
"Eternal Snail, God of my race.
The lightning is His silvery track.
He wears the world upon His back.

"He is most beautiful and wise.
He dwelleth in the moisty skies.
In the gray wall at heaven's rim.
And He has made me after Him!"

Then laughed I in superior mirth,
"Attend, ye creatures of the earth,
Misled, mistaken, all undone
And self-deceivers, every one.

"Hear ye, deluded beasts, while I
Explain the shape God wears, and why.
Self-evident the truth's displayed:
He is my Father, sirs," I said,
"And in my image He is made!

Redwood Rhiadra said...

And while not nearly as awful, it reminds me of the decision to kick out a female witness during a contraception debate because she used the word 'vagina'.

Not just a witness (who would be there there wholly at the invitation of the legistature). It was a *legislator* - an elected representative, doing her job of debating a proposed law which would affect her constituents, who was shut down and forbidden to speak.

Rakka said...

Because Heaver forbid a woman says a female anatomy word in mixed company. It wouldn't be so bad if "don't use that word in mixed company" didn't mean "don't use that word when there are wimmins present, their ears will implode" - because what, women aren't supposed to know about vaginas?*
Of course the spineless little assnoodle couldn't just own up and say "we don't want women to point out we're intruding on their bodies and possibly even talk about their bodies as if they're not indecent". Blaargh.
*(I'm not sure about my wording here. This legislation doesn't affect all women and not all it affects are women. Is it ok to use this phrasing?)

Bificommander said...

@ Redwood: Ah, sorry I got that part wrong. I'm not American so I mostly read about it via these kinds of blogs.

Still, the parallels are there IMHO. The one thing we know is that in this book, Peter doesn't have a secret motive of wanting to shut up Thrumpkin, because the writer didn't give him that motive. Similarly, I'm pretty sure the writer didn't realize how frustrating it could very well be for Thrumpkin, who may lose everything he's ever had or known if this doesn't work and now the children are talking about going in the completely wrong direction due to a glimps only one of them claims to have seen, so Thrumpkin doesn't think about it either and is just going along with the academic discussion of "Do you think it's likely we should walk the apparently wrong way?". This is because the writer controls every character, and they don't have feeling or motives that he didn't put in them, even though we can extrapolate what feelings they logically should have, or what motives people who use the same type of reasoning in the real world often have.

Toby Bartels said...

Triggers: facetiously speaking for patriarchy, silencing women, rape. Also trigger for the link: besides the obvious, sexualised picture of a woman's body as a battlefield.

No, that's just what the liberal media *want* you to believe. According to a story making the rounds now, Lisa Brown wasn't silenced because she said ‘vagina’ but because she next said ‘No means No.’. And (as any man, who knows better what a woman means than the woman herself, could tell you) she said this to imply that the law under debate (an abortion restriction) is similar to rape, and implying *that* is beyond the decorum of a State legislature. One source, the clearest that I found: http://thecollegeconservative.com/2012/06/26/in-vulgarium/ (and if you can't trust a man, no less a conservative blogger attending college in another State, to judge a woman, who can you trust?).

Toby Bartels said...

Another source for the bare facts of precisely what Brown was supposed to have been censured for, buried within an article much more interesting to read than the last one that I linked: http://www.salon.com/topic/lisa_brown/. Trigger warning for Michigan legislators: the word ‘vagina’ (that's what it's about).

DavidCheatham said...

It's two syllables. Two! "The D.L.F." is four. Unless you're somehow pronouncing it as a word and not three letters, like "The Dilf". In which case it's still two syllables but with a glottal stop in between in order to differentiate the "the" from the "dilf". It's even harder to type because you have to keep slapping those periods in there. Why?

I don't think anyone who has 'www.' in their domain name is allowed to complain about making things longer than they started with. ;) 'Hey, I have an idea! Let's use the one letter that's three syllables to say...and use it three times! We'll use this to replace three one-syllable words.' Who the heck decided on that instead of 'web.'?

But seriously, there are nicknames that are longer than the original names. I seem to recall that Russian endearments work like that. The real problem is the kids shouldn't give nicknames to people they've just met. Especially when those people are dubious about them being thousand year-old kings and queens. (We're not sure how much of that is still part of their personalities, but surely they can _pretend_ to be royalty even if they don't remember.)

It's going to turn out that Peter was Right All Along and that the landscape of the gorge has just changed in the time since the Pevensie's reign, so you can all breath a sigh of relief knowing that Peter is right and Susan is wrong,

If the debate was 'Which is the direction that we would have taken to get there 1000 years ago?', Peter was right. If the debate was, as most debates about directions are, 'How do we get to where we wish to be?', then Peter was wrong. He might be less wrong than the others, and he's wrong for reasons outside his control, but he's still factually wrong...the path he's trying to lead them along does not even exist anymore.

Here's an interesting point: Peter has led them into _lion_ territory. (It probably wasn't lion territory when they were ruling, but it is now.) This is, in and of itself, dangerous. (Again, it might not have been back when they were ruling, but it is now.)

This is because no one ever sat down and considered the situation they were in. They were just sitting in the ruins of their castle, being told stories about how their country has now been ruled by invaders for generations, and didn't bother to think 'What else has changed, and how much?'.

'Are there new wild animals we should know about in our path?' 'Are bridges and fords still there?' 'Where is this army we need to stay away from?' Maybe we're supposed to assume this happened offscreen, but the fact is that Trumpkin had apparently never ever heard of 'The Rush River', so hardly would have confirmed that it was still crossable.

I really dislike protagonists like this. Protagonists that never sit down and say 'So what could get in my way of accomplishing my goals?'. The only one still behaving reasonable is Trumpkin, and he's probably still somewhat bemused that these quarrelling children are the famous high kings and queens, and is assuming they have the slightest idea what's going on or how to accomplish things

DavidCheatham said...

@depizan
Ah, yes. Still, now that they know the Telmarine castle exists, wouldn't it still make more sense to use an altered version of Trumpkin's route (avoiding the castle), rather than to just strike off across the countryside? Especially when they seem to be relying more on Peter's incredibly out-of-date memory than Trumpkin's knowledge.

Yes, heaven forbid their party goes past the human castle. Those enemy humans have to constantly on the lookout for non-humans, so there's no way the protagonists' party, consisting of young humans, could...hold on, wait a tick...

Face, meet palm.

In a reasonable book, with protagonists that actually plan, this would have been the 'escorting a prisoner' plan. Or the 'hide the dwarf' plan if it's too implausible for children to have prisoners, or even the 'leave the dwarf behind to make his own way' plan.

But we get the 'wander aimlessly across the changed landscape' plan. Probably to mimic the first book. Let's just ignore the fact that in _this_ Narnia, random humans are actually in no danger from the bad guys.

Incidentally, doesn't this seem like a rather crappy resistance? Shouldn't Trumpkin be able to say 'We'll just go to our local resistance contact, it's a dryad about half a day from here. She knows the roads around here, she helps smuggle people along them...but you, being humans, can just walk down them. Maybe we can get you a wagon I can hide in...'

Instead, we have a resistance movement that not only doesn't seem to know basic features of the land like a giant gorge, but is surprised by a _castle_. There are many imposing and dangerous attributes castles have during a war, but 'ability to appear suddenly and sneak up on you' is not one of them.

Rowen said...

One thing that's bugging me is the whole "change in the landscape" thing going on. What little I've taken of natural sciences seems to imply that something like a gorge takes thousands of years to be created. I can get that forests can come and go, and towns can grow, shrink, disappear or pop up during that span, but . . . the Pevensies are being treated as if they're geographical knowledge from 1000 years ago is horribly out of date (as opposed to something more like "Why is there a forest where there used to be a lake?" or "You mean THIS is Lemonville?! When we were last here it was some centaur with a lemonade stand!")

David Newgreen said...

Narnia is barely two thousand years old, and the Last Battle is only a few hundred years in the future. With such a short lifespan, as worlds go, perhaps Narnia's geology is correspondingly sped up?

sweetcraspy said...

I got a chortle out of the High King saying "I'd much rather not have to vote."

Also, maybe I'm forgetting something, but when Susan says "In fact I thought all along that we ought to have gone by the river.", and peter answers "Then I think you might have said so at the time". Isn't "the time" right now? They row to the Glasswater, sleep, wake up and try to figure out where they were going. Peter is just being a jerk.

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