In a recent post of mine titled, Anthropomorphism, Unlikeness, and Reality in Fiction: Opening the Eyes of the Blind I write this:
I often reference C.S. Lewis’ statement to the effect that fantasy literature does not make children (and I would say adults as well, so long as they’re not prone to pure escapism) forget, or despise, the real world. He said basically that a child who reads of an enchanted forest does not thereby begin to hate real forests. Instead all forests take on some of this enchantment. For instance, I’ve never thought of forests in the same way since reading the Hobbit and the Lord of the Rings. I’ve never looked at peaceful walks the same since I read the Princess and the Goblin (I’m always ready to sing a goblin song should the proper situation arise). I’ve never looked at lions the same since reading the Chronicles of Narnia. I could go on, but I won’t.
For the past month or so I have been immersed in N.D. Wilson’s 100 Cupboards trilogy. I posted my initial thoughts on the first book HERE. I have a lot more to add to that original post at this point, but I won’t – the whole point of my ‘recent reading’ series is to give initial impressions and applications. The series certainly gets more weighty as you go on and some of the philosophical (though I’m sure Wilson would call them Christian, not philosophical) undercurrents are emerging more clearly. But, actually, that’s beside the point.
I came across a YouTube video (watch it HERE) of an interview with N.D. Wilson a while back. I have now watched it twice in its entirety. He’s a pretty sharp guy and it is taking time to process some of the things he said. One of those things hit home yesterday in a conversation with my family about Wilson’s book Dandelion Fire. I won’t get into that now, but I want to record the relevant quote from the interview (transcript courtesy of WORLD):
Q: You’ve said you learned more philosophy, maybe even theology, from C.S. Lewis and Tolkien than from anything you studied in college. Is that one reason you write fiction rather than theological tomes?
A. Christians have sometimes been suspicious of stories, because they really can influence you. If you read the Twilight novels once a month for a year, I think you’d be a different human afterward—and not a sparkly one. Stories are like catechisms, but they’re catechisms for your impulses, they’re catechisms with flesh on.
This is precisely the point I was making (and I was only echoing C.S. Lewis) in my own post quoted above. Stories are catechisms for the impulses, fixing the questions and answers as to how you will view the world in which you live, how you will respond. To use the Lewis idea I often paraphrase (see above), the fairy story, or supernatural story, or whatever you want to call it, asks us, ‘Can our world be enchanted?’ And, if it’s a good one, we’re left saying, ‘Perhaps. Just maybe. Yes, actually, I think it is after all.’ And thus we act accordingly, however that may be. Bad stories have an effect as well. But that’s a topic in itself. Let’s not go there presently.
I really just wanted to record that quote. It’s worth putting in the old computer, as they(or maybe just I) say. But let me also say, hats off to Mr. Wilson for coining (I assume) a phrase that I think will be quite helpful (he’s rather wordsmithy). Hats off to him for boggling my mind and forcing me to meditate hard and heavy on the concept of a word-made world (more on that to come, when I finish Dandelion Fire). I’m appreciating his work, consider checking him out if you haven’t.
