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Colin Duriez here presents us with a double biography of famous author besties John Ronald Reuel “Tollers” Tolkien (1892 – 1973) and Clive Staples “Jack” Lewis (1898 – 1963), to whom nearly all of modern fantasy fiction can be traced.
The book has a good deal of interesting information in it, including some truly insightful quotes. One such passage is fellow Inkling Dr. Robert Havard (nicknamed “the Useless Quack” by his fellow club members), explaining the contrast between Jack and Tollers:
This is a basic description of the two men’s physiognomy and self-presentation, but could also very well describe the difference in their approach to literature. Tolkien’s messages are like his Elven processions, glimmering between the trees and seeming to vanish when you look at them directly. Lewis’ are like a Lion, Who is good at camouflaging Himself but will also announce His presence by roaring and pouncing on people. There’s nothing wrong with either approach, although Lewis’ symbolism strikes some folks—including Tolkien—as too heavy-handed.
Unfortunately, those sentiments appear to be shared by Duriez himself, which would have been fine if he had introduced himself as more of a Middle-earther than a Narnian at the beginning. But it’s always frustrating to begin something that you think is balanced and find out that it’s biased, however slightly. Duriez appears to share Tolkien’s disdain of Lewis’ “popular theology” even though so many readers in the intervening decades have found so much wisdom and peace in works like Mere Christianity.
The other thing Duriez disdains is children’s fiction. He skims over The Hobbit and seems to find it interesting only as a prelude to The Lord of the Rings. His analysis of the Chronicles of Narnia is gets strange details wrong—for instance, he portrays Queen Prunaprismia as complicit with her husband, King Miraz, in his plot to assassinate their nephew, Prince Caspian, in the novel of the same name.
Prunaprismia has no lines in the book and has no actions to her name, save giving birth to the son whom Miraz used as an excuse to have Caspian murdered. The novel mentions that she and Caspian never got along, but never implies that she had anything to do with the assassination attempt. The 2008 film (which was five years in the future at the time this book was published) portrays her as an innocent, kept in the dark by her Machiavellian husband: “Dear, I thought you said your brother died in his sleep…”
In the same passage, Duriez describes both Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole as cousins of the Pevensies. Jill is not related, and it’s actually rather important that she isn’t. Eustace is obviously related to the Kings and Queens, and Digory is “a relative of [their] Mother’s” in some editions, so Jill and Polly prove that anyone can be an inter-world traveler and hero in this universe. The Narnia fandom is overrun with nitpicky fan bros anyway—the last thing it needs is bloodline worship like what seems to have infected the Star Wars fandom.
While summarizing The Silver Chair, Duriez claims that the Lady of the Green Kirtle is descended of the line of Jadis. LGK is a character with no backstory at all given—Glimfeather the Owl suspects that she’s “one of the same crew” as Jadis, but in The Magician’s Nephew we learn that Jadis is the last survivor of her empire, Charn, and she killed every singly other life form there hundreds of years earlier with the most powerful incantation in the world (likely an allegory of the atom bomb).
So who could “the same crew” be? Was she pregnant when she left Charn? Or at any point during her stay in Narnia? If so, how were the Narnians unaware that she had descendants? Or maybe “the same crew” refers to acolytes she picked up in Narnia, not biological descendants? In one draft of the book, Lewis seemed to think LGK was the reincarnation of Jadis, although this does not appear to be the case in the final version. (Note that Nephew was written after Chair, and one of the things that drove Tolkien crazy about Lewis was that Jack just didn’t care about continuity).
My point is that the Narnia books are much more intelligent and influential than Duriez gives them credit for, and they deserve for him to have read them carefully and not make unforced errors like these.
I’ll end this review, though, with two excellent passages:
Charles Williams’ analysis of LOTR, as told by Tolkien:
This is true, and a lot of folks today forget that about the trilogy.
David C. Downing on what makes Jack and Tollers stand out:
SO TRUE, and even more so today. There’s room for all kinds of heroes, and the nice wholesome kind can coexist with the morally conflicted variety.
Finally, I'm sad that the two friends' snarking on the subject of Disney, beginning when they hate-watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, did not make it into this book. They were such snobs and it was hilarious.
For your entertainment, Tolkien on Disney:
Lewis on Disney:
The book has a good deal of interesting information in it, including some truly insightful quotes. One such passage is fellow Inkling Dr. Robert Havard (nicknamed “the Useless Quack” by his fellow club members), explaining the contrast between Jack and Tollers:
n Lewis was a big, full-blown man—overbearing, almost…Tolkien was a slight figure—I’d say three quarters the weight of Lewis. [Tolkien’s] remarks were always made by the way, and not [with a] knock you down, take them or leave them attitude. His whole manner was elusive rather than direct, while Lewis came straight out at you.n
This is a basic description of the two men’s physiognomy and self-presentation, but could also very well describe the difference in their approach to literature. Tolkien’s messages are like his Elven processions, glimmering between the trees and seeming to vanish when you look at them directly. Lewis’ are like a Lion, Who is good at camouflaging Himself but will also announce His presence by roaring and pouncing on people. There’s nothing wrong with either approach, although Lewis’ symbolism strikes some folks—including Tolkien—as too heavy-handed.
Unfortunately, those sentiments appear to be shared by Duriez himself, which would have been fine if he had introduced himself as more of a Middle-earther than a Narnian at the beginning. But it’s always frustrating to begin something that you think is balanced and find out that it’s biased, however slightly. Duriez appears to share Tolkien’s disdain of Lewis’ “popular theology” even though so many readers in the intervening decades have found so much wisdom and peace in works like Mere Christianity.
The other thing Duriez disdains is children’s fiction. He skims over The Hobbit and seems to find it interesting only as a prelude to The Lord of the Rings. His analysis of the Chronicles of Narnia is gets strange details wrong—for instance, he portrays Queen Prunaprismia as complicit with her husband, King Miraz, in his plot to assassinate their nephew, Prince Caspian, in the novel of the same name.
Prunaprismia has no lines in the book and has no actions to her name, save giving birth to the son whom Miraz used as an excuse to have Caspian murdered. The novel mentions that she and Caspian never got along, but never implies that she had anything to do with the assassination attempt. The 2008 film (which was five years in the future at the time this book was published) portrays her as an innocent, kept in the dark by her Machiavellian husband: “Dear, I thought you said your brother died in his sleep…”
In the same passage, Duriez describes both Eustace Scrubb and Jill Pole as cousins of the Pevensies. Jill is not related, and it’s actually rather important that she isn’t. Eustace is obviously related to the Kings and Queens, and Digory is “a relative of [their] Mother’s” in some editions, so Jill and Polly prove that anyone can be an inter-world traveler and hero in this universe. The Narnia fandom is overrun with nitpicky fan bros anyway—the last thing it needs is bloodline worship like what seems to have infected the Star Wars fandom.
While summarizing The Silver Chair, Duriez claims that the Lady of the Green Kirtle is descended of the line of Jadis. LGK is a character with no backstory at all given—Glimfeather the Owl suspects that she’s “one of the same crew” as Jadis, but in The Magician’s Nephew we learn that Jadis is the last survivor of her empire, Charn, and she killed every singly other life form there hundreds of years earlier with the most powerful incantation in the world (likely an allegory of the atom bomb).
So who could “the same crew” be? Was she pregnant when she left Charn? Or at any point during her stay in Narnia? If so, how were the Narnians unaware that she had descendants? Or maybe “the same crew” refers to acolytes she picked up in Narnia, not biological descendants? In one draft of the book, Lewis seemed to think LGK was the reincarnation of Jadis, although this does not appear to be the case in the final version. (Note that Nephew was written after Chair, and one of the things that drove Tolkien crazy about Lewis was that Jack just didn’t care about continuity).
My point is that the Narnia books are much more intelligent and influential than Duriez gives them credit for, and they deserve for him to have read them carefully and not make unforced errors like these.
I’ll end this review, though, with two excellent passages:
Charles Williams’ analysis of LOTR, as told by Tolkien:
[He] says the great thing is that its centre is not in strife and war and heroism (though they are understood and depicted) but in freedom, peace, ordinary life, and good living.
This is true, and a lot of folks today forget that about the trilogy.
David C. Downing on what makes Jack and Tollers stand out:
n Joyce, Woolf, Waugh, Fitzgerald, Faulkner—not to mention Stephen King or Anne Rice—are adept at portraying evil, twisted, neurotic, or self-absorbed characters. But how often does one find good, decent, or wholesome characters portrayed so often and so successfully in modern literature? At both the grand scale (Aslan, Galadriel) and the simple (Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, the hobbits), Lewis and Tolkien could show you what goodness looks like in the flesh.n
SO TRUE, and even more so today. There’s room for all kinds of heroes, and the nice wholesome kind can coexist with the morally conflicted variety.
Finally, I'm sad that the two friends' snarking on the subject of Disney, beginning when they hate-watched Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, did not make it into this book. They were such snobs and it was hilarious.
For your entertainment, Tolkien on Disney:
n "I recognize [Walt Disney's] talent, but it has always seemed to me hopelessly corrupted. Though in most of the 'pictures' proceeding from his studios there are admirable or charming passages, the effect of all of them to me is disgusting. Some have given me nausea."n
Lewis on Disney:
n Dwarfs ought to be ugly of course, but not in that way. And the dwarfs’ jazz party was pretty bad. I suppose it never occurred to the poor boob that you could give them any other kind of music. But all the terrifying bits were good, and the animals really most moving: and the use of shadows (of dwarfs and vultures) was real genius. What might not have come of it if this man had been educated–or even brought up in a decent society?n