“But it is a real book: i.e. it’s not a book at all, but like a thunderclap.”
I recently came across this gem in The Letters of C. S. Lewis. He wrote it to his dear friend, Arthur Greeves, in 1930.
I posted about my “thunderclap” books on my Facebook page that same day; but, upon further consideration, I realized such a worthy topic merits a post. Several posts, in fact – a running topic to which I can return when I encounter soul-changing cosmic reverberations in a book.
Welcome to The Thunderclap Series.
If you were hoping to hear more about Brad, the main character and narrator of my new novel, take heart! I have Brad-brain at the moment, so everything will relate back to him sooner or later.
It seemed fitting, in this first and (hopefully) most auspicious of posts, to begin with Lewis himself. Here one must be specific regarding the book, as every word the man wrote seems to send celestial shockwaves running through my being. I am sure I will have a few Lewis “thunderclaps” in this series; but, for now, I will start where it all started.
As I mentioned in the first post about my new novel-istic endeavor, the new world I’m creating was inspired by the literary children of Lewis and his friend, J.R.R. Tolkien. Having enjoyed diving into their literary worlds so completely, I wanted a world of my own – one that was wholly mine and would always be mine first, whoever else may come to find home there.
This particular world owes more to Narnia than to Middle Earth.
In The Lord of the Rings, Tolkien was writing a mythological history for the real world (much like I attempted to do in The Ancient). Narnia, on the other hand, is a fantasy world connected to the “real world”, or life as we know it. Characters – and, through them, readers – can go back and forth betwixt the two.
That is what my new novel is about: a fantasy world that people find themselves in when they lose someone dear to them. They literally wake up in this new place with no warning, much like the Pevensie children getting pulled into Narnia; then, once their time there is done, they depart. (The Lore of the Land does not specify whither you go once you leave. The Guardian presumes you turn up back in your old life in the “real” world, but . . . no one has ever returned to tell the tale.)
See? I told you we’d be talking about Brad.
Narnia is even further akin to Brad in its tone. Lewis always manages to pack several punches of profundity into words that skip along as lightly as children through a meadow. It’s funny, too. I have laughed out loud so often while journeying in Narnia, especially in The Magician’s Nephew.
In this book about the creation of Narnia, Lewis showed me that you can have a lot of fun telling a serious tale. He never belittles the weight of his subject, but he handles it with such a light touch that everyone can enjoy the ride along with him.
Take this climactic passage from The Magician’s Nephew, wherein an evil witch (THE White Witch, in fact) has slipped through into the “real” world and is threatening to wreak havoc in London. Anyone would agree that this is quite a serious matter, but Lewis keeps popping in these parenthetical phrases about the unnamed housemaid:
“While Aunt Letty was still hurtling through the air, the housemaid (who was having a beautifully exciting morning), put her head in at the door…”
“‘Oh, Master Digory,’ said the housemaid (who was really having a wonderful day), ‘I think Miss Ketterley’s hurt herself…’”
“‘Sarah,’ she said to the housemaid (who had never had such a day before), ‘go around to the police station at once…’”
I didn’t even remember until writing this that we actually do learn her name: Sarah. All I remembered was how much I giggle every time I read this part of the book – and this is just one of the delightful comic gems in this series. Through Narnia, Lewis taught me that one can walk with one foot in the depths and one foot on the heights of whimsy, and not fall over.
On the “depth” side, the most “thunderclap” of the Narnia books for me would be The Last Battle and The Silver Chair. I can’t cram The Last Battle into the end of this one post; it’s not so much a thunderclap as a whole series of storms, pouring cleansing rain on the past and sounding thunderous doom in the present and lighting up the future with flashes of fiery hope.
So, I will leave you with my favorite quote from The Silver Chair, which is a fitting end to any conversation and worth remembering – and pondering, and living – every day of my life.
(And, now that I think of it, Brad owes a debt of inspiration here, too.)
It is spoken by Puddleglum the Marsh-wiggle as he (along with Jill, Eustace, and Prince Rilian) are falling under the enchantment of an evil Queen:
“‘One word, Ma’am,’ he said, coming back from the fire, limping because of the pain. ‘Oe word. All you’ve been saying is quite right, I shouldn’t wonder. I’m a chap who always liked to know the worst and then put the best face I can on it. So I won’t deny any of what you said. But there’s one thing more to be said, even so. 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. Suppose this black pit of a kingdom of yours is the only world. Well, it strikes me as a pretty poor one. And that’s a funny thing, when you come to think of it. We’re just babies making up a game, if you’re right. But four babies playing a game can make a play world which licks your real world hollow. 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. So, thanking you kindly for our supper, if these two gentlemen and the young lady are ready, we’re leaving your court at once and setting out in the dark to spend our lives looking for the Overland. Not that our lives will be very long, I should think; but that’s a small loss if the world’s as dull a place as you say.’”
What better response can one make to that than what Jill and Eustace say?
“‘Oh, hurray! Good old Puddleglum!’ cried Scrubb and Jill.
Well said, children.
Well said.
oh, Narnia… you always speak to me. I can literally open any page of that series and find a gem that touches my spirit, lifts my eyes and is balm to my soul. <3
Loved “one foot in the depths . . . one on the heights AND NOT FALL OVER!!!!! So-o-o rich!
I shall live as a Narnian, by the grace of Asian!
Oh love! I was longing for a bit of Brad news and found my heart’s fill here. Also, all of this was just beautiful. Simply smashing my dear.