Gulliver’s Travels, Part II, was an interesting sequel to Part I; rather than Gulliver’s giantness with the Lilliputians, he is of Lilliputian size to the inhabitants of Brobdingnag, and everything else is large to match the inhabitants. I suppose in a sense Gulliver learned how it felt to be a Lilliputian in his presence, or rather, how a Lilliputian would feel among the peoples of Europe.

Gulliver’s Travels certainly alters my view of the world, in a rather odd way. After reading of the smallness of the Lilliputians, I began to imagine similarly small visitors to my room, and felt a giant living in a world of giants in which some small people also roam. Then, upon reading of Gulliver’s travels in Brobdingnag, the giant’s land, I felt small in a sense, though it was much harder to imagine people of so great a size than it was to imagine them little, and hence my mind pretended that Gulliver came to visit me, with myself as a giant. How it twists my mind!

One fascinating point in the latter part was a giant’s book that Gulliver read which talked about the possibility, in fact the philosophical necessity, of the past existence of giants, a larger form of humanity less fragile compared to the world. Of course, this implies giants larger than the ones with which Gulliver was presently residing, and also explained the current giants from the point of view of Gulliver’s European homeland.

Could there be infinitely more giants, each set greater in size than the previous, yet somehow no race found by any of the others, excepting the case of Gulliver? Presumably it might go the other way, with smaller and smaller versions of humanity.

Suppose this was true, and that the country of each race was larger or smaller proportionally, as Gulliver had experienced. Each race would feel inferior, weak in regard to its environment and thus postulate the existence of giants. Could this not support the notion that humanity was meant to be in the proportion to its environment as it is, and that there is some reason behind that, since it would be so in each race of giants, giant giants, Lilliputians, and mini-Lilliputians? What a thought!

Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift begins with Captain Gulliver’s tale of how the year 1699 found him shipwrecked onto the island of the kingdom of Lulliput, home to humans beings no more than six inches in height. When describing Lilliput, Gulliver notes the following:

In choosing persons for all employments, they have more regard to good morals than to great abilities; for, since government is necessary to mankind, they believe that the common size of human understandings is fitted to some station or other; and that Providence never intended to make the management of public affairs a mystery, to be comprehended only by a few persons of sublime genius, of which there seldom are three born in an age: but they suppose truth, justice, temperance, and the like, to be in every man’s power; the practice of which virtues, assisted by experience and good intention, would qualify any man for the service of his country, except where a course of study is required. But they thought the want of moral virtues was so far from being supplied by superior endowments of the minds, that employments could never be put in such dangerous hands as those of persons so qualified; and at least, that the mistakes committed by ignorance in a virtuous disposition would never be of such fatal consequence to the public weal, as the practices of a man whose inclinations led him to be corrupt, and had great abilities to manage, to multiply, and defend his corruptions.

A novel idea, indeed! That employment should be based on moral integrity at the expense of intellectual ability is an idea completely foreign to the American system: quite its opposite, in fact. The key to successful society in the eyes of a Lilliputian is an unwavering standard that brings out the best in all participants. This view suggests that all men are capable of doing pretty much anything, and that it is more important for a person to have values than qualifications. What would this world be like if it were run in such a way?

Late last week I re-discovered several Barnes & Noble gift cards that I had received some time ago. Over time they expire, or they require you to pay extra money to keep them active, so I decided I needed to use them right away to avoid forgetting them again. One was $10, the other two $25.

Only one gift card can be used per order, and hence I had to have three different orders. After some effort, I came up with several books that I am interested in reading and thus came to purchase the following:

Order 1:
      Gulliver’s Travels by Jonothan Swift,
      Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Pearl, Sir Orfeo by J.R.R. Tolkien

Order 2:
      Little Big by John Crowley,
      The Merlin Trilogy (The Crystal Cave, The Hollow Hills, The Last Enchantment) by Mary Stewart

Order 3:
      The Complete Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle,
      Shadow & Claw (New Sun #1 & 2) by Gene Wolfe

The Merlin Trilogy was worth more than I intended to spend, at $29.95, but The Crystal Cave alone cost $15, as did each of the other two books, and I figure that after reading the first I willwant to read the second and third, and so should just save $15 by purchasing all three together in one hardback book.

The first two orders have arrived, and the third is on its way.

I have recently begun to write down a significant amount of my thoughts in a small spiral-bound notebook, at the encouragement of a friend who has done so for quite some time. It really is very freeing, in a sense, to know that I can go back and read what I have previously written, and perhaps expand upon thoughts from days gone by.

Keeping a journal is something I have never seriously tried in hard, written form before, partially due to the inconvenience of carrying around the average notebook, which to me is hardly a good place for notes! Although I would prefer a still smaller one from the one I have, this notebook can fit into my jacket pocket and takes up little space in my backpack; it’s convenience is much less of an issue. Keeping a journal certainly seems to have value.

Perelandra, by C. S. Lewis, is the second book of C. S. Lewis’ space trilogy, following Out of the Silent Planet. Dr. Elwin Ransom, friend of the eldila, travels to Perelandra (Venus) on a mission of universal significance: stopping all wrong before it can start.

The Lady he meets there is one of the only two inhabitants, and much to Ransom’s surprise, she is very human in appearance, albeit a different color. She knows no evil, nor has the slightest inkling to disobedience, trusting that Maleldil (God) knows best, and wanting all that Maleldil wants.

Floating islands are her home, ground that moves and bends with the waves that travel beneath. Many friendly beasts live on these islands, and they are home to fruits that are more refreshing than can be described in words. The Fixed Land is forbidden, however; she may not spend the night on it, though visiting it during the day is perfectly acceptable.

Dr. Ransom finds himself intrigued by the Lady, enjoying learning from her about the ways of Maleldil, as she also learns from him. The King, it seems, has been missing for quite some time, and the Lady does not know where he is; thus, in search of him, she and Ransom climb to the top of the Fixed Land, hoping that they might see distant islands where the King might dwell.

Suddenly, an unknown object falls from Deep Heaven into the sea not far from the Fixed Land, a spaceship bringing none other than Ransom’s nemesis, physicist Dr. Weston. Weston brings with him a revolver, and Ransom, recalling Weston’s murder of hrossa on Malacandra, hurries to encourage the Lady to flee the Fixed Land, while he himself stands up to Weston. Leave she does, for she has no desire to break the commandment of spending the night.

Ransom is left alone with his enemy, and a philosophical, theological conversation ensues. Weston admits past mistakes, claiming new enlightenment that God and Devil are merely two parts of the same Force, which is manifested in him. Weston suddenly becomes sick and twisted and faints in apparent death. Ransom, horrified, tries to revive him, but to no avail.

Yet the next morning, Weston is gone, along with much of his things. Ransom travels by fish-back riding to one of the floating islands, where he finds Weston conversing with the Lady, questioning the commandment to not sleep on the Fixed Land, with the claim that Maleldil made that particular commandment for the purpose that she should break it and gain independence and wisdom.

Ransom finds Weston to be unlike himself, possessed the Evil One, tempting the Lady away from Maleldil. It is up to Ransom to rescue the Lady from the sin that Weston proposes. Through extensive bitter argument and lack of sleep, Ransom must fight against Weston, with the hope that the Lady, the Mother of her planet, might not fall to sin as Eve.

Thus unfolds an epic battle of man against demon, with philosophical questions filling the pages in a thrilling read that cannot be put down. C. S. Lewis has a masterpiece in Perelandra that nobody should miss!

Out of the Silent Plant, the first installment in C. S. Lewis’ space trilogy, is the tale of philologist Dr. Ransom, fellow at Cambridge college, and his altogether unexpected journey to the planet Malacandra.

We meet our friend at dusk on a British road in search of somewhere to spend the night. He soon finds himself climbing through the hedge around a dark house in search of a missing boy. Yelling brings him to the back of the house where, much to his surprise, he finds an old college associate, Devine, and his physicist partner, Weston, preventing the boy from returning home.

The ensuing uneasy conversation ends in the offer of a drink, which he soon discovers to be drugged. His attempt at flight fails, however, and he wakes in a small room, looking out at a very large moon in the skylight. Overhearing his enemies discussing his fate, he discovers this “moon” is the Earth, and he has been kidnapped for a Malacandra-bound voyage, at the end of which he is to be sacrificed by the inhabitants of said planet.

We then follow the story of Dr. Ransom’s mad-dash escape and journey through an inconceivable extra-terrestrial world, as he strives to learn the Malacandrian language, Old Solar, and protect this world from his enemies.

Out of the Silent Planet is a well-written, though at times lengthy, story of elaborate descriptions that strives to explain not only C. S. Lewis’s perspective of extra-terrestrial life, but also the fundamental nature of rational life and the place of good and evil in our world.

I have just completed a whirlwind tour of Narnia, reading all seven books of The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis, in less than four days (where one such day saw very little reading). The lengths of the books show surprising consistency: two at 216 pages, two at 217, two at 186, and one at 184, for a grand total of 1,422 pages. The back cover of each book reads:

“Here is your passport to a most extraordinary excursion into magical lands and enchanted happenings. If you’ve never been to Narnia, you can enter it for the first time with any of the books below ...

  but once you start, you’ll want to read every one of

The Chronicles of Narnia, by C. S. Lewis is among the best fantasy tales I have ever read, and certainly near my favorite. It is considered a children’s series, but by no means is it limited to young folk. I am in college now, soon to be 21, and this was the fourth or fifth time I have read it. The Chronicles of Narnia is a joy to read, no matter your age, and contains depth of insight into ideas that children would hardly notice, yet to an adult the ideas put forward are profound, certainly transcending the books themselves into topics that filled men’s minds since the beginning of time. If you like to think, these are books for you. If you just like a compelling, easy-to-read page-turner, few can beat The Chronicles of Narnia!

A note on reading order:

Recent publishing of this series has changed the order of the books from their originally published order to the Narnian chronological order. To back up this decision, they use quotes by C. S. Lewis that can be interpreted in varying directions. I argue that this is a mistake. Even if Lewis did make a post-publishing comment that perhaps the books ought to be read in a different order, it is evident from having read them at least four times, in both orders, that it is better to read them, at least the first time, or when you haven’t touched them in quite a while, in the proper published order.

You see, when you read them in the Narnian chronological order (which places The Magician’s Nephew first) you quickly jump into the creation of a world which you know nothing about, with characters who have no history, and events that explain things in the other books that it is better not to know until after reading those books.

Think back to a time when you first met a good friend. Did you start by inquiring about his personal history, where she came from, who his ancestors where? Or rather, did you chat about common interests, learn about what she likes to do, and proceed to find out who he is through his actions and heart’s desires first, leaving ancestry for the future? So it is with Narnia and its literary characters.

The proper order (listed above) begins with the best possible introduction to the land of Narnia and its connection to our world, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, which all other books reference. The second, Prince Caspian, builds on the story of the first, much more so than The Horse and His Boy as suggested by the chronological order.

Now, I dare not suggest that reading it in the chronological order is wrong; I have done so myself after having first read the original published order. Nevertheless, there is no doubt that the latter is better and gives a much more fulfilling read.

Allusions can be very powerful. They add a lot of meaning to whatever you hear or say. Really, it’s rather unfortunate that many allusions of today seem to be related to the entertainment industry, and thus are often relatively shallow, at least compared to great allusions of the past to characters or events in significant works of literature or mythology. These old allusions call back to developed characters and epic tales, from whence their strength comes.

I was reminded today of my freshman year English class, which assigned a play that happened to have several significant Biblical allusions. Unfortunately, I was the only person in the class who knew what they were, and the teacher was rather disappointed at out lack of literary learning.

Honestly, even if you disagree with some of the teaching of the Bible, you should still read it for its literary value. It is, after all, one of the most significant works of literature ever crafted, both for its historical impact and the wide variety in styles and content that it contains. One of my favorite parts, which I have been reading recently, is the book of Job. An excellent story, I think, and some interesting writing, with lots of allusions!