The Chronicles of Narnia (Novels)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

Having read and reviewed each of the Narnia books separately, I decided that it would be a good idea to look at the series as a whole, just to bring up a few things that make the books similar, and in some cases, different from one another.

The Chronicles of Narnia is definitely a series that was originally written for children to enjoy.  Its allegories are sometimes subtle, but rarely unclear, and its vocabulary is quite accessible, even to the very young.  There are minor imperfections in a few of its allegories, and I enjoyed some of the stories more than others, but on the whole, it's not a major problem.  They're very fun books.

As an adult, reading them over again, I find that there are levels of depth to them that I just missed as a young kid; especially in the later stories; like the Last Battle, and the Horse and His Boy.  I also noticed, reading as an adult, that the first few books Lewis published in this series make frequent use of the third person omniscient method of storytelling, while later books drop it in favor of a smoother style of narrative.  It's a welcome change, though oddly enough, it didn't really make the stories any better; just cleaner-sounding.

Another thing that I noticed is that Lewis writes more about factions than people in his Narnia series.  The people are certainly given names and rolls in the story, and every so often, one of them even references past events, just like a real person would, but the story isn't really about who the characters are, so much as it is about what they need to do.  It's not too different from real life in that respect.

I think that these stories will be most enjoyable to adults who enjoy reading into complex allegories, and to children and adults who simply have a strong sense of wonder, and love exploring beautiful, magical worlds of fiction, which don't, at the same time, try to crumple up their values and throw them in the dustbin.  Consideration for the Christian values of the public is a rare thing in modern literature, which, I think, is one of the main reasons why these books were and are still so popular.  Whether because of their Christian courtesy, or because of their entertaining adventures, or both, The Chronicles of Narnia deserve the popularity they've gotten.  Thumbs up.

The Last Battle (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

The last book of the Chronicles of Narnia, both published and in chronological order, is the Last Battle; the Narnia series answer to the End of the World, where everything finally comes to a head, and the story is finished at last.  However, although no book in this series is really all that bad, I think that this book may be my second least favorite of the series.

I have three reasons for not liking this book as much as some of the others.  The first is that in this book, there are still creatures in Narnia after the final judgment.  I know they're ment to be symbolic of the fire and destruction of the physical world as we knew it, but this is one of those things that too many people have gotten wrong in the past.  Everything gets judged at once.  There's no evacuation before the end.

The second reason I have for not liking this book as much is that the Last Battle isn't won.  I know, you're going to say "Isn't won?  How much more could they possibly win?"  Yes, the good guys won and the bad guys lost.  That's true, but not during the final battle.  All of that happened later.

This second complaint is more of a storytelling one than a theological one.  We know, after all, that mortal man can't win the fight against evil on his own terms, no matter how hard he tries.  Still, half of the point of pursuing Heaven is so that we can be purified, and be useful in some manner, when we're needed the most.  God doesn't crush evil by himself.  He gives that honor to two very special creatures, one of whom crushes the serpent's head, and the other casts him into perdition for eternity.

Creatures are involved in the final defeat of Satan; intimately involved.  It's not our job to just get out of the way, nor to be content with the battles that we lose.  The Last Battle isn't the one we fight while we're alive.  It's the overwhelming thrashing that the saints give the devil from Heaven.  I only wish that stage of the battle had been depicted; the humans, recently-defeated, joining the fallen armies of their comrades from all the ages for one last fight; a fight they can't possibly lose.  From a storytelling perspective, it would have been pure gold to depict such a thing.  The fact that the book could theologically support this in its allegories, yet deliberately chooses not to is, in my mind, a major point against it.

However, once again, I'm afraid that we must get back to the villains for the third point against the book.  Most of the villains in the Narnia series just weren't all that threatening, and in my opinion, the only one who seemed threatening at any point in this book was Rishda Tarkaan.  There were four major villains in this book; Shift, Ginger, Rishda and Tash, and only Rishda really struck me as a sufficient bad guy.

Shift was a petty, uncreative dictator with transparent motives and a somewhat empty head.  Ginger was cunning, but not intimidating, because she never really established herself as anything more than a trickster working behind the scenes, and Tash only really appeared twice.  Neither time was he around for very long, and the second time, he gets shooed off before he could do anything really terrible.  Honestly, I thought the shed that Shift had kept the fake lion in was more threatening than Tash was.

Still, these shortcomings don't make this a bad book.  Its end-of-the-world theology might be a little imperfectly-described, but its understanding of human nature, and of the final judgment are spot-on, and as petty and unthreatening as he is, Shift is a fine allegory for all those who try to squash different religions together in the name of their own greatness.  All such people; anyone who claims that all religions are the same, except with different words and names, are simply wrong, and are following false faiths; or even trying to create them, because they want people to follow them as the messiah, the way that Shift does.  Ultimately, they don't want to save or help anybody but themselves.  They just want to distract people from the teachings that matter, so the public doesn't realize that their "messiahs" are just two-bit peddlers of their own, self-ruled, Earthly kingdoms, none of which will last beyond the current age.  It's a sobering lesson for the rest of us.

Ginger is the type who thinks she can craftily manipulate people with her brilliant, secret knowledge about God and the supernatural not really existing, so she helps the false religions get their start, and doesn't fully realize how much evil she's done until she does the stupidest thing of all; walking right through the doors of Hell.

Rishda is the trusted military, or town government, or public service authority, who deploys his men against the faithful because he personally agrees with the regime that the other two have set up.  He may even have closer ties to the higher-ups than they do, being only the ones who thought of it, after all.  Shift (Lenin) may do the commanding, and Ginger (Marx) may do the thinking, but without men like Rishda, willing to carry a sword in their name, no one ever really gets hurt.  The commander is ignored as the mindless psychopath he is, and the thinker is dismissed as just another nut with a goofy philosophy.  What really gives these people in authority the power to kill is us.  We do.  We fight in their militaries.  We enforce their phony, anti-religious "laws," and we acknowledge their decisions as acceptable, or at least tolerable in polite company.  Rishda is the point where people fight for those who don't deserve it; where the worst harm is done.

As you can see, I appreciate the allegories found in the villains in this book, and there's a very good reason why Rishda was so much more threatening than the others.  I just wish he'd gotten a bit more time in center stage during the story itself.

I was also very impressed by the types of people who wound up in Aslan's Kingdom at the end.  Some follow Aslan, not even realizing it (Emeth,) while others turn away from him, despite the crowns that they once wore (Susan.)  The reason for this is quite clear.  Even a person who doesn't know God can still do their best to do the right thing, and even a person who knows him very well can still turn away from the faith.  Just ask the Galatians.

In retrospect, the theological confusion I experienced near the beginning of this review probably wasn't that big a deal, but I still feel it's worth mentioning.  I suppose the real reason why this book was my second least favorite in the series is that I found it so unsatisfying emotionally; particularly the ending.  Then again, feelings don't really matter when you get right down to it, and mine certainly don't.

All in all, though, I really liked this book, and if you don't identify happiness with excitement as much as I do, you'll probably like it even more.

The Magician's Nephew (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

The sixth book published in the series; the Magician's Nephew, is in some ways, more concrete and understandable than the others, and in other ways, seems to lose its focus for a brief period.  On the whole, however, I consider it one of the better books in the series.

The story takes place years before any of the others, in the childhood of the man who later became the aged Professor Digory Kirke.  If that doesn't remove all the tension from the story...  Well, actually it doesn't.  We know he'll turn out okay, but this story also involves a girl named Polly, as well as several other people we've never met before, and won't see again in the Narnia books.

For greater than half the book, there isn't much allegory.  Digory and Polly get into some trouble, wind up in another world, and get into more trouble, striking a bell when they're not supposed to.  This could easily be seen as an allegory for original sin, and seems to be something of the sort, but it doesn't really get brought up until later on.

It's at this point that we meet Jadis; the White Witch from the first book, who was the last empress of a world called Charn, and most likely the cruelist as well.  She grabs Digory and Polly, forcing her way into our world, where she loses all of her magic, but remains a very powerful psychopath nonetheless.  Digory and Polly brave her wrath one last time, trying to get her back out of our world and into another.  Unfortunately, that world is the newborn Narnia, and having unleashed her upon it, they soon find that they have an obligation to right the wrong to the best of their abilities.

I've heard some people say that this book is allegory for the Adam and Eve story, but it's situations and characters are almost reversed in many ways.  Polly tries to discourage Digory from sinning, instead of tempting him, and the quest for the fruit is the search for redemption; not the sin.  Digory is faced with the age-old temptation for the fruit in the garden, but when it comes time to make that decision, his choice isn't what you'd expect, if you thought this book was going to be a straight-up allegory, like the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

I suppose I could criticize this book for its confusing and sometimes backwards allegories, the way I did with the Voyage of the Dawn Treader, and that is a problem to an extent, but it just didn't bother me all that much, because this book has, I would say, the scariest villain in the series, at quite possibly her most threatening.  For this reason alone, I enjoyed it enormously.  Lewis' writing style is hardly tense, nor are his descriptions terribly exciting, but if a seven-foot woman, riding a London carriage like a charriot and knocking down policemen left and right doesn't spook or excite you at least a little, then you don't remember what being a child was like.

Are the allegories in this story a little confusing for children?  Probably.  Still, it's an exciting story, and there's still nothing in here that should offend a strong Catholic, so long as they recognize who the bad guys are supposed to be from the start (a job that's made very easy by the way they talk about themselves as being "above rules.")  If you recognize the bad guys in real life, you'll recognize them in this book.

I really recommend this story, because, as I said, it's one of the best of a very good series.  It's both Christian and reasonably exciting; a rare and delightful combination.

The Horse and His Boy (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

Like the book published before it, the Horse and His Boy is a less constantly-allegorical narrative, focusing more on the personal journeys of the characters than on establishing fresh allegories throughout the story, and it's the only book of the series where the main characters are not Earth children.  It follows the story of a boy named Shasta, raised, and nearly sold by a fisherman.  Shasta goes on a journey to get away from his former master, and in the process, meets Bree and Hwin; two talking horses, as well as a young girl named Aravis, who's essentially calormene royalty.  This means that she hails from Calormen; the large, well-armed country to the south of Narnia.

Shasta and his friends are shocked and haunted by many dangers on their journey, and frequently wind up overhearing the plans of many powerful people.  In this way, they discover that an invasion of Archenland and Narnia is being planned by Rabbadash; prince of Calormen, and race to try to warn the people of the lands to the north.

As I said, the allegories in this story are not intrusive or constant, and generally recurr when they do show up.  The most obvious one is divine judgment.  The actions of lions tend to act as divine miracles in Narnia, and this is basically how it goes in book 5.  Shasta runs into lions quite a number of times in this book, always causing him fear and making him feel miserable, but in the end, he starts to realize that each time he ran into the lion, it always wound up bringing him good fortune, albeit through unpleasant and terrifying means.

Divine judgment is basically like that.  Lots of people today want to ignore its very existence, because it's not always pleasant or easy to cope with, but it's always intended to be for our benefit, even if we don't always make use of it, or even see how we could have.  Just think of how many people ask "Why would God do this to me?"  This book goes out to them.

Another thing worth mentioning is some of Bree's dialogue near the end.  Bree is perhaps the most entertaining to watch the development of, since he thinks, at first, that Aslan can't be "a real lion."  It's somewhat reminiscent of many modern and ancient heretics, who insisted again and again that Jesus couldn't have been a real man if he was really God.

With regard to the flow of the story, I admit that this book almost threw me.  Through the early parts, the story involves a lot of situations where one or more of the characters overhear a piece of backstory or plot development, to the point where, for a while, you wonder if the story is even really about Shasta at all, or if the wrong main character was chosen.  The fact that the main character has virtually no involvment in the big battle near the end is hardly encouraging, for one thing.  Still, by the end of the book, it's obvious that Shasta really was the main character all along.

As Narnia books go, I'm afraid I found this one to be rather on the slow side, since it involves very little magic, and most of the chapters focus more on the human characters than on the Narnians, and include far more human beings than Narnians anyway.  Still, where writing quality is concerned, this is certainly one of the best-written books in the series, only rarely dipping into third person omniscient narrative, which has been kind of a thorn in the side of this series since the very beginning.

Regardless of the dumbed-down fantasy elements, the relatively small-scale conflict, and the even smaller scale protagonists around which this story is based, I found it very enjoyable and even exciting, so I completely reccomend this book.

However, there's one more thing I feel I should address at the end of the review.  The bad guys in this book; the Calormene, have been accused of being too much like muslims, because they have a vast army, live near a desert, have dark skin and beards, and a lot of oils and spices.  Oh, and their money is called "crescents."  That's one most people forget.  Now, I could defend the artistic use of a bad guy race based off the muslim world in a story like this one, but honestly, I don't really think that the Calormene are that.  In spite of all the similarities with the typical muslim stereotypes, it's hard to take them seriously as real muslims when their religion is so clearly polytheistic, and they accept alcoholic drinks so eagerly.  As I see it, they're just bad guys; not muslims.

The Silver Chair (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

At around the halfway point in the Chronicles of Narnia (this being the fourth book published out of seven,) the series started to become, I feel, a bit less frenetic with its allegories.  Instead of trying to pack fresh allegories into every single chapter, like the first three books did, the Silver Chair just kind of has a couple of major, recurring allegories in the story, and as obvious as they are, they don't really get in the way as much; a theme that continues through book 5 (The Horse and His Boy.)

Honestly, I couldn't be happier about it.  Not only is it easier to describe in a review, but Narnia really isn't supposed to be a theology textbook, a carbon copy of the bible, hagiography or a church history text with fauns and lions in it.  It's Christian-friendly fiction, and like all Christian-friendly fiction, it's at its best when it focuses on telling a good story, and just sort of tells it from a Christian point of view.

The major points of allegory in this story are two; the signs of Aslan, and the Lady of the Green Kirdle, who for the sake of brevity, I'll refer to as the Green Witch.

The signs of Aslan are clearly the most obvious allegory in the book, and they come into play fairly early on.  Eustace (one of the children from the last book) teams up with a new girl named Jill, and almost at once, Aslan introduces himself to her, and gives her four signs, which she needs to memorize and follow if she wants to complete the quest he's sending them on.  Aslan seems awfully demanding in this book, and doesn't really promise much of a reward for their efforts at first, although he does wind up giving them one anyway.  It's kind of small time, though, considering all the garbage they went through for him.

But anyway, back to the signs.  Aslan gives Jill the signs, and it's her job to memorize them and follow them to success.  Well, for one reason or another, they end up ignoring or screwing up the signs over and over again during the journey, and it always ends badly for them when they do, which is both a lesson on following the commandments given by God, and a pretty good allegory for the history of Israel, but on closer inspection, there's even more to it than that.

You see, Aslan doesn't just give the signs to everyone, and let each of them figure the signs out for themselves, and this is key.  He only gives them to Jill, and then trusts her to be his messenger, and let everyone else know about them.  In other words, we can't get God's message directly from God.  We need to go through intermediaries.  This message is specifically Catholic (or at least Catholic-like,) because it once again goes back to the whole "law, prophets, priesthood" thing that dominates the bible; where God appoints specific people to bring his truth to the world, and continues to do that, to this very day.  Because of the truths they've been given, these people therefore have moral authority that others lack.  As near as I can tell, only Catholics really still believe this, but I could be wrong.

In contrast, the Green Witch is far more short-lived as a plot point, and has much fewer dimensions to her, but nonetheless remains a very amusing allegory, since she tries to use her magic to make the kids believe there's no sun, sky, or Aslan; that it's all just fantasy stuff they've made up because they were in a silly mood, and they're too old to believe such things anymore.  In short, the Green Witch is the embodiment of Atheism.

Now, Lewis' argument against the Green Witch in this book isn't terribly convincing from a logical/philosophical point of view, but I have to admit, it's the one that won me over when I was younger and less logical, and this is a book written for children, after all.  Even for adults, listening to the dialogue of the Green Witch can be amusing, just because of how transparent and ridiculous her arguments are, and what a striking resemblance they bear to the arguments of modern and recent atheists.  The allegory isn't perfect, largely because her followers regain their senses when she dies, but I still found it a load of fun to read.

Now, at the beginning of this review, I said Narnia is at its best when its allegory is unobtrusive, and it focuses on just telling a good story.  Now, the allegory is unobtrusive, but is it a good story...?

Not so much.  Oh, don't get me wrong; it's far and away a better story than Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  At least this book has a major villain, but she doesn't exactly get many appearances, and there's very little forshadowing until they're almost on top of her.  I'd compare her to Miraz from Prince Caspian in terms of how often we see her, and just how threatening she is (not very.)  Her dialogue is more fun to read than Miraz's dialogue was, but that's about all I can say.  That, plus the fact that unlike Miraz, she never really caused any wars or conquered anything sort of makes her the weakest main villain of the series.  It's really kind of a shame, because I wanted to like her as a villain, but the giants of Harfang left more of an impression on me than she did.

The Silver Chair is unquestionably the darkest and grimmest of the seven books; containing all sorts of bizarre imagery; man-eating giants, pitchfork-waving, brain-dead gnomes, underworld dwellers, destroyed kingdoms, a madman tied to a chair, lava flows, mind-control spells and so forth.  Even the main guest character of the book; Puddleglum, though occasionally funny, can be easily misinterpreted as just depressing and an overall pain in the neck.  I don't reccomend skipping over this book, of course, but there's a lot in it that's just kind of annoying and depressing, without really being all that terrifying or anything, and I'm afraid that C. S. Lewis didn't specialize in intense moods; at least not during his Narnia books.

On the whole, I enjoyed this book, but you have to be a certain kind of person.  It's not perfect, but it's kind of simple fun at times.

A word of warning, however.  There was also a movie version of this book produced by BBC.  The BBC Narnia movies were hit or miss, due to their somewhat limited special effects, and the Silver Chair is by far the worst, because far from bad special effects, it seemed to take all the annoying and depressing things from the book, and make them all look a great deal more annoying, depressing and disgusting.  I personally don't suggest watching the movie version.  There's nothing immoral about it.  I just don't think it's any fun to watch.  By comparison to that, the book is a breath of fresh air.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 5 of 5

Enjoyability: 3 of 5

The third book published in the Chronicles of Narnia series is the Voyage of the Dawn Treader.  As with the movie version, the book version of Voyage of the Dawn Treader runs the bases of Catholic moral teaching fairly well.  Each major encounter at sea seems to be at least an examination of one of the major sins that we all believe in.  A couple of them even go to the trouble of showing us what happens to a society that succumbs to the sin in question.

The slaver trader island with the lazy governor and mindless beaurocrasy is clearly sloth, and its inhabitants were too lazy to stop the slave trade that popped up in it, as well as to do anything about it when they were "conquered."  The battle with the sea serpent; only winnable by not fighting, seems like a message about wrath.  Vanity (a close cousin to Lust) dominates the predicaments found on the isle of the monopods, and deathwater is obviously a place of greed.  However, the others are a bit harder to interpret than this.

People are tempted towards the island where dreams come true, out of envy of what others have, and the island with the banquet, where proper conduct around the food is required seems like it might be a message about gluttony.  The lesson about pride, however, is more widespread, and found on most islands.  It could be the dragon island, but that isle seemed to have as much to do with greed as with pride, if not more so, so the allegories are a bit muddled on this point.

Apart from this surface-allegory, the overall flow of the narrative covers a few other things as well.  Reepicheep's quest is to reach the edge of the world, and not return, because he knows that he'll find happiness there.  This is a bit like our own quests to reach heaven, although I admit that it comes off as a bit selfish when translated into fiction, if only because it's not obvious that Reepicheep will still be able to help them from the other side.  This is one of the things that I would probably change about the story if I could.

On top of this, something happens to Eustace on Dragon Island, which involves a bath, which Aslan must help with, in order to cure him of his evil, which is a clear baptism reference.  This pivotal element was left out of the movie, and it's one of the few pieces of the book that I'll say that about.

Here's the problem that I had with this book.  As I said in my review of the movie, there's no overarching villain to the piece, so the nature of the threats they run into are really more disjointed and unrelated than in previous books of the series, and I just didn't find it as exciting.  It just helps for a piece to have a villain, I feel, which combined with some of the more indistinct allegories, accounts for the low enjoyability score I gave it.

I've heard it said, however, that many people liked this book best out of the whole series.  I admit to having a hard time understanding why.  Without the presence of a strong villain to outline what's good about the heroes, the whole flow of the story really loses something important.  You may notice me mentioning this element in some of the other books as an overall weakness, but I'm sorry.  I just can't get over this.  I really do feel that threatening villains are that important to any story.

Did I hate this story?  No.  Did I enjoy it?  Well, not as much as Prince Caspian, but yes; I did.  A few of the problems that the crew runs into are at least interesting, but in my opinion, it's far from the best of the series, nor does it broadcast the clearest messages.  I do suggest you read it, because you might like it more than I did, but it may be a while before I read it again.  I just don't think there was as much to this story as there should have been.

Prince Caspian (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 3.5 of 5

The second published book in the Chronicles of Narnia series was Prince Caspian; and I have to admit, it didn't make much of an impression on me the first time I read it.  That perspective has since changed, though I still feel that there are many weaknesses in the writing of the story, which should be pointed out.

For one thing, the tale is divided into a number of sections, which differ drastically from one another, meaning that the narrative doesn't exactly flow.  There are, I think, five distinct sections, each very different from the others.  The arrival of the children, the backstory of Caspian, the journey towards Aslan's How, the battle with Miraz, and the victories of Aslan; the last being perhaps the most jarring and bizarre of the five, although there's obviously a reason for that.

The first section of the tale; the arrival of the children, is largely set-up for the story.  Not much is said or done of any consequence, other than a brief exploration of the area they've found themselves in, and a realization of where they are.  They eventually meet a dwarf, who initiates the second section.

Caspian's backstory is fairly interesting.  We find out that King Miraz (who's actually a usurper; not the real king,) and his people; the Telmarines (basically human beings,) have pretty much taken control of the land away from its native peoples, and have been trying to erase even the records of their past existence.  It's only through testimony by his nurse, and a half-dwarf that Caspian even learns about the mythical beasts who once peopled Narnia at all.

This section of the story is perhaps the most disturbing if read by itself.  The reason is that a few protestant communities genuinely believe that the real "church" was suppressed by the Catholic Church, and all records of it destroyed; a belief only supported by individual preachers, who arose in the last century and a half or so.  One might easily conclude, at first, that Miraz is meant to be an allegory for the modern Catholic Church, and therefore, that this book is blatantly anti-Catholic, but I don't consider that likely, and I'll explain why in just a moment.

The third section of the book is basically the kids and the dwarf wandering in the wilderness, in search of Aslan's How, where Caspian awaits.  In my opinion, this section drags on a bit too long, but at least its message is quite clear; when Aslan (God) tells you to go someplace, you do it.

The setup is this; to get where they need to be, the children need to get across a gorge, so they try to explore a bit and see if there's some route around it; some place where they could cross.  Aslan wants them to go one way, and Lucy warns them about this, but none of the others saw him.  They wind up getting themselves lost in the woods for a while, and nearly killed by the enemy, before turning back and going Aslan's way; across the gorge by a series of solid rocks that they hadn't been able to see at first.

Sometimes, the answer to our problems is right in front of us, but the path just seems too difficult or dangerous.  We take account of the wind and the waves, and forget to keep our eyes on the one person who truly matters.  In retrospect, this may have been the high point of the story.

In section four, some of Caspian's men betray him, and try to summon the White Witch, but they're killed before they can complete their spell.  Caspian refuses to be a part of any of their black magic, trusting in Aslan, even though he hasn't shown up yet.  Peter and the other kids do show up, however, and Peter offers to fight Miraz in single combat.

This is the point where the anti-Catholic accusations are handily disarmed.  Peter is clearly an allegory for Saint Peter; the first Pope, and all successive popes by extension, and Miraz, as I've said already, is clearly not a real king (not a real pope,) but a usurper (a heretic.)  In many ways, the battle between Peter and Miraz has more of the tone of Athanasius against Arius or the Iconoclast heresy than the Catholic Church vs protestants, but regardless, the fact remains that if Lewis had meant this to be an allegory for an accusation against the church, he would probably have had someone other than Peter battle Miraz, and definitely wouldn't have kept referring to Miraz as a usurper of the throne.  Miraz is a heretic who needs to be put into his place.  That's how I read this allegory, which might as well be a history of the early church.

The victories of Aslan are sprinkled throughout and past the fourth section, but are so drastically different from it, that I list them separately anyway.  Of course, the wrapping up of the story is left to Aslan, as always, but there's also a very strange scene, where he trapses through a town with a crowd of magical folks, and starts magically transforming it back into old Narnia.  Desks and walls turn into bushes and trees, very good people join his side, and very evil people metamorph into brute animals or plants.  The entire scene is simultaneously whimsical and gruesome; a rare feat in a book like this, and the reason for this is obvious; God (Aslan) divides people just like this.  To the just, he's a dream come true.  To the wicked, he's their worst nightmare.

The allegories are harder to read in Prince Caspian than they were in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, and I didn't really enjoy the book as much; the main reason being that it wasn't as exciting.  The White Witch was an everpresent and menacing figure (at least at first.)  Miraz is only in a couple of scenes, and even then, makes only a very small impression on the readers.  Somehow, I just don't think that Lewis enjoyed writing villains, though he could do so competently if he needed to.  I just don't feel he did that here.

Regardless, this book is fair material for Catholics to read, though, as I said, not as good as the first.  It's not all that exciting for the most part, but it has some fairly good things to say.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (Novel)

By C. S. Lewis

Catholic-ometer: 4.5 of 5

Enjoyability: 4.5 of 5

I've decided to take some time out from nonfiction works, to talk about a few fiction novels, and in the end, I thought I'd start with The Chronicles of Narnia, going one at a time through them, then providing an overview once I've finished them all.  I'll be proceeding through them, not in chronological order, but in the order they were originally published in, starting with one of the strongest of the series; The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

This is a fantasy book, about a land called Narnia, where all sorts of imaginary creatures live; mythological creatures, magical beasts, talking animals and so forth.  Four children enter it through a magical door in a wardrobe, and are soon drawn into a sort of power play between the supernatural lion Aslan, and the White Witch Jadis, who's been claiming the right to rule Narnia for many years; turning dissenters to stone.  By the numbers, it's clear that Aslan is more powerful, but the Witch is clever, and knows many tricks.  It's the type of story we've heard a number of times before.

In the past, I've said that Narnia is mainly more protestant than Catholic, but I may need to re-evaluate that, because the symbolism in this book is positively sacramental in nature at many points.  When mice nibble ropes off of Aslan as he lies on a stone table, there's a eucharistic image to be seen there, of eating the body of Christ on an altar (since Aslan is clearly Jesus in lion form.)  On top of this, the sacrament of confession is nearly mentioned.  After being rescued, Edmund spends time talking to Aslan in private, and afterwards, everyone is told that there's no need to "talk about what is past."  A discussion with the savior in a private place, and the forgiveness of sins?  What else could it be, but reconciliation?

I also think it's interesting that the oldest boy, and the one who's clearly the group's leader, is named Peter.  This aspect of the bible; the primacy of Saint Peter among the apostles, is only rarely admitted outside of the Catholic Church, and their king and queenship would seem to be an allegory for both heaven, and the church.

Apart from this, the book's storyline seems to be a clear allegory of the passion and death of Our Lord, with Aslan as Jesus, and the White Witch standing in for Satan.  Lucy and Susan are the holy women.  Still, some of the roles aren't as easy to fit in as all that.  Edmund seems to have aspects of both Saint Peter (betraying and being forgiven) and Judas (selling people out for a promised reward.)  However, neither comparison is really precise, which may be for the best.  It gives the story a flavor of originality, which it might not have had otherwise.

In particular, this book's main premise; of a "Deep Magic," which even Aslan must never break is perhaps the clearest allegory of all; representing something that most modern people want to ignore; Natural Law.  Too many people want to just wander off and do their own thing, and forget that even if the law allows them to do certain things, the natural law, and the final judge are still there, and they can still run afowl of them.  Even God's will for our salvation only has so much leeway when it comes to transgressions of the natural law, and that's one thing that Lewis gets absolutely right.

However, there's also one point near the very end, where I sort of winced as well.  It's a few pages into the last chapter, when everyone is seated on thrones.  Aslan uses the words "Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen."

Not only does this prove to be false later in the series, but the phrase itself sounds dangerously like "once saved, always saved," a ridiculous belief held by many protestant denominations, but not by the Catholic Church.  Still, it would have been worse if it had got beyond just being a simple phrase.

As a book of fiction, it's entertaining, but more if you know your myths.  It's good for children, and unlike most books in the series, has a strong, frightening villain, with a major role in the plot, which only makes the rest of the story that much more exciting.  It has some weak points with respect to pure storytelling style, but not much more so than most children's books.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe may be the best fictional storybook out there for Christian children.  It's fun, exciting and packed with the sentiments of the faith.  I highly reccomend it.

Unplanned

By Abby Johnson

Catholic-ometer: 4 of 5

Enjoyability: 4 of 5

This is one of those books that's been circulating through large sections of the Christian community, just like every book with even a smattering of a pro-life message, so I felt that I had to read it, even though I really prefer to review things that claim to be specifically Catholic.  This didn't, doesn't and isn't.

It's essentially the memoires of a former abortion clinic director out in Texas for Planned Parenthood, and her eventual choice to change sides, and as memoires go, it's really well-written.  It makes an effort to draw you into the story with the "sneak peek" format of the first chapter, and doesn't get bogged down with irrelivent side stories, or anything else that would make it hard to continue reading it.  All this, and it shows the journey away from the dark side by one woman, and just why she was there to begin with.

It also serves the important purpose of reminding us that on both sides of the fence, things are a lot more complicated than we usually think they are.

Still, that doesn't change the fact that one side of the fence is evil by its nature, and the other isn't.

I think that Mrs. Johnson wants us to see the good in people on both sides, and I appreciate the sentiment, but...  Well, she doesn't really dwell on the true good in people.  She mainly just talks about how they felt.  Feelings are good things to have, of course, but they're not good things to put first in our lives, and I know a lot of people (men and women) who made their worst mistakes when they did that.  At several points in the narrative, we hear Miss Johnson describing how she dismissed people's claims because of how she felt, or how she was afraid that other people would feel, and that's no kind of way to live your life, much less search for the truth about it.

The most important thing in life isn't being nice and not hurting anyone's feelings.  It's being noble and doing the right thing.  I think she realizes this now, but the book still has a few soft spots in it along these lines.

The grade I give this book is due to what I perceived as a very mild attempt to defend the view of "be nice > be good," a view which has, I think, done major damage to our society from both sides of the fence.  Still, it's not obtrusive, and is, as I said, very mild.  Besides, she makes the right choice in the end.

Only one sentence in this book really upset me.  It was later on, when she was talking about the protestant community that kicked her out for working at Planned Parenthood.  She said something like "I respect the rights of a church to decide who gets to attend, but there must be a better way to handle these things."

As a Catholic, these words bother me, because first off, I don't think that any degree of politeness would have blunted the blow of being forced out of a ecclesial community all that much for her, and secondly, because in the Catholic Church, we have something called Canon Law, which we have to obey, no matter how bad it makes us feel.  Yes, there are times when the situation that we're in makes us feel bad, and we may blame our feelings on the people who gave us the news, but we can only make things so easy without abandoning the Truth of God.

I pose this question to anyone out there; if you were charged by Canon Law 915 to prohibit a person from receiving Holy Communion because you knew that they were obstinately persisting in manifest grave sin, how would you break the news to them, and would you be able to find a more polite way than the one Miss Johnson was on the receiving end of?

I know it wasn't a Catholic Church she was kicked out of, but it could have been.  The lesson we need the learn isn't just that we're wrong about abortion, or birth control, or divorce.  The lesson we need to learn is that it's not always about how we feel.  Some things are bigger than our feelings.

I enjoyed myself somewhat, while reading this book, and I'm going to grade it rather well.  It may not fully answer all the questions it poses, but it does at least answer some of them, and that's more than you'll find in most books of memoires nowadays.