Alex Shepard 🇺🇸

"And no sooner had she finished it than she smiled and her head sank back on the pillow and she was asleep: a real, natural, gentle sleep, without any of those nasty drugs, which was, as Digory knew, the thing in the whole world that she wanted most." The Magician's Nephew is a prequel novel, and in the final chapter Lewis ties together the story such that this novel puts in motion the events recounted in the later chronological novels. The core of the apple becomes the tree that Professor Digory Kirke has made into a wardrobe some decades later; Digory's family moves to the house Professor Kirke will have when the Pevensies flee London during the Blitz. Ch. 15 makes the case for reading these novels in publication order; far better to encounter Lewis talking about "The lamp-post which the Witch had planted (without knowing it) shone day and night in the Narnian forest, so that the place where it grew came to be called Lantern Waste; and when, many years later another child from our world got into Narnia, on a snowy night, she found the light still burning" knowing Lucy's story than to have this statement spoil the mystery of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. As a good novel should, the character arcs wrap nicely. Digory's father returns from India, now wealthy from an inheritance. They move to the "great big house in the country" and "Digory felt just as sure as you that they were all going to live happily ever after." Polly came "nearly every holiday to stay with them at their beautiful house" and "that was where she learned to ride and swim and milk and bake and climb." Mable, Digory's mother, makes a full recovery after eating the Apple of Youth; her doctor declares "this is the most extroardinary case I have known in my whole medical career. It is---it is like a miracle." Even Uncle Andrew turns out all right; Digory's father decides they will take Uncle Andrew with them to the new home in the country: "We must try to keep the old fellow out of mischief, and it isn't fair that poor Letty should have him always on her hands." Andrew is changed by his adventures: "Uncle Andrew never tried any Magic again as long as he lived. He had learned his lesson, and in his old age he became a nicer and less selfish old man than he had ever been before." Before they return to Earth, Digory and Polly have one final conversation with Aslan. "You need no rings when I am with you," Aslan says as he translates himself, the children, and the sleeping Uncle Andrew to the Wood between the Worlds. The organic nature of Aslan's magic stands in stark contrast to the technical, external magic practiced by Uncle Andrew and the Witch. With Aslan, his magic is part of him. We see Aslan's magic in detail as He moves the humans to Earth: "And all at once (they never knew exactly how it happened) the face seemed to be a sea of tossing gold in which they were floating, and such a sweetness and power rolled about them and over them and entered them that they felt they had never really been happy or wise or good, or even alive and awake, before. And the memory of that moment stayed with them always, so that as long as they both lived, if ever they were sad or afraid or angry, the thought of that golden goodness, and the feeling that it was still there, quite close, just round some corner or just behind some door, would come back and make them sure, deep down inside, that all was well." Here Lewis joins the tradition of Christian authors attempting to express a Beatific Vision---a glimpse of eternal joy and goodness found in the presence of God. Yet Lewis does so in an immanent way. Dante the pilgrim left earth behind before ascending to behold the Rose. Lewis places this vision in the presence of Aslan, and has it remain with Digory and Polly. In Perelandra (1943), Lewis accomplished a difficult task: making goodness attractive. The good is often boring; how to help the reader encounter the good, and long for it? Lewis gives Digory and Polly a similar interaction: their souls are immersed in an unarticulatable sense of wonder, joy, love, and comfort, and that experience sustains them for the rest of their days. While in the Wood, Aslan gives the children a "warning and a command." The command is straightforward - take the rings from Uncle Andrew and bury them; there should be no more travel between worlds by Atlantean dust rings. In the warning, Lewis earns his reputation as prophet. Publishing these words in 1956 gives them an initial Cold War context; in every decade since, there has been a new parallel. Today, generative and agentic AI seem to fit Lewis's description. "When you were last here," said Aslan, "that hollow was a pool, and when you jumped into it you came to the world where a dying sun shone over the ruins of Charn. There is no pool now. That world is ended, as if if had never been. Let the race of Adam and Eve take warning." Polly asks, "But we're not quite as bad as that world, are we, Aslan?" "Not yet, Daughter of Eve," he said. "Not yet. But you are growing more like. It is not certain that some wicked one of your race will not find out a secret as evil as the Deplorable Word and use it to destroy all living things. And soon, very soon, before you are an old man and an old woman, great nations in your world will be ruled by tyrants who care no more for joy and justice and mercy than the Empress Jadis. Let your world beware." The danger Aslan outlines is two-fold. The endless quest for knowledge might pry into secrets that ought to be left undiscovered, leading to the cessation of life. But the worse danger, beyond the atomic threat, is that of rulers who care "no more for joy and justice and mercy" than Jadis, rulers who are in fact "tyrants." Aristotle distinguished between the monarch, a single ruler who wielded power for the good of others, and the tyrant, a single ruler who exercised power only for his own interest. Lewis picks up on this description, and suggests that the chronology of cruelty displayed in Charn's Hall of Images could parallel the future development of western civilization. Avoiding such a future requires humility in the pursuit of knowledge, and cultivating humanity within the ruling class. The need for humility and humanity has not diminished since 1956. The Magician's Nephew is a masterpiece of children's literature. As a fairy tale, it unites a quest narrative, an exploratory theme, a creation myth, and a healing fruit. On the level of the moral imagination, it is rife with images that avoid didactic preachiness, sneaking "past the watchful dragons" to plant truths in the souls of readers. Adults read Magician's Nephew, and see far more happening: Uncle Andrew's folly, Jadis's cruel beauty and transformation, hidden layers like the hortus conclusus theory of the garden and a theory of good government. All of these layers combine into a beautiful story that can be read and enjoyed by readers across the age brackets. The complexity of Magician's Nephew makes it difficult to adapt. I've closed each of these essays considering how to adapt the events of that specific chapter; in this final essay, I want to offer two general principles of adaptation along with a justification for why Christians generally and True Narnians specifically should care about how Netflix presents The Magician's Nephew. The first goal of an adaptation lies in understanding the heart of the story. In this case, the plot is essential, but is not the heart. For Magician's Nephew, the heart of the story is theological. This story highlights the Christian understanding of God as Creator, creation as a stewardship, and rational creatures being given a good (but fallen) world to rule. Gerwig does not share Lewis's theological convictions, and her lack of Chrisitan faith creates a barrier to getting this story right. With theological principles undergirding each chapter, an inability to understand and represent those principles from the inside make it unlikely this film will resonate with readers who were shaped by the power of theological truth displayed in Lewis's story. A second principle of adaptation that Gerwig will, most likely, not acheive is the donegality that marks Lewis's stories. In Planet Narnia, Dr. Michael Ward coined the term "donegality" to refer to the unique feel Lewis creates through the atmosphere of each place. In one letter, Lewis referred to the "donegality of Donegal," meaning, as Ward explains, that Donegal has a unique, unrepeatable feel about it. Every world Lewis creates has a specific feel to it, and that feel lies behind all the actions that take place in the story. The atmosphere of Lewis's stories is essential to what he is doing. The Magician's Nephew opens with an Edwardian feel---it's not just the London of England, but the London of Lewis's childhood era. Born in 1898, Lewis experienced the last days of pre-WWI Europe. Consider these lines from Ch. 1 and how they set the feel of a very specific London: "In those days Mr. Sherlock Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were still looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road. In those days, if you were a boy you had to wear a stiff Eton collar every day, and schools were generally nastier than now. But meals were nicer; and as for sweets, I won't tell you how cheap and good they were, because it would only make your mouth water in vain. And in those days there lived in London a girl called Polly Plummer." Before Lewis gets to action, plot, or character, he evokes a specific feeling of a specific London. He does the same for the Wood-between-the-worlds, for Charn, and for Narnia. Greta Gerwig's pattern of artistic innovation and inspiration from rock-n'-roll sources suggest she will almost certainly miss the donegality of each place. As many others have pointed out, concerns about adaptation matter because the fan base for Narnia is profoundly different from the fan base for Barbie. True Narnians (as I've taken to calling fans who share my presuppositions about what an adaptation requires) hold very strong opinions on what Lewis sought to do with his stories; we can point to the ways Lewis's stories shaped our theological and moral imaginations, how Lewis helped us know Jesus Christ more truly, and how his stories are built upon deep traditions of thought. In some cases, there are specific passages of letters or essays where Lewis meditates on his writing process and goals; those passages should shape adaptation. In contrast, Barbie trades on light feminism and nostalgia; it, like He-Man, G.I. Joe, and Power Rangers, is a loosely built set of stories primarily creating merchandising opportunities. Gerwig created an interesting Barbie film; that does not mean she is capable of understanding Lewis's theological masterpiece, or translating it into film. We're still three months out from the theatrical release of The Magician's Nephew; it's possible that I am wrong and this film will be a successful adaptation. But watch the trailer one final time. If you've joined me for 16 of these essays (an intro and one per chapter), consider: - Does Mable (renamed Flora in the film) saying "Magic is everywhere" fit Lewis's careful distinction between Jadis/Andrew's Magic vs. what Aslan does? - Based on what we see, what donegality is Gerwig going for in London, the Wood between the Worlds, Charn, and Narnia? Is it the same, or different from, what Lewis does in the book? - Does Gerwig maintain, pervert, or remove Lewis's theological convictions in the creation of Narnia? - Consider what we see of Uncle Andrew, Digory, Polly, Jadis, and Aslan: Are these the characters Lewis created? or something different? The question of adaptation is not a question of direct copying; instead, it is a question of stewardship. How does this film steward Lewis's story? @annielcrawford articulated the clearest reason why Christians should care deeply about this film: It's possible this is Netflix's attempt to popularize a de-Christianized Narnia. Netflix has a proven history of taking established stories like Anne of Green Gables or The Queen's Gambit and twisting them into dark, gay, drug-ridden stories that become the way the next generation encounters that story for the first time. I find the theory that Greta Gerwig creates an excellent but fraudulent Narnia film, stripped of spiritual vitality, plausible. As men and women who love Lewis and were shaped by his stories, True Narnians ought not be silent if that is what happens. Thank you for joining me on this deep read! I've really enjoyed writing these essays, and have a plan for what I want to do with them. If you want to know about that plan, be sure to follow me. I'll be posting about it in early December. youtube.com/watch?v=gDJ-ini7…