Chapter 5—
“You Must Use the Map”:
Signs and Scripture in The
Silver Chair
Northrop Frye, in The
Secular Scripture, describes four primary narrative movements in
literature: “First, the descent from a higher world; second, the descent to a
lower world; third, the ascent from a lower world; and fourth, the ascent to a
higher world. All stories in literature are complications of, or metaphorical
derivations from, these four narrative radicals.”1 This pattern
mirrors, or perhaps grew out of, experiences from many areas of human life. It
reflects the structure of the universe assumed to be true until the nineteenth
century, of—in descending order—Olympus or heaven, earth, and hell or hades. It
relates to the human cycle of descent to this world at birth, further descent
at death, and ascent after death or at a later resurrection. And it is at the
heart of Christianity, as the words of the Apostles’ Creed bring out nicely:
Christ was “born of the Virgin Mary; suffered under Pontius Pilate, was
crucified, dead and buried; he descended into hell, the third day he rose again
from the dead; he ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of God
the Father Almighty.” One of the basic appeals of The Silver Chair, the
fourth volume in the Chronicles of Narnia, one way in which it rings true and
convey its meanings, is [ß p. 65]
that it incorporates, consecutively, all four of these movements into its
structure and meaning.
Its structure and meaning are also shaped by a repeated
use of water imagery. The children float into Narnia above the sea, the King
Caspian sails away and returns on the sea. The children and Puddleglum are
taken across a subterranean ocean as they search for Rilian, and are threatened
by a rising underland flood as they escape with Rilian. But the most important
of the water images occurs already in the second chapter. Jill Pole, after
leaving our world with Eustace Scrubb and seeing Eustace fall over an
enormously high cliff, has a long cry and then finds herself “dreadfully
thirsty” (p. 15). Hearing a stream nearby, she goes toward it but finds, lying
in her path, a lion who says to her, “If you are thirsty, come and drink” (p.
16). His invitation, which alludes to Christ’s words in the New Testament, “If
any man thirst, let him come unto me, and drink” (John 7: 37), draws into The Silver Chair the significance of
water in the Gospel of John and particularly in the episode of the Samaritan
woman. When she met Christ at Jacob’s well, where she had come to fill her
pitcher with water, he offered her spiritual water instead: “Whosoever drinketh
of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I
shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting
life” (John 4:14). When the woman receives and believes Christ’s words, her
spiritual thirst is quenched; she takes those words to her friends, who also
believe; and she brings other persons to listen to Christ and they believe
also, “because of his own word” (4:41). The episode illustrates what Christ
affirmed a bit later, “The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and
they are life” (6:63).
The words spoken by Christ in our world are parallel to
words spoken to Jill by Aslan soon after her arrival in Narnia. After Jill
drinks from the stream and satisfies her thirst, Aslan gives four signs to help
her and Eustace find [ß p. 66]
the lost Prince Rilian, the task for which Aslan called them into Narnia:
These are the Signs by which I will guide you in
your quest. First; as soon as the Boy Eustace sets foot in Narnia, he will meet
an old and dear friend. He must greet that friend at once; if he does, you will
both have good help. Second; you must journey out of Narnia to the north till
you come to the ruined city of the ancient giants. Third; you shall find a
writing on a stone in that ruined city, and you must do what the writing tells
you. Fourth; you will know the lost Prince (if you find him) by this, that he
will be the first person you have met in your travels who will ask you to do
something in my name, in the name of Aslan. (pp. 19-20)
Aslan then directs her to “remember, remember, remember
the Signs. Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie
down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night” (p. 21). These
lines also contain a biblical allusion, to Moses’s words as he delivered the
law to the children of Israel (Deut. 6: 6-7). The signs become for Jill, like
the words of the law or the words of Christ in our world, a source of direction
and guidance. The image of the signs in Narnia resembles quite closely the
comparison of theology to a map in Mere
Christianity: “Doctrines are not God: they are only a kind of map. But that
map is based on the experience of hundreds of people who really were in touch
with God” (p. 136). And Lewis urges his readers to hold some of the main
doctrines of Christianity “before your mind for some time every day. That is
why daily prayers and religious reading and churchgoing are necessary parts of
the Christian life. We have to be continually reminded of what we believe” (p.
124). The message for Jill and for Christians in our world is the same, “If you
want to get any further, you must use the map” (p. 136).
Although
in this case the idea to be imaged is introduced early, it is quickly subordinated
to the story, that of [ß p. 67]
Jill and Eustace’s search for the lost Prince Rilian. Because the story, as a
journey and as a search, is the most nearly pure romance of the Narnia books,
the archetypal significances inherent in that form can be helpful in better
understanding its structure and themes. Its narrative pattern, the most basic
of romance forms, is emphasized by use of the word “quest” (pp. 19, 199) and by
the references to the “task” the children are to perform: “I lay on you this
command, that you seek this lost Prince until either you have found him and
brought him to his father’s house, or else died in the attempt, or else gone
back into your own world” (p. 19; also p. 18). Lewis complicates the structure
by introducing a second quest, a quest within a quest: there is the children’s
search for Prince Rilian who disappeared ten years before, but Prince Rilian,
when he disappeared, was himself on a quest, seeking revenge for the death of
his mother. The story uses character types typical of romance—a brave prince, a
wise older guide, an evil witch; typical romance motifs—the lost child, the
dangerous journey, a symbolic death and rebirth; and the basic romance
structure—separation (Chapters 3-5), ordeal (Chapters 6-12), and return (Chapters
13-16). As the romance structure combines with the idea of the Word, as the
signs which give guidance combine with the downward and upward movement of the
quest, structure and theme unite to achieve the distinctive quality and meaning
of the book.
The first
stage of the descent is from the cliff into Narnia: Eustace falls over the
cliff when he tries to rescue Jill, who had been showing off, and Jill follows
later when Aslan, who gave Eustace a safe ride down, sends her down on his
breath as well. Because Eustace does not know what Aslan told Jill and does not
recognize the doddering old king as his friend Caspian, they quickly muff the
first sign. But they receive help from Glimfeather and his folk at a Parliament
of Owls, who fill in the background for the [ß p. 68]
story. While out maying in the north parts of Narnia, the Queen, Caspian’s
wife, was bitten and killed by a great green serpent, which Prince Rilian
pursued but could not apprehend. Thereafter, Rilian spent his days riding the
northern marches, “hunting for the venomous worm, to kill it and be avenged”
(p. 50). But he soon mentioned to Lord Drinian that he encountered, by the
fountain where his mother was killed, “the most beautiful lady he had ever
seen” (p. 51), who beckoned for the prince to join her. A few days later,
Prince Rilian rode out again “and from that hour no trace of him was ever found
in Narnia nor any neighbouring land” (p. 51).
That a
mother is killed while maying provides significant clues to the nature of the
Witch and to the archetypal meanings involved in the episode. The Witch is an
evil temptress, another Circe figure: the wise owls recognize her similarities
to the same type of figure in The Lion,
the Witch and the Wardrobe: “Long, long ago, at the very beginning, a White
Witch came out of the North and bound our land in snow and ice for a hundred
years. And we think this may be one of the same crew” (p. 52).2 Although, when Drinian sees her, she is
wearing a thin garment “as green as poison” and although it strikes him that
this “shining green woman was evil” (p. 51), she is not Satan or a
devil-figure. She is the figure of evil in this fairy story, but that evil is
handled in the manner of romance, not theology. In keeping with her place in
the Circe tradition, she dislikes motherhood, creativity, and men. Thus, on the
holiday which celebrates the return of growth and fertility, she kills a mother
and makes plans to entice and enslave a sterling example of young manhood.
Rilian’s mother, the daughter of a star, recognizes the nature of her attacker
and tries to warn her son of his danger: “As long as the life was in her she
seemed to be trying hard to tell him something. But she could not speak clearly
and, whatever her message was, she died without delivering it” (p. 49). [ß p. 69] The Witch’s hatred
goes beyond the royal family to the nation itself: “She has some use for him,
and some deep scheme against Narnia,” the owls conclude (p. 52). There lingers
on in her the animosity the White Witch felt toward Narnia as a place of life,
beauty, and freedom.3 She plans, therefore, to rule the Narnians
through Rilian, who will murder their natural lords and hold “their throne as a
bloody and foreign tyrant” (p. 150). The archetypal nature of the Witch is made
particularly clear by the words of the oldest Dwarf: "Those Northern
Witches always mean the same thing, but in every age they have a different plan
for getting it” (p. 201).
The
separation stage of the children’s quest occurs shortly afterward on the
northern edge of Narnia. The owls have transported Jill and Eustace as far as
the Marshwigglers, where they are entrusted to Puddleglum, one of Lewis’s most
fascinating characters. A tall, skinny, frog-like creature, Puddleglum is able
to find a dark lining to even the brightest of clouds. “‘Good morning, Guests,’ it said. ‘Though
when I say good I don’t mean it won’t
probably turn to rain or it might be snow, or fog, or thunder. You didn’t get
any sleep, I dare say’”(p. 58). With Puddleglum as companion and guide, the
children set out across Ettinsmoor in search of the ruined city mentioned in
the second sign: “It stands to reason we’re not very likely to get very far on
a journey to the North, not at this time of the year, with the winter coming on
soon and all. And an early winter too, by the look of things. But you mustn’t
let that make you downhearted. Very likely, what with enemies, and mountains,
and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to eat, and sore
feet, we’ll hardly notice the weather” (p. 61).
All those
difficulties they are able to cope with, however, as they travel northward past
the giants and across the moor, and reach an ancient bridge spanning a deep
ravine. When they cross the bridge, they meet their first [ß p. 70] serious danger, and
internal threat. A beautiful lady, dressed in a long, fluttering dress of
dazzling green, riding with a knight in black armor, advises them to stop for
the winter, or for a rest, with the gentle giants at the castle of Harfang.
“There you shall have steaming baths, soft beds, and bright hearts; and the
roast and the baked and the sweet and the strong will be on the table four
times in a day” (p. 76). Her words do to them what the weather, roads, and
giants were not able to: “Whatever the Lady had intended by telling them about
Harfang, the actual effect on the children was a bad one. They could think
about nothing but beds and baths and hot meals and how lovely it would be to
get indoors. They never talked about Aslan, or even about the lost Prince, now.
And Jill gave up her habit of repeating the Signs over to herself every night
and morning. She said to herself, at first, that she was too tired, but she
soon forgot all about it” (pp. 79-80). By yielding to the temptation of
relaxation, of decreased vigilance, they miss the second sign, even as they
stumble across the squares and oblongs of the ruined city on a flat hilltop,
and the third sign, although Jill falls into one of its letters. Instead of
concentrating on Aslan’s signs, they have begun to think of themselves and to
rely on their own judgement. They have put themselves into the hands of
symbolic giants, of emotional forces which could devour them, even before they
walk into the hands of the literal giants at Harfang. Puddleglum tries to get
them to stop, review the signs, and look around them, but the children can
think only “of baths and beds and hot drinks; and the idea of coming to Harfang
too late and being shut out was almost unbearable” (p. 89).
In a
sense, then, the internal threat Harfang poses is a greater danger than the
physical threat, though the latter is great enough: the Gentle Giants came very
close to literally having the
travelers “for [their] Autumn Feast,” as the second meaning of Eustace’s words
put it (p. 95). Fortunately the travelers escape through an open pantry [ß p. 71] door, during the
cook’s nap, and the giant King’s fears are realized: “We’ll have no man-pies
to-morrow” (p. 117). Meantime, they have had to confront the inner threat as
well. Jill, during their night at Harfang, dreams of a lion, who “told her to
repeat the Signs, and she found that she had forgotten them all. At that, a
great horror came over her.” As the dream continues, the lion shows Jill,
through the window, “written in great letters across the world or the sky (she
did not know which) . . . the words UNDER ME” (p. 100). The words, which
anticipate those they will see next day cut in the pavement of the City
Ruinous, at this point are another sign—an affirmation of power and authority
which should strengthen them now and in the future stages of their ordeal.
Puddleglum, later, in the palace of the Queen of Deep Realm, gives overt
expression to what the words at this point imply: “There are no accidents. Our guide is Aslan; and he was here when the
giant king caused the letters to be cut, and he knew already all things that
would come of them” (p. 134). Next morning, the children look out a window of
the palace and see, “spread out like a map,” the second sign, “the ruins of a
gigantic city” (p. 101). And across the center of the city is the third sign,
“in large, dark lettering . . . the words UNDER ME” (p. 102). The travelers now
must begin again to rely on the signs, to trust in their guide, to follow the
“map” they have been given in order to find the Prince and to meet the threats
which are still to come when they do.
After
the travellers slip out of the Castle of Harfang and escape from the giants by
crawling through a slight crevice between the huge rocks, they slide down a
long gravelly incline in what becomes the second stage of their descent. The
characteristics Frye gives for the descent are particularly pertinent here:
The general theme of descent
. . . [is] that of growing confusion of identity and of restrictions on action.
There is a [ß p. 72]
break in consciousness in the beginning, with analogies to falling asleep,
followed by a descent to a lower world which is sometimes a world of cruelty
and imprisonment. . . . In the descent there is a growing isolation and
immobility: charms and spells hold one motionless; human beings are turned into
subhuman creatures, and made more mechanical in behavior; hero or heroine are
trapped in labyrinths or prisons. (The
Secular Scripture, p. 129)
This level of descent is usually the greatest test of
one’s character, as it images the descent into the depths of despair, the
pilgrimage into the dark night of the soul, which must either crush the spirit
or force it to rise from the worst with new strength and courage.
The
characteristics described by Frye appear in Lewis’s underworld, though with the
complication that, since two quests are under way, the characteristics are
divided between them. The underworld ordeal of Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum is
characterized by sleep, isolation, and immobility and ties back to the dangers
they faced on the plains before they reached Harfang. After being captured by a
company of gnomes, they can reassure themselves, as they are led on a long
journey through cavern after cavern and a lengthy voyage over an underland sea,
that, in Puddleglum’s words, “We’re back on the right lines. We were to go
under the Ruined City, and we are
under it. We’re following the instructions again” (p. 128). As they reach the
underworld city, meet the Black Knight, and stand watch during his nighttime
“enchantment,” they must continue to follow instructions. They have resolved
not to be influenced by the Prince’s pleas while he is “enchanted” and they are
able to remain “steady” even when the Prince says, loud and clear, “Quick! I am
sane now. Every night I am sane. If only I could get out of this enchanted
chair, it would last. I should be a man again” (p. 143). And when the fourth
sign appears, they have no trouble recognizing it: [ß p. 73]
“Once
and for all,” said the prisoner, “I adjure you to set me free. By all fears and
all loves, by the bright skies of Overland, by the great Lion, by Aslan
himself, I charge you—“
“Oh!”
cried the three travellers as though they had been hurt. “It’s the Sign,” said
Puddleglum. “It was the words of the
Sign,” said Scrubb more cautiously. “Oh, what are we to do?” said Jill. (p. 145)
Their real difficulty, now, is to remember and follow
the sign given them at the Castle of Harfang, that everything is “UNDER ME.”
They wonder, for example, if the reference to Aslan is not a mere accident.
But, they must remember, as Puddleglum had said but an hour or so before, that
“there are no accidents.” And it is
Puddleglum again who puts the proper emphasis on trust:
“Oh, if only we knew!” said Jill.
“I think we do know,” said Puddleglum.
“Do you mean you think everything will come right if
we do untie him?” said Scrubb.
“I don’t know about that,” said Puddleglum. “You see,
Aslan didn’t tell Pole what would happen. He only told her what to do. That
fellow will be the death of us once he’s up, I shouldn’t wonder. But that
doesn’t let us off following the Sign.” (p. 146)
They do trust, they do follow the signs, and for the
moment everything does come right. Half of the children’s quest has been
achieved; having been “sent by Aslan himself
from beyond the world’s end to seek your Highness” (p. 147), they have
found him. Now they must escape with him and bring him back to his father’s
house.
Rilian’s
ordeal reflects Frye’s images of imprisonment, immobility, reduction to
subhumanness, and confused consciousness. It focuses on the traditional quest
theme of identity, as a hero, having gone out from home, demonstrates his
strength and maturity by surviving his ordeal and returning to a life of
usefulness. The ordeal forces him to question his identity and leads him to
find, or regain, [ß p. 74]
it. By yielding to the Witch’s temptations to follow her, Rilian loses touch
with reality. He is deceived about the Witch: “She is a nosegay of all virtues,
as truth, mercy, constancy, gentleness, courage and the rest. I say what I
know. Her kindness to me alone, who can in no way reward her, would make an
admirable history” (p. 132). And he is deceived about his own identity: “How do
you call him?—Billian? Trillian? in my Lady’s realm. Indeed, to my certain knowledge
there is no such man here” (p. 133). His behavior indeed becomes mechanical—his
enchantment makes him “the toy and lap-dog, nay, more likely the pawn and tool,
of the most devilish sorceress that ever planned the woe of men” (p. 144). The
gnomes, who are also turned into subhuman, or subgnomian, creatures by the
Witch’s enchantments, state the theme nicely after the Witch’s death releases
them: “We didn’t know who we were or where we belonged. We couldn’t do
anything, or think anything, except what she put into our heads” (p. 177). Only
after the others free Rilian from his enchantment and imprisonment, can he
affirm that “I know myself. . . . I am the King’s son of Narnia, Rilian, the
only child of Caspian, Tenth of that name, whom some call Caspian the Seafarer”
(p. 151). As he reflects back on what he has escaped, he sums up the
experience: “For now that I am myself I can remember the enchanted life, though
while I was enchanted I could not remember my true self” (p. 148).
Although the Prince has
recovered his identity, his quest has not yet been fulfilled and all four must
face another test of consciousness and alertness. When the Witch returns a bit
later, she begins to work an enchantment by incense and hypnotic music. The
sweet smell and the thrumming sound confuse their minds as the Witch says again
and again that the overworld is but a dream, a figment of imagination: “There
never was any world but mine” (p. 154). As on the plains outside Harfang, the
temptation is to cease being vigilant and to forget the signs, in [ß p. 75] this case the signs
of reality. Puddleglum, fighting hard against the enchantment, recalls them:
“I’ve seen the sky full of stars. I’ve seen the sun coming up out of the sea of
a morning and sinking behind the mountains at night” (p. 154), and they testify
to the reality of the overworld and of its maker. The words of the previous
night’s dream should serve as a new sign: the world and even the underworld are
under Aslan; and Jill, with a great effort, remembers: “There’s Aslan” (p.
156). But the Witch’s reply nearly overwhelms their vigilance with relaxation
and comfort: “’Tis a pretty make-believe. . . . There is no Narnia, no
Overworld, no sky, no sun, no Aslan. And now, to bed all. . . . To bed; to
sleep; deep sleep, soft pillows, sleep without foolish dreams” (p. 157). They
are saved from the enchantment by Puddleglum, who uses the discomfort and pain
of stamping out the fire to clear his head and to affirm his faith in the
“signs”: “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. .
. . I’m going to live as like a Narnian as I can even if there isn’t any
Narnia” (p. 159). At that the Witch transforms herself into the serpent form in
which she attacked Rilian’s mother and, as the others combine their efforts to
kill her, the objectives of both quests are achieved: Rilian’s “royal mother is
avenged” and Rilian is freed from being “the slave of my mother’s slayer” (p.
161).
Having
completed their ordeal, having undergone a symbolic death and been given a new
life, the characters have completed the descent stages of their journey. The
themes and images of ascent reverse those of descent and, in Frye’s words, “the
chief conceptions are those of escape, remembrance, or discovery of one’s real
identity, growing freedom, and the breaking of enchantment” (The Secular Scripture, p. 129). The
words of Glog, one of the gnomes [ß p. 76]
freed from enchantment when the Witch died, sum up those images: “You see,
we’re all poor gnomes from Bism whom the Witch has called up here by magic to
work for her. But we’d forgotten all about it till that crash came and the
spell broke. . . . I’ve nearly forgotten how to make a joke or dance a jig. But
the moment the bang came and the chasm opened and the sea began rising, it all
came back” (p. 177). Ironically, the gnomes’ ascent is downward, into the dazzling,
rich, secure land of Bism: “We all set off as quick as we could to get down the
crack and home to our own place.”
To the
overworlders, ascent is less simple and sure, but again they are given a sign.
Rilian’s shield, which hitherto was black and without a device, now turns
bright as silver and on it appears the figure of a lion: “‘Doubtless,’ said the
Prince. ‘This signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us
to live or die. And all’s one, for that’” (p. 168). Their ability to accept that
sign, to trust in Aslan as they begin “the slow, weary march uphill” (p. 184)
and find themselves eventually in utter darkness, illustrates the extent to
which they have, through their ordeal, come to know themselves and to trust in
Another. The first stage of their ascent is complete when they realize that
“they [have] not only got out into the Upper World at last, but [have] come out
in the heart of Narnia” (p. 192). They arrive on the evening of the Great Snow
Dance:
A lot of people were moving
about, . . . trim little fauns, and dryads with leaf-crowned hair floating
behind them. . . . Then [Jill] saw that they were really doing a dance—a dance
with so many complicated steps and figures that it took you some tine to
understand it. . . . Circling round and round the dancers was a ring of Dwarfs,
all dressed in their finest clothes; mostly scarlet with fur-lined hoods and
golden tassles and big furry top-boots. As they circled round they were all
diligently throwing snowballs. . . . They were not throwing them at the dancers as silly boys might have
been doing in England. They were throwing them through the dance in such
perfect time [ß p. 77]
with the music and with such perfect aim that if all the dancers were in
exactly the right places at exactly the right moments, no one would be hit.
(pp. 192-93)
It is fitting that, at the
end of a quest which required following directions and full trust in their
giver, the heroes and heroine are greeted by a dance which, in its complex
pattern and need for complete cooperation, symbolizes such adherence and trust.
The structure of the romance, Frye notes, is circular:
“Most romances exhibit a cyclical movement of descent into a night world and a
return to the idyllic world, or to some symbol of it like a marriage” (The Secular Scripture, p. 54). Symmetry
is achieved in The Silver Chair first
by a return to Cair Paravel, where King Caspian, who was departing in Chapter
3, returns in Chapter 16. A tone of celebration is conveyed by “solemn,
triumphal music” in the background. But Lewis replaces the traditional marriage
of the prince with the death of the king:
They
could see King Caspian raising his hand to bless his son. And everyone cheered,
but it was a half-hearted cheer, for they all felt that something was going
wrong. Then suddenly the King’s head fell back upon his pillows, the Musicians
stopped and there was a dead silence. The Prince, kneeling by the King’s bed,
laid down his head upon it and wept. . . . And after that . . . the music began
again: this time, a tune to break your heart. (pp. 201-10)
It is conventional for a
romance, however, to have a happy, not a heartbreaking conclusion. Such an
ending is achieved by the second phase of ascent, the return to Aslan’s
Mountain, which completes the circular structure of the story. When Aslan tells
the children he has come “to bring [them] Home” (p. 210), his words apply to
King Caspian as well, for he too has ascended to Aslan’s Mountain, where “all
three stood and wept” over his body (p. 211). Christian imagery confirms the
theme already anticipated by the [ß p. 78]
romance structure, that death is not something to be feared and regretted. The
imagery begins with water: the King’s body lies in the same stream from which
Jill drank living water in Chapter 2. Aslan’s blood is joined, significantly,
with water to symbolize new life: “The dead King began to be changed. His white
beard turned to grey, and from grey to yellow, and got shorter and vanished
altogether; and his sunken cheeks grew round and fresh, and the wrinkles were
smoothed, and his eyes opened, and his eyes and lips both laughed, and suddenly
he leaped up and stood before them—a very young man, or a boy” (p. 212). The
depiction of a new life of youth and vigor in another country, of the reversal
of youth’s normal decline into age, provides for children (as well as adults) a
beautiful picture of death: it makes death less fearful and unnatural, for,
after all, as Aslan tells Eustace, “most people have [died], you know” (p.
213). And the rebirth completes the movement of the romance, as Caspian, having
descended in death, ascends to live forever in the idyllic world of Aslan’s
Country.
The movements of descent and ascent which give structure
to the story as a whole and provide a suitable vehicle for the themes of
revenge and rescue, of words and signs, of identity and instruction, appear
also, in a reversed image, in the frame story at Experiment House. At the
beginning of the story, Jill and Eustace scramble up “the steep, earthly slope”
(p. 8) to escape the persecution of the likes of Adela Pennyfather, Cholmondely
Major, Edith Winterblott, “Spotty” Sorner, big Bannister, and the two loathsome
Garrett twins. At the end of the story, Jill, Eustace, and Rilian rush down the
same slope, weapons in hand, to chastize the gang (pp. 214-15). Here is
reflected, in a much milder way, the same themes as in the quest story, for
“from that day forth things changed for the better at Experiment House” and “it
became quite a good school” (p. 216). These themes which seem distant and
abstract in [ß p. 79]
the romance world of Rilian and underworld, are brought close and made real in
the frame events, for Aslan “seemed to know [all about Experiment House] quite
as well as they did” (p. 214), and, by logical extension, he knows other things
in our world as well and gives the same assurance he gave in Narnia, that all
things are UNDER HIM. [ß p. 80]