No blogging for a few days. I've sprained my wrist/thumb . . . on my right hand! So doc says ice it and stay away from computer! The ice and meds are helping, but it's SO hard not to be on the computer! But I'll be able to get a lot of reading done since I can't really do anything else--like housework.
Back to the Inklings on Monday I hope.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Narnian
Just read the intro and ch 1 in The Narnian: The Life and Inagination of C S Lewis, by Alan Jacobs. I'm actually listening to it on my iPod while I read the book, the audiobook is read by Alan Jacobs, so that's kinda cool.
Jacobs says that while his book is "almost a biography," his aim was to write "the life of a mind, the story of an imagination." An early indication of this is his focus on CSL's experience of solitude, beginning with the death of his mother. Jacobs looks at the results of this: reading lots of books, creating imaginary worlds with his brother, and developing a sense of self that allowed Lewis to act as an individual. He reminds us that Lewis said he wrote children's books because nobody wrote the sort of books he wanted to read. Another interesting effect of CSL's early collaboration with Warnie is what Jacobs identifies as Lewis's quality of "syncretism": "a taste for syncretism is one of his cardinal traits, and it ultimately became for him a matter of theological principle" (13). He ties this in to the way in which the Lewis boys blended their individual worlds: Warnie's India and Jack's Animal Land are, he notes, blended into the one world of Boxen. I don't think I ever really understood this before, and I look forward to seeing what Jacobs makes of this in Lewis's later writing.
He quotes from Barfield's essay, "The Five C. S. Lewises," which I don't recall reading--so that will have to go on the list. Jacob's suggests that one distinctive quality of Lewis's mind was his "willingness to be enchanted . . . . an openness to delight, to the sense that there's more to the world than meets the eye, to the possibility that anything could happen to the one who is ready to meet that anything" (xxi). Again, I'll be interested to see what he makes of this regarding Lewis's fiction. I think, having just re-read the trilogy, that I see evidence of this in Jane and Mark in That Hideous Strength; at first neither of them is ready to "see" reality, but Lewis develops their characters until they both can let their guard down and accept, with delight, what is real and true; then they become the sort of people who can live lives of obedience and fulfillment.
Well, the book is good so far, and I'm enjoying Jacobs reading voice--though it's so smooth that I dozed off for a couple minutes. But that's not his fault--it's been a long day.
Jacobs says that while his book is "almost a biography," his aim was to write "the life of a mind, the story of an imagination." An early indication of this is his focus on CSL's experience of solitude, beginning with the death of his mother. Jacobs looks at the results of this: reading lots of books, creating imaginary worlds with his brother, and developing a sense of self that allowed Lewis to act as an individual. He reminds us that Lewis said he wrote children's books because nobody wrote the sort of books he wanted to read. Another interesting effect of CSL's early collaboration with Warnie is what Jacobs identifies as Lewis's quality of "syncretism": "a taste for syncretism is one of his cardinal traits, and it ultimately became for him a matter of theological principle" (13). He ties this in to the way in which the Lewis boys blended their individual worlds: Warnie's India and Jack's Animal Land are, he notes, blended into the one world of Boxen. I don't think I ever really understood this before, and I look forward to seeing what Jacobs makes of this in Lewis's later writing.
He quotes from Barfield's essay, "The Five C. S. Lewises," which I don't recall reading--so that will have to go on the list. Jacob's suggests that one distinctive quality of Lewis's mind was his "willingness to be enchanted . . . . an openness to delight, to the sense that there's more to the world than meets the eye, to the possibility that anything could happen to the one who is ready to meet that anything" (xxi). Again, I'll be interested to see what he makes of this regarding Lewis's fiction. I think, having just re-read the trilogy, that I see evidence of this in Jane and Mark in That Hideous Strength; at first neither of them is ready to "see" reality, but Lewis develops their characters until they both can let their guard down and accept, with delight, what is real and true; then they become the sort of people who can live lives of obedience and fulfillment.
Well, the book is good so far, and I'm enjoying Jacobs reading voice--though it's so smooth that I dozed off for a couple minutes. But that's not his fault--it's been a long day.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
That Hideous Strength . . . the ending
Lewis's apocalyptic ending always amazes me. I thoroughly enjoy the destruction of Belbury brought about by the disintegration of language and the revenge of the brutalized animals. I can relate to the people, after the meal, listening to speeches they'd rather not have to hear and only half attending. Then startled into paying close attention when something out of the ordinary is said. I love it that the speakers each believe they are perfectly coherent until they see the astonished faces of the others. Feverstone in this scene is truly diabolical; he gets to a safe place and then watches with sadistic pleasure as the others panic and are trampled. Of course, he gets what's coming to him when he is buried in the landslide. The biblical allusion here to Babel is, of course, perfectly fitting and perhaps sheds light on the biblical story itself. The urge of reprobate humans to become as gods is not new in the scientific age--nor is the demonic temptation and arrogance which lures humans in to this desire. Lewis's story exposes it in our real world as well as in the world of the novel; he so clearly depicts the sometimes imperceptible stages that lead to the downward spiral out of grace.
I'm always so relieved when Mark begins to question the N.I.C.E., and when Frost tells him to trample the crucifix, he has a complex reaction, but it's here that he begins to wonder if there's some truth in Christianity. If there's not, why make such a big deal out of defying it?
The final scenes in St. Anne's are beautiful and satisfying; I really appreciate that they depict humans, especially the women, as nearly mythic creatures themselves. While the old myths are coming to life with the visiting Oyeresu, new myths are forming. A new Pendragon will become the Head of Logres, and these very "normal" people will continue as its protectors. Lewis is very clear that "normal" humans are much more than we generally perceive them to be. He says elsewhere that the people we take so much for granted in everyday situations are indeed creatures (he uses that word advisedly) whom, if we saw them for what they truly are, we would be tempted to worship or abhor and flee from in terror. He shows us these two extremes in That Hideous Strength and does it in so winsome a manner that readers, too, may be drawn in to the camp of grace, as Mark is in the end.
My students will be re-reading one book of the trilogy--whichever each one chooses--and branching out to other Inklings books in the next few weeks; I'm interested to see what they choose to focus on and what insights they will have.
In the meantime, I'll be reading Charles Williams and The Narnian . . . so more on that later.
I'm always so relieved when Mark begins to question the N.I.C.E., and when Frost tells him to trample the crucifix, he has a complex reaction, but it's here that he begins to wonder if there's some truth in Christianity. If there's not, why make such a big deal out of defying it?
The final scenes in St. Anne's are beautiful and satisfying; I really appreciate that they depict humans, especially the women, as nearly mythic creatures themselves. While the old myths are coming to life with the visiting Oyeresu, new myths are forming. A new Pendragon will become the Head of Logres, and these very "normal" people will continue as its protectors. Lewis is very clear that "normal" humans are much more than we generally perceive them to be. He says elsewhere that the people we take so much for granted in everyday situations are indeed creatures (he uses that word advisedly) whom, if we saw them for what they truly are, we would be tempted to worship or abhor and flee from in terror. He shows us these two extremes in That Hideous Strength and does it in so winsome a manner that readers, too, may be drawn in to the camp of grace, as Mark is in the end.
My students will be re-reading one book of the trilogy--whichever each one chooses--and branching out to other Inklings books in the next few weeks; I'm interested to see what they choose to focus on and what insights they will have.
In the meantime, I'll be reading Charles Williams and The Narnian . . . so more on that later.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
That Hideous Strength . . . cont.
I'm through ch 13, and there's way too much to comment on. So I think I'll note a few places where I've seen Mark and Jane mirroring each others reactions or responses to their different situations. While we tend to "side" with Jane, neither character is really in the right; both are still "young" as the narrator tells us numerous times.
Of course we've seen their struggles in regard to joining a community: Mark trying desperately to get into the inner circle at Belbury, and losing any moral compass he may have had, and Jane repelled at first from St. Anne's because of her desire for autonomy. Even when she is nearly "in," she responds out of wrong desires, and Ransom must sharply tell her to stop. It is not for the sake of obedience or submission itself that she must join but for love and reverence toward Maleldil. When she is not capable of this, Ransom tells her she will be allowed to join because of her regard for him--at least for a time.
Jane, at first, hesitates to try to bring Mark to St. Anne's, because she still sees him as completely separate from herself and she can't imagine him wanting to be there; later she comes to pity him and, finally, she can draw him in with love. Mark can't imagine Jane at Belbury; when he thinks of her he recognizes the coarseness of the workings there, but when he is arrested, he has a moment of complete self-absorption in which he imagines her submission to his grandiose ideas; he sees her as the ultimate trophy wife, a hostess who will smooth the way to his success.
They have,too, similar responses to religion, and both experience a sort of conversion when confronted with the reality of death. Jane is put off by the trappings of religion--by church, yet she is drawn to the beauty and intensity of what I can only call Faith--as exhibited by Ransom's relationship with the eldila and Maleldil. Jane thinks, "Maleldil might be, quite simply and crudely, God. There might be a life after death: a Heaven: a Hell. The thought glowed in her mind for a second like a spark that has fallen on shavings, and then a second later, like those shavings, her whole mind was in a blaze . . ." (231)
Mark identifies himself as an atheist and has no sympathy for superstition, yet he undergoes a transformation while he is under arrest at Belbury. First we learn that Wither and Frost want to condition him to have a "change of heart"; Frost will tell him about the real Masters of the inner circle, the real intelligences behind the speaking head. But by the time Frost gets to him, Mark has already recognized his own folly in all his life seeking to get "in," to be admired, and though he realizes that he can't even determine to resist, he is in a sense humbled. At the brink of submission to reality, and thereby to God himself, he, too, experiences an almost lunatic temptation, as Jane had in the Director's room. He feels, first "a strange sense of liberation . . . . The relief of no longer trying to win these men's confidence" (264), and then "desire . . . took him by the throat" (265) and he is drawn by the "infinite attraction of this dark thing" (265) into a perverted fascination with the Darkness itself; he even feels a sort of kinship with Wither! He finally comes to himself and realizes he has been under some kind of attack--something like Lewis felt in the beginning of Perelandra--by the dark eldila. On the next page he experiences "a sort of peace," and we're told: "He wanted Jane; he wanted Mrs. Dimble, he wanted Denniston. He wanted somebody or something" (267). Rejecting the Dark and desiring the Good, he falls asleep.
It's interesting that though their paths appear so different, both Jane and Mark are growing into the Truth. Both have to give up their false assumptions about themselves in order to become their true selves and find true freedom and admiration.
Well, I haven't even mentioned Merlin and the tramp--one of Lewis's most brilliant pieces of story-telling I think. I'm thankful for the humorous element at this part of the book which is so intense!
Of course we've seen their struggles in regard to joining a community: Mark trying desperately to get into the inner circle at Belbury, and losing any moral compass he may have had, and Jane repelled at first from St. Anne's because of her desire for autonomy. Even when she is nearly "in," she responds out of wrong desires, and Ransom must sharply tell her to stop. It is not for the sake of obedience or submission itself that she must join but for love and reverence toward Maleldil. When she is not capable of this, Ransom tells her she will be allowed to join because of her regard for him--at least for a time.
Jane, at first, hesitates to try to bring Mark to St. Anne's, because she still sees him as completely separate from herself and she can't imagine him wanting to be there; later she comes to pity him and, finally, she can draw him in with love. Mark can't imagine Jane at Belbury; when he thinks of her he recognizes the coarseness of the workings there, but when he is arrested, he has a moment of complete self-absorption in which he imagines her submission to his grandiose ideas; he sees her as the ultimate trophy wife, a hostess who will smooth the way to his success.
They have,too, similar responses to religion, and both experience a sort of conversion when confronted with the reality of death. Jane is put off by the trappings of religion--by church, yet she is drawn to the beauty and intensity of what I can only call Faith--as exhibited by Ransom's relationship with the eldila and Maleldil. Jane thinks, "Maleldil might be, quite simply and crudely, God. There might be a life after death: a Heaven: a Hell. The thought glowed in her mind for a second like a spark that has fallen on shavings, and then a second later, like those shavings, her whole mind was in a blaze . . ." (231)
Mark identifies himself as an atheist and has no sympathy for superstition, yet he undergoes a transformation while he is under arrest at Belbury. First we learn that Wither and Frost want to condition him to have a "change of heart"; Frost will tell him about the real Masters of the inner circle, the real intelligences behind the speaking head. But by the time Frost gets to him, Mark has already recognized his own folly in all his life seeking to get "in," to be admired, and though he realizes that he can't even determine to resist, he is in a sense humbled. At the brink of submission to reality, and thereby to God himself, he, too, experiences an almost lunatic temptation, as Jane had in the Director's room. He feels, first "a strange sense of liberation . . . . The relief of no longer trying to win these men's confidence" (264), and then "desire . . . took him by the throat" (265) and he is drawn by the "infinite attraction of this dark thing" (265) into a perverted fascination with the Darkness itself; he even feels a sort of kinship with Wither! He finally comes to himself and realizes he has been under some kind of attack--something like Lewis felt in the beginning of Perelandra--by the dark eldila. On the next page he experiences "a sort of peace," and we're told: "He wanted Jane; he wanted Mrs. Dimble, he wanted Denniston. He wanted somebody or something" (267). Rejecting the Dark and desiring the Good, he falls asleep.
It's interesting that though their paths appear so different, both Jane and Mark are growing into the Truth. Both have to give up their false assumptions about themselves in order to become their true selves and find true freedom and admiration.
Well, I haven't even mentioned Merlin and the tramp--one of Lewis's most brilliant pieces of story-telling I think. I'm thankful for the humorous element at this part of the book which is so intense!
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