The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (Chronicles of Narnia, book three), by C.S. Lewis, 1952

MMGM is a weekly meme hosted by middle grade author, Shannon Messenger. 

Lewis does a great job creating different adventures within the Narnian series. Of all the installments, books one and two are probably the most alike. After that, characters begin to shift, settings change, and the plots vary widely. In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, only the two youngest Pevensie children, Lucy and Edmund, make it back to the magical land. They reunite with Prince Caspian and bring with them their reluctant (and beastly) cousin, Eustace. And in this adventure, they embark on a voyage to the Very End of the World in the utter East.

Eustace, in my opinion, becomes the central character in this book, because he is the one who undergoes an astounding change. The others have already been proven worthy of their nobility in adventures past, but Eustace comes in a selfish, spoilt brat. When he wanders off from the others on one of the many islands they visit, he stumbles onto a dying dragon and shelters in its lair. Then follows the most symbolic event of the book: “Sleeping in a dragon’s hoard with greedy, dragonish thoughts in his heart, he had become a dragon himself.” It is only after Aslan cuts him free of his dragon skin that his personality begins to change for the better. It is something he could not accomplish without divine help.

As in the rest of the series, Christian allegory abounds. In fact, when Lucy and Edmund learn they are not to return to Narnia, they mourn that they will never see Aslan again. He assures them they will. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little while, you will know me better there.” One of my favorite things about the series is digging out these hidden meanings. And I love that these beloved characters pass on lessons of faith to my kids.

Yet the voyage is riveting enough to please any kid. Who wouldn’t want to set of on an old-fashioned sailing ship to explore uncharted waters? The children have all sorts of adventures. They’re sold as slaves, meet invisible adversaries, narrowly escape death in a pool that changes everything to gold. They meet former stars (as in heavenly bodies) in human form and solve a seven-year mystery. And at the very end, valiant Reepicheep, my favorite character, sails over the edge of the world just after they catch a glimpse of Aslan’s country beyond.

Interestingly enough, I liked the movie even better than the book. That doesn’t happen often. The writers stayed very true to the spirit of the book, and while the written version lags just a bit in the final chapters, the movie does not. But on the whole, The Voyage of the Dawn Treader holds its own in the  Narnian series. I highly recommend it.

• The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
• Prince Caspian
• The Silver Chair
• The Horse and his Boy
• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Last Battle

Prince Caspian (The Chronicles of Narnia, book two), by C.S. Lewis, 1951, Book Review

MMGM is a weekly meme hosted by middle grade author, Shannon Messenger.

In this second Narnian installment, the four Pevensie children return to the magical land they once ruled, called back by Queen Susan’s horn. They land at the ruins of Cair Paravel just in time to free the Old Narnians from the evil, usurping King Miraz and put the rightful heir on the throne. For though Prince Caspian is the descendent of the conquering Telmarines, he wishes to make the land safe once more for Narnia’s magical talking natives. It is the beasts remember that “Narnia was never right except when a Son of Adam was king.”

Prince Caspian has a whole new plotline and a whole new set of wonderful characters (like the vastly endearing Reepicheep), but my favorite thing about it is the nostalgia and wonder Prince Caspian exemplifies when he hears the stories of Old Narnia. It’s the same feeling I get when I return with the Pevensies centuries after their rule. For I, as a reader, remember how good Narnia once was, so I can understand even more than Caspian how tragic the Telmarine takeover was. The heroes and heroines have a reader’s complete support as they, with the help of the good and awe-inspiring Aslan, strive to return Narnia to its rightful state.

Like The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, this one also has many Christian parallels. For example, there are those who believe in the old stories and those who have lost their faith. There are those hostile to the old stories who would persecute those who believe and rewrite history to match their own way of thinking. And conversations with Aslan always have a particular depth of meaning. Consider when Lucy first meets Aslan again:

“Aslan,” Lucy said, “you’re bigger.”

“That is because you are older, little one,” answered he.

“Not because you are?”

“I am not. But every year you grow, you will find me bigger.”

I enjoy rooting out those elements and understanding the author’s hidden meanings. Oddly enough, Lewis also includes “non-Christian” elements in his stories—like Bacchus, other creatures from pagan mythology, and a favorable view of astrology as studied by the centaurs—which I believe give it a greater depth. I, for one, am glad he didn’t feel bound to the limits others may have imposed. This is, after all, magical fiction, not a Bible story.

Unfortunately, the plotline has been thoroughly massacred by the recent movie. In an effort to make it more complex, a good many events are added to the story, Caspian and Peter bicker like little kids, and the kids have to go searching for Aslan, who is taken out until the very end, giving it a bleak, hopeless feel as the children strive to win a war without him. It raises the stakes, I guess, but I much prefer the book. The movie does, however, have some brilliant special effects. I particularly like when the river god rips out the bridge at the Ford of Beruna. The producers also do a very good job giving the Telmarines a distinctively foreign look, sound, and culture. The costuming is also very well done. But I’d recommend the book over the movie any day. It’s a particularly strong second episode in a whole series of good children’s fiction. Highly, highly recommended for ages 9+.

My other reviews:

• The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
• The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
• The Silver Chair
• The Horse and his Boy
• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Last Battle

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (The Chronicles of Narnia, book one), by C.S. Lewis, 1950

This spring I’m making my, golly, eighth or ninth journey through Narnia, but this time I’m taking along my son. We’re going to end the homeschool year by reading the entire series. He’s watched the movie before, but he’d never experienced the written version. It was a hit. We finished The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe in five big gulps because neither of us wanted to stick to the allotted time frame. I have to say, there is a depth and a beauty in the prose that the movie just can’t capture.

This classic is so well known I hardly feel a plot summary is necessary, but I’ll write one anyway. The four Pevensie siblings, Lucy, Edmund, Susan, and Peter, have been sent to the countryside to avoid the bombing of London during WWII and land in a huge old home owned by a peculiar old professor. There they find within a wardrobe a magical world that is being held captive by an evil witch. The whole land awaits the coming of two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve, as spoken in prophecy, and the great lion, Aslan, who will free them from the witch’s rule. But Edward betrays the others, and the Deep Magic written into Narnia at the beginning of time requires a traitor’s blood. Aslan must make the ultimate sacrifice to save him and save Narnia.

As a child, I loved the fairy tale elements of this story: the talking animals, the children who rule as kings and queens, the medieval quality, the mythical creatures, the great lovable lion. But as I grew, I discovered layer upon layer of richness within its pages. Humans are set up as good rulers over animals and nature; evil choices demand a high cost; forgiveness is granted even at great personal expense; good and evil are constantly at war; and my favorite, we are given a beautiful picture of a fierce, just, loving, involved, good, and untame deity—Aslan, son of the Emperor over the Sea. It doesn’t take a genius to see all that these elements have Christian parallels. Lewis’ story really isn’t all that original after all; he tells the same one set forth in the Bible. He was, after all, one of the greatest theologians of modern times. I’m not typically a fan of allegory, but this story is so strong, so beautiful, so engaging that I love it anyway. In this case, perhaps I even love it more because of it.

It seems I find something new every time I read it. This time I noticed that when the Professor argues logic to determine if Lucy is telling the truth, he uses almost word for word the arguments Lewis uses about Christ: “There are only three possibilities. Either your sister is telling lies, or she is mad, or she is telling the truth. You know she doesn’t tell lies and it is obvious that she is not mad. For the moment then and unless any further evidence turns up, we must assume that she is telling the truth.”

But whether you’re a Christian or not, this tale is magical and timeless, as are all the stories of Narnia. It is one of my favorite places to visit. I’m so excited to be making the trip yet again—and taking one of my favorite people with me. Watch for my reviews.

• Prince Caspian
• The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
• The Silver Chair
• The Horse and his Boy
• The Magician’s Nephew
• The Last Battle

Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo, 1862, Book Review

This is not a book for the faint of heart. It took me scores of hours to read it, and that was with a good deal of skimming. Mr. Hugo has the old-fashioned habit of rabbit-trailing—often for five or six chapters at a time. As soon as he left the storyline, I started clicking my Kindle with the briefest scan of a page. He does a lot of name dropping, a good deal of drifting into politics and histories (particularly French history that I’m not well-versed in), and his commentary on related subjects stretches long. For example, when Jean Valjean must hide in a convent, we get several chapters on the pros, cons, and extensive history of convents. Skip, skip, skip.

The delivery of the main storyline is scattershot, as well. Jean Valjean is our main character, a convict. We don’t meet him, however, until we complete an entire volume written about the priest who serves to change the course of Jean’s life. As a changed man, albeit one hiding from the law under an assumed name, Jean takes up an honest trade, becomes quite wealthy, does good to the poor, and comes in contact with Fantine. Another entire volume is written about this particular woman, who represents the suffering of all women under an unjust and uncaring society. She is a discarded prostitute forced to leave her daughter under the care a cruel family and eventually dies of wretchedness. Jean learns of the woman’s misery and sets out to save the daughter. The remainder of the story revolves around his selfless acts on the daughter’s behalf, despite evil forces that seek to destroy them, and the love that springs up between them (interspersed, of course, among two more volumes about other characters that seem unrelated until they cross paths with Jean). Jean is a good man, a self-sacrificing man, a martyr, a Christ figure.

However long, sidewinding, piecemeal, and—did I say long?—the story may be, the meat of it has been enduring. It makes a number of social statements, foremost, that an unjust and uncaring society causes suffering. Who are “Les Miserables?” All mankind. “Misery has been the garment of the human race,” the author explains in an afterward. The state of women and children (represented by Fantine and by various Parisan street urchins), the protection or lack of protection given to them, is the indicator of a civilization. And society comes up short. Poverty, starvation, and the neglect of children… Monarchies that are oppressive and self-indulgent at the expense of the populace… There is a great deal said about the need for social reforms, such as free and compulsory education which we now take for granted. But the book also draws hope from the promise of heaven, when all will be corrected. Victor Hugo relates some very strong Christian convictions. God, he says at one point, is the main character in his book. Man is the second. Grace and forgiveness are upheld against the strict rule of law.

The storyline of Les Miserables, when you can uncover it, is very powerful. The book gives a unique look at the strengths and weaknesses of nineteen century society. It also takes a hard look at the evil and nobility of mankind. It is well worth reading, and I am very curious to see a modern adaption (movie or stage performance). But I think, for modern readers, an abridged version of the novel might be much easier to digest. I’d give this one a high school age recommendation.

The Princess and Curdie, George MacDonald, 1883, Book Review

MMGM is a weekly meme hosted by middle grade author, Shannon Messenger. (Finally! A meme that fits perfectly with my content!)

If you have never read The Princess and the Goblin, I’d recommend starting with my review of that book. This is the sequel, and nearly as good as the first.

George MacDonald wrote in the Victorian era, when books created specifically for children were a new phenomenon. Most sought to dictate morality to children. Lewis Carroll, however, author of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and a friend and contemporary of MacDonald, is credited with writing for pure entertainment. MacDonald beautifully combines fun and morality, rather like C.S. Lewis does in Narnia. (In fact, Lewis cites MacDonald as a powerful influence.) The result is rich storytelling complete with moral fiber, a combination I love.

After his adventures rescuing Princess Irene from the goblins and gaining the trust of the king in book one, Curdie returns to being a silver miner with his father. But after a year or two, his parents notice he is less and less the son they hoped for. “As he grew…he was getting rather stupid…he believed less and less in things he had never seen.” Not long after, he has his own encounter with Irene’s Great-Great-Grandmother, a magical, fairy godmother-type figure representative of God. She assigns him the task of overthrowing the evil plot to dethrone the good king. To do so, he is given the magical ability to discern a man’s true nature. Curdie comes away from the encounter a changed man and displays great strength of character as he carries out his duties.

This book draws very clear distinctions between good and evil, selfishness and selflessness, right and wrong, truth and lies. It celebrates honor, friendship, loyalty, and the fortitude to do what’s right despite what others may say. It also explores trust, judgment, rewards, and true beauty. It never becomes preachy, as so many Victorian stories are, but there are elements of faith beneath the surface of the plot, much like in Narnia.

I did like The Princess and the Goblin a bit better. That story better disguises the moral points MacDonald is trying to impart. The first half of this book deals primarily with Curdie and his development. It doesn’t drag, really, but I was eager to see the princess again. She doesn’t enter the story until the second half, when Curdie’s quest gets rolling. But I really liked the new character of Lina. And I always enjoy MacDonald’s ability to paint settings and personalities so clearly. It has the same fairy tale feel of book one that young children can relate to so well. Though it is somewhat antiquated, the language is still easy enough for them to understand. I would recommend it as a read-aloud, however. A free Kindle version is available on Amazon.

Frankenstein, by Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley, 1818, Book Review

I’m not a fan of horror, but the first time I read Frankenstein, it left me, well, horrified, but in pleasant sort of way. It was such a tragedy. I felt such sympathy and revulsion for both Victor and his monster. I was astonished at the monster’s feelings. Who would ever consider his point of view? Yet the way the book played out was just so sad.

Frankenstein is considered classic literature, one of the very first works of science fiction. I believe it’s also the oldest book I’ve ever attempted to review. It’s been recreated so often (and probably read so little) in the past century that an original plot summary may be in order, which I’ll provide momentarily. Since I reread it in conjunction with Kenneth Oppel’s The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein new YA series, I’ll also discuss the two works in relation to each other.

Victor Frankenstein was a lively teen from a well-to-do family in Geneva, Switzerland. He was self-taught in the sciences with books from old alchemists, which he devoured with a passion. When he left for the university in Ingolstadt, however, he began to understand the superiority of modern science and he applied himself fully. He had a talent for it and soon discovered a way to bring life to non-living matter. So he created a being from bits and pieces of dead people and brought it to life—and was immediately horrified by what he’d done. As a result of his horror, he fell into a months-long madness/illness.

Victor finally returned to his family two years later, after word reached him that his youngest brother had been murdered. On wandering the scene of the crime, he caught a glimpse of the monster and knew it was guilty. So he felt enormous responsibility for the murder and for the resulting hanging of the innocent friend accused of the crime.

The monster approached Victor sometime later with its tale of woe. It was a lengthy tale, detailing its gradual, unguided learning of its own senses, its own needs, of its learning language, of a yearning for companionship and compassion, and of the horrible mistreatment at the hands of humans. It then gave Victor an ultimatum: make a female companion for it or it would do its utmost to make Victor miserable. In the end, Victor refused, and the monster began killing off Victor’s loved ones.

I thought I’d also include the origin of the story, as I found it very interesting. This comes from the author in the preface of the novel: “I placed my head on my pillow, I did not sleep, nor could I be said to think. My imagination unbidden, possessed and guided me. I saw with shut eyes, but acute mental vision, – the pale student of unhallowed arts standing before the thing he had put together, I saw the hideous phantasm of a man stretched out, and then, on the working of some powerful engine, show signs of life and stir with an uneasy, half vital motion… frightful must it be; for supremely frightful would be the effect of any human endeavour to mock the stupendous mechanism of the Creator of the world. His success would terrify the artist; he would rush away from his odious handiwork, horror stricken…. He (the artist) sleeps but he is awakened; he opens his eyes; behold, the horrid thing stands at his bedside, opening his curtains and looking on him with yellow, watery, but speculative eyes.”

Frankenstein is written in an antiquated style. It’s quite wordy, for one thing. Sentence structure is long and complicated. The tale of the monster’s suffering is a monologue consisting of six entire chapters! The style is also very sentimental, with a good deal of over-dramatic emotion. It also contains more than a little commentary by the author, such as, “How dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge.” It required some skimming on my part. But the story is original, and I had a good handle on several main characters. It’s also appropriate to its time period, cautioning man against going too far with his rapid rise of knowledge during the Industrial Revolution. In fact, it’s a little like stepping back in time, to a Victorian culture and the early days of modern scientific discovery. Most importantly, however, is the way the story resonates in the reader, the way it lingers. I truly couldn’t get over this one the first time I read it.

The new YA series by Mr. Oppel, on the other hand, is written in a modern, fast-paced, streamlined style. The way he develops the three main characters and breaths such life into them makes the original all the more tragic. I quickly found the origins for Mr. Oppel’s prequel story ideas. In chapter two of Mary Shelley’s novel, three of the young Victor’s interests are briefly mentioned. These include alchemy, which is the basis for book one; the “raising of ghosts or devils,” mentioned only in that phrase yet comprising the entirety of book two; and electricity, which I predict will be the basis for book three. It’s often how adapted works bring the monster to life, though the original novel is vague on Victor’s means. Mr Oppel’s series, however, in contrast to Shelley’s novel, lacks the originality and deep emotion, the shock and sadness, that makes the original so memorable.

I think the new series compliments the original very well, though my individual reviews do caution parents and readers on a few elements, especially book two. But I, like always, also think the original is worth reading. Probably more so. Because of the nature of the book and the challenges arising from its antiquity, I’d say this is a high school read. 14+.

The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein:

Book one: This Dark Endeavor

Book two: Such Wicked Intent

The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett, 1911, Book Review

This is an oldie but goodie. Within, young Mary Lennox has been raised in India, but her socialite parents had little to do with her. When they die in a cholera epidemic, she’s sent to live with her uncle in England. Unfortunately, Mary has become a sickly, ugly, and a nasty little tyrant. And misfortune upon misfortune, her uncle—a man with his own heart-wrenching troubles—also wants nothing to do with her.

So she comes to live in Misselthwaite Manor, “a home with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked…a house at the edge of a moor.” It’s an intriguing setting. At first it seems dark and forbidding, with always rain and gloom. But as spring returns to the moor and Mary ventures outdoors, she discovers unexpected beauty. She also meets some wonderfully kindhearted Yorkshire people—the maid, Martha, and her younger brother, Dickon—who influence her for the better. Slowly, she becomes less horrible.

The two discoveries, however, that most influence her change of heart are a secret garden that hasn’t been opened since the mistress of the manor died ten years before and the baby whose birth killed her, now ten years old, unwell, and even more tyrannical than Mary. Colin Craven has been told he was crooked and ill from earliest childhood and grown to believe it. He’s been ignored by his father who couldn’t bear the pain of looking at him, and he’s been obeyed unquestioningly by the servants. But in Mary, he meets his match. Their childish tantrum are quite hilarious, even though you’d like to smack them both.

But it is the secret garden, the mysterious, locked garden, that becomes the most influential character in the book. The wonders of blue sky, crisp air, and shoots of green hold magic for a child always sickly and languid in the tropics and another who never before left his stone-walled room. The transformations it causes, both physically and emotionally, are remarkable and complete.

It is the setting and characters which drive this book. The classic old, dark British manor house is mysterious and stereotypical, but it’s also full of wonder. And even though Mary is a beastly little thing, I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for her. “Other children seemed to belong to their father and mother, but she had never seemed to really be anyone’s little girl.” I felt equal pity for Colin. And it helps that both children have the fortitude and willingness to change. Dickon, the Yorkshire country boy, is quite unrealistic. He’s always smiling, agreeable, gentle, and surrounded by wild things that trust him, but the book rather needed a cheery chap to counteract the two tyrants.

The plot is just a bit dull by today’s standards. Not much happens outside the discovery of the garden, the working of the garden, and the transformation of the children, which also strikes the modern reader as a bit unrealistic. Back in that day, when there were no malls, no internet, no video games or movies, watching and helping a garden bloom might have held more wonder and entertainment. Today it seems a bit unexciting. However, gardening does still hold an allure for some kids. My son, since he was three, has been helping me plant and harvest in my own backyard patch. Two of my kids love to grow pumpkins to sell every year. And each spring, lessons about seeds, flowers, plants, etc. blossom in schools across the country. This book is still relevant. The adventure is simply gentler, and the writing older, sweeter, and more quaint. But it is extremely readable, and the interaction between characters is entertaining.

I’d recommend The Secret Garden for seven- to eleven-year-olds—particularly in the spring—but kids beneath a fourth or fifth grade reading level might need some assistance. It would make a very nice read aloud.  It’s also free in the Kindle store.

Peter and Wendy, by J. M. Barrie, 1911, Book Review

Who hasn’t grown up loving Peter Pan? I still enjoy the Disney movie, and just last year I took my kids to a high school production. Peter has prompted several excellent spinoff stories, such as the 1991 live action movie, Hook, and the Starcatchers children’s literature series. I haven’t seen the 2003 movie version, but I want to. Peter is still alive and well in the world’s hearts and minds, and still a little boy. After all, he never had any intention of growing up.

Since I recently reread the Starcatchers books, I thought I’d go back and read the original novel. It is an amazing story, one full of originality, humor, and adventure. It would have to be pretty great to still be so loved one hundred years later. I do have to admit, however, that I like the modern adaptations I’ve grown up with better. I’m a little ashamed of myself for it, but there it is.

The story is the one we know; our later versions have not been modified much from the original. But the novel has an antiquated feel to it. It tends to wander at times, with lots of interjections from the author that I found a bit distracting. And of course it uses quite a few words we—kid especially—don’t use anymore, like “bacchanalian,” “quixotic,” and “miscreants” (therefore, I’d give it a fifth grade reading level). Peter’s a brat, too, as irritating as often as he is endearing. But it’s the same whimsical story with a dog for a nurse, a thimble for a kiss, and flying children. I still love it.

I was quite surprised by just how much wit the story contains, a good deal directed at adults. The whole thing is written with a wink. Consider the following:

“It must have been not less than ten o’clock by the crocodile…”  (It swallowed the clock, if you recall.)

“For reply Peter rose and kicked John out of bed, blankets and all; one kick. This seemed to Wendy rather forward for a first meeting…”

“In fanciful stories people can talk to the birds freely, and I wish for the moment I could pretend that this was such a story, and say that Peter replied intelligently to the Never bird; but truth is best, and I want to tell only what really happened.”

“She loved to give them medicine, and undoubtedly gave them too much. Of course it was only water, but it was out of a calabash, and she always shook the calabash and counted out the drops, which gave it a certain medicinal quality.”

And at the end, Starky is captured by redskins and forced to become a nurse to all the papooses, “a melancholy come-down for a pirate.”

Those quotes serve as excellent examples of the novel’s quaint style, which I love, but the book is old-fashioned in some other ways, as well. I’m usually the last person to complain over racial stereotypes, but the treatment of the “redskins” in this one even made me cringe a time or two. At one point the entire Piccaninny tribe “groveled” at Peter’s feet calling him “Great White Father.” The book also takes a rather callous approach to the many pirates who are skewered by our hero, unlike the gentler later adaptations. This callousness stretches to the children as well. They’re quick to leave their parents, quick to forget their parents, quick to leave and forget Peter, the loyal lost boys abandon Peter, Peter is absolutely despising of mothers, and Peter, by the end of the book has even forgotten Tink. The adults are not exempt, either, when they argue whether or not to keep their newborn children. The novel has a totally different emotional basis than the modern adaptations. It’s almost tragic in its callousness.

On the whole, however, this is a much loved and endearing story for good reason, and I’m glad I read it. Otherwise I’d never know that Captain Hood played the harpsichord. And did you realize the Jolly Roger doesn’t actually fly? I believe we can trace that rumor to Walt. Anyway, I recommend Peter and Wendy as a classic worth reading aloud together. And it’s free for Kindle.

The Princess and the Goblin, by George MacDonald, 1872, Book Review

First published in 1872, The Princess and the Goblin is still a wonderful children’s story. I read an unabridged version that was a little wordier—more old-fashioned—than the abridged version I read in college, but I was amazed at all the layers of meaning I picked up on this time around that I missed back then. I can’t say if this was due to the abridgment, or if I’ve simply become a more astute reader.

In the story, Princess Irene and a young miner named Curdie are thrown into an adventure together despite their difference in station. In fact, they find they’re easy friends. Together, they stand against the race of goblins that lives under the mountain and seeks to destroy the human kingdom. They are both very good children—nearly perfect—and learn lessons of truthfulness, humbleness, friendship, faith and honor. It is a fairy tale and contains some moralistic tones that were common in the era during which it was written. This gives the book a quaint feeling, but the story is very engaging. I remember how surprised I was in college by how much I liked it despite its being assigned reading.

George MacDonald was a contemporary of Lewis Carroll (The Adventures of Alice in Wonderland), and he was an author both JRR Tolkien and CS Lewis cited as having a strong influence on their work. He was also a Scottish minister, and veiled elements of faith are threaded throughout the story much as Lewis’ does in his Chronicles of Narnia.

Princess Irene has a great-great grandmother that only she can see. She reminds me of a fairy godmother except she’s even greater, more God-like.  She gives Irene a thread to follow when she is in trouble that will guide her to safety. There is much commentary about faith and trust and belief in what cannot be seen. I liked Irene’s comment to Curdie, who doubts she has a grandmother at all, “If you don’t know what I mean, what right have you to call it nonsense?”

These elements are a little harder to pick out than those in Narnia. I missed them completely in college. (I can’t believe how much I missed!) It was the story that I enjoyed: the underground caverns, the danger, the odd world of the goblins, the fairy tale life of the princess, the likeableness of Curdie, the way he warded off evil with rhyme. I have a deeper appreciation for the whole of the work now, but I think kids will primarily be drawn into the adventure, as I was. There are several abridged versions available in paperback and digital versions, but the unabridged version is free for Kindle (Awesome!), and it’s very readable. I’d recommended it for kids 6+, with an independent reading level of perhaps fourth or fifth grade. The vocabulary isn’t difficult, but sentence structures are a bit more complex than today’s style. There is a sequel entitled The Princess and Curdie, which I also plan to read.

Sweet adventure factor:  This is the hard hat spelunking kind, but it is very fanciful and old-fashioned.  So grab up some trail mix (or maybe some tea and scones)  and settle in for a great read!

The Castle of Llyr (Chronicles of Prydain, book three), by Lloyd Alexander, 1966, Book Review

The Castle of Llyr didn’t win any awards, unlike several other books in the series, but it is my favorite one yet. Within, Taran Assistant Pig-Keeper fights not for kingdoms but for the life of his friend, Princess Eilonwy. Containing all the wisdom and adventure of the first two books, this one attains a depth greater than the other two, for it bares Taran’s very soul.

The book opens with Dallben’s announcement that the orphaned princess must return to the Isle of Mona, the land of her birth, to be brought up by the new royal family and taught to be a lady (a suggestion, you can guess, that causes Eilonwy to become quite indignant and vocal!). Taran accompanies her on her journey, along with Gurgi, and they meet Fflewddur Flam, my favorite bard, rather coincidentally on Mona. But that coincidence is the only weak moment in the book.

Soon after, the warrior Gwydion shows up with a tale of terror. Achren, the evil witch who once ruled Prydain, seeks to regain her kingdom through Eilonwy’s birthright. Eilonwy is in mortal danger. When she disappears, Taran moves heaven and earth to find her, for he realizes just how important the princess has become to him. His heartache doubles, however, when he learns she is to be betrothed to the Prince of Mona.

But this tale has nothing whatever to do with romance. It is of deep and lasting friendship, of sacrifice and honor. For this Assistant Pig-Keeper who wishes with all his heart that he’d been born of a station great enough to equal Eilonwy learns that “For a man to be worthy of any rank, he must first strive to be a man.” It contains some powerful messages and some powerful emotions, but it does so in the midst of a rousing adventure. The castle setting in which the showdown with Achren takes place is the most frightening one yet, and the road Taran must take to get there is beautifully complex, fraught with danger and filled with excellent new characters.

If you’re a fantasy lover, adult or child, this one is superb!  Age 8+

Here are my reviews of the other books in the series:

• Book One: The Book of Three
• Book two: The Black Cauldron
• Book four: Taran Wanderer
• Book five: The High King