The wood between the worlds
Ayla and I have two more chapters to go of The Magician’s Nephew, which we’ve been reading to each other, bit by bit, for several weeks. It’s been fun. Ayla - who has not read the Narnia books before - is enormously satisfying to read with, because she reacts to everything.
Jadis: Have you a different sort of sun in your world?
Digory: Yes, it’s smaller and yellower. And it gives a good deal more heat.
Ayla: DON’T SAY THAT, YOU IDIOT!
Awesome.
It’s reminded me of all the good things about C. S. Lewis. Yes, he has this whole over the top religious symbolism going on. Yes, he has the appallingly harsh and judgemental morality also seen in Enid Blyton books (though not in E. Nesbit, thus proving that Edith is all kinds of awesome and Enid and Clive are self righteous prigs). However he puts together a wonderful, action packed story with characters who interact in a convincing way.
Next, we start on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
I’ve been wanting to read with someone for ages. There was a lot of storytelling and communal reading in my house when I was growing up. When oothoona was 13 she managed to spin out a story for the three months we travelled in Queensland, recounting a new episode every night as the three of us lay in our tiny tent, or, occasionally, the bunk beds in a caravan. The world she invented grew more and more complicated, new characters and plots emerging frequently.
When I was about nine, and tearing through books myself at an increasingly rapid rate, my mum read me The Hobbit. I’d sit on her lap, big as I was, and force myself not to look at the page and read ahead. When Alison and Isabel had finished washing up they would sit on either side of the chair and listen as well, vibrating with excitement when they knew she was getting close to a good bit. My dad read The Wind in the Willows and The Magic Pudding to the whole family at some point after this. I found it slightly galling that I was the only one who hadn’t read them before (and was mortified that I cried during 'Dulce Domum'), but I loved the communal feel of it. When I was a teenager, after Alison had left, we read less. I remember a hilarious rendition of a Winnie the Pooh chapter when Alison was home from uni, in which we all took on several characters and did the voices. We read a few Shakespeare plays in my teenage years as well, which was a fun way to experience them for the first time.
When I was travelling with hecticred we’d occasionally read snippets out to one another, mostly from funny books - Three Men in a Boat, Night of the Avenging Blowfish, Lake Woebegon Days... Other than that I’ve only gotten a fix at the odd book club reading night. So... this makes me happy.
Jadis: Have you a different sort of sun in your world?
Digory: Yes, it’s smaller and yellower. And it gives a good deal more heat.
Ayla: DON’T SAY THAT, YOU IDIOT!
Awesome.
It’s reminded me of all the good things about C. S. Lewis. Yes, he has this whole over the top religious symbolism going on. Yes, he has the appallingly harsh and judgemental morality also seen in Enid Blyton books (though not in E. Nesbit, thus proving that Edith is all kinds of awesome and Enid and Clive are self righteous prigs). However he puts together a wonderful, action packed story with characters who interact in a convincing way.
Next, we start on The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.
I’ve been wanting to read with someone for ages. There was a lot of storytelling and communal reading in my house when I was growing up. When oothoona was 13 she managed to spin out a story for the three months we travelled in Queensland, recounting a new episode every night as the three of us lay in our tiny tent, or, occasionally, the bunk beds in a caravan. The world she invented grew more and more complicated, new characters and plots emerging frequently.
When I was about nine, and tearing through books myself at an increasingly rapid rate, my mum read me The Hobbit. I’d sit on her lap, big as I was, and force myself not to look at the page and read ahead. When Alison and Isabel had finished washing up they would sit on either side of the chair and listen as well, vibrating with excitement when they knew she was getting close to a good bit. My dad read The Wind in the Willows and The Magic Pudding to the whole family at some point after this. I found it slightly galling that I was the only one who hadn’t read them before (and was mortified that I cried during 'Dulce Domum'), but I loved the communal feel of it. When I was a teenager, after Alison had left, we read less. I remember a hilarious rendition of a Winnie the Pooh chapter when Alison was home from uni, in which we all took on several characters and did the voices. We read a few Shakespeare plays in my teenage years as well, which was a fun way to experience them for the first time.
When I was travelling with hecticred we’d occasionally read snippets out to one another, mostly from funny books - Three Men in a Boat, Night of the Avenging Blowfish, Lake Woebegon Days... Other than that I’ve only gotten a fix at the odd book club reading night. So... this makes me happy.