During a cold, quiet afternoon in Brooklyn nine days ago, I picked up The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. I read the entire series a long time ago, and this thin volume didn’t seem like it could contain all that I remember of this start to the fabulous tales of Narnia. I dashed through it all the same.
The book is written for young adults, and as such, I almost wish I hadn’t read it again. It remains a wonderful tale, and I certainly plan to see the current movie, but the color and depth of my childhood reading (and memory) left me surprised at how simple the language is, and how short the book. It’s abrupt and quick and hardly seems to paint the whole world which still echoed in my head from long ago. Maybe I shouldn’t see the movie, either… but I probably will.
Nothing is as simple as a boyhood hero.