The Silver Chair
Though The Magician's Nephew, the sixth-written episode in The Chronicles of Narnia, is really the book that “ties up” Narnia's loose ends, The Silver Chair has a bit of that feel to it, too. Coming sixth in the chronological sequence as it does, the book, in fact, sets the stage for The Last Battle. Principally, it makes the point that the future of Narnia does not just lie in making little tweaks here and there, in merely defeating the likes of Miraz and Rabadash. No, these villains are only dupes in the game of Deep Magic that's being played out between Aslan, Jadis and the likes of the Queen of the Underworld.
But The Silver Chair doesn't just bring the major themes of the series to a head. This book also connects and continues the story threads of Prince Caspian and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, connecting the imminent End Times of Narnia back to the beginning of the tale, through the Pevensies to Digory Kirke. The Silver Chair is a satisfying conclusion to the overall rising action of the series, working magnificently in its own right as well as preparing us for the Chronicles' coming climax.
Lewis here continues the roll he was on in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, offering much food for thought. This month, Kathy Bledsoe leverages her creativity upon our story synopsis, while Jenn and I offer up a collaborative look at how Lewis' craft pays off in the reader's identification with the story's heroes. Finally, George Rosok gives us a challenging analysis of the central spiritual symbol of the story: the Silver Chair itself.
Mind the details...
posted by Greg Wright, 8/08/2005
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We soon came to the edge of a cliff. I looked down to see the tops of clouds and tiny details of a land far below us. I guess I was hypnotized by the dizzying height because Eustace tried to pull me back from the edge. In the struggle, he lost his balance and fell from the cliff. In horror I watched him fall and became aware of a huge animal rushing to the cliff edge and beginning to blow hard. It seemed to be controlling Eustace’s fall with its breath! As Eustace became a tinier and tinier speck below me, I turned to find that I was standing next to a great lion.
Our first day in Harfang castle: Jill, Eustace and I looked out a window and realized that the ledges and trenches we crossed to reach the castle were actually the ruins of a giant city. The trenches were the carving of the words UNDER ME. We all suddenly realized that Jill’s second and third signs had been completely fouled up, too, and expended a lot of energy trying to each take the blame. We then worked out a plan to escape the castle by pretending that we loved being there while looking for a way out. We cannot open the doors because we are so small. At lunchtime we found out that we had been dining on a Narnian Talking Stag, horror of horrors! We knew this was Aslan’s punishment for not attending to the signs. Desperate to find a way out, we finally went to the kitchen and talked to the cook who innocently told us that she usually left the scullery door open a crack for the cat. While we waited for her to drift off into her afternoon nap, Jill discovered a cookbook with recipes for Man and Marsh-wiggle and we realized that WE were on the menu for the Autumn banquet! The cook began to snore and we ran out of the castle. As we approached the City Ruinous, a hunting party spotted us and we really had to run for our lives. I spotted a crack at the bottom of the lowest step and dove in followed by Eustace and Jill. We filled the opening with rocks to confuse the hunting hounds and then discovered that we could move deeper into the crevice and eventually could stand up. It was so dark that we couldn’t see a thing and suddenly we were all sliding down a long, rocky, bruising, bone-jarring slope. It was very quiet and very warm and out of the darkness came a “dark, flat voice.”
Leaving the room, the four of us ran smack into the returning Queen. She kept her cool and tried to convince the Prince that he was not thinking clearly. She was very clever and tried to brainwash us with a combination of sweet smelling green powder thrown on the fire and the steady, monotonous tune on a mandolin she played. Finally, Jill mentioned Aslan and I stomped my foot in the fire and the harsh reality of pain brought me back to my senses. The Witch turned nasty, and I declared that we were all for Aslan and would be leaving to spend our lives in the Overland even if it was as dull as she claimed. Well, then things got really interesting! The Queen turned into an enormous green serpent that coiled itself around Prince Rilian’s legs. Grabbing the snake’s head with one hand and drawing back his sword with the other, Rilian began to rain blows upon the neck and I jumped in with my own sword (yes, I had remembered to pack one) and between the two of us we hacked off the beast’s head! Rilian’s mother was finally avenged and his ten-year enslavement was ended.
I managed to get my head out and was trying to tell the others when something hit me in the face. Once my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that I had come out into the heart of Narnia and had been hit by a snowball. I yelled for help, and the Narnians returned to dig out the rest of the group. Puddleglum and Prince Rilian were recognized and there was a great rejoicing at their return. We were ushered into a cave, given a good meal and, thankfully, allowed to rest.
The first sign—that of Eustace meeting an old friend the moment he steps into Narnia, and Aslan’s command that Eustace must greet that friend immediately—is lost precisely because the children get lost in details. Of course, Jill complicates the first sign by showing off at the cliff’s edge so that Aslan must take extra time to convey the signs to Jill instead of to Eustace; and then the boy is subsequently too impatient with Jill to ask the right questions until it is too late. But the major contributing factor in the delay is that both Eustace and Jill become intent on the proceedings of the King’s send-off.
Gradually, as the days pass since Jill received her instructions about the signs, Jill and Eustace, now traveling with the Marsh-wiggle Puddleglum, once again find themselves steadily becoming more and more focused on the moment at hand. For a time, though, they manage to be devoted to the Big Picture—so much so, in fact, that Jill is oblivious to things close by. She almost entirely misses the fact, for instance, that the “funny rocks” along the edge of gorge leading up to Ettinsmoor are actually the heads of giants. And she habitually recites Aslan’s signs “every night and morning.” But as the journey wears on, Puddleglum becomes more concerned with Aslan’s instructions than are the children.
Soon they fall into strange trenches with odd sharp turns and short dead ends. At first taken in by the respite from the chill winds, the three try to find a through-way—any through-way—to keep them out of sight and out of the dreadful weather. But no such luck. Back on the surface again, Puddleglum’s suspicions lead him to ask Jill once more about Aslan’s signs. “Bother the signs!” she barks. And she incorrectly says that the second sign is “something about someone mentioning Aslan’s name.” Her retort is rather cross because she knows that she has been less than attentive lately to those important portents. And once the party manages to catch a welcome glimpse of Harfang, the twists and turns of the trenches are quickly forgotten.
But again, myopia is where “little” decisions are made that so often greatly affect the Big Picture. From this point in the story, because of the small but right decisions the party makes, a renewed focus on the signs leads them on a successful quest to find the Prince. When they finally encounter the fourth sign—Rilian’s mention of Aslan’s name—they have little problem being convinced that Aslan’s instructions must be followed, even though it means breaking the promise they’d made to the enchanted Prince. They free Rilian, and redeem their own failures.
And when the three travelers encounter the Knight and the Lady at the bridge, it’s easy for us to think: Gee, why don’t Jill and Eustace stop to ponder where these two came from, and where they might be going? Have they forgotten the parliament of owls, and the tale of Rilian’s obsession with the “tall and great” beautiful lady, “wrapped in a thin garment as green as poison”? Could this Knight’s lady, “She of the Green Kirtle,” be the one and the same? Might it, in fact, be the very same dress?
But Lewis is not just showing more consideration for his readers than Steven Spielberg usually does for those watching his films. Lewis is instead providing us with the tools of our own undoing: distracting us with words so that we get caught up in the details of the children’s failures and lose sight of the Big Picture lessons that Lewis might have in store. And the magic that Lewis weaves to this end is very effective. We are captured by his web of words. The story works, yes; and we get his point, too. The Close-up View becomes the means to the Big Picture.
We are all sitting in darkness in a Silver Chair. Unlike Prince Rilian, we have each built our own chair, and each chair is as unique as a snowflake. Our guilt, our behavior, our past, our hate, our fears, our possessions—and many other things in varying combinations in varying degrees—bind us to the chair. Like Rilian, we are sometimes lucid and aware of our predicament but unable to free ourselves because we don’t know how. But also like Rilian we are often unaware of the chair or the spell we are under. We are consumed in our own narrow worldview and unable to do anything about it because we don’t know we are bound. In fact, even when we are aware we are often unwilling to change. Further, we do not know that the bonds are largely illusory—we have by our choice and beliefs bound ourselves. Finally, by choice and belief we can be also be released.
Lewis shows us this. Through the journey of Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum we see how they very nearly succumb to the same situation Rilian finds himself in. Lewis also shows how by their strength and courage, and by the grace of Aslan, they are able to avoid that fate and return to Narnia with Rilian.
Aslan also warns Jill that whatever strange things happen, she must let nothing turn her mind from the signs. In Aslan’s land her mind is clear, but as she goes into Narnia and further, “the air will thicken.” Finally he gives her a clear and simple instruction. “Remember the signs and believe in the signs. Nothing else matters.”
After meeting Puddleglum and journeying across Ettinsmoor to search for the ruined city of the ancient giants, they miss the second and third signs as well. When they cross the Giants’ Bridge, though they do not realize it, they meet Rilian—who is covered in armor and does not speak. He is with the witch queen, who has put him under her spell. She says she knows nothing about the ruined city and advises the travelers to go to Harfang, a castle in the north where, she says, dwell mild and courteous giants who will give the travelers steaming baths, soft beds, and plenty to eat. In fact, she knows these giants will eat Jill, Eustace, and Puddleglum if they get the chance; and they very nearly do.
Nonetheless, they are able to devise an escape from Harfang and follow the instructions of the third sign by going under the ruined city. They are captured deep below the surface by the Earthmen who dwell there, and are eventually joined with Rilian in his chambers in the underground city.
Rilian tells her that he and the others will leave at once for Narnia. She argues that there is no point in doing this because Narnia does not exist. Rilian, Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum offer up Narnia, King Caspian, the sun and Aslan himself as examples of their “real” world; but she thwarts each argument with her quiet logic. The outside world is not real, she says; it cannot be. She argues that the only real world is the underground city where they now are; the only thing that is real is what they can see: the witch’s city and all that is in it. She says that all that they describe is a dream and a fantasy.
Oddly, we can touch a tree, walk on the sidewalk in our neighborhood, or enjoy a sunset, but that does not mean that is all that’s real. There’s more to life than what we can see, more than this pleasant darkness. We can have faith that some things which cannot be seen or touched are also real. We can choose to follow the signs that have been given us—we can believe in God. All things on Earth and Earth itself will pass, but God is forever. What can be more real?