On The Last Battle, and Tea

I am a great fan of tea in theory, which is to say, I like the idea of tea more than actually drinking it. But today happens to be a very tea-ish day as far as weather is concerned--not to mention that even if it doesn't cure colds, tea tricks one into feeling somewhat cured--thus, I am drinking my fourth cup in between typing. This does not bode happily for the well-being of my keyboard should the mug upset itself,* but "Raspberry Thriller" (no kidding) is worth the risk, I think.

I finished reading The Last Battle to my brother and sister yesterday. That's the end of our Narnia reading, at least for a while--I'm saving LWW and PC until they forget about the movies some more. It was so much fun to watch their reactions to everything, as they either listened to the story for the first time or were reminded of something that they heard a long time ago and could hardly remember, because, apart from a cold stab of horror when I reached "There was a real railway accident," I don't remember reading the CoN for the first time at all. Neither actually said how they liked it, but halfway through Marshall decided to dress up as Tirian and stalked about the house with a crown and a sword for a long while, and I heard more than one "I wish we could get to Aslan's country..." when we neared the end of the book. And that's quite good enough...

After looking through Amazon reviews, there seem to be a lot of people who don't like the book at all. It's too grim, it's too happy, Lewis was evil because he included Emeth, Lewis was evil because he left out Susan. Can't please everyone I suppose; I like the book for all of those reasons (except perhaps Emeth). The first two-thirds are almost hard to read, especially the part about the dwarfs and the horses. I hated that chapter for a long time.

But then, the last part wouldn't have nearly as much meaning if the characters hadn't trekked through so much despair before reaching the end. Chapter the fifteenth has some of my favourite quotes:

But that was not the real Narnia. That had a beginning and an end. It was only a shadow or a copy of the real Narnia which has always been here and always will be here: just as our world, England and all, is only a shadow or copy of something in Aslan's real world. ... And of course it is different; as different as a real thing is from a shadow or as waking life is from a dream. ...

Perhaps you will get some idea of it if you think like this. You may have been in a room in which there was a window that looked out on a lovely bay of the sea or a green valley that wound away among mountains. And in the wall of that room opposite to the window there may have been a looking-glass. And as you turned away from the window you suddenly caught sight of that sea or that valley, all over again, in the looking glass. And the sea in the mirror, or the valley in the mirror, were in one sense just the same as the real ones: yet at the same time they were somehow different - deeper, more wonderful, more like places in a story: in a story you have never heard but very much want to know. The difference between the old Narnia and the new Narnia was like that. The new one was a deeper country: every rock and flower and blade of grass looked as if it meant more.

I love that idea--that however much joy we experience now, however much beauty we observe, it can't begin to compare to what's still coming. Longing for a better country, indeed.

And that was today's rambling; you may go do something constructive now.

*Because it's always the cup that upsets itself, isn't it? I never have anything to do with it. Certainly not.