A thought or two on Narnia

I have long loved the genre of 'fairy tale,' devouring volumes of folk tales from all lands, the Brothers Grimm and Andersen. Considering my great love for the theological works of C. S. Lewis, which I've indulged for decades, it may surprise my readers that I did not enter the world of Narnia until I was perhaps 45 years old, after a discussion with a dear friend about "The Magician's Nephew." It was naturally a most rewarding experience - in fact, I've added a link to the title for those interested in finding the Narnia works available through Amazon.com. (Shameless plug, I know - but the tiny commissions I receive help me purchase my school books...) :)

Needless to say, I was off for a rare cinema visit (there being one near me with cheap matinees) as soon as the new film version of Narnia was released. I would highly recommend the film - and was pleased and surprised that Disney, which normally ruins my favourite stories (what they did to Beauty and Beast was unspeakable) remained true to Lewis.

Tilda Swinton was superb as the white witch. I found her beauty and (initially) flattering and gentle manner to be extremely effective in capturing the deceptive ways of evil, and the appeal to Edmund's desire for esteem (a crown is not to be lightly esteemed!) and pampering.

One part I felt very powerfully was the burden of Edmund's betrayal. It was very intensely captured, I believe - initially from frustration, then fear, a desire to regain the Queen's favour, more than from sheer malice. So much of maturity comes from seeing the consequences of one's actions, and Edmund's seeing the imprisoned, then killed, faun was a strong image.

Of course, I've always loved good 'fairy tales,' mythology, and legends. I think we need to remember they began long before Freud. Any horned creature was doomed after Sigmund began to hold power.. I would suggest that no one approach fairy tales of any kind without wiping out any lingering ideas that everything is a symbol for sexual organs - that the centaur indicates bestiality - and so forth. Children know, as we forget, how images can speak to us - we shall miss the image if we place it through a Freudian filter.

Why do I mention this? Well, in part because, on a discussion forum today, I noticed all sorts of people who were up in arms at what they saw as a strong hint of paedophilia 'warning signs' in Narnia. Deep sigh... I should like to kick the lot of them right in the Aslan... They feared the film would be dangerous for children, considering that a little girl who meets a faun goes off for tea (he was staring at the first human he'd ever seen... a 'warning sign'), and this may prompt their own children to not be wary of strangers.

Fairy tale nut that I am, I think one needs to be careful about being overly literal with that genre. Children (whether now or in 1940) would not be likely to go off to have tea with strangers... the more if they had horns and tails... but fairy tales, where one always encounters the old man, the witch, the wise woman, fairy, troll, dragon, whatever, seem to me to capture encountering realities of life, not literally, actually meeting someone (unless it is oneself or a characteristic of human nature.) I cannot imagine that children viewing this film would therefore be inclined to go off to cottages to have tea with strange fauns, nor to ride off to battle on unicorns, nor even to have conversations with previously unknown beavers.

The only danger I know of amongst us fairy tale 'addicts' (...now my page will be unreadable in some browsers of concerned parents) is that some dreams endure. I keep expecting to be offered three wishes, or to find the path that leads me to Eden before the fall...

Part of what I found very intriguing with C. S. Lewis is that he, like myself (though we are hardly alike in many ways), was a man of such complexity. Rational, stiff upper lip Jack could present "Mere Christianity", and speak of suffering without great pathos until he experienced it in the loss of one whom he loved. (He'd suffered plenty before then, of course, but unlike myself did not have a lifelong inclination to being loved... and being hurt. He'd learnt, too early, how connected the two can be, especially when grief follows.) Yet he also could weave magical pictures of wardrobes opening a door to other worlds.

One of these days, in my own spiritual life, I'll learn where the magic ends and the full reality begins... though I never wish to lose the magic altogether.