Deep Truths in Simple Stories

“A children’s story that can only be enjoyed by children is not a good children’s story in the slightest.” ― C.S. Lewis

            I was driven to reflect on the veracity of this quote early last autumn, whereupon, after having spent a summer binging on everything British I could get my hands on, I returned to the old favorites, the Chronicles of Narnia. Now, I first read them when in the early years of elementary school. Upon returning to them in the tween years, I discovered that they didn’t read quite the same, and that I found new meaning in them – for now I could better understand the allegory. Diving into them once more in high school, I still saw things in them that I hadn’t before. Armed with a better knowledge of ships, chivalry, and myth, as well as Lewis’s personal life, I could read between the lines and imagine what the author thought and intended as he wrote, what personal memories and feelings came to mind. Comparing The Great Divorce to the end of The Last Battle brought clearer understanding of the depth of the theme, and knowledge of Lewis’s love of myth connected The Silver Chair to Greek legend.

            But of course, some things still haven’t changed. I love The Dawn Treader as much as I ever did, and long for the exploration, adventure, and salty spray. My admiration for and resonance with Reepicheep has only deepened and I wish I could see Aslan’s land for myself. And of course, one day I will, and one day I’ll be in that place more real than reality itself. I do believe there is a quote from Lewis on how literature, far from being escapist, in the sense that one escapes into a fantasy land, is actually an escape into a far more real land, being of course, our eternal destination and I will try to find it before this ever makes it online.

            But historical knowledge isn’t the only thing I’ve returned to Narnia with. I’ve also grown. The world I know is a darker place than the world my childhood self knew. It is more complicated, more depraved, and more difficult. But Narnia… Narnia is simple, simple and stalwartly British. But it doesn’t make it any less true. Indeed, the simplicity of it makes the truths shine through even brighter.

            Read about Narnia again, dear friend. Be a child again, fall back on your simple, earnest faith. To my writers, reflect on this truth about what our craft ought to be. Consider a passage of dialogue between the Ghost of a painter and the Spirit come to try and persuade him from Lewis’s The Great Divorce.

            “Why, if you are interested in the country only for the sake of painting it, you’ll never learn to see the country.” “But that’s just how a real artist is interested in the country.” “No. You’re forgetting,” said the Spirit. “That was not how you began. Light itself was your first love: you loved paint only as a means of telling about light. (…) Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of the telling.”

            Tolkien, too, echoes this. “We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming ‘sub-creator’ and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic ‘progress’ leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.”

            The best stories are those that reflect light, those that hold a meaning for every Christian, young or old. Children and adults need the same truth.

            I still buy and read middle grade stories. I hunt down the books I loved as a kid, and in reading them again, I can see how they touched my life. I finally found a copy of the first Redwall. I first picked it up as an eight-year-old and consciously, took nothing away from it except a love of the heroes, excitement for the adventures, pity for the animals that had died, and a deep disappointment that my parents had discovered me reading something far above the violence level for an eight-year-old and had removed it from my presence.

            Upon returning to it, I did indeed reach the conclusion that it had been perhaps too violent for an eight-year-old. But suddenly I saw where my love of knights, heroics, and chivalry had come from. I saw bold deeds and courage praised, and evil blatantly condemned and followed to its end. While there is redemption, there are no gray characters in Redwall. Evil comes to those who wreak evil, and good comes to those who strive to be good. Victory belongs to the persistent, courageous, and hopeful, and death and destruction are the righteous reward of wickedness.  It is simply accepted, and the conscience confirms it.

            The same can be found in such tried-and-true tales as The Chronicles of Prydain, or the Mistmantle Chronicles. (Seems to be a bit of a pattern here with the titles, no? :D) We see it too in Watership Down and Johnny Tremain. Evil is evil, good is good. Justice is served, life is precious, loyalty and responsibility are attained to, heroes are truly to be role models. No agenda, no confusion, just truth.

“Since it is so likely that (children) will meet cruel enemies, let them at least have heard of brave knights and heroic courage. Otherwise you are making their destiny not brighter but darker.”

— C.S. Lewis

            So, dear reader, I know how you feel. Children’s tales are simple, and the curious, ever-growing mind longs for exploration – for thrillers, murder mysteries, complicated dilemmas, multi-layered plots, complex characters, intricate fantasy worlds. But I ask that you not forget your childhood loves, not forget the foundations of your literary adventures. Read good children’s books, mind you, not the porn and political garbage ruling the shelves these days.  Truth is truth, no matter how old you – or the books – are.

Dyd da itt (“Good day to you”), and adios! (I like other languages, can you tell?)