The Chronicles of C.S. Lewis

I discovered C.S. Lewis and The Chronicles of Narnia two months ago, while scouring MPH for substantially sized book to read during a bus ride back from Singapore. MPH was offering the first three volumes for a pretty penny so my decision was instantaneous. I opened the book at Woodlands and turned the final page with a heavy sigh as the bus pulled into Puduraya. With an imagination like that I figured C.S. Lewis must have led an enchanted life. Far removed from mundane worries. Soaking in childlike joy throughout his life because he still believed in magic. What a wonderful world to live in! Or so I thought.

Yesterday I read an article on him in The New Yorker and was rudely reminded of the consequences of judging a book by its cover.

Apparently, old Lewis was quite a controversy. Ridiculed by the British and adulated by the Americans. A fantasist as well as staunch Christian. He relished feasting on generous servings of Beatrix Potter and Longfellow, as well as an intoxicating cocktail of poems, myths and fantasies. But what satiated his soul also planted in it a seed of guilt, as it reduced his magically-devoid religion to dry sermons and dull rituals. In fact, Lewis wore a myriad of masks throughout his living years. A chronicle of his life would look something like this:

Bright sensitive English boy - victim of public-school sadism - confused sexual pervert surviving on inner joy - traumatised soldier - tough but inspiring English teacher - orthodox Christian convert - iconic writer.

A few years before penning what would be hailed as one of the world's greatest classics, Lewis' good friend JRR Tolkein convinced him that 'one had to become religious to save the magic, not to be saved from it'. Lewis bought it. For the first time in his life, both sides of his mind collaborated to produce some of his best works. However, he decided to build his Northern myths around his Christian beliefs. Tolkein hated that and violently opposed the Narnia books, which contained this subtle Christian allegory. But Lewis's soul was at peace. By combining religion and fantasy, he had been able to create something more powerful than just a story. He was able to create a world where both atheist and believer could stand side-by-side.

I wondered if I would have readily picked up the book, had I know about Lewis' motives beforehand. Nothing to do with religion, everything to do with hidden agenda. Having said that, don't all stories contain a clandestine message? Doesn't every story contain part of a writer's beliefs and opinions? And doesn't every writer, whether consciously or not, try to impart a certain message to the reader? Some of the messages are blatant, others are subtle. But they're all there. The tricky bit is deciding which comes first. For instance, does Tuesdays With Morrie belong under the fiction or motivational section? Same goes for Paolo Coelho's books. I appreciate both authors' honesty in revealing the books' real agenda. Because if they had tried to pass them off as pure fiction, they would have fallen flat on their faces and in the eyes of their readers. Narnia was able to stand as a piece of fiction because Lewis was skilled enough to make his Christian references the grease on the baking tin rather than the cake mixture itself.

So, my image of a dreamer-like Lewis has been shattered. But know what? I like him more now simply because he's living proof that a less-than perfect life can still produce perfect writing if the words are spoken in the voice of the heart.

In a couple of weeks Aslan, Peter, Susan, Edmund, Lucy and gang will be hitting the big screen and my palms are already sore with all the gleeful rubbing.