What I Read in February

Okay, this is getting embarrassing. Like January, I somehow managed to only read three books in February. What is wrong with me? In my defense, I spent a big chunk of the month reading a book for book club (Unmentionable: The Victorian Lady's Guide to Sex, Marriage and Manners by Therese Oneill), but I'm not including it here; I only read half of it because the style grated on me after awhile, plus I didn't appreciate some of the content.

So here are the three books I actually finished:

1. The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey
Some books are extremely engaging and entertaining when you're in the middle of them, but after you finish, you find yourself liking them less and less each time you think about them. Other books are harder to connect with when you're reading them, but the longer you're apart from them, the more you love them.

I can already tell this book is going to be the latter scenario for me.

That's not to say I didn't like it when I was reading it. I definitely did--the writing is pristine and stunning, and the Alaskan wilderness is a perfect backdrop for winter reading--but the plot was a little slow-moving. I didn't fly through it but had to hunker down and really commit to finishing it.

But since finishing it, I'm finding my esteem gradually rising. It's hard to explain, mostly because it makes it sound like I didn't enjoy the actual act of reading it. It's just that I love it so much more now that it's over, and I'm beginning to see that it wasn't just a good story but a masterful retelling of a quiet and heart wrenching fairy tale.

It has its roots in the Russian fairy tale, "Snegurochka" (the Snow Child). But it's set in the early 20th century on a wild and often times harsh Alaskan homestead. I loved what Eowyn Ivey said about it in an interview: "I found that the earthy, often violent realities of homesteading created wonderful texture contrasted with the ethereal elements of the snow maiden." And that's exactly how I felt about it. There's this part of it that's very physical and tangible and this other part that keeps slipping through your fingers in an other-worldly fashion.

But the real takeaway for me was this: "We are allowed to do that, are we not Mabel? To invent our own endings and choose joy over sorrow?" I had a feeling from the beginning that the ending would be, at best, bittersweet, and, at worst, tragic. While I won't spoil what happens, I will say that I kept thinking about this phrase as I was reading, and I realized that in spite of sad things, we can always choose joy over sorrow, even if sorrowful things happen to us, and I think Mabel really makes that discovery during the course of the story.

Content note: a baby is conceived out of wedlock, and there is some profanity

2. The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis
My boys and I have several series that we're in the middle of. This is intentional. It's nice to have a few books constantly at the ready so if our current readaloud is a total bomb (it happens), we can get back into a good reading groove with the next installment in a much-beloved series.

The Chronicles of Narnia happens to be one of those. It's been almost two years since we were last in Narnia (when we read The Voyage of the Dawn Treader), and Aaron and I were ready to get back to it. The feeling wasn't mutual though. Max was obstinately reluctant (as usual), and Bradley took one look at the cover and insisted that it would give him nightmares. We went ahead with it anyway.

(Ironically, Bradley skipped the first two-thirds of the book and finally decided to join us on, you guessed it, the very scene depicted on the front cover. And he wasn't scared at all.)

I read this book myself several years ago and wrote an extensive review at that time (probably one of my favorite reviews I've ever written), so I don't feel like I need to go into much additional detail here. I will say that I loved reading this one out loud. Doing the voices for Puddleglum and the witch were my favorite.

3. Anne of Green Gables: a graphic novel adapted by Mariah Marsden and illustrated by Brenna Thummler

I have reached a point in my reading life that I never quite expected and that is that I actually really enjoy graphic novels and will often reach for one when I need a quick read that will also serve as a bit of a palette cleanser.

When I saw this new graphic novel adaptation of Anne of Green Gables, I immediately put it on hold, and I loved revisiting one of my favorite stories in a new way.

For the most part, this adaptation remains true to the original story and includes all of the major scenes (Anne cracking her slate over Gilbert's head, intoxicating Diana, dreaming of puffed sleeves, and nearly drowning in her role as the Lady of Shalott, etc.). But more important to me was that it stay true to the heart and feeling and essence of the original, and it did. (And we all know that sometimes these adaptations DO NOT--can I get an "amen" in regards to Netflix's Anne with an 'E'? Ugh.)

I particularly loved Matthew and Marilla in this adaptation, and I maybe got a little teary-eyed when Marilla tells Anne, "Matthew and I--together, we loved you beyond sense."

Of course, it can't compare to the original (nothing can!!), but I think this would be a perfect introduction for kids who might not be quite ready for Anne's flowery speeches. I'm pretty sure Aaron, Max, and Bradley would agree since they all stole it from me and read it, too.

That's it for February. I anticipate March being a much better reading month as I'm already well over halfway through three books.

What did YOU read in February?

Review x 2: Ramona and Her Mother and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader

Summer is here, which means I have more time to read to my kids! Both of these books were finished before school ended, but I thought I better combine them because we have a lot more now coming down the pike. 

Ramona and Her Mother by Beverly Cleary
I've noticed that when a read aloud has been rather slow and tedious, my kids and I tend to turn to something quick and fun and familiar afterwards. This happened most recently after we finished Rascal. Don't misunderstand, we liked that book a great deal but it wasn't a fast book for us, and I could tell that we needed a little pick-me-up to rekindle the reading bug. It should come as no surprise that the author we chose to remedy the problem was Beverly Cleary. She is our tried-and-true favorite, and Ramona was just the ticket.

Ramona is known for her seeming talent for finding mischief and getting into scrapes, but in this book, she thinks she is past all that. After all, she is seven years old and in the second grade. In fact, when she overhears someone compare Howie's annoying little sister, Willa Jean, to herself, she gets a little offended. Her pride takes another blow when someone else refers to Beezus as "her mother's girl."

But still, no matter how much she wishes it or tries to be more grown up, Ramona can't help getting into trouble. In this installment, she dumps a bottle of blueing all over herself and Howie, squeezes out an entire tube of toothpaste, and tries to run away. She is definitely more conscious of her actions (and more defiant about them when she knows it's something she shouldn't be doing), but she is still very much the same Ramona who, at four years old, ate a bite out of every apple in the basement.

The similarities between Willa Jean and Ramona throughout the book cannot be missed, and it is a brilliant tool for expanding Ramona's character. Through Willa Jean, we are able to look at Ramona from all angles: how other people see her and how Ramona sees herself, and we're also able to draw our own comparisons. Seeing Willa Jean in action reminds us of Ramona's escapades from years past. We also see how she's matured while at the same time staying very much one hundred percent Ramona.

One of my other favorite parts of the book is when Ramona's parents get into a really big fight one evening after a very long day. There were delays with picking up the car from the repair shop after work, and so everyone is tired and hungry when they get home. They expect dinner to be ready and waiting for them, but Ramona's mother had forgotten to plug in the Crock-Pot when they all left that morning. Their only other  option for dinner is pancakes (but they still plug in the Crock-Pot so that they can eat the stew the next night, and I was thoroughly grossed out about that), but Ramona's parents are sarcastic and rude and start throwing insults at each other (or actually, at Mr. Quimby's grandmother) until Mrs. Quimby grows so frustrated, she swats Mr. Quimby with the pancake turner and stalks out of the room.

There are many books with parental fights in them, but most of the time, there is some deep, underlying cause. I love this one because it shows what a good, old-fashioned quarrel looks like. Sometimes people just get tired and hungry and cranky and ornery. But the next day, after a good night's rest, the issues magically dissolve because they weren't really issues in the first place. Mike and I have similar quarrels (almost always the result of not enough sleep or not enough food), and I loved that my kids got to see this quarrel played out in a very similar way to their own parents. (But, in my defense, I've never smacked Mike with a pancake turner. :-))

This book just had all the heart and humor and authenticity I've come to expect from Ramona. You can tell we haven't been ripping through this series, and it's because I never want it to end. I always want there to be a new Ramona book to fall back on when we need something light but substantial. I guess eventually, we'll just have to start rereading. That will be fun, too.

The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis
After the boys and I finished Ramona and Her Mother, we decided to move onto another partially finished series and read the next installment in The Chronicles of Narnia. I never read this book as a kid, but it's now the third time I've read it as an adult, and that kind of surprises me since I don't reread a lot of books, and I wouldn't list this as one of my favorite books of all time or even one of my favorites in the series. Still, it's the type of book that holds up to a reread very well.

Lucy and Edmund Pevensie have been sent to spend the summer with their Uncle Harold and Aunt Alberta and insufferable cousin Eustace (who, at least in the beginning, all bear a rather unflattering resemblance to Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and cousin Dudley). When they are alone, they relive their Narnian adventures, and there's one picture in a tucked away bedroom that especially reminds them of Narnia because it looks like a Narnian ship floating on the sea. One day, as they're looking at it, Eustace comes along and starts taunting them. But that quickly ends when the ship in the picture literally starts moving and the waves start splashing and then they're actually in the picture and being pulled up out of the water into the ship.

The ship, as it turns out, is indeed a Narnian ship, and who should be on board but Prince Caspian himself. They are searching for the seven lords who left when Caspian's uncle, Miraz, was in control of Narnia. Lucy and Edmund are thrilled to be a part of the adventures, and Eustace eventually comes around too.

When I read this book for the first time, my favorite scene was definitely the one where Aslan helps Eustace shed his skin after he becomes a dragon. The symbolism made such a profound impact on me. This time, it was my kids who loved that scene (which I totally called before we read the book), but I found myself touched by other parts of the story far more.

One of those instances happens towards the end of the book when they get to, what they later call, Ramandu's country. They find a table spread with a bounteous feast and three of the lords sitting at the end of it, deep in an enchanted sleep. A girl comes out to greet them and tells them about what happened to those three lords and also the history of the table. At the end of her narrative, Edmund says, "I'm sure I don't mean to be rude. But we have had a lot of queer adventures on this voyage of ours and things aren't always what they seem. When I look in your face I can't help believing all you say: but then that's just what might happen with a witch, too. How are we to know you're a friend?" The girl responds, "You can't know. You can only believe . . . or not." That really resonated with me (and actually brought me quite close to tears) because I feel like that's where I am with my faith right now: I can only believe or not. And I choose to believe.

And finally, I really loved the part where they are getting close to the end of the world, and the sun is getting bigger and brighter every day, but somehow, as it increases in intensity, something changes within each of them, and they are able to bear it. It reminded me of a scripture: "The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth." I just love the way the image of light is portrayed so strongly in this book as they get nearer and nearer Aslan's country because I truly believe the kingdom of God is more glorious and beautiful and light than we can dare to comprehend or endure at this time. Of this increasing brightness of the sun, Edmund said, "Though lots of things happened on that trip which sound more exciting, that moment was really the most exciting." And I think that's the way it will be as we near the end of the world as well. It will be thrilling. (And, in stark contrast to that, Max and Aaron both agreed that the earlier adventure on the Dark Island was one of the scariest moments they've ever read, and neither of them expected to be so terrified by it.)

Those are the things that stuck out to me this time, but I know that if, or I should probably say when, I read this book again, there will be other things that make an impression. It's just that kind of book.

What books have you been reading to your kids lately?

Why My Kids Read the Book Before They See the Movie

In my recent review of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I mentioned how my childhood experience with the book was tainted by the 1979 animated movie. The first time I read it, I may have been reading the words, but the movie was playing in my head. Even as an adult reading it to my kids, I couldn't escape mental scenes from that darn movie.

Hoping to guard against that, I read the book to my boys first, and I didn't even mention the existence of a movie. I wanted them to use their own imaginations for Peter, Edmund, Susan, and Lucy. For Mr. Tumnus, the Beavers, and Father Christmas.  For the White Witch. I didn't want that to be colored by someone else's interpretation.

After we were done with the book, I bought the audio dramatization. They listened to it at least a dozen times. It was maybe a little closer to the movie but still gave them plenty of room for their own ideas and imaginings.

Somehow though, they found out about the movie. (They always seem to know when there's a movie.) Every time we went to the library, Maxwell checked the "L's" for it, but I wasn't quite ready to relinquish their imaginations to Hollywood, so I did little to help him out.

Finally though, after several more weeks had passed, I figured they'd probably cemented their own pictures in their brains and we could give it a try. I put it on hold (and then Mike reminded me that we actually own it--which I guess is proof of how often we watch it).

My boys were so excited. And then Maxwell, with a twinge of awe in his voice, said something like: "So this is the real story."

I jumped in so fast, he didn't have time to say anything else: "Hold it. The book is the real story. Not the movie. The book came first. The movie is just one person's [actually, many people's . . . ] interpretation of the story. The way you pictured it when I read it to you is just as real as the movie."

I can see why he made such a mistake: The book is just words on a page. The movie is made up of real people, an incredible location, and live action. Of course the movie looks more real. But it is that very authenticity that makes it so deceptive and makes it so that kids no longer feel the need to use their imaginations.

And without imagination, the real things (even the making of non-real movies) will cease to happen. Imagination is the key to all our ambitions and hopes and dreams.

How do you preserve your kids' imaginations? Do you prefer reading the book or seeing the movie first?

P.S. And, completely unrelated, here's a little something extra for your Friday. I've told you before how much I love The Read-Aloud Revival podcast with Sarah Mackenzie, but the last two episodes have been especially fun because my kids shared their favorite books in her "Let the Kids Speak" segment.  Max and Bradley can be heard in Episode 23 at 52:30, and Aaron is on Episode 24 at 22:10.

The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

I may have only finished all of the books in The Chronicles of Narnia in 2013, but The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and I go way, way back. My family had the 1979 animated version of it, and I must have watched it dozens of times when I was a child. It stays surprisingly true to the book, lifting a lot of the dialogue straight from its pages. So when I read it for myself for the first time when I was eight or nine, it was basically like reading the movie, which made it really easy to read but not all that exciting.

For that reason, I'm so glad my boys got to experience it for the first time as a book, rather than a movie. It was their imaginations that created the pictures in their heads, not some film director's. Even now, reading it as an adult, the pictures and images and sounds and voices that came to my mind were from that darn 1979 movie, and even though I'm sure they'll see one of the film adaptations at some point, I hope when they read the book, they always come back to their very first impressions of it.

I'm guessing you know the story. It's a good one. It is the 1940's and four children (Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy) have been sent away from their home in London to escape the air raids. They come to live at the Professor's house, a large sprawling estate that is just begging to be explored.
One afternoon during their exploration, they come into a room that is empty save for a wardrobe on one side of it (incidentally, my boys had no idea what a wardrobe was). Peter, Susan, and Edmund take a quick look around and then leave, but Lucy decides to take a peek in the wardrobe. She climbs inside (making sure to leave the door open "because she knew that it is very foolish to shut oneself into any wardrobe"). She walks forward, expecting to find the back of the wardrobe, but it never comes. And after a few steps, she finds herself in a snow covered woods next to a lamp post.

All is quiet and still when suddenly she sees a faun (Mr. Tumnus) carrying an armful of packages. They make their introductions and he invites her to his home where he tells her more about the land she has stumbled into. It is called Narnia, and it is ruled by the White Witch. She has made it so that it is always winter and never Christmas, and she is well aware that if the four thrones at Cair Paravel are ever filled by two Sons of Adam and Two Daughters of Eve, her reign will be ended. She is determined not to let that happen.

My kids absolutely loved this book. I don't know if I've ever been interrupted so often while reading. Over and over again, they'd break in with guesses or questions for what was going to happen next or exclamations or protestations for something that just happened. Each night, after we finished reading, the two of them would look back over the chapters we'd already read and then read the titles for the upcoming chapters. They could hardly contain their anticipation, especially when the next chapter was something like, "In the Witch's House" or "What Happened About the Statues." It was one of those books that really held its weight in between readings and that we just couldn't wait to return to at the end of the day. In fact, there were even a couple of days where we knew we had activities that would prevent us from reading at our usual time, and so we read earlier in the evening because we couldn't bear the thought of skipping a day.

For all that we loved it, however, I will say this: it is scary. We haven't read very many books with actual, evil, frightening villains, and I'm sure those of you who have read it will agree with me that the White Witch is one of the scariest villains out there. Max especially had some moments of terror where he told me to stop and not to read any more. (And if you knew how often during the other times he was begging me to continue reading, you'll appreciate how scared he really was.) I couldn't blame him. The scene where the dwarf ties Edmund to a tree while the White Witch sharpens her knife and he is only saved because a host of Aslan's subjects comes upon them in the nick of time is particularly terrifying (even though the scene is short and the details are limited). I basically had to spoil the whole book for Max (no one dies, the White Witch is thwarted, etc.) so that he could enjoy it without worrying about what was going to happen next.

One of the reasons I personally love reading the Chronicles of Narnia is for the symbolism, but I wasn't planning on pointing any of it out to Aaron or Max. I just thought we'd enjoy the story, and if they picked up on bits of it here and there, then great. However, as we came to the scene where Aslan submits himself to the Witch at the Stone Table, the reference was too strong. I couldn't help myself. "Does Aslan remind you of anyone?" I asked, and after a little thought, they both said, "Jesus?" "Yes, Jesus," I said. "Isn't that just exactly like what Jesus did for each of us?"

Some will say that making such a quick connection means the book is too overtly religious. I guess I can't make a definite conclusion one way or the other, but to me, it seems like if you're not religious, it will just read like a really good story with a villain and a hero, but if you are religious, then it adds depth and added insights to your beliefs, which I find to be a wonderful bonus.

For me, one of the new insights I gained with this reading came just after the scene I already mentioned. Once Edmund is rescued, they can't find the Witch or the dwarf. They think she has escaped, and so they return to Aslan. But then this: "It was perfectly still and presently the moon grew bright; if you had been there you would have seen the moonlight shining on an old tree-stump and on a fair-sized boulder." These two objects turn out to be the White Witch and the dwarf, "for it was part of her magic that she could make things look like what they aren't." I think this made an impact on me because of things I've come across lately (on facebook, in the news, on blogs) that on the surface seem honorable or noble but leave me feeling troubled. Sometimes it's difficult to distinguish truth from its counterfeit.

Out of the entire book, there's only one scene I would change, and I wouldn't even change it per se--just add some emotion to it. It happens right after the four children get into Narnia. As you might expect, Lucy leads them to Mr. Tumnus' home only to find the door bashed in and the whole place in ruin. You might expect, as I did, that Lucy will act shocked, angry, devastated, or sad. But she is none of these things. In fact, the reader gets Edmund's and then Peter's and then Susan's reactions before Lucy is even mentioned. Maybe I'm just more emotional than C.S. Lewis (although I have my doubts about that since the scene between Aslan and the girls is very tender), but this seemed like a really inexcusable oversight.

I'm actually so sad this book is over already. We whipped through it even faster than usual because we all loved it so much. But I'm sad not just because it's over but because I want to read the next one to them, but it's Prince Caspian. Out of all the books, that's my least favorite, and I just can't get that excited over it. Maybe it's time for me to let Mike take a turn . . .

The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis

After reporting on my reading goals last month, I realized that I needed to check off a few more of my goals pronto. I already had The Magician's Nephew from the library, and with my newly-acquired, super-fast listening skills, I blazed through it almost before I could blink.

It was a fabulous book.

When I read The Silver Chair, I was pretty sure it would be my favorite in the series. But then The Horse and His Boy surprised me by so completely surpassing my expectations that I thought the last two books would have to be disappointing by comparison. I can't speak for The Last Battle yet, but The Magician's Nephew was so wonderfully different from the first five that I immediately fell in love with it. I'm tempted to say it's my favorite one so far, but then again, I think it might be impossible to choose a favorite. That, and I'm still basking in the glow of having just finished it, so I don't think I can offer a reliable opinion at this point. Maybe when I'm completely done with the series.

This story begins well before Lucy Pevensie's fateful step into the wardrobe. It stars Digory, a young boy who has come with his ill mother to live with his aunt and uncle, and Polly, the girl who lives in a nearby apartment. One afternoon when Digory and Polly are exploring, they stumble unexpectedly into Uncle Andrew's forbidden room. Uncle Andrew, an amateur magician of sorts, is only too happy to have a couple of guinea pigs and soon convinces Polly to take up a beautiful yellow ring. Upon touching it, Polly instantly disappears, and Digory is left with no other choice (much to Uncle Andrew's delight) than to go after her and bring her back. Their adventures take a definite turn for the worse when they unleash the Empress Jadis from a powerful spell. Within minutes, she is on a quest to conquer the world, and the children are baffled how to stop her.

This story answers a great number of questions about how Narnia and the White Witch and the wardrobe came to be. Because it is a prequel to The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, it is now most commonly placed at the beginning of the series and read first. I think this is a grave mistake. Just as this book sheds new light on Narnia and its characters, knowing what's to come also provides a certain amount of insight into the events in Digory's story.

For my part, I think I would have enjoyed reading this book far less if I hadn't read it against the backdrop of the six previous books. I've been reading the whole series in the order of publication, and up until The Magician's Nephew, it didn't really seem like that big of a deal. But now it does. Putting The Magician's Nephew at the beginning rather than the end would provide a completely different reading experience. Maybe there is merit and value to both orders, and I have a feeling this topic could evolve into an entire blog post of its own, but I am going to make my stand firmly in the camp of publication order. Anyone else with me?

(However, it is interesting to note that C.S. Lewis actually started writing The Magician's Nephew after finishing The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, but he didn't finish it until after he finished writing The Last Battle. So theoretically, it seems you could make the case of reading it at just about any point in the series.)

This is the only Narnia book where an adult (actually three adults) cross the barrier into the Narnian world, and it introduced some unexpected twists to the plot and also a great deal of insight.

I was especially interested (and at times, amused) by Uncle Andrew's reaction to this new, unimagined world. Even though it was he who was playing with magic that resulted in them all (Digory, Polly, the cabby, Strawberry (the horse), eventually the cabby's wife, and himself) being transported to Narnia, he resisted it the entire time. Rather than embrace what he was seeing, he chose to ignore or fight it.

One of the scenes that affected me the most was during the creation of Narnia. Under Aslan's song, the trees and animals began to appear, and Uncle Andrew shut himself away from the experience.

Forgive me for quoting such a long passage, but perhaps it will impact you as it did me:

[Uncle Andrew] had disliked the song very much. It made him think and feel things he did not want to think and feel. Then, when the sun rose and he saw that the singer was a lion ("only a lion," as he said to himself) he tried his hardest to make believe that it wasn't singing and never had been singing - only roaring as any lion might in a zoo in our own world. "Of course it can't really have been singing," he thought, "I must have imagined it. I've been letting my nerves get out of order. Who ever heard of a lion singing?" And the longer and more beautiful the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed. Uncle Andrew did. He soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan's song. Soon he couldn't have heard anything else even if he had wanted to. 

Sadly, Uncle Andrew's experience struck a chord of familiarity within me. As I grow older, I find myself growing more and more skeptical and less and less trusting of experiences I have. I witness miracles and then in the next moment think, What a lucky coincidence!  Sometimes, I'm hesitant to acknowledge the hand of the Lord in case I'm being naive. And sometimes I'm afraid to trust because it makes me feel vulnerable.

Seeing Uncle Andrew's behavior helped me look at my own doubts and fears a little more honestly, and I realized that it is so easy to let those doubts and fears overcome good judgement and common sense. It reminded me of this quote by Elder Jeffrey R. Holland that I have thought about continually since he said it in last April's General Conference: "Honestly acknowledge your questions and your concerns, but first and forever fan the flame of your faith, because all things are possible to them that believe." As silly and ridiculous as Uncle Andrew was, he really embodied the qualities that so many adults have today as they rely heavily on only logic and evidence.

There were many other moments of wisdom throughout the story (another favorite (said about the fruit of the tree): "All get what they want. They do not always like it."), and once again, I was amazed at the quiet symbolism that was unpretentiously waiting behind a really great story.

Some think that this was the hardest book for C.S. Lewis to write because it took him so long, and he left it several times to work on other things. Regardless of whether or not that is true, it does seem plausible that the other books influenced this one and that the plot and pacing and structure probably changed over time. If Lewis had finished (and published) it before writing the rest of the books, I'm sure it would not be the same novel we have today. And what a tragedy that would be.

The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

 On the first day of 2013, I posted a list of personal reading goals to be completed within the course of this year. One of those goals was to "finish a series I already started". Among my list of unfinished series was The Chronicles of Narnia. (I had only read the first three.) So many of you expressed indignation and shock and rage (okay, slight exaggeration--only mock rage) at this terrible "oversight" that I decided I couldn't let another year go by without finishing these books.

I think it's ironically funny that I haven't been forced to finish them yet. My entire family loves them--I mean, LOVES them. My dad read all of them out loud (but I guess I had better things to do?). In fact, he actually recorded himself, and my brothers listened to those cassette tapes over and over again. My dad and I actually did read Prince Caspian together, just the two of us, but I was bored for much of it. I started The Magician's Nephew when I was about eleven, couldn't get into it, and abandoned it. When I was first married, I belonged to a book club that was going to read all seven of the books in order of publication, and that is how/where I read the first three, but Mike and I graduated and moved before I could finish.

So maybe too much information? But I just thought you'd like to know that in spite of having not read all The Chronicles of Narnia, we do have an undeniable history together. Wouldn't you agree?

Just so we're clear from the get-go (and so that I can make this introduction longer than the rest of the post), here are the books I've actually read:

1. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe (in 2007)
2. Prince Caspian (once as a little girl, and then again in 2007)
3. The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (twice: once in 2007 and again in 2011--I have to admit, I really like that one)
4. First two chapters (approximately) of The Magician's Nephew
5. One overheard scene from The Silver Chair (from one of my dad's readalouds)

 To finish this goal, I will be reading The Silver Chair, The Horse and His Boy, The Magician's Nephew, and The Last Battle, in that order, which is the order in which they were published.

Whew! And with that more than adequate introduction, I will now launch into my thoughts about The Silver Chair.

When the story begins, Eustace Scrubb (a cousin to the Pevensie children and one of the main characters in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader) and Jill Pole are suffering at the hands of bullies at Experiment House (an unconventional boarding school). Eustace longs for his days in Narnia, and even though Jill has never heard of it, they both wish to be delivered from their current situation. They run with all their strength to escape the bullies and find themselves transported to Aslan's world. After an unfortunate accident, Jill finds herself alone with Aslan the lion. At first, she is horribly frightened and distrustful but then recognizes the good in him and listens to his instructions. He tells her that King Caspian's son, Prince Rillian has been lost for many years, and she and Eustace must find and free him. He gives her four "signs" that will help her in her journey and which she must remember and follow at all costs. Then he blows her to Narnia where she reunites with Eustace. Accompanied by a Marsh-Wiggle named Puddleglum, they set off on their quest.

For those who gently prodded me to finish this series, I have to thank you. I feel it's safe to say that for this book alone, the series is worth reading. It was so good.

First order of business: shout-out to Puddleglum. Seriously, this lanky, pessimistically optimistic, fiercely loyal Marsh-wiggle nabbed a spot on my list of Favorite Characters of All Time as soon as he said, "I shouldn't wonder..." I think it would be fairly easy to create a gloomy, cynical character or one that was bubbly and happy, but to be able to combine those two types into someone who is absolutely convincing is a mark of real talent. Puddlegum has so many good lines, but here is one of my favorite: "The bright side of it is...that if we break our necks getting down the cliff, then we're safe from being drowned in the river." Oh, and also, the fact that he heroically broke all of them out of the Green Lady's spell? Yeah, that helped secure his place on the Favorite Characters of All Time list, too.

There's no way I could write about this book without mentioning the symbolism at some point. It is laced throughout the entire story--some of it subtle, some of it not-so-subtle. But for me, the imagery was so beautiful and poignant, it will stay with me for probably forever.

My favorite scene, and probably the one that is most well-known, is after Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum have untied Prince Rillian, and the Lady of the Green Kirtle has found them and is trying to put all of them under her enchantment. She speaks in soft, cajoling tones and plays a lilting instrument. At first they defiantly insist that she let them leave and return to Narnia. She laughs at the mention of Narnia and softly croons that Narnia is only a dream, something they made up. They think she must be right; Narnia was just a dream. Then one of them mentions the sun (which, at that moment, they cannot see since they are miles underground). The Green Lady feigns ignorance and asks them to describe the sun. One of the children says it is like the lamp, only much bigger and brighter. Again, the green lady laughs and gently corrects them, "The lamp is the real thing. The sun is but a tale, a children's story."

If you are a Christian, as I am, you will see that this scene has immediate application to faith. There are so many things I believe in that are bigger, brighter, and more wonderful than my current knowledge recognizes. I can hold onto that which I can currently see and experience and say that since I don't know any better, then that's all there is. Or I can pay attention to what I feel and know in my mind and heart to be true and exclaim, like Puddleglum: "Suppose we have only dreamed, or made up, all those things-trees and grass and sun and moon and stars and Aslan himself. Suppose we have. Then all I can say is that, in that case, the made-up things seem a good deal more important than the real ones...That's why I'm going to stand by the play world. I'm on Aslan's side even if there isn't any Aslan to lead it. I'm going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn't any Narnia." When my faith sees moments of doubt, as it frequently does, I continue to push forward in my belief because that is what feels right to me, that is what makes sense, and that is what I fervently hope is true.

A little before this scene, Prince Rillian is tied up, pleading and begging the children and Puddleglum to release him. They don't know he is Prince Rillian, and they are at a loss for what to do. They had already been told that to untie Prince Rillian could prove fatal. They had made a pact with each other that they would not untie him no matter what he said. But then he cried, in the name of Aslan, to be freed. That stops them cold. The fourth and final sign from Aslan was that someone would ask them to do something in his name and that they should do whatever it was. They try to reason their way out of it--surely Aslan could not have meant for them to listen to a lunatic, etc. But Puddleglum insists that they follow the sign.

And then comes this dialogue: "'Do you mean you think everything will come right if we do untie him?' said Scrub. 'I don't know about that,' said Puddleglum. 'See Aslan didn't tell Pole what would happen. He only told her what to do. That fellow will be the death of us once he's up, I shouldn't wonder, but that doesn't let us off following the sign.'" I love this. Aslan is a metaphor for Jesus Christ, and this scene perfectly demonstrates that just because we follow what the Savior has asked us to do doesn't necessarily mean that all our problems will come to an immediate and abrupt end. We have to exercise faith that if we do as He commanded, then things will work out exactly as He wants them to and that, even if not immediately, this will be best for us in the end.

Finally, I really loved the scene between Aslan and Jill at the beginning of the book. Jill has found her way to a stream, and she is practically dying of thirst. Aslan is resting by the water. Jill does not know Aslan yet, and she is terrified of this great lion. Aslan tells her to come get a drink, but she is too afraid. She asks him to promise that he will not eat her if she comes closer. He says he will not make any such promise. Finally, she decides to risk it, and of course, Aslan does not harm her. As I have thought about my relationship with the Savior, I realize that many of my experiences have been similar to Jill's: I want a promise right then and there, but the Savior expects me to overcome my fears, exercise trust, and partake of the gift He is freely offering but which I must choose for myself.

I thought the ending to this story was very different from the other three books I've read so far. This was the first book where the children leave a problem behind (the bullies) and then return to it when their adventures in Narnia are over. What's more, this is the first book where someone from Narnia crosses over into their world for a short time. And because of the things they learned while in Narnia, they are able to overcome the challenges they left behind. I really liked the way this connected the two worlds and made each one important to the other.

I still have three books left in the series, but I'll be surprised if any of them can top this one for me. It wasn't just an interesting and exciting story but had real application to my life.