Words That Changed My World

I don't remember a time when I couldn't read. This is one of my earliest memories of reading. It's one of my earliest memories, full-stop.

I am lying in my sister's bed in my pyjamas. We are curled close together under a pale pink duvet. It's warm and cosy, and my sister smells nice. Like soap and shampoo. She's holding the book so that I can see the pages and running her finger along each line. It makes sense - her voice, low and slow, matches each word as her finger runs along it.

There, shining in the sunrise, larger than they had seen him before, shaking his mane (for it had apparently grown again)

What sorcery was this? I could see it happening, like watching TV, but better. More vivid, more real... just happening on the inside of my head instead of on a screen. The golden lion, enormous and vibrant against the colourful sky; the girls watching him, their tear-streaked faces shocked and overjoyed; the countryside all around them.

I was so impressed - not just by the story (which had me completely gripped) but also by the process. The startling magic of it: how the writer reached inside my brain and painted a picture so clear and detailed. What spell he worked to dream up such a story, patiently spin it on the tip of his pen, then show it to me and entrance me with it.

As soon as we were done with the book, my sister very kindly loaned me (gave me? I'm not sure, but I probably never returned it) her copy of The Horse and his Boy and I never looked back. A bookwyrm was hatched, and boy was it hungry!

I loved The Horse & His Boy, but not quite as much as The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe. I found the parts with Aravis difficult to read and even more difficult to relate to. Now? I could cheerfully re-read it today (and I have). It bears up very well. I like it better than The Lion... I think my favourite part was (spoiler incoming) when Bree teaches Sasha to ride. That bit still makes me smile.

I re-read The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe many times as a child. At some point I read it as part of the complete series, but I enjoyed it best as a stand alone story.

I completely adored the imagery in it. The little girl in the snowy forest, the Faun with his parcels. I could taste the butter of their crumpets (not a euphemism); I could feel the heat of the steam from their tea. I could hear the comforting sounds - the thud of his hoofbeats on the floor, the homely clink of crockery and the cosy crackle of the fire. I could see my own face in the polished wood of the furniture.

Any time the world was too big, too scary, too confusing or disappointing or boring.... I could go back there any time I wanted.

It was beautiful, and every time I paid another visit it was just as gorgeous as before, if not more.

The witch, of course, completely scared the pants off me, but in the very best way. I knew I was completely safe and in control. If it got too much, I could close the book (ha! take that, witch!) Not to mention, I knew that eventually she would surely get her comeuppance. The good guys would win. The fun part was finding out how. I think I even knew this the very first time - knew it with the resonance of ancient stories in my bones. This is how it goes. Good over evil. Hero triumphs. (Game of Thrones has since stripped away that smug innocence.)

These days The Lion, the Witch & The Wardrobe doesn't hold up so well for me. With adult eyes, I see that Lewis didn't dream up this story at all - he pinched it from Christianity. The re-telling of an archaic tale doesn't offend me in the least. I do exactly the same thing myself on occasion. It bugs me that I feel preached at when reading it, and I don't like that. I think I would dislike it even if I were a Christian. It reads like a blatant promotion of Christianity rather than just a commentary on it, and an examination on the themes of temptation and redemption.

That said, I still have a soft spot for this book, and I always will. It will always be special to me because (how fitting) it opened a door for me to a magical world. The world of books and reading.

Thanks to this book, I was already literate before I started school (early as it turned out).

To see other little kids (bigger than me, mind you) struggling to follow the curve of an Aa, sounding out c - a - t and learning the difference between "b" and "d"... I remember finding that a bit alien. Aren't they on to the fun part of reading yet?

This book is special to me for another reason as well. Before it, I'd made up many little stories inside my own head. Sometimes my sister would help me put them to paper. Sometimes I'd murmur bits of them to myself as I went along to see what they sounded like. Or I'd have a go at writing them on whatever I could find with whatever I could steal. But they were short, or fragmented. This was on a whole new level for me.

Lewis stuck a crowbar into my imagination, split it open, and broadened the scope of my little scribbles. Exponentially.

I was filled with wonder and excitement at the realms of what was possible. I thought, One day, I'm going to write a book like that.

Who knows, maybe I still might.

+++++++

Edit to add...

I have some questions! But first, THANK YOU for reading. I appreciate it very much.

1. I'm curious how you came across this piece. Through Facebook? Instagram? Did I pop up in your notifications? Did I (gasp, shock, etc.) make it to the front page?

2. Let me know what stood out to you - did anything resonate, have I made a typo, was sentence especially pleasing or clunky?

3. If you'd like to leave me a link: please show me your entry to this challenge 😁

Some more books that affected me deeply, and which I strongly recommend: