I've just re-read His dark materials by Philip Pullman.
It's not really a trilogy, but rather a single novel in three volumes, like Lord of the rings. Pullman rather immodestly claims that his books are better than those of Tolkien or C.S. Lewis.
I first read His dark materials about five years ago, and didn't like it much. I thought the first
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John
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John
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When I first read The amber spyglass I thought the land of the dead part was a bit of a cliche -- rather like the paths of the dead in Lord of the rings (which has always struck me as one of the most unnecessary parts of that story). And Dante had one and Virgil before him and so on.
The mulefa and their wheels were quite interesting, and in some ways the most interesting part of the book, but also the part where Pullman's resentment of Lewis seems to come out most strongly. I may be misjudging, but it looks as though he takes Lewis's concept of hnau (from Out of the silent planet) and tries to counter the use Lewis made of it. In Lewis the villains are a mad scientist and an evil financier, who have their evil imperialistic schemes brought to nothing by a humanities professor.
But in Lewis's book the hnau of Malacandra are still biped vertebrates. Pullman ( ... )
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My favourite among the Narnia stories is The voyage of the dawn treader. It wasn't when I first read them, though. Then it was the one I liked least. I thought it was too elitist. A friend told me his favourite character was Reepicheep, and I thought Reepicheep was almost as offensive as Eustace Scrubb.
But after a couple of readings I changed my mind, and in any case found Lewis's presentation of fallen angels much more convincing than the Pullman/Peretti one.
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Here's some infor about Peretti's books. Piercing the darkness is the one that The amber spyglass reminds me of. Definitely inferior to Lewis (and, in some respects, to Pullman).
Peretti, Frank. 1995. The oath. Dallas: Word ( ... )
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It wasn't until I read somewhere that Pullman was an athiest that I understood my reaction. There is just nothing redemptive about Pullman's books. The characters are finely drawn, the descriptions are amazing, the language is beautiful, the plot arc is original and tight, the fantasy is luminous but it all seems so pointless at the end. There is no ultimate meaning. The character's lives just seem meaningless and selfish, not part of any thing bigger than themselves and thus not capable of anything as profound as sacrifice. The magic is empty because it doesn't serve anything higher than itself ( ... )
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If the point is the tragic star-crossed lovers (perhaps one should say "dust-crossed" in this case), then a Romeo and Juliet-type tragic ending might have been better.
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