Tolkien Tuesday: Reading "The Magician's Nephew--Chapters 7-9"
Diggory and Polly have yet another escapade with Jadis, even as they witness the remarkable creation of the land of Narnia itself.
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Welcome to Tolkien Tuesdays, where I talk about various things that I love about the lore and writings of Tolkien, whether in a chapter reading or a character study or an essay or even writings about other, related authors (such as C.S. Lewis). I hope you enjoy reading these ruminations as much as I enjoy writing them and, if you have a moment, I’d love it if you’d subscribe to this newsletter. It’s free, but there are paid options, as well, if you’re of a mind to support a struggling writer. Either way, thank you for joining me!
This week, we continue our reading of The Magician’s Nephew with a reading of a pivotal few chapters that will forever change Diggory and Polly’s life, to say nothing of the newly-formed world of Narnia. After Jadis manages to cause a huge spectacle in London, Diggory and Polly manage to transport her–along with Uncle Andrew, a cabby, and the cabby’s horse–to the World Between the World, after which they emerge in a strange, unformed realm. As they watch in fascination, a great lion sings the world into being.
Even though Jadis is obviously evil and cruel and irredeemably wicked, I don’t think there’s anyone who would argue with the fact that she is also, quite simply, a badass. How else can you describe a woman who not only manages to seize control of a hansom cab but also uses a piece of a lamppost to beat the crap out of a couple of policemen? Despite the fact that she is a monster and willing to destroy anyone who stands in her way–she even throws Aunt Letty across the room–you can’t help but feel drawn to her. One can’t help but get the feeling that, if only she were given a bit more time, she might well have been able to conquer our world, for all that her magic didn’t translate from Charn. There are just some people who have the ability to bend others to their will, and I’m in no doubt that she would have been able to do that to the people of early 20th century London if Diggory and Polly hadn’t managed to get the better of her.
As soon as they travel to Narnia, however, the Witch’s pride begins to flag, faced as she is with a power so vast and more intimidating than her own. Small wonder that, having failed to wound Aslan by throwing the piece of the lamppost at him, she ends up fleeing into the wilderness. She might be a formidable foe but, when it comes down to it, she will never be a match for Aslan and for the power that he wields.
While Jadis is obviously a major draw of these chapters, the real centerpoint is the creation of Narnia. There’s something quietly moving about watching Aslan (though we don’t know his name just yet, anyone who has read the books in the series knows who this is) creating this realm from out of nothingness. The elegant simplicity of Lewis’ prose serves him well as he immerses us in this primordial moment, this instant when the physical world comes into being. It’s nothing short of literary magic, and in some key ways this is one of the most emotionally resonant moments in the entirety of The Magician’s Nephew, and perhaps in The Chronicles of Narnia as a whole. This sequence fulfills the deep human longing to be present at the beginning of all things, or at least as close to an origin as we can ever possibly come. It is also, fittingly, a deeply Christian moment but in a less cloying way than tends to be the case with Lewis.
Equally touching, in its own way, is the Cabby, who is truly enchanted by what he sees unfolding before him. It might be going too far to say that his viewpoint is childlike, but there is nevertheless a simplicity to it that speaks to the child in all of us, desperate to see the wonder and the joy of creation. Then again, I daresay that any of us would feel the same sense of awe if we were to watch a lion like Aslan creating the world in front of our very eyes.
Uncle Andrew’s response, on the other hand, couldn’t be more different. It’s also revealing that his first impulse upon seeing all of this wonder and beauty is to think about how it can be exploited. This is, of course, a very British and imperialist way of looking at things. For a man like Uncle Andrew, a true citizen of the British Empire, everything needs to be looked at in terms of how it can be exploited. The irony, of course, is that though Andrew likes to imagine that he is an expansive thinker–a creature of modernity and all of its promise–the truth is that he is actually quite limited. Unlike Diggory, who instinctively recognizes the beauty and wonder and uncontainable majesty of what they’ve seen created, Andrew can’t think out of his own narrow understandings. As a result, he becomes ever more ridiculous, a figure of delusion rather than grandeur.
Moreover, the narrator makes it abundantly clear that this is a very short-sighted and ultimately futile way of looking at this act of creation. As Diggory remarks, it’s highly doubtful, indeed impossible, that any mere mortal could do anything to harm the lion, since even the Witch, powerful as she was, wasn’t able to inflict even the barest scratch. Given this, what hope could Andrew ever have of doing anything that would even come close to dominating or exploiting Narnia? To make all of this worse, he gives hardly a thought as to the fate of his own sister, Diggory’s mother, who might well be able to be cured of her wasting illness as a result of something in this strange and magical new land. He really is a jackass of the worst sort. Alas, there are far too many Uncle Andrews in our world at the moment, many of whom would do well by reading The Chronicles of Narnia.
Lastly, I want to say that this chapter does a great deal to show us just what a good person Diggory really is. Amid all of the wonders that he’s witnessing with the creation of Narnia, he still finds time to express concern about his mother and to begin the search for the thing that might just bring her back to her old self. It’s really quite touching to see this kind of devotion, and it says a great deal about his character. He’s not perfect, of course, but he really is a good person, and we love him for it.
There’s much else to love about these chapters–including Aslan’s communing with the chosen members of the animals and the way that Lewis describes the songs of the stars–but I think that’s enough for this week. I really am loving this deep dive into The Magician’s Nephew, and I hope you are, too! Until next week!