In a strange land

As promised (scroll through to the end), the first report from Narnia. I started reading the Narnia books to my three girls a couple of weeks ago. I’m hoping to get through to the end of Prince Caspian before the film is released; not only do I want them to know the story first, or it could be a bit too much for the Misses Six, but I want them to regard the book as the ‘true’ story, and the film as an interpretation.

We read The Magician’s Nephew without a single comment about the metaphysics of possible worlds, which I found terribly disappointing. The girls accepted the story, lock, stock, and rings - no questions asked. This is probably a good thing; they had no sense that Aslan ought to be identified with the god of the Christians. And having brought them up with a creation story that begins with the big bang, goes through the formation of the galaxy and the solar system, and then proceeds through evolution, all courtesy of Mr Strange Land, my guess is that they have no propensity to buy into myth-making anyway.

They find The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe much more engaging. No doubt they all think they are Lucy. And this evening, just after we reached the point where all the children leapt into the Wardrobe to avoid Mrs Macready, the younger Miss Six found a perfect way to torment the elder Miss Six.

We had read the nightly chapter, and I shooed them all off to take out their hair ties, and get into bed. A few minutes later, I followed them, to sing the nightly lullaby and tuck them in. (Alas, Miss Nine no longer wants me to sing to her, but she still likes me to come by, and as a matter of ritual, instruct her not to read too late.)

As I went into the Miss Sixes’ bedroom, I found the younger Miss Six scrabbling around in the wardrobe, pushing her way past the dresses and shoes, and obviously hoping, just hoping. She scrambled out, and hopped into bed. “Hoping to get into Narnia, were you?” I asked her.

“Oh no,” she replied. “I was there.”

“No you weren’t,” half-scoffed, half-yearned the elder Miss Six.

“I was too,” the younger one replied. And she continued to insist that she had been there, and it had only seemed like a moment in our world, but she had been there for hours and hours. The elder Miss Six was quite put out. On the one hand, she knew that the younger Miss Six couldn’t possibly have been here; on the other, she would like to believe it was possible; on the gripping hand, why on earth should the younger Miss Six go when she hadn’t! The elder Miss Six has a very finely attuned sense of justice, when it comes to her entitlements.

I think I will have to find a poster map of Narnia, and pin it to the back wall of their wardrobe. Or two copies; I think Miss Nine will want one too.