Ex hypothesi, speaking from the same hypothesis the novels are written from, Narnia is as real as our world. It is even the world in which Eustace and Jill are thrown into the stable which starts their eternities.

“but to be real adults we have to learn self-discipline and empathy and grace in the face of disappointment, delay, pain and defeat.”

And the four were like not learning that in Narnia?

“Very possibly Susan, when faced with the need to be a Queen outside of Narnia”

Need? Queen outside Narnia?

In England she was a subject, either of Queen Elisabeth II or of whoever was Bavarian King and English-Scottish pretender at the time, depending on whom you regard as de jure British rulers. De facto anyway under the House of Commons, House of Lords, Prime Minister, Cabinet, Administration.

A lot of people, some of whom would have regarded her as mentally disturbed if – especially after all other witnesses had died in the railway accident – she had claimed more than being same name as a character in one of C.S. Lewis books.

And yet, I cannot see how Last Battle could have been written unless for instance she had dreamed about the things that happened to Eustace and Jill and Tirian and Jewel.

“At that point, none of the people speaking realize they’ll never see Susan again.”

Who says they weren’t? That is like saying she went on to damn herself by the denial. Remember a little later when they see England, mother and father waving …

I find the accusation of betrayal against Lewis a bit odd: no one seems to think that Shakespeare betrayed Romeo and Juliet by not letting them have a happy ending, much less that he wilfully condemned them to death for the fun of playing god. If writers were only allowed to write happy endings for ‘good’ characters, we’d be missing more of human literature than we have.

I think Susan may be simply explained if you regard leaving Narnia as graduation: it’s not that the children are no longer wanted there; it’s that it’s time for them to begin life in the real world. Childhood, like Narnia, is fun and safely guarded and magical — at its best, that is — and adulthood can be those things, but to be real adults we have to learn self-discipline and empathy and grace in the face of disappointment, delay, pain and defeat. Some of us don’t want to grow up: we want to go on being safe and comfortable and looked after and having fun. It might seem odd that Susan could begin to dismiss the reality of Narnia, but I’ve seen real people talk themselves into seeing themselves as children, incapable of dealing with the difficult, the dull, the unpleasant, and so entitled to leave those things to others. If you try to make them take responsibility for themselves, emotionally or financially, their response is tears and protestations of their helplessness and accusations of cruelty and abandonment. (No, I’m not making this up. I only wish I were.) Very possibly Susan, when faced with the need to be a Queen outside of Narnia, without the castle and servants and other props, simply didn’t want to deal with anything that difficult and instead chose to retire into what was in effect that type of permanent childhood. What does a child think grownups do? Wear lipstick and nylons and go out to parties. What do adults really do? Get educated, get a job, pay the bills, take out the garbage, rake the lawn, scrub out the bathtub, change diapers, give up the party because the toddler’s got the flu, donate to charity, save money for the children’s education and for their retirement and for that new furnace…. When you think about the difference between adulthood as you imagine it in childhood and the reality of it, it’s no wonder the Susan version of adulthood seems so attractive.(g)

I think the conversation concerning her has to be put in context, too. At that point, none of the people speaking realize they’ll never see Susan again. What they might have said had they known, we’ll never know, but I think it’s safe to say that it would have been a far different conversation. When you’re speaking of someone you think you’ll see tomorrow, you’re a deal more likely to express impatience, frustration or irriation with them than you are if you know they’re gone.

I’ve encountered an interesting flip side to the problem though. Some of the kid’s books I’ve read somewhat recently (Anne of Green Gables, The Secret Garden, and A Little Princess) I’ve absolutely adored. I think I would have really disliked them/been bored by them if I had read them as a kid though.

I just got Robin’s Country in the mail, and I fear that I may have missed the window; time will tell. I KNOW I would have missed the window on LOTR; I would never finish them if I read them now for the first time – as it is, I want to throw them out the window every time I encounter a female character. And pretty much, I missed the window on the Dark Is Rising series by Susan Cooper.

But wait, what? People hate Laura Ingalls Wilder? How is this possible? People hate A Girl of the Limberlost, with its awesome green message? And surely no-one could hate An Old-fashioned Girl, my favorite favorite forever!

That much said, it has been quite difficult for me to explain Ma’s racism, in the Little House books, to my children. I love those books and re-read them every year for a while, but explaining Native American-pioneer relations to a four-year-old is not a fun or a simple task.