"After all, he's not a tame lion"
"But he is good . . ."
I think my social fantasy is thinking that if Lewis and I ever met, we'd get along pretty well, and I would be able to call him Jack. Except it'd be one of those socrates/mentee kind of relationships
"Yes Mr. Lewis"
"Of course Mr. Lewis"
"I don't know, Mr. Lewis, would you please enlighten me?"
Something about the image of four children sitting on thrones really sticks out to me, but it is much too late for me to ponder this, so I will leave my ruminations for tommorow, if anyone cares.
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So, I am pretty much in love with C.S. Lewis' soul. And I really can't get over the fact that he's dead, seeing as I want to marry him. In fact, pretty much all the men I've proclaimed my undying love for are dead (Homer, Chesterton, Yeates, so many others). Hmmm. I choose not to contemplate this depressing trend.
As for children on thrones, the idea of having them fight really struck me in the cinema, more than in the text. They ARE children (unlike in the really endearing abomination that was the BBC miniseries)- why on earth would Aslan have them fight, when he could fight better? Why on earth (in Narnia?) would he let them rule, when he could rule better? The truth of this analogy - along with Lewis' brilliance -really hit home to me. We are children in the midst of an epic battle about which we are ignorant and for which we are thoroughly unprepared. We take up clumsily the weapons we are given, we submit grinningly to the crowns we wear, only half-awake to the terrible and joyous responsibilty we have. We must fight, that we may see Aslan's salvation; we must rule, that we may enter into his reign. The truth of it almost made me weep.
It is the same thing as Redcrosse; read the introduction, and Spenser names him a "clownish young man", inexperienced in war, given battle-worn armour passed on by God (the armour of God) and sent out into battle.
Kinda like us.
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