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Narnia and Hogwarts (or, why I like Eustace better than Harry)
Author mary-j-59
Title Narnia and Hogwarts
Genre Informal essay, g-rated, about 2,800 words
Summary Is Rowling really the C.S. Lewis of this age, as some have claimed? why or why not?
I was one of those readers who, early in Rowling's career, grew convinced that she might be a modern-day C.S. Lewis. After all, she was also an English fantasist; she was engaged in writing a series of seven books; and those books were full of Christian symbols. After Deathly Hallows, I think there is still a connection between Lewis's work and Rowling's, but it is not the one I expected to find.
In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis explains why, as a boy of ten or so, he was fascinated by popular school stories.
My reading was now mainly rubbish . . . I read twaddling school stories in the Captain. The pleasure here was, in the proper sense, mere wish fulfillment and fantasy; one enjoyed vicariously the triumphs of the hero. When the boy passes from nursery literature to school stories, he is going down, not up. Peter Rabbit pleases a disinterested imagination, for the child does not want to be a rabbit . . .; but the story of the unpromising boy who becomes captain of the First Eleven exists precisely to feed his real ambitions. (Surprised by Joy, Harcourt paperback edition, page 35.)
It's pretty clear which of these literary models Rowling's books most resemble. They are school stories, not fantasies in the mold of Peter Rabbit. I say this not because they are set at a boarding school, but because of the way the reader is asked to identify with Harry, and the way Harry develops – and does not develop.
One young man I know remarked, after Half Blood Prince, "We were supposed to identify with Harry because he was an outsider, but he's not an outsider any more. He's one of the jocks." Exactly. In fact, Harry becomes one of the jocks early in the very first book, when he is the only first-year allowed to join a quidditch team – against the rules – and is given a fine, expensive broom. Children who do feel like outsiders, as young Jack Lewis did at his cruel boarding school, are asked to identify with Harry and vicariously share his victories. And Harry, who may have seemed an "unpromising boy" initially, actually does become captain of the First Eleven – or the Wizarding equivalent.
But don't all children read school stories? Don't they all want to identify with the unlikely hero who triumphs against all odds? Of course they do! It's also true that children were – and are – just as passionate about the Narnia books as they are about the Potter stories. They want to go to Narnia and be heroes and heroines; they want to talk to animals and meet Aslan. I certainly did! If today's children want to go to Hogwarts, that's just as innocent and natural a wish as the desire to visit Narnia. It's also very natural for children to want to be special, and to long for adventure. But there are some very key differences between the two series, and the identification young readers will naturally have with the main characters in them. To begin with, the Potter books are not merely harmless wish-fulfillment fantasies. There is a pattern in these books that is both subtler and more pernicious than this. Children are asked to look down on ordinary human beings – because the only non-wizards we actually see in any depth are Harry's loathsome aunt, uncle and cousin. And every book begins with a reminder that Harry is not an ordinary boy. He is special, set apart, not like any of his family or neighbors. This is actually quite a contrast with Lewis, as we can see if we look in greater depth at some of his characters.
As I said, Rowling spends a good deal of time telling us how special Harry Potter is, even in the Wizarding World. She also remarked, in an interview, that her favorite character in the Narnia series is Eustace Clarence Scrubb, because Eustace is funny. Some readers have speculated that Draco Malfoy may be partially based on Eustace (who gets turned into a dragon.) But the characters I'd like to compare and contrast are Eustace and Harry.
Eustace is introduced in the third Chronicle to be written, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. When we first meet him, he is a somewhat precocious and obnoxious little boy. He is – like Dudley, Draco, or James in the Potter books – the only son of fond and indulgent parents; his parents, furthermore, are "advanced" and have no use for imagination. As a result of his upbringing, Eustace is self-absorbed, whiny, competitive, and selfish. He enjoys teasing and putting others down. On the positive side, he's intelligent, articulate, and has a scientific bent (he is "really rather good at botany").
Along with his cousins, Lucy and Edmund, Eustace finds himself plunged into a painting that has come alive, and ends up in the midst of a sea voyage. He scorns the ship and its company, whines constantly, and refuses discipline. Then, about midway through the book, when the Dawn Treader has survived a terrible storm, he escapes the ship's company to explore the island where they have landed – and to avoid work. Losing his way in the mountains, the young boy finds himself, literally, in the abode of dragons. Falling asleep in a dragon's lair and dreaming greedy dreams of treasure, he becomes a dragon himself. The physical transformation may be striking, but it doesn't matter half so much as the spiritual and social transformation Eustace undergoes. He had wanted to avoid work, but, once he's able to rejoin the company, he does all he can to help his shipmates. He had sneered at his cousins and at the ship, but now he sees that he has been nothing but a trouble and a nuisance all through the voyage. Eustace is deeply grateful for the kindness his shipmates (especially the mouse Reepicheep, whom he'd teased earlier) show him. It is only after he's undergone these social and spiritual changes that Aslan the lion comes to him and shows him how he can rid himself of his dragon's form.
There are several things to note about the chapter in which Eustace again becomes human. First, the first person he speaks to is Edmund – and, as all fans of the Narnia series know, the older boy is the person best able to relate to Eustace, since he, too, behaved very badly the first time he came to Narnia. Edmund says to Eustace, "You were only an ass, but I was a traitor." (The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, page 327) Because he himself has made serious mistakes, repented them, and become a better person as a result, Edmund is the person best able to understand Eustace and his experience. And the younger boy's experience – and his healing – are not complete until he has shared them with his cousin. Lewis wasn’t Catholic, but, from a Catholic pov, this is a wonderful metaphor for the Sacrament of Confession.
Second, when Eustace encounters Aslan, he feels a wholesome fear of the lion. In spite of that fear, and in spite of the possibility of pain, Eustace so longs to bathe in the well the lion shows him that he first scratches off his outer layer of skin, and then allows the lion to peel the dragon hide from him. In this scene, Eustace shows himself capable of two important virtues: obedience and courage. But there is more. As he describes his experience to Edmund, we hear Eustace express humility – not the false humility which is actually another form of pride, but true humility, which is strongly connected to gratitude and joy. He is overjoyed simply to be himself again, though he recognizes he is just an ordinary small boy. He says to Edmund, for example, "You'd think me simply phony if I told you how I felt about my own arms. I know they've no muscle and are pretty mouldy compared to Caspian's, but I was so glad to see them." (The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, page 327).
In fact, Eustace's adventures in Narnia bring him closer to his cousins, earn him a worthwhile friend (in the next book) and put him in a better relationship with the universe in general. He is no longer at the center, and no longer thinks only of himself. His parents, of course, notice the change in him, and, at the end of his adventure, his mother thinks, "he had become very commonplace and tiresome" (Complete Chronicles, page 370). But, in becoming "ordinary", as his mother complains, Eustace has become a better person. He is still Eustace – a bit too fond of showing off his knowledge and common sense at times of stress, and of telling people that they should be reasonable, but his scientific aptitude, humor, and even some of his more negative feelings are strengths, not weaknesses, now that Eustace is in the right relation with the world.
In saying that Eustace is healed, and put in right relationship to his world, by becoming (and accepting that he is) an ordinary boy, I don't mean to minimize this character in any way. We are all ordinary, and we are all unique. As Aslan says to the young king Caspian at his crowning, "You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve . . .and that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth." (Complete Chronicles, page 284). But this does point to a major difference between the children who visit Narnia and those who visit Hogwarts.
All the young heroes and heroines of the Narnia books are ordinary boys and girls. They may have gifts and talents, as we all do (Eustace for science, Edmund, as a teen, for rock climbing, Susan for swimming and archery, Jill for horsemanship, and so on). But they also have obvious faults – even brave, loyal, truthful Lucy, who succumbs to jealousy on one occasion. And they are not called to enter Narnia because they are special, or gifted, or talented. They are called because they are needed there, and they are needed, most of all, for their basic humanity. Any child reading these books knows that she would be welcome in Narnia, if she could get there, because human beings of all kinds are welcome there, and all that is required of them is faith and trust in Aslan.
In contrast, no ordinary child will ever be called to enter Hogwarts. No ordinary child will ever be needed there. In order to go to Hogwarts, you must be born a witch or wizard, and, as we see from Petunia's story, no amount of begging or will or desire will give you magic if you are not born with it. Magic is genetic, and sets you apart from the great mass of ordinary people. And Harry is set apart even in this small, gifted population. He is "the boy who lived", the only one, according to a prophecy, with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. If Eustace's journey is accepting that he is an ordinary boy, and repenting his failings and the harm he has done, Harry's seems to be accepting that he is special and set apart. The little boy cannot at first believe that he is a wizard; he has never heard of magic except as make-believe. But he acclimates to the Wizarding World rapidly, and does not want to return to his boring, humdrum and unwelcoming Muggle home. Of course, a major cause of Harry's rejection is that his aunt and uncle have abused him, and his cousin has bullied him. Why would he want to go back to such people? Why would he want to be with them? The magical world is also full of companionship, adventure and whimsy – at least, in the first couple of books. There are hints, very early on, that the magical world is not all it's cracked up to be; all the same, we are always pleased, as readers, to be boarding the Hogwarts express with Harry and leaving the everyday world behind.
How is this different from the Narnia books? Don't those stories, too, gain momentum once the children reach the magical land of Narnia? And aren't young readers eager, in both cases, to leave the everyday world behind/
That is certainly true. But, again, in the Narnia books, there is no suggestion that ordinary people are inferior and not to be regarded. On the contrary, Narnia is open to everybody, it would seem, provided Aslan calls you there. Also, Aslan makes it quite clear that, with only a few exceptions, human children are meant to live in the human world. And that world is not, in the end, shown as inferior. Calormene, England, Narnia and all other beloved countries are all united in Aslan's country at the end of the world.
Hogwarts and the Wizarding world generally are quite different. It is made absolutely clear that ordinary human beings are unwelcome in the Wizarding World. Those few who have to know about it (the parents of Wizarding children) do not become friends with Wizarding parents; we never see visits back and forth or any but the most casual contact. The Wizarding world is generally hidden from the ordinary world by a statute of secrecy; violating the statute is a crime which, in the case of a schoolboy or schoolgirl, may merit expulsion and confiscation of one's wand; and wizards mind-wipe ordinary human beings without a second thought.
Harry, as I said above, is understandably eager to leave the Muggle world behind. He quickly learns to accept that he is special. Where Eustace has to learn self-knowledge and self-control in order to be his best self, no discipline at all is required of Harry. He greatly resents the one teacher – Snape – who insists on discipline and humility, and for the most part succeeds without working. Cheating, or simply following his instincts, are what get him through. Though Harry starts out a rather likable little boy, he becomes less so as the books proceed. And, over and over, we hear how special he is, how extraordinarily loving, how gifted, how unique – even in the Wizarding world. By the climax of the seventh book, his apparent death is cause for despair, since the entire Wizarding world is expecting this not-quite-eighteen year old boy to save them from a monster.
As I said, Harry is a likeable child in the first couple of books. And he shows gleams of self-knowledge and discipline in the third and fifth books, particularly. But, in the last two, this apparent development is completely dropped. Harry never shows a wholesome fear or awe that I can remember. He never shows joyous gratitude – in fact, in the last couple of books, I cannot remember him showing any gratitude at all. He certainly never apologizes for any harm he has caused, and never truly offers forgiveness to any enemy. He becomes, in my opinion at least, a rather unpleasant young man. And yet he is celebrated as the savior of the Wizarding World, and we are clearly meant to see him as a hero.
If a young reader identifies with Harry or his friends, they will be buying into a mythos very like the school stories C. S. Lewis found twaddling. They will see themselves in children who are special, wiser and better and more capable than the adults around them and able to do amazing things. This, is natural enough, but, carried too far, it can be pernicious. Children who know they are not special can become disheartened and disenchanted. After all, they know that they are Muggles and will never visit Hogwarts. In contrast, even if they never get to go to Narnia, children are told that they can and will meet Aslan, for he exists in the ordinary world, too. (Complete Chronicles, page 370). And, if they love Aslan and do good, all sons and daughters of Adam and Eve will be welcome in Aslan's country. *
Sources:
The Harry Potter Books by J.K. Rowling
The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis, Harpercollins, 1998.
Surprised By Joy, by C. S. Lewis, Harcourt Paperback edition.
• I think the very touching conversation between Aslan, Edmund and Lucy – who have just been told they are too old to visit Narnia again – actually is meant to apply, also, to young readers and hint that Aslan does exist in our world. But, even if you're an atheist or don't accept Lewis's brand of Christianity, one thing is quite clear. In the world of the books themselves, all good people from all countries can and will meet Aslan. In the world of the Potter books, the vast majority of people will never know anything about magic and will never visit Hogwarts.
Mary Johnson, 2009
Title Narnia and Hogwarts
Genre Informal essay, g-rated, about 2,800 words
Summary Is Rowling really the C.S. Lewis of this age, as some have claimed? why or why not?
I was one of those readers who, early in Rowling's career, grew convinced that she might be a modern-day C.S. Lewis. After all, she was also an English fantasist; she was engaged in writing a series of seven books; and those books were full of Christian symbols. After Deathly Hallows, I think there is still a connection between Lewis's work and Rowling's, but it is not the one I expected to find.
In his autobiography, Surprised by Joy, C.S. Lewis explains why, as a boy of ten or so, he was fascinated by popular school stories.
My reading was now mainly rubbish . . . I read twaddling school stories in the Captain. The pleasure here was, in the proper sense, mere wish fulfillment and fantasy; one enjoyed vicariously the triumphs of the hero. When the boy passes from nursery literature to school stories, he is going down, not up. Peter Rabbit pleases a disinterested imagination, for the child does not want to be a rabbit . . .; but the story of the unpromising boy who becomes captain of the First Eleven exists precisely to feed his real ambitions. (Surprised by Joy, Harcourt paperback edition, page 35.)
It's pretty clear which of these literary models Rowling's books most resemble. They are school stories, not fantasies in the mold of Peter Rabbit. I say this not because they are set at a boarding school, but because of the way the reader is asked to identify with Harry, and the way Harry develops – and does not develop.
One young man I know remarked, after Half Blood Prince, "We were supposed to identify with Harry because he was an outsider, but he's not an outsider any more. He's one of the jocks." Exactly. In fact, Harry becomes one of the jocks early in the very first book, when he is the only first-year allowed to join a quidditch team – against the rules – and is given a fine, expensive broom. Children who do feel like outsiders, as young Jack Lewis did at his cruel boarding school, are asked to identify with Harry and vicariously share his victories. And Harry, who may have seemed an "unpromising boy" initially, actually does become captain of the First Eleven – or the Wizarding equivalent.
But don't all children read school stories? Don't they all want to identify with the unlikely hero who triumphs against all odds? Of course they do! It's also true that children were – and are – just as passionate about the Narnia books as they are about the Potter stories. They want to go to Narnia and be heroes and heroines; they want to talk to animals and meet Aslan. I certainly did! If today's children want to go to Hogwarts, that's just as innocent and natural a wish as the desire to visit Narnia. It's also very natural for children to want to be special, and to long for adventure. But there are some very key differences between the two series, and the identification young readers will naturally have with the main characters in them. To begin with, the Potter books are not merely harmless wish-fulfillment fantasies. There is a pattern in these books that is both subtler and more pernicious than this. Children are asked to look down on ordinary human beings – because the only non-wizards we actually see in any depth are Harry's loathsome aunt, uncle and cousin. And every book begins with a reminder that Harry is not an ordinary boy. He is special, set apart, not like any of his family or neighbors. This is actually quite a contrast with Lewis, as we can see if we look in greater depth at some of his characters.
As I said, Rowling spends a good deal of time telling us how special Harry Potter is, even in the Wizarding World. She also remarked, in an interview, that her favorite character in the Narnia series is Eustace Clarence Scrubb, because Eustace is funny. Some readers have speculated that Draco Malfoy may be partially based on Eustace (who gets turned into a dragon.) But the characters I'd like to compare and contrast are Eustace and Harry.
Eustace is introduced in the third Chronicle to be written, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. When we first meet him, he is a somewhat precocious and obnoxious little boy. He is – like Dudley, Draco, or James in the Potter books – the only son of fond and indulgent parents; his parents, furthermore, are "advanced" and have no use for imagination. As a result of his upbringing, Eustace is self-absorbed, whiny, competitive, and selfish. He enjoys teasing and putting others down. On the positive side, he's intelligent, articulate, and has a scientific bent (he is "really rather good at botany").
Along with his cousins, Lucy and Edmund, Eustace finds himself plunged into a painting that has come alive, and ends up in the midst of a sea voyage. He scorns the ship and its company, whines constantly, and refuses discipline. Then, about midway through the book, when the Dawn Treader has survived a terrible storm, he escapes the ship's company to explore the island where they have landed – and to avoid work. Losing his way in the mountains, the young boy finds himself, literally, in the abode of dragons. Falling asleep in a dragon's lair and dreaming greedy dreams of treasure, he becomes a dragon himself. The physical transformation may be striking, but it doesn't matter half so much as the spiritual and social transformation Eustace undergoes. He had wanted to avoid work, but, once he's able to rejoin the company, he does all he can to help his shipmates. He had sneered at his cousins and at the ship, but now he sees that he has been nothing but a trouble and a nuisance all through the voyage. Eustace is deeply grateful for the kindness his shipmates (especially the mouse Reepicheep, whom he'd teased earlier) show him. It is only after he's undergone these social and spiritual changes that Aslan the lion comes to him and shows him how he can rid himself of his dragon's form.
There are several things to note about the chapter in which Eustace again becomes human. First, the first person he speaks to is Edmund – and, as all fans of the Narnia series know, the older boy is the person best able to relate to Eustace, since he, too, behaved very badly the first time he came to Narnia. Edmund says to Eustace, "You were only an ass, but I was a traitor." (The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, page 327) Because he himself has made serious mistakes, repented them, and become a better person as a result, Edmund is the person best able to understand Eustace and his experience. And the younger boy's experience – and his healing – are not complete until he has shared them with his cousin. Lewis wasn’t Catholic, but, from a Catholic pov, this is a wonderful metaphor for the Sacrament of Confession.
Second, when Eustace encounters Aslan, he feels a wholesome fear of the lion. In spite of that fear, and in spite of the possibility of pain, Eustace so longs to bathe in the well the lion shows him that he first scratches off his outer layer of skin, and then allows the lion to peel the dragon hide from him. In this scene, Eustace shows himself capable of two important virtues: obedience and courage. But there is more. As he describes his experience to Edmund, we hear Eustace express humility – not the false humility which is actually another form of pride, but true humility, which is strongly connected to gratitude and joy. He is overjoyed simply to be himself again, though he recognizes he is just an ordinary small boy. He says to Edmund, for example, "You'd think me simply phony if I told you how I felt about my own arms. I know they've no muscle and are pretty mouldy compared to Caspian's, but I was so glad to see them." (The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, page 327).
In fact, Eustace's adventures in Narnia bring him closer to his cousins, earn him a worthwhile friend (in the next book) and put him in a better relationship with the universe in general. He is no longer at the center, and no longer thinks only of himself. His parents, of course, notice the change in him, and, at the end of his adventure, his mother thinks, "he had become very commonplace and tiresome" (Complete Chronicles, page 370). But, in becoming "ordinary", as his mother complains, Eustace has become a better person. He is still Eustace – a bit too fond of showing off his knowledge and common sense at times of stress, and of telling people that they should be reasonable, but his scientific aptitude, humor, and even some of his more negative feelings are strengths, not weaknesses, now that Eustace is in the right relation with the world.
In saying that Eustace is healed, and put in right relationship to his world, by becoming (and accepting that he is) an ordinary boy, I don't mean to minimize this character in any way. We are all ordinary, and we are all unique. As Aslan says to the young king Caspian at his crowning, "You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve . . .and that is both honor enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor on earth." (Complete Chronicles, page 284). But this does point to a major difference between the children who visit Narnia and those who visit Hogwarts.
All the young heroes and heroines of the Narnia books are ordinary boys and girls. They may have gifts and talents, as we all do (Eustace for science, Edmund, as a teen, for rock climbing, Susan for swimming and archery, Jill for horsemanship, and so on). But they also have obvious faults – even brave, loyal, truthful Lucy, who succumbs to jealousy on one occasion. And they are not called to enter Narnia because they are special, or gifted, or talented. They are called because they are needed there, and they are needed, most of all, for their basic humanity. Any child reading these books knows that she would be welcome in Narnia, if she could get there, because human beings of all kinds are welcome there, and all that is required of them is faith and trust in Aslan.
In contrast, no ordinary child will ever be called to enter Hogwarts. No ordinary child will ever be needed there. In order to go to Hogwarts, you must be born a witch or wizard, and, as we see from Petunia's story, no amount of begging or will or desire will give you magic if you are not born with it. Magic is genetic, and sets you apart from the great mass of ordinary people. And Harry is set apart even in this small, gifted population. He is "the boy who lived", the only one, according to a prophecy, with the power to defeat the Dark Lord. If Eustace's journey is accepting that he is an ordinary boy, and repenting his failings and the harm he has done, Harry's seems to be accepting that he is special and set apart. The little boy cannot at first believe that he is a wizard; he has never heard of magic except as make-believe. But he acclimates to the Wizarding World rapidly, and does not want to return to his boring, humdrum and unwelcoming Muggle home. Of course, a major cause of Harry's rejection is that his aunt and uncle have abused him, and his cousin has bullied him. Why would he want to go back to such people? Why would he want to be with them? The magical world is also full of companionship, adventure and whimsy – at least, in the first couple of books. There are hints, very early on, that the magical world is not all it's cracked up to be; all the same, we are always pleased, as readers, to be boarding the Hogwarts express with Harry and leaving the everyday world behind.
How is this different from the Narnia books? Don't those stories, too, gain momentum once the children reach the magical land of Narnia? And aren't young readers eager, in both cases, to leave the everyday world behind/
That is certainly true. But, again, in the Narnia books, there is no suggestion that ordinary people are inferior and not to be regarded. On the contrary, Narnia is open to everybody, it would seem, provided Aslan calls you there. Also, Aslan makes it quite clear that, with only a few exceptions, human children are meant to live in the human world. And that world is not, in the end, shown as inferior. Calormene, England, Narnia and all other beloved countries are all united in Aslan's country at the end of the world.
Hogwarts and the Wizarding world generally are quite different. It is made absolutely clear that ordinary human beings are unwelcome in the Wizarding World. Those few who have to know about it (the parents of Wizarding children) do not become friends with Wizarding parents; we never see visits back and forth or any but the most casual contact. The Wizarding world is generally hidden from the ordinary world by a statute of secrecy; violating the statute is a crime which, in the case of a schoolboy or schoolgirl, may merit expulsion and confiscation of one's wand; and wizards mind-wipe ordinary human beings without a second thought.
Harry, as I said above, is understandably eager to leave the Muggle world behind. He quickly learns to accept that he is special. Where Eustace has to learn self-knowledge and self-control in order to be his best self, no discipline at all is required of Harry. He greatly resents the one teacher – Snape – who insists on discipline and humility, and for the most part succeeds without working. Cheating, or simply following his instincts, are what get him through. Though Harry starts out a rather likable little boy, he becomes less so as the books proceed. And, over and over, we hear how special he is, how extraordinarily loving, how gifted, how unique – even in the Wizarding world. By the climax of the seventh book, his apparent death is cause for despair, since the entire Wizarding world is expecting this not-quite-eighteen year old boy to save them from a monster.
As I said, Harry is a likeable child in the first couple of books. And he shows gleams of self-knowledge and discipline in the third and fifth books, particularly. But, in the last two, this apparent development is completely dropped. Harry never shows a wholesome fear or awe that I can remember. He never shows joyous gratitude – in fact, in the last couple of books, I cannot remember him showing any gratitude at all. He certainly never apologizes for any harm he has caused, and never truly offers forgiveness to any enemy. He becomes, in my opinion at least, a rather unpleasant young man. And yet he is celebrated as the savior of the Wizarding World, and we are clearly meant to see him as a hero.
If a young reader identifies with Harry or his friends, they will be buying into a mythos very like the school stories C. S. Lewis found twaddling. They will see themselves in children who are special, wiser and better and more capable than the adults around them and able to do amazing things. This, is natural enough, but, carried too far, it can be pernicious. Children who know they are not special can become disheartened and disenchanted. After all, they know that they are Muggles and will never visit Hogwarts. In contrast, even if they never get to go to Narnia, children are told that they can and will meet Aslan, for he exists in the ordinary world, too. (Complete Chronicles, page 370). And, if they love Aslan and do good, all sons and daughters of Adam and Eve will be welcome in Aslan's country. *
Sources:
The Harry Potter Books by J.K. Rowling
The Complete Chronicles of Narnia, by C.S. Lewis, Harpercollins, 1998.
Surprised By Joy, by C. S. Lewis, Harcourt Paperback edition.
• I think the very touching conversation between Aslan, Edmund and Lucy – who have just been told they are too old to visit Narnia again – actually is meant to apply, also, to young readers and hint that Aslan does exist in our world. But, even if you're an atheist or don't accept Lewis's brand of Christianity, one thing is quite clear. In the world of the books themselves, all good people from all countries can and will meet Aslan. In the world of the Potter books, the vast majority of people will never know anything about magic and will never visit Hogwarts.
Mary Johnson, 2009
no subject
I think, as regards intent and clarity and simply quality of writing, Lewis is the better writer. He knows what he wants to say and how he wants to say it. I don't necessarily prefer him though. He did really beat the reader over the head with Christian allegory. And what was all that stuff with Susan about at the end? Banned from Narnia because she had started to wear lipstick? I take your point that Lewis meant that all readers should feel they could get to Narnia, but the bit of excluding that goes on with Susan left a nasty taste in my mouth.
As you say, the Hogwarts world is not exactly one attainable for everyone. Only a very small percentage of children are magic. Rowling only offers up Petunia as an example of the muggle who wanted so badly to be magical, and she's not exactly sympathetic. Apart from that, she's portrayed as 'less' than Lily in every way - less pretty, less clever, less friendly.
I'm not sure how useful the idea of Harry going from outsider to 'jock' is, simply because those cliques not a particularly British notion. Rowling's books read much more like (to me) Enid Blyton's boarding school stuff (Malory Towers and St Clare's). I see what you mean, though, in that Harry very quickly becomes perfect and popular. Maybe the average reader is simply expected to identify with lesser mortals like Neville :D
Good points!
As to the heavy-handed Christian references, I know a young woman, a nonbeliever, who loved the books and never picked up on that at all. I know Jewish children who love the books. So, again, I do see what you mean, but Lewis's allegory doesn't disturb everyone.
Anyway, my main point - I do think Eustace is a nicer and better boy than Harry. Edmund is a lot nicer and better!
Re: Good points!
Re: Good points!
The weird thing is that, to me, Pullman - who also found Lewis's aversion to lipstick and nylons offensive - comes across to me as far more misogynistic. His women and girls can't think, and that, to me, is a lot more problematic.
Even so, I do think Lewis comes across as too harsh here. TLB is my least favorite of the books for this reason.
Re: Good points!
I think that Lewis had written himself into something of a corner in that he had explored any number of allegorically-illustrated avenues of theology, and felt that he really needed to finish off the set with an illustration of the Last Judgement. Only he couldn't really come up with a convincing reason for how the world of Narnia would be *brought* to a last Judgement. It certainly wouldn't be brought so because in the absence of Aslan making frequent personal visits, an ape had perpetrated a fraud. Nor does the add-on -- at the last minute, of claiming that the ape had been long in the pay of Calormen who hoped to take over the country for the glory of *their* god, make the underlying justification any more convincing. (In fact it makes the justification even more likely to shimmy in the wind. Secret agents do not live in isolation for years as Shift did.)
The problem with Susan is a part of the same breakdown in communication. Susan is no longer welcome in Narnia because she has turned *away* from Narnia. It doesn't matter what she has turned *to*. Any other preocupation would be equally unworthy. And she can turn back any time she pleases, and will be welcome again. Lipstick, nylons and invitations are as false a reason for her rejection as Shift claiming to be human and decking Puzzle out in a lionskin is for unmaking the whole world.
Indeed, you might as well skip the whole first 4/5 of the book and start at the point that Aslan sits himself at the open stable door. Because it's only from that point on that the story has anything to say.
(Rowling, by contrast, ran out of anything to say by the middle of GoF.)
Re: Good points!
OTOH, if you're saying that Lewis seems to be trying to give reasons for the unreasonable and cruel end of Narnia, and that it doesn't work - yes. I agree. I also agree that TLB doesn't get really good until they are all through the stable door.
But my essay wasn't actually about TLB. It was a compare and contrast between Eustace Scrubb and Harry Potter, mostly. And I still like Eustace better than Harry.
Thanks for your comments.
Re: Good points!
I'm not altogether sure that C.S. Lewis is the proper comparison to Rowling. Yes there is a perfunctory similarity, and even upon more thoughtful analysis there are still some points of comparison, but, really, 'Little Lord Fauntleroy' (a good story marred by excessive favoritism) has as many. Indeed, Rowling's attitude toward Harry Potter is rather reminiscent of Burnett's toward Cedric Errol. A doting mother's rhapsody of her beloved child. Burnett did a rather better job of keeping the reader's sympathy through the whole production, but then she didn't try to stretch the story over 7 increasingly bloated volumes, either. And Fauntleroy was at least based upon a real child -- however unrecognizable once she finished running him through the fiction filter.
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Re-reading the Narnia books as an adult, I am struck by how little extraneous information we are given about the children. We are told quite a bit about Eustace at the beginning of 'The Voyage of the Dawn Treader', mostly in order to establish him as a rather unpleasant know-it-all (before he changes for the better), but we learn very little about the others: Jill, in 'The Silver Chair' is simply introduced in the words 'It was a dull autumn day and Jill Pole was crying behind the gym'. We hear something about Jill's school and why she is crying, but very little about her: we are not told whether she prefers maths or English, whether she is sporty or academic, what sort of family she has, or even what she looks like. And the same goes for the others, most of the time. The only children whose physical appearance is described are Shasta and Aravis, in 'The Horse and His Boy' - and this is mostly because Shasta's un-Calormene appearance is a vital clue to his real identity. Most of what we learn is in the context of the stories, and we tend to learn only what is necessary. This does (for me) give the characters a slightly 'flat' quality, but also focusses attention on what Lewis wants us to look at, their moral dilemmas and development. And, because these dilemmas were sympathetically described, it did make them easier for me (as a child) to identify with: I could sympathise with Jill or Lucy better because I hadn't been told in advance that Jill and Lucy were good at all the things I was bad at, and despised everything I most liked. The children in the Harry Potter books, on the other hand, have much more sharply-defined characters - which can make them either attractive or off-putting. They can also be rather stereotypical, but that's another matter . . .
My other point is that C.S. Lewis was a lecturer in English, and therefore had to think professionally about what works in a book and why: and that must have been a help to him when it came to writing his own. As Hope says above, he knows what he wants to say, and how he wants to say it. He also had a group of friends with whom he discussed fantasy literature: I don't know to what extent he read these books to them, but he must at least have discussed the general principles of what he was doing. Whereas I think that J.K. Rowling's fatal weakness is that she seems to be very secretive when writing, and to write very quickly, without revising or re-reading - and this is made worse by the pressure under which the last books were produced. Leaving aside the inconsistencies, a gap tends to open up between the character she thinks she is describing and the one the reader sees. Harry in particular does read rather like a fanfic 'Mary-Sue' in places: she clearly finds him attractive and admirable, and she hasn't had to think hard enough about how to make him attractive to other people. If she had only discussed the books with her husband or sister, or if Bloomsbury had been less frightened of leaks and less hopelessly in awe of her, these would have been much better novels.
Sorry, this is a small essay in a comment. I didn't mean it to be like that. It's late, it's Friday, I'm very tired, and I'm waffling dreadfully . . .
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She is small and slight.
She loves horses, is a girl guide, and is quick and agile.
She isn't afraid of heights, but hates confined spaces.
Now, Hermione - I don't honestly know what she's scared of. I don't really know what her height is, or her build, and I don't know anything at all about her extracurricular activities - except that she knits, rather badly.
You see what I mean? I do see what you mean, too; of course I do! As to Lewis's knowledge of literature and what went into making a story - I was absolutely blown away by Planet Narnia: the seven Heavens in the imagination of C.S. Lewis. Unlike Professor Granger's alchemical analysis of the Potter books, this theory actually makes sense, and really does show hidden depths in the works. It's pretty amazing. To give one example, Caspian is the book of Mars - both Mars, god of battle and Mars Sylvanus, and that is why woods and trees play such a big role in the story. It's fascinating.
As for Rowling's need to look at her books more objectively and rewrite - no arguments there. (Mary, who is again getting apprehensive about her own work!)
The weird thing is, there are other writers who work this way - first drafts in longhand, then off to the typist. Iris Murdoch was one, and I adore Under the Net. It's all very mysterious, apparently, this writing process! But I do think an author has an obligation to look hard at his/her work to see if it actually tells the story he/she meant to tell. And I'm not sure Rowling did that. I think Lewis did.
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What comparitively few people seem to remember to point out is that when he reached the point of writing children's stories, he deliberately chose to write in a style that was already a generation or two out of date. Really, the style of his storytelling is such as recalls both what a children's story was in his own childhood, but would also reasure parents of modern children that what they'd got was something "solid".
The style wasn't going to be any bar to the children. Children read for story, rather than style (which is what is wrong with Last Battle. The story itself is bogus). But Lewis's work was long enough ago that we forget that he was not writing in an era of doorstops. Not just in children's fiction -- it seems to be Rowling who finally managed to nudge publishers into producing doorstop novels for the under 12 set. But even adult novels were rarely beyond the 400 page range when Lewis was writing. Doorstops seem to be a more recent development.
When a novel was packaged to consist of 250-400 pages it encouraged anyone who wanted to sell their work to focus on the central story. But that doesn't touch upon issues of style. Lewis was writing neo-Victorian, didactic children's stories. "Didactic" is not a dirty word, nor is it a function to be abhorred. But it does need a light touch, and writers have known this since before Victoria was crowned. Overdo it and children simply will not read it.
But instruction has been an unstated purpose of fiction (not just children's fiction) for an long time now, and most people agree that the best instruction is usually enjoyable. But there is a fundamental lack of concensus on how such instruction is to be delivered, and there are any number of ways to do it. Lewis adopted the direct format of the narrator instructing the reader, from the standpoint of an assumption that the narrator, being older, is better informed than the reader. This was the default setting all through the 19th century. Comparisons with such popular novels as Mrs Molesworth's 'The Cuckoo Clock' or, even better, 'The Carved Lions' are particulary sound here. Let alone anything by E. Nesbit.
Rowling also claims to have been an avid reader as a child, but I tend to doubt that much of her reading was fantasy. Indeed, from most of her interview statements (leaving aside the possibility that her interview statements may have been deliberately coached by her publicists) she seems be very unclear on just what fantasy is. And she certainly appears to have little respect for it as a genre.
Nevertheless, she appears to have thought that that the story she wanted to tell would be best presented in a fantasy setting, and she appears to have strenuously attempted to resist presenting any coherent form of instruction in the telling of it. This may have been deliberate, but the end result appears to be a failed experiment. It is not possible to tell a story without instructing the reader in *some* manner, otherwise you come across as having nothing to say. And, at the end of the day, Rowling comes across as having led us all up the garden path, not in a clever series of faux mysteries as she did the first half of the series, but by stringing together a impressionist tangle of visual clichés which ultimately contradict themselves, lead nowhere or tell us nothing.
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Part 1
Okay yes, that is very problematic. The distinctions that Rowling draws between the wizarding world and the muggle one definitely point to a bias against those that are not marked out as special by the author. In HP there is an impression of looking down on the muggles, and the removal of agency from those in the non-favored class.
However, one of the things that I think that you're not incorporating into this essay is that Lewis *does the exact same thing*. One of the things that struck me when I reread Prince Caspian and watched the movie again was that the talking animals and other Narnians apparently need a Son of Adam/Daughter of Eve to rule over them. NEED. Apparently there is some sort of special cache that comes with being human that is different from that which comes with being a person. Because the Narnians are clearly people, but in Lewis' eyes, they should not be allowed to govern themselves, they need someone else to do it for them. In TLTWTW, this distinction is enough to make the Pensieves Kings and Queens, because they are the first humans to arrive there. While you can argue that they aren't marked as special or different in our own world, in Narnia? They are. That humanity sets them apart, sets them above. In PC this humanity also seems to be one of the main reasons that Caspian is made king. Not for his experience (because if you'll remember in the book, he's a fairly young boy) or because the Narnians seem to think that he is the best one to represent their interests, but because he's a human. We see this in the founding of Narnia too, where the cabby and his wife are asked to become King and Queen because they are human. In Narnia humanity is a trump card.
It's true that in the Narnian books, not all humans are good. However, in HP, neither are all wizards. It doesn't prevent either from being part of a class that the author is privileging.
Part 2
Going back and rereading as an adult, I find the Narnia books EXTREMELY problematic.
They are called because they are needed there, and they are needed, most of all, for their basic humanity. Any child reading these books knows that she would be welcome in Narnia, if she could get there, because human beings of all kinds are welcome there, and all that is required of them is faith and trust in Aslan.
While you find this fact to be comforting, I really really don't. Humanity in Narnia seems to be a slightly different thing than personhood, and I find that troubling, that biological distinctions should be drawn as to who is worthy and who isn't. And I don't believe that any child would be welcome in Narnia because faith and trust in Aslan is *required*. And you don't get in without that. Even Eustace, who comes in without it, isn't truly welcome in Narnia until he gains it. Belief in Aslan is the ultimate point of Narnia. We as readers can see it in Susan's fate, and I certainly don't feel welcome there. While Harry Potter is problematic, I wouldn't say that the Chronicles of Narnia are any less so. Maybe in different ways, but definitely still troubling.
Re: Part 2
You see, what I'm afraid of is (possibly) igniting something like faithfail. When you tell me that Lewis makes you feel excluded, it does no good at all for me to say, "Oh, but he didn't mean that!" I truly don't believe he did mean that, but that in no way invalidates your feelings. To that extent, Lewis actually has excluded you, and that is a real weakness in his work. But here is my "but".
I feel excluded and insulted by Philip Pullman - and by Rowling, for that matter. There are lots of authors, and lots of books, that sneer at my beliefs. But my beliefs are a choice. They represent (I hope) my true self; they are dear to me, but they are not like being born with brown skin or blue eyes or freckles or tightly curling hair. So I can also choose to take what I find good in those authors and leave the rest, if you see what I mean? Though I'm not sure that's helpful. What I mean is, if you make anything that is truly yours, it will express your principles. And, in Gaudy Night, Lord Peter says, "The first thing a principle does is to kill someone." Which quote, needless to say, always bothered me. It needs a lot of thinking about. But what it comes down to is that, if you invent a secondary world that is coherent and reflects who you really are, someone else will be troubled or offended by that work. Because that work will reflect your principles - whatever they are. And principles do exclude. So we have Pullman, and you, deeply offended by Lewis, for reasons I can understand. We have me and many other readers offended by J.K. Rowling. (Though I do wish her work had at least been coherent!) We have others censoring Madeleine L'Engle and Alexander Key (both of whom I love!), for being Un-Christian. And the worst responses aren't yours or mine, but those of the censorers and book burners, obviously.
Which is a lot of rambling. To get back to your actual argument, I don't agree that humanity and personhood are different things in Lewis. It's also not canon that Narnia post- Last Battle is the ultimate Paradise. Paradise - Aslan's country - is the ultimate paradise, and, as I said, it incorporates Narnia and Archenland and Calormene and England, too. Once they reach Aslan's country, the children leave Narnia behind. If, eventually, Susan does go to paradise, she will find Narnia again, true, but she will find more than Narnia. As I said, I don't really like the Susan thing, either. But I don't think it's quite as dire as you imply.
Otherwise, as to the acceptance of Aslan being necessary - yes. It is. And I can see why that bothers you. In this regard, I guess you could say that you simply reject the story that Lewis was telling, just as I reject the story Rowling was telling after DH. There's really no more to be said, is there? You have every right to reject a story that offends you, and there is nothing I can say that will make you like it any better, because you have your own good reasons for feeling as you do.
Speaking of offense, I do truly hope I have given none. As I said, I don't really accept all of your premises. I don't see, for example, that biological distinctions are drawn between who is worthy and who is not. But I do accept your main point - that, as an adult, you read the Narnia books as rather heavy-handed Christian allegory, and that this is necessarily problematic for a non-Christian. I agree. You're right as far as that goes, and there is nothing more to be said.
Re: Part 1
Even so, there is a huge, quantum, difference between the way the talking beasts are treated in Narnia and the way the Muggles are in Hogwarts. Except for this question of kingship, (which is twice presented as a burden, and an obligation to serve the creatures "ruled" - though I can absolutely see why a reader would instead see it as a privilege) humans and talking and mythical creatures are equals. Animals are courtiers, friends, heroes, adventurers, warriors - they do everything the humans do, together with the humans. If humans see and treat them as inferiors, they are bad humans. In contrast, every single member of the wizarding world treats Muggles as inferior - because they are. Some are patronizing and protective; others are callous and cruel, but all of them are racist.
So I do think my point stands, at least in this regard. As Daniel Hemmens says in Ferretbrain, Lewis is presenting a coherent worldview, whether you agree with it or not. I don't, entirely (though I do mostly) and you don't at all. But the coherence is there. It's not to be found in Rowling, IMHO.
Will get to your second point later. This was a really good one, and I always hated that whole section with Shift and poor Puzzle. There are many reasons why I object to it - I never really articulated your point that it's specieist, though it certainly is - but the major one is that it's cruel and, as Jodel says, seems unnecessary. We're being asked to believe that the creatures have brought their doom on themselves by accepting a false ruler, and I just don't buy that.
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I agree, Lewis (regardless of one's attitude towards his theology) did a much better job at 1) making his worlds welcoming to ordinary readers and 2) depicting real change and moral growth in his lead characters. It's been a while since I read Lewis (though I did dig my books out of storage recently and hopefully can go back again).
Another fantasy writer who I truly adore is Michael Ende - do you know him? He wrote The Neverending Story (a far, far better book than the film leads one to expect) and Momo. His books, while being readable by children, are quite deep enough for adults. And they preserve, IMHO, not only an emphasis on the importance of love but a very real sense of reverence for things - something else I find severely lacking in Rowling. And, like Lewis (or possibly even moreso), he makes clear that ordinary children are welcome in his other world (Fantasia).
If you haven't read Ende's works, I highly recommend them. Particularly TNS, though Momo is also delightful (a bit harder to find though).
Thanks for so many wonderful essays!
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Had a glance at The Neverending Story just now, and it seems a little too distant and intellectual for me, if you know what I mean. But I did get the sense that it tries to show imagination as a spur to moral and emotional growth, and I do approve of that message. I may take it out and give it a chance.
Thanks again for your comment!
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I have the same problem. Not to mention that 1) Harry doesn't actually die, so he makes no actual, lasting sacrifice, and 2) the various other problems with seeing Harry as a Christ figure brought about by Rowling's use of magic to bring about the 'miracle' and her (IMHO) materialization of notions like love, soul, etc. There's no miracle in the Potter books, because there is no room left for anything approaching the divine, IMHO. Not that she'd have to present it directly, just leave room for it. But I don't find it there at all. Despite the reams of so-called "critical" literature on HP claiming Rowling to be the new Shakespeare and Dante in one. (A little of my bitterness showing, perhaps?)
To be clear, I don't think you don't have to have the divine directly involved in the story to have a Christ figure - I've heard somewhat convincing arguments that certain figures in Brecht's Marxist plays can be considered Christ figures. But Rowling, I think, wants it both ways - she wants to present Harry as literally as possible as Christ, and yet without actually dealing with what that would entail. She tries, here as elsewhere, to have her cake and eat it too. And that frankly pisses me off. So I share your pain.
And yes RE Ende, imagination is key for him - and for me, which is one reason I like the books. They are perhaps a bit more consciously intellectual than most fantasy, but I don't think they're intended to be distant (I will say I find the second half of TNS better in that regard, when Bastian is directly part of Fantasia). Momo is perhaps the more pointedly allegorical. I will say that, so far as I can tell, he's coming partly out of a tradition of consciously 'literary' German fairytales like Goethe's "The Green Snake and the Beautiful Lily" and Hoffmann's "The Golden Pot." So that element is present a bit.
So I can see where you're coming from, and of course not everything is to everyone's taste. However, if you do decide to give them a chance, I think (I hope) you won't be disappointed. Somehow he does manage, I think, to keep imagination actually alive in the stories too.
/long-windedness :) Long live Sev.