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You’re Never too Old (or Young) for a Good Fairy Story (C.S. Lewis)

One of the great things about owning a book is that you get to underline things that you want to remember. From time to time I go through my books just to remind myself of notes in the margins and things I’ve underlined. Here are a few things I underlined in my copy of the collection of some of Lewis’ essays on stories, relating to age-oriented writing and reading:

I never met the Wind in the Willows or the Bastable books till I was in my late twenties, and I do not think I have enjoyed them any the less on that account. i am almost inclined to set it up as a canon that a children’s story which is enjoyed only by children is a bad children’s story. The good ones last. A waltz which you can like only when you are waltzing is a bad waltz (C.S. Lewis, On Stories, p. 33).

Next,

Young things ought to want to grow. But to carry on into middle life or even into early manhood this concern about being adult is a mark of really arrested development. When I was ten, I read fairy tales in secret and would have been ashamed if I had been found doing so. Now that I am fifty I read them openly. When I became a man I put away childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up (Ibid, p. 34).

And,

…It certainly is my opinion that a book worth reading only in childhood is not worth reading even then (Ibid, p. 48).

What do a Poet and a Boat have in Common? They can both Carry you over the Sea

But as she spoke, the tiny face wore the smile of a great, grand woman. She was only having her own beautiful fun out of Diamond, and true woman’s fun never hurts.

But look there!” she resumed. “Do you see a boat with one man in it– a green and white boat?”

“Yes; quite well.”

“That’s a poet.”

“I thought you said it was a bo-at.” [think bo-it]

“Stupid pet! Don’t you know what a poet is?”

“Why, a thing to sail on the water in.”

“Well, perhaps you’re not so far wrong. Some poets do carry people over the sea. But I have no business to talk so much. The man is a poet.”

“The boat is a boat,” said Diamond.

“Can’t you spell?” asked North Wind.

“Not very well.”

“So I see. A poet is not a bo-at, as you call it. A poet is a man who is glad of something, and tries to make other people glad of it too.”

“Ah! now I know. Like the man in the sweety-shop.”

“Not very. But I see it is no use. I wasn’t sent to tell you, and so I can’t tell you. I must be off. Only first just look at the man.”

-from George MacDonald, At the Back of the North Wind, chapter 5.

Stories are…Catechisms for Your Impulses

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.

Recent Reading: The Reluctant Dragon, by Kenneth Grahame

This was another read-out-loud with my daughter. We recently read The Wind in the Willows and enjoyed it so much that I immediately wanted to find anything else by Kenneth Grahame I could. Thanks to the public library, I’m glad we did.

Like The Wind in the Willows, this book is hilarious. We had several laugh out loud moments. The thought of a pacifist, poetry-loving dragon is entertaining in itself. And Grahame does such a good job of making said dragon come alive that, though it would seem hard, considering my previous notions about dragons, it is quite easy to imagine. I recall Chesterton’s statement in Orthodoxy to the effect that we need to read of golden apples to remind us that apples are really green (or red, of course), etc. Perhaps we need a poetry-loving, pacifist dragon to remind us that dragons are really vile and heinous. But, wait…there are no dragons. I guess the point is moot. But I digress.

The staged fight between the dragon and St. George is tremendous and I will never forget it. I love the fact that the dragon gets caught up in the drama of the performance and begins to play his part almost too well. It is reminiscent of a pro wrestling match – a staged fight filled with drama and hooting and hollering. Why not? It makes for a good laugh. As for the pro wrestling analogy, if you don’t believe me, just watch this VIDEO. Come on, watch it. You won’t regret it. Maybe you will. But not if you share my sense of humor.

As for applications – I may be reaching a bit, but there is a pretty good picture of our world painted satircaly in this story (though you can’t press the analogy too far). Grahame certainly makes fun of the town’s propensity to lie, slander, and cajole in order to start a fight and find some entertainment. Maybe I’m not reaching after all – that’s modern America in general. That’s the Democrats and the Republicans (in no particular order). Side A (you decide who it represents) wants a fight and some entertainment. Why not wail against side B until someone goes after them – even if you have no real case to compel a real fight, why not just make up some ‘facts,’ or impose a false standard upon side B? Side B is a dragon after all! We don’t care about his poetry.

I guess this could apply in international affairs as well. Who would have thought The Reluctant Dragon could serve as a primer on politics and international policy? Perhaps it is a bit of a reach.

Recent Reading: The Day Boy and the Night Girl, by George MacDonald

The Day Boy and the Night Girl: The Romance of Photogen and Nycteris

This is the sixth story by George MacDonald my daughter and I have read together this year. And to think it all started with stumbling upon two used copies of the Curdie books in a good will. It was perhaps the best 50 cents I have ever spent.

SUMMARY
The Day Boy and the Night Girl is the story of a boy and a girl who are, for some reason or another, which MacDonald doesn’t disclose, groomed by a witch named Watho to only see day and night respectively. The boy, aptly named Photogen, is only allowed to be out and about during the day. He is trained to go to bed before the sun sets and is never allowed to see darkness. Conversely, the girl, also aptly named, Nycteris, is taught the routine of sleeping during the day so that she might never see light. He is the Day Boy, she is the Night Girl.

I don’t want to give the story away, that’s not my purpose, so let me say by way of summary that these two cross paths. How could a brave, valiant, handsome young man not cross paths with a dark haired damsel? How can something so trivial as day and night keep them apart? Or something so trivial as a witch?

IMPRESSIONS AND EFFECT
As for my impressions, which is what I like to state on the blog, Nycteris is quite the engaging character. Watho the witch is on a mad, raving quest for knowledge. She lavishes her wisdom upon Photogen, but the night girl is quite neglected. Yet despite this Nycteris comes to grip with her situation much more easily than Photogen, and certainly easier than Watho. It’s hard to say more without giving away the story.

There seems to be some subtle things going on in the story. I haven’t taken the time to look at other reviews and analysis, but I have a couple of hunches. I already implied that MacDonald seems to take a jab at those who think intelligence, really wisdom, comes simply from book learning. The wisdom of Nycteris comes in her ability to deal with her situation.

There also seems to be a bit of a dig at some sort of dualism. How can you think of day and night in a fairy story without dualism coming into play? Day and night are strictly separated. Though the day boy and the night girl live in the very same castle, yet they live in different worlds. It is only as they come together, trust one another, rely upon one another, help one another that they are able to deal with their common foe (though they deal with her by accident, incidentally). The Day Boy grows to love the night more than the day, for his lover is of the night. The Night Girl grows to love the day for the same reason. Dualism is overcome. Unity is achieved. Day and night not only coexist, but they fall in love, and a happy blending (and a happy ending) occur.

George MacDonald was asking, ‘Why can’t we all just get along?’ before it was cool – and a lot more imaginatively

The main thing I want to record however is this: I took the time a couple of days ago to post some quotes by C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton. Those quotes now come into play. Both pertained to fairy stories, though in far different contexts, and used the phrase, ‘mental health.’ Lewis’ quotation is apropos. He remarked of Edmund Spenser, poet, author of The Faerie Queen, that to read him ‘is to grow in mental health’ (see the link for the reference).

I don’t know if Lewis would have said that about MacDonald, but I certainly would. In fact I am grateful to have come across that Lewis quote for precisely this reason: it gives me a way to describe what my experience with George MacDonald (and others) has been like. I am not claiming that MacDonald is the greatest writer in history (he’s not) or the greatest author I’ve ever read (ditto). But his writing does something to my mood and imagination that I hardly get elsewhere (though I do get it elsewhere).

He has this effect on my six year old daughter as well. One of my favorite experiences in reading with her was her stick-horse riding simulation of the battle scene in The Princess and Curdie as we read that book. I will never forget that moment. She was lost in the story. This time she drew detailed, and very good, pictures of Photogen and Nycteris without any aid of pictures she had seen. It was purely out of her imagination. It’s the first time she had done this. And I think it is due to the forceful imaginativeness of MacDonald as a story teller.

MacDonald is a story teller par excellance. His words roll around in your imagination and do things. Good things.

It has surprised me that I have enjoyed MacDonald’s shorter fairy stories more than than the long ones. The Day Boy and the Night Girl falls among the former. It is quite short. But it is packed with imagination – as much imagination per square inch as anything I’ve encountered. It may not be the prototypical fairy story in some ways, but it has all the necessary elements. The witch’s character isn’t expounded enough, but he makes up for it in other areas – above all, he invites good reading.

I enjoyed this book more than the Curdie books (and I did enjoy them quite a bit), but it’s not quite up there with The Light Princess. But it’s close. I also enjoyed The Giant’s Heart tremendously, but I think this one might be a bit better. Who cares? The story is great, my mental health was temporarily improved (who knows how long that will last?), and who wouldn’t love a story that provokes him to use the phrase, ‘happy blending?’

APPLICATIONS
With MacDonald it’s also hard not to draw Christian applications from a book. Let me give just two. What can separate us from our true love? – Day or Night? A wicked witch?

  • Romans 8:38 For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, 39 nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.

And who can construct dualisms that can separate those knit together in love?

  •  Galatians 3:28 There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

Even those as different as night and day can have unity, as they mutually depend on one another, and take their eyes off themselves and put them on another.

C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton: Reading, Fairy Tales, and ‘Mental Health’

My previous post on the lack of footnotes in a certain biography was actually meant to lead to the following quotes. I want to record them here because I will be referring back to them in the near future (Edit: Future post is now a thing of the past. Read it HERE). In these quotes, C.S. Lewis and G.K. Chesterton share a common idea that certain types of stories reflect and/or encourage mental health:

In the first quote, C.S. Lewis is referring to the writing of Edmund Spenser (poet, author of The Faerie Queene):

His work is one, like a growing thing, a tree…with branches reaching to heaven and roots to hell…And between these two extremes comes all the multiplicity of human life…To read him is to grow in mental health (C.S. Lewis, The Allegory of Love, pp. 358-359).

In the second, G.K. Chesterton is challenging the statement of a Duchess of his day that ‘fairy-tales’ were ‘nonsense’ and the possibility of schools removing ‘fairy-tales’ from the curriculum:

It seems that the Duchess of Somerset has been going into some Board School somewhere where the children were taught fairy-tales, and then going into some Board of Guardians somewhere else and saying that fairy-tales were full of ‘nonsense,’ and that it would be much better to teach them about Julius Caesar ‘or other great men.’ Here we have a complete incapacity to distinguish between the normal and eternal and the abnormal or accidental. Boards of Guardians are accidental and abnormal; they shall be consumed ultimately in the wrath of God. Board Schools are abnormal; we shall find, I hope, at last some sounder kind of democratic education. Duchesses are abnormal; they are a peculiar product of the combination of the old aristocrat and the new woman. But fairy-tales are as normal as milk or bread. Civilisation changes; but fairy-tales never change. Some of the details of the fairy-tale may seem odd to us; but its spirit is the spirit of folk-lore; and folk-lore is, in strict translation, the German for common-sense. Fiction and modern fantasy and all that wild world in which the Duchess of Somerset lives can be described in one phrase. Their philosophy means ordinary things as seen by extraordinary people. The fairy-tale means extraordinary things as seen by ordinary people. The fairy-tale is full of mental health.

For all this fairy-tale business is simply the ancient and enduring system of human education. A seven-headed dragon is, perhaps, a very terrifying monster. But a child who has never heard about him is a much more terrifying monster than he is. The maddest griffin and chimera is not so wild a supposition as a school without fairy-tales….Fairy-tales are the oldest and gravest and most universal kind of human literature. It is the  School Board that is fantastic (The Illustrated London News, Dec 2, 1905).

Another related Chesterton quote where he (somewhat) explains what he means in the previous:

Fairy-tales do not give a child his first idea of bogy. What fairy-tales give the child is his first clear idea of the possible defeat of bogy. The baby has known the dragon intimately ever since he had an imagination. What the fairy-tale provides for him is a St. George to kill the dragon.

Exactly what the fairy-tale does is this: it accustoms him by a series of clear pictures to the idea that these limitless terrors have a limit, that these shapeless enemies have enemies, that these infinite enemies of man have enemies in the knights of God, that there is something in the universe more mystical than darkness, and stronger than strong fear...fairy-tales restored my mental health (from Tremendous Trifles).

Now I want to isolate the comparable statements:

To read him is to grow in mental health (Lewis).

and

The fairy-tale is full of mental health (Chesterton).

I do not have the time presently to analyze these statements, but only to agree with them. I cite them here because I will be referring to them in a future post on a book I recently read.