This post contains spoilers.
In re-reading The Silver Chair I found only a few things to write about (I did find an-other, but I have to do some more research on that, so I'll come back to it later).
First, there's Prince Rilian's fight with the Lady of the Green Kirtle in Underland in Chapter Twelve. She turns herself into a serpent and wraps herself around his legs, but "the Prince caught the creature's neck in his left hand, trying to squeeze it till it choked." With his other hand, he strikes the serpent with his sword, and with some help from Puddleglum and Eustace, "they hacked off its head." The narrator then mentions that "the floor, as you may imagine, was a nasty mess."
Although it's been years since I've read it, I recognized the similarities between this event and Redcrosse Knight's battle with Error in Edmund Spenser's The Faerie Queene. Redcrosse Knight descends into a hole and "he saw the ugly monster plaine, / Half like a serpent horribly displaide, / But th'other half did womans shape retaine" (canto 1, stanza 14) Like Spenser's Error, Lewis' Lady of the Green Kirtle is half woman and half serpent (although she's either/or rather than a mix). Redcrosse Knight attempts to strike her with his sword, but he misses his mark. She then "lept fierce upon his shield, and her huge traine / All suddenly about his body wound" (canto 1, stanza 18), just like the Lady does to Prince Rilian. Next, "Knitting all his force, [he] got one hand free, / Wherewith he grypt her gorge with so great paine, / That soone to loose her wicked bands did her constraine" (canto 1, stanza 19). Redcrosse Knight is able to free himself merely by choking Error where Prince Rilian still has to use his sword before he's freed, but the situation is still quite similar. In the end, just as Rilian beheads his serpent, Redcrosse Knight "strooke at her with more than manly force, / That from her body full of filthie sin / He raft her hatefull head without remorse" (canto 1, stanza 24). Finally, Error's "scattred brood... flockéd all about her bleeding wound, / And suckéd up their dying mothers blood" (canto 1, stanza 25). Spenser's description is more graphic than Lewis', but the large amount of blood is common to both.
Second, there's the temptation with which the Lady of the Green Kirtle seduced Rilian. At the end of Chapter Fifteen, Rilian recounts "the whole adventure with the older and wiser Beasts and Dwarfs" of Narnia, and "they saw how she had dug right under Narnia and was going to break out and rule it through Rilian; and how he had never dreamed that the country of which she would make him king (king in name, but really her slave) was his own country." The situation is different, but there's some resemblance between this and the devil's temptation of Jesus in Luke 4. "And the devil took him up and showed him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment of time, and said to him, 'To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours'" (Luke 4:5-7). The devil tries to tempt Jesus with power over the world, but Jesus already had that power, just like Rilian already had (or would have) power over Narnia.
There's also the comparison between the Lady of the Green Kirtle and the White Witch from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Rilian and "the older and wiser Beasts and Dwarfs... all saw what it meant; how a wicked Witch (doubtless the same kind as that White Witch who had brought the Great Winter on Narnia long ago) had contrived the whole thing." In The Magician's Nephew, when the White Witch is still known as Jadis, she tries to tempt Digory with the fruit of the tree, just as the serpent tempts Eve in the Garden of Eden. So the comparison that Rilian and the Narnians make is more than just a comparison of devious plots; both the Lady of the Green Kirtle (literally) and the White Witch (allusively) have the guise of a serpent.
"Yet all experience is an arch wherethrough / Gleams that untravelled world, whose margin fades / For ever and for ever when I move."
Wednesday, December 30, 2015
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
This post contains spoilers.
When I re-read The Voyage of the Dawn Treader recently, one of the things I noticed is the magician's table in Chapter Eleven. The narrator says that "The table was bare when they entered, but it was of course a magic table, and at a word from the old man the tablecloth, silver, plates, glasses and food appeared." It reminded me of a similar table in "The Table, the Ass, and the Stick" in the Grimm Brothers' fairy tales. The eldest of three sons, after he becomes an apprentice to a joiner, received a table
Next, I noticed the birds in Chapter Fourteen (The Beginning of the End of the World). An old man comes out to meet the travellers, and a flock of birds flies to him. Lucy sees "one bird fly to the Old Man with something in its beak that looked like a little fruit, unless it was a little live coal, which it might have been, for it was too bright to look at. And the bird laid it in the Old Man's mouth." Shortly there-after, the old man introduces himself as Ramandu and explains that "every morning a bird brings me a fire-berry from the valleys in the sun, and each fire-berry takes away a little of my age. And when I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall take my rising again" as a star.
The "live coal" to the man's mouth is the same description that's given in Isaiah 6: "Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: 'Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for'" (Isaiah 6:6-7). While the "live coal" in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader isn't actually a coal and doesn't serve the same function as the coal in Isaiah, its description as such seems to indicate the source of Lewis' image.
The other two things I noticed are in the last chapter and are also Biblical images. First, there's the lamb that Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace meet. After they have breakfast, the lamb's "snowy white flushed into a tawny gold and his size changed and he was Aslan himself, towering above them and scattering light from his mane." Throughout the series, there's an overtone of Aslan as Christ, and this is an-other example of that. In John 1, John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29). In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan (as a Christ-like figure) is now literally a lamb. His "scattering light from his mane" might also be a subtle reference to the Transfiguration, when Christ "was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" - Matthew 17:2. There's a similar description of Aslan in The Horse and His Boy.
Second, as the children are transported back to their own world, there's "a rending of the blue wall (like a curtain being torn)." I don't think a deeper similarity is intended, but just as a description, this also seems to be Biblical. After Jesus is crucified, "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (Matthew 27:51). There's a literal curtain tearing and a simile involving one, and both circumstances involve a sort of transition.
When I re-read The Voyage of the Dawn Treader recently, one of the things I noticed is the magician's table in Chapter Eleven. The narrator says that "The table was bare when they entered, but it was of course a magic table, and at a word from the old man the tablecloth, silver, plates, glasses and food appeared." It reminded me of a similar table in "The Table, the Ass, and the Stick" in the Grimm Brothers' fairy tales. The eldest of three sons, after he becomes an apprentice to a joiner, received a table
which had certainly a very ordinary appearance, and was made of common wood; but it had one excellent quality: - If its owner placed it before him, and said, "Table, cover thyself," the good table was at once covered with a fine cloth, and plates, and knives and forks, and dishes of roast and baked meat took their places on it, and a great glass filled with red wine, which gladdened one's heart.I'm not sure if the table in the Grimms' fairy tale inspired Lewis' table, but I think there's pretty strong evidence for it. There's a famous Lewis quote advocating the reading of fairy tales (of which the Grimms' are among the most well-known), and the descriptions of the two tables are quite similar. It's not specifically given, but the "word from the old man" might very well be "Table, cover thyself," and the specific items that are spread on each table are the same (table cloth, cutlery, plates, food, and glasses) and are listed in a very similar order.
Next, I noticed the birds in Chapter Fourteen (The Beginning of the End of the World). An old man comes out to meet the travellers, and a flock of birds flies to him. Lucy sees "one bird fly to the Old Man with something in its beak that looked like a little fruit, unless it was a little live coal, which it might have been, for it was too bright to look at. And the bird laid it in the Old Man's mouth." Shortly there-after, the old man introduces himself as Ramandu and explains that "every morning a bird brings me a fire-berry from the valleys in the sun, and each fire-berry takes away a little of my age. And when I have become as young as the child that was born yesterday, then I shall take my rising again" as a star.
The "live coal" to the man's mouth is the same description that's given in Isaiah 6: "Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: 'Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for'" (Isaiah 6:6-7). While the "live coal" in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader isn't actually a coal and doesn't serve the same function as the coal in Isaiah, its description as such seems to indicate the source of Lewis' image.
The other two things I noticed are in the last chapter and are also Biblical images. First, there's the lamb that Edmund, Lucy, and Eustace meet. After they have breakfast, the lamb's "snowy white flushed into a tawny gold and his size changed and he was Aslan himself, towering above them and scattering light from his mane." Throughout the series, there's an overtone of Aslan as Christ, and this is an-other example of that. In John 1, John the Baptist calls Jesus "the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29). In The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Aslan (as a Christ-like figure) is now literally a lamb. His "scattering light from his mane" might also be a subtle reference to the Transfiguration, when Christ "was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" - Matthew 17:2. There's a similar description of Aslan in The Horse and His Boy.
Second, as the children are transported back to their own world, there's "a rending of the blue wall (like a curtain being torn)." I don't think a deeper similarity is intended, but just as a description, this also seems to be Biblical. After Jesus is crucified, "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom" (Matthew 27:51). There's a literal curtain tearing and a simile involving one, and both circumstances involve a sort of transition.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian
Originally, I wasn't going to write about Prince Caspian because I didn't find a whole lot to write about in it, but then I finished The Voyage of the Dawn Treader (about which I did find a fair amount to write), and I figured I had to continue in the order I started. So, while I didn't find much, here's what I found in Prince Caspian.
In Chapter Fourteen (How All Were Very Busy), Bacchus drops a pitcher into an old woman's well, and when he draws it out, "it now was not water but the richest wine, red as redcurrant jelly, smooth as oil, strong as beef, warming as tea, cool as dew." The water-to-wine part of this was easy enough to place: Jesus does the same thing at the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-12). What I couldn't figure out at first was: if Aslan is the Christ-like figure, why is Bacchus the one changing water into wine? (My confusion over this is an-other reason why I initially wasn't going to write about Prince Caspian.)
Eventually, though, I think I figured it out. First, this isn't Bacchus acting by himself. Before Bacchus draws the water from the well, Aslan heals the old woman. "As he [Aslan] spoke, like the flush creeping along the underside of a cloud at sunrise, the colour came back to her white face and her eyes grew bright and she sat up and said, 'Why, I do declare I feel that better.'" The healing of the old woman is itself the miracle. Aslan effects that, and Bacchus' changing the water into wine, which - as the old woman notes - "makes a nice change," is only an-other aspect of that healing. Bacchus is acting under Aslan's power. As Susan notes in Chapter Eleven, "'I wouldn't have felt safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan.'"
Second, Bacchus' working under Aslan is an example of how Lewis combined various elements to create his own world. Primarily, there are the Christian elements, but here he also includes mythology. In other places, there are elements from fairy tales and animal stories. Having Bacchus work under Aslan provides a hierarchy into which the disparate elements are organized.
The other thing I found is a phrase in Chapter Eleven (The Lion Roars). At first, I recognized just that the phrase "she [Lucy] fixed her eyes on Aslan" is similar to a Biblical verse, but once I looked up that verse, I found a deeper connection. The surrounding situation is significant. Lucy is the only one who can see Aslan, and he's told her to wake up the rest of the party and follow him. The others are annoyed at being woken up, especially because they can't see Aslan for themselves. "Susan was the worst," so when Lucy eventually starts leading them through the woods, she's "biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan."
It's a similar situation in Hebrews 12:1-2: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." Some translations (and I believe also some liturgies) have it as "let us fix our eyes on Jesus" - the same phrase that's in Prince Caspian. Once Lucy "fix[es]" her eyes on Aslan, she forgets the not-very-nice things she was going to say to Susan, similar to how the "sin which clings so closely" is "[laid] aside" when "looking to Jesus."
In Chapter Fourteen (How All Were Very Busy), Bacchus drops a pitcher into an old woman's well, and when he draws it out, "it now was not water but the richest wine, red as redcurrant jelly, smooth as oil, strong as beef, warming as tea, cool as dew." The water-to-wine part of this was easy enough to place: Jesus does the same thing at the wedding at Cana (John 2:1-12). What I couldn't figure out at first was: if Aslan is the Christ-like figure, why is Bacchus the one changing water into wine? (My confusion over this is an-other reason why I initially wasn't going to write about Prince Caspian.)
Eventually, though, I think I figured it out. First, this isn't Bacchus acting by himself. Before Bacchus draws the water from the well, Aslan heals the old woman. "As he [Aslan] spoke, like the flush creeping along the underside of a cloud at sunrise, the colour came back to her white face and her eyes grew bright and she sat up and said, 'Why, I do declare I feel that better.'" The healing of the old woman is itself the miracle. Aslan effects that, and Bacchus' changing the water into wine, which - as the old woman notes - "makes a nice change," is only an-other aspect of that healing. Bacchus is acting under Aslan's power. As Susan notes in Chapter Eleven, "'I wouldn't have felt safe with Bacchus and all his wild girls if we'd met them without Aslan.'"
Second, Bacchus' working under Aslan is an example of how Lewis combined various elements to create his own world. Primarily, there are the Christian elements, but here he also includes mythology. In other places, there are elements from fairy tales and animal stories. Having Bacchus work under Aslan provides a hierarchy into which the disparate elements are organized.
The other thing I found is a phrase in Chapter Eleven (The Lion Roars). At first, I recognized just that the phrase "she [Lucy] fixed her eyes on Aslan" is similar to a Biblical verse, but once I looked up that verse, I found a deeper connection. The surrounding situation is significant. Lucy is the only one who can see Aslan, and he's told her to wake up the rest of the party and follow him. The others are annoyed at being woken up, especially because they can't see Aslan for themselves. "Susan was the worst," so when Lucy eventually starts leading them through the woods, she's "biting her lip and trying not to say all the things she thought of saying to Susan. But she forgot them when she fixed her eyes on Aslan."
It's a similar situation in Hebrews 12:1-2: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God." Some translations (and I believe also some liturgies) have it as "let us fix our eyes on Jesus" - the same phrase that's in Prince Caspian. Once Lucy "fix[es]" her eyes on Aslan, she forgets the not-very-nice things she was going to say to Susan, similar to how the "sin which clings so closely" is "[laid] aside" when "looking to Jesus."
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Keats' "When I Have Fears"
Last month I read John Keats' "When I Have Fears" in one of my literary anthologies. Apparently I'd noticed the structure of the poem before (in the anthology in which I read it during college, I drew lines to separate the sections), but reading it recently, I noticed that Keats doesn't strictly follow the common sonnet structure.
He uses the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet (with the rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg), and he also starts each quatrain with "when" (or "and when" for the third), which enforces that division (I've added line breaks to further emphasize it):
Between the rhyme scheme and that leading "when" (plus the semi-colons), Keats makes that structure fairly obvious, but then he doesn't follow through with it. There's a break in the twelfth line: "Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore." In a way, that third quatrain has a premature end, and the last couplet begins early. In college, I even made a note of this: the "then" completes the idea that's started with the various "when"s. When [this], [this], and [this], then [this].
But the thing that I realized when I read the poem recently is that not holding to the structure there mirrors what the speaker is saying. There's the interruption in life that the speaker mentioned (that is, death), and that "then" coming in half a line too soon is an interruption in the sonnet structure.
He uses the structure of a Shakespearean sonnet (with the rhyme scheme abab cdcd efef gg), and he also starts each quatrain with "when" (or "and when" for the third), which enforces that division (I've added line breaks to further emphasize it):
When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high piled books, in charact'ry
Hold like rich garners the full-ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the fairy power
Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore
Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,[In referencing this sonnet in two different anthologies, I've discovered that the punctuation doesn't match, so your experience may vary.]
Till love and fame to nothingness do sink.
Between the rhyme scheme and that leading "when" (plus the semi-colons), Keats makes that structure fairly obvious, but then he doesn't follow through with it. There's a break in the twelfth line: "Of unreflecting love! - then on the shore." In a way, that third quatrain has a premature end, and the last couplet begins early. In college, I even made a note of this: the "then" completes the idea that's started with the various "when"s. When [this], [this], and [this], then [this].
But the thing that I realized when I read the poem recently is that not holding to the structure there mirrors what the speaker is saying. There's the interruption in life that the speaker mentioned (that is, death), and that "then" coming in half a line too soon is an interruption in the sonnet structure.
Wednesday, November 11, 2015
Names in Library of Souls
Last month, I read Ransom Rigg's Library of Souls, and I started to think about some of the characters' names. The main character is named Jacob, and in the first book of the series - Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children - he learns that he has the same peculiar power that his grandfather Abraham had. In Library of Souls, as he becomes more familiar and more adept with his power, there are a few instances where he's compared to his grandfather and his peculiar power.
With the frequent mentions of "Abraham" and "Jacob," I remembered the Biblical "Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob" - a phrase that shows up a lot in the Old Testament. The characters in the Miss Peregrine books are like those Biblical figures in that they're successive generations. The Biblical Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac was the father of Jacob. This line of names is the same in the Miss Peregrine books, except for the middle one. In the books, Abraham was the father of Frank, who is the father of Jacob. Frank, unlike Abraham and Jacob, doesn't have peculiar powers, and he doesn't fit into that progression of Biblical names.
About three weeks after I first thought about those names, I happened to read something about how the Biblical Abraham and Jacob both had two names. Abraham was first named Abram, and Jacob is also called Israel. I don't think it's exactly the same situation for both figures (Abraham replaced Abram while Jacob and Israel are both used), but they do each have two names that they're known by, which got me thinking about duality. This brought me back to the Abraham and Jacob in the Miss Peregrine books. They too have a duality of sorts because they're part of the peculiar world and part of the normal world.
The cover of the book also has the signatures of the peculiar children (and a few other characters):
I noticed that Hugh's last name is Apiston:
It's an appropriate name because Hugh's peculiar power is the ability to control bees, and Apiston seems to come from apis, the Latin word for bee. It's still visible in the English word apiary.
With the frequent mentions of "Abraham" and "Jacob," I remembered the Biblical "Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob" - a phrase that shows up a lot in the Old Testament. The characters in the Miss Peregrine books are like those Biblical figures in that they're successive generations. The Biblical Abraham was the father of Isaac, and Isaac was the father of Jacob. This line of names is the same in the Miss Peregrine books, except for the middle one. In the books, Abraham was the father of Frank, who is the father of Jacob. Frank, unlike Abraham and Jacob, doesn't have peculiar powers, and he doesn't fit into that progression of Biblical names.
About three weeks after I first thought about those names, I happened to read something about how the Biblical Abraham and Jacob both had two names. Abraham was first named Abram, and Jacob is also called Israel. I don't think it's exactly the same situation for both figures (Abraham replaced Abram while Jacob and Israel are both used), but they do each have two names that they're known by, which got me thinking about duality. This brought me back to the Abraham and Jacob in the Miss Peregrine books. They too have a duality of sorts because they're part of the peculiar world and part of the normal world.
The cover of the book also has the signatures of the peculiar children (and a few other characters):
I noticed that Hugh's last name is Apiston:
It's an appropriate name because Hugh's peculiar power is the ability to control bees, and Apiston seems to come from apis, the Latin word for bee. It's still visible in the English word apiary.
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Horse and His Boy
About two weeks ago, I finished re-reading The Chronicles of Narnia: The Horse and His Boy. As I've been re-reading The Chronicles of Narnia books this time, I've been looking for more instances of Aslan-as-Christ, which I've talked about in some other posts. I found two in The Horse and His Boy, one of which I felt absolutely foolish for not having noticed the last time I read it.
The first (and the one I felt foolish for not having noticed before) is near the end of Chapter Eleven (The Unwelcome Fellow Traveller). As Shasta is travelling through the woods, he becomes aware that "someone or somebody was walking beside him" and that "he had really no idea how long it had been there." At first, Shasta can't see who it is because it's so dark, but eventually, it's revealed that the "someone or somebody" is Aslan. After Shasta talks with him for awhile, "the pale brightness of the mist and the fiery brightness of the Lion rolled themselves together into a swirling glory and gathered themselves up and disappeared."
There are more than a few similarities between Shasta's encounter with Aslan and the two disciples going to Emmaus in Luke 24. While the disciples are travelling they meet someone they don't know at first ("But their eyes were kept from recognizing him." - Luke 24:16). They talk with him for awhile, but it isn't until he takes bread, blesses it, and gives it to them that they recognize him as Jesus, at which point He vanishes.
Within Shasta's conversation with Aslan, there are a few other elements that hint at Aslan-as-Christ. When Shasta asks the lion who he is, he replies: "'Myself,' said the voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again, 'Myself', loud and clear and gay: and then the third time 'Myself', whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it." First, there's the Trinity in the three "Myself"s, and second, "Myself" seems to have some relation with God's "I AM WHO I AM" in Exodus 3.
There's also the light. "Now, the whiteness around him [Shasta] became a shining whiteness; his eyes began to blink. ... He could see the mane and ears and head of his horse quite easily now. A golden light fell on them from the left. He thought it was the sun. ... It was from the Lion that the light came." There's a similarity between this and Christ's Transfiguration: "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" - Matthew 17:2. Both descriptions involve the same elements: the sun, whiteness, and a shining light.
The narrator then describes Aslan as - among other things - "the High King above all kings in Narnia," which seems to be a reference to Revelation 19:16: "On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords." Both are kings, but each is a higher king than all other kings.
The second instance of Aslan-as-Christ (which I actually found last time I read the book) is in Chapter Fourteen (How Bree Became a Wiser Horse). Aslan jumps over the wall into the Hermit's courtyard and then talks with Aravis, Bree, and Hwin. Aslan says to Bree, "You poor, proud frightened Horse, draw near. Nearer still, my son. Do not dare not to dare. Touch me. Smell me. Here are my paws, here is my tail, these are my whiskers. I am a true Beast." It's a similar situation to Christ's appearing to His disciples after the resurrection. "And he said to them, 'Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.'" - Luke 24:38. "Then he said to Thomas, 'Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.'" - John 20:27. Where Christ offered His hands and feet and the scars in His hands and side, Aslan offers his paws, tail, and whiskers. While it's not as close a resemblance, there's also a similarity between Aslan's jumping over the wall and Christ's appearing "although the doors were locked" (John 20:26). Both arrive despite that which is meant to keep people out.
The first (and the one I felt foolish for not having noticed before) is near the end of Chapter Eleven (The Unwelcome Fellow Traveller). As Shasta is travelling through the woods, he becomes aware that "someone or somebody was walking beside him" and that "he had really no idea how long it had been there." At first, Shasta can't see who it is because it's so dark, but eventually, it's revealed that the "someone or somebody" is Aslan. After Shasta talks with him for awhile, "the pale brightness of the mist and the fiery brightness of the Lion rolled themselves together into a swirling glory and gathered themselves up and disappeared."
There are more than a few similarities between Shasta's encounter with Aslan and the two disciples going to Emmaus in Luke 24. While the disciples are travelling they meet someone they don't know at first ("But their eyes were kept from recognizing him." - Luke 24:16). They talk with him for awhile, but it isn't until he takes bread, blesses it, and gives it to them that they recognize him as Jesus, at which point He vanishes.
Within Shasta's conversation with Aslan, there are a few other elements that hint at Aslan-as-Christ. When Shasta asks the lion who he is, he replies: "'Myself,' said the voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again, 'Myself', loud and clear and gay: and then the third time 'Myself', whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it." First, there's the Trinity in the three "Myself"s, and second, "Myself" seems to have some relation with God's "I AM WHO I AM" in Exodus 3.
There's also the light. "Now, the whiteness around him [Shasta] became a shining whiteness; his eyes began to blink. ... He could see the mane and ears and head of his horse quite easily now. A golden light fell on them from the left. He thought it was the sun. ... It was from the Lion that the light came." There's a similarity between this and Christ's Transfiguration: "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" - Matthew 17:2. Both descriptions involve the same elements: the sun, whiteness, and a shining light.
The narrator then describes Aslan as - among other things - "the High King above all kings in Narnia," which seems to be a reference to Revelation 19:16: "On his robe and on his thigh he has a name written, King of kings and Lord of lords." Both are kings, but each is a higher king than all other kings.
The second instance of Aslan-as-Christ (which I actually found last time I read the book) is in Chapter Fourteen (How Bree Became a Wiser Horse). Aslan jumps over the wall into the Hermit's courtyard and then talks with Aravis, Bree, and Hwin. Aslan says to Bree, "You poor, proud frightened Horse, draw near. Nearer still, my son. Do not dare not to dare. Touch me. Smell me. Here are my paws, here is my tail, these are my whiskers. I am a true Beast." It's a similar situation to Christ's appearing to His disciples after the resurrection. "And he said to them, 'Why are you troubled, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? See my hands and my feet, that it is I myself. Touch me, and see. For a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.'" - Luke 24:38. "Then he said to Thomas, 'Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.'" - John 20:27. Where Christ offered His hands and feet and the scars in His hands and side, Aslan offers his paws, tail, and whiskers. While it's not as close a resemblance, there's also a similarity between Aslan's jumping over the wall and Christ's appearing "although the doors were locked" (John 20:26). Both arrive despite that which is meant to keep people out.
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
"The Lilies of the Field" in Fahrenheit 451
This is just a small point about Fahrenheit 451, but I didn't feel that it went with my other post about smell, so I'm making a separate post for it.
When Montag reads the Bible on the subway, the text includes the phrase "the lilies of the field." This is from the Sermon on the Mount. It's a phrase that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the novel, but later it (in its original context) acquires a sort of retrograde importance.
A few pages after Montag rides the subway, he arrives at Faber's house, and they talk about how religion has changed to conform to the "families" in the parlor wall-screens. Faber says
When Montag reads the Bible on the subway, the text includes the phrase "the lilies of the field." This is from the Sermon on the Mount. It's a phrase that doesn't seem particularly relevant to the novel, but later it (in its original context) acquires a sort of retrograde importance.
A few pages after Montag rides the subway, he arrives at Faber's house, and they talk about how religion has changed to conform to the "families" in the parlor wall-screens. Faber says
Christ is one of the "family" now. I often wonder if God recognizes His own son the way we've dressed him up, or is it dressed him down? He's a regular peppermint stick now, all sugar-crystal and saccharine when he isn't making veiled references to certain commercial products that every worshiper absolutely needs.What Faber says can stand on its own, but - in their original context - "the lilies of the field" that Montag read about while in the subway emphasize it:
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? ... And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. (Matthew 6:25, 28-29)In that section of the Sermon of the Mount, Christ says to not worry about clothing (and by extension seems to say to not worry about having particular possessions at all), but now - via the perversion of the television parlors - He's made to say the opposite: that there are "products that every worshiper absolutely needs."
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
The Dichotomy of Smell in Fahrenheit 451
This post contains spoilers.
Last time I read Fahrenheit 451, I thought there was something more to Faber's comment about book smell ("Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land?") than just an innocuous remark. So when I recently re-read the book, I paid careful attention to the smells and made a note of each smell and what page* it appears on:
When I finished the book, I looked over this list of smells and I noticed that they fall into two main categories: there are the natural smells (leaves, spices, plants, hay, rain [ostensibly to contrast with the fire in the city]), and there are the more artificial smells (kerosene, pipes, electricity). Furthermore, the natural smells almost all occur when Montag is with Clarice, Faber, or the book people, where the artificial smells are present when the firemen are burning houses or when the Mechanical Hound is involved.
Of course, there are a few exceptions (and there's also the possibility that I missed some in my list). Beatty's "smelling of the wind" doesn't really seem to fall into either category, but I think that's because he's something of an in-between character. He has the knowledge that the books give, but he's not in favor of it. My edition of the book includes an interview with Bradbury in which he explains that Beatty "was a book reader, but after various crises in his life - his mother died of cancer, his father committed suicide, his love affair fell apart - when he opened the books, they were empty. They couldn't help him. So he turned on the books and burned them." Of course, that's going beyond the text of the book itself, but it does provide an explanation for Beatty's liminal olfactory nature.
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*Obviously, page numbers will differ by printing. These page numbers are from Ballantine Books' 50th Anniversary Edition [ISBN: 0-345-34296-8].
Last time I read Fahrenheit 451, I thought there was something more to Faber's comment about book smell ("Do you know that books smell like nutmeg or some spice from a foreign land?") than just an innocuous remark. So when I recently re-read the book, I paid careful attention to the smells and made a note of each smell and what page* it appears on:
- Clarice says she'd be able to identify Montag with her eyes shut because he smells like kerosene (p. 6).
- The Mechanical Hound's olfactory tracking system is described (p. 25-26).
- Clarice asks Montag, "Have you ever smelled old leaves? Don't they smell like cinnamon?" (p. 29).
- The Firemen are surrounded by "the continual smell of burning from their pipes" (p. 33).
- Mrs. Blake's attic is described as "musty blackness" (p. 36).
- Mrs. Blake "made the empty rooms roar with accusation and shake down a fine dust of guilt that was sucked in [the firemen's] nostrils as they plunged about" (p. 37).
- "Kerosene fumes" and "fumes of kerosene" permeate the air immediately before Mrs. Blake's house burns down (p. 38-39).
- The smell of kerosene makes Montag ill (p. 49).
- "The smell of blue electricity" of the Mechanical Hound snoops outside Montag's door (p. 72).
- Faber describes book smell as "nutmeg" or "spice" (p. 81).
- "Beatty, smelling of the wind through which he had rushed, was at Montag's elbow" (p. 110).
- Montag creeps through "a thick night-moistened scent of daffodils and roses and wet grass" to plant some books in the Blacks' house (p. 129).
- As the televised search for Montag continues, the Hound's nose is extolled (p. 133).
- Montag tells Faber to burn his furniture, rub down the door knobs with alcohol, and turn on his air conditioning and sprinklers to disguise Montag's trail (p. 135).
- "The smell of the river was cool and like a solid rain" (p. 139).
- Montag encounters "the dry smell of hay" now that he's escaped the city (p. 142).
- Montag experiences a "million odors" and "other smells!" as he makes he way further into the country (p. 143-144)
- The smell of the fire around which the literary hobos are warming themselves is different from the smell of fire that Montag is used to, and he imagines himself as an animal that "would smell like autumn" if bled out (p. 146).
- Granger gives Montag a bottle of liquid that will "change the chemical index of [his] perspiration" and make him "smell like two other people" (p. 147).
- "The air was cold and smelled of a coming rain" (p. 162).
- The bacon that the literary hobos cook "filled the morning air with its aroma" (p. 163).
When I finished the book, I looked over this list of smells and I noticed that they fall into two main categories: there are the natural smells (leaves, spices, plants, hay, rain [ostensibly to contrast with the fire in the city]), and there are the more artificial smells (kerosene, pipes, electricity). Furthermore, the natural smells almost all occur when Montag is with Clarice, Faber, or the book people, where the artificial smells are present when the firemen are burning houses or when the Mechanical Hound is involved.
Of course, there are a few exceptions (and there's also the possibility that I missed some in my list). Beatty's "smelling of the wind" doesn't really seem to fall into either category, but I think that's because he's something of an in-between character. He has the knowledge that the books give, but he's not in favor of it. My edition of the book includes an interview with Bradbury in which he explains that Beatty "was a book reader, but after various crises in his life - his mother died of cancer, his father committed suicide, his love affair fell apart - when he opened the books, they were empty. They couldn't help him. So he turned on the books and burned them." Of course, that's going beyond the text of the book itself, but it does provide an explanation for Beatty's liminal olfactory nature.
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*Obviously, page numbers will differ by printing. These page numbers are from Ballantine Books' 50th Anniversary Edition [ISBN: 0-345-34296-8].
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
This post contains spoilers.
A week or two ago, I finished re-reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I think this was only the third time I've read it, and I found a lot of things that I'd missed the other two times.
The first thing I noticed was Edmund's comment about fauns. At the end of Chapter Four, after Edmund's met the White Witch, Lucy tells him that while she (the Witch) calls herself the queen of Narnia, she really isn't. When Edmund asks her where she learned this, she says, "Mr. Tumnus, the Faun," and Edmund replies, "You can't always believe what Fauns say... Everyone knows it." The narrator explains that Edmund is "trying to sound as if he knew far more about them than Lucy."
What I found interesting here is that Edmund's comment about Fauns is similar to the Witch's comment from (in my edition) the previous page: "Fauns will say anything, you know." Not only is Edmund refuting Mr. Tumnus' opinion about the Witch, but he's doing it in a way that's like the Witch herself. It demonstrates the power that she has over him since he ate the Turkish Delight. In Chapter Eight when Mr. Beaver says that Edmund looks like "one who has been with the Witch and eaten her food," eating the food seems more metaphorical than literal, and at the beginning of the next chapter, the narrator seems to confirm this, saying that "there's nothing that spoils the taste of good ordinary food half so much as the memory of bad magic food."
Last time I read the book (which was last year), I thought I found a reference to Luke 1. This time I was able to pay more attention to it. In Chapter Seven when they first hear the name of Aslan:
Edmund's reaction to the name of Aslan is different from the others' though. At the beginning of Chapter Nine, the narrator says that "the mention of Aslan gave him a mysterious and horrible feeling just as it gave the others a mysterious and lovely feeling." He doesn't have the same reaction as the others because he's still under the Witch's influence. After he's been with her for a while, he begins to see that he's allied himself with the wrong side. When spring comes (since Aslan is drawing nearer) in Chapter Eleven, "his heart gave a great leap (though he hardly knew why) when he realized that the frost was over." He finally catches up to the others in his reaction to Aslan.
I think the "cool, green" description might also be a subtle reference to Psalm 23:2 - "He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters." There's a connection of character descriptions here: Aslan as Christ and Christ as the Good Shepherd.
In the next chapter, which returns to Edmund in the Witch's captivity, there are more descriptions that seem to be taken from Psalm 23. The Witch "halted in a dark valley all overshadowed with fir trees and yew trees," and "it was so dark in this valley under the dark trees." Lewis even repeats the "dark" in that second description. Both of them are like Psalm 23:4 - "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
A week or two ago, I finished re-reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I think this was only the third time I've read it, and I found a lot of things that I'd missed the other two times.
The first thing I noticed was Edmund's comment about fauns. At the end of Chapter Four, after Edmund's met the White Witch, Lucy tells him that while she (the Witch) calls herself the queen of Narnia, she really isn't. When Edmund asks her where she learned this, she says, "Mr. Tumnus, the Faun," and Edmund replies, "You can't always believe what Fauns say... Everyone knows it." The narrator explains that Edmund is "trying to sound as if he knew far more about them than Lucy."
What I found interesting here is that Edmund's comment about Fauns is similar to the Witch's comment from (in my edition) the previous page: "Fauns will say anything, you know." Not only is Edmund refuting Mr. Tumnus' opinion about the Witch, but he's doing it in a way that's like the Witch herself. It demonstrates the power that she has over him since he ate the Turkish Delight. In Chapter Eight when Mr. Beaver says that Edmund looks like "one who has been with the Witch and eaten her food," eating the food seems more metaphorical than literal, and at the beginning of the next chapter, the narrator seems to confirm this, saying that "there's nothing that spoils the taste of good ordinary food half so much as the memory of bad magic food."
---&---
Last time I read the book (which was last year), I thought I found a reference to Luke 1. This time I was able to pay more attention to it. In Chapter Seven when they first hear the name of Aslan:
each one of the children felt something jump in its inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.Throughout the book, there's an overtone of Aslan as Christ, particularly in his sacrifice for Edmund and his returning from the dead. The reactions that the children have to his name are similar to Elizabeth's reaction in Luke 1:
And when Elizabeth heard the greeting of Mary, the baby leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit, and she exclaimed with a loud cry, "Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb! And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me? For behold, when the sound of your greeting came to my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy.' - Luke 1:41-44In the next chapter, when Mr. Beaver talks about Aslan again, the children have "once again that strange feeling - like the first signs of spring, like good news." The "good news" in particular hints at that Aslan-as-Christ overtone, since the word Gospel comes from words that mean "good news" or "good tale."
Edmund's reaction to the name of Aslan is different from the others' though. At the beginning of Chapter Nine, the narrator says that "the mention of Aslan gave him a mysterious and horrible feeling just as it gave the others a mysterious and lovely feeling." He doesn't have the same reaction as the others because he's still under the Witch's influence. After he's been with her for a while, he begins to see that he's allied himself with the wrong side. When spring comes (since Aslan is drawing nearer) in Chapter Eleven, "his heart gave a great leap (though he hardly knew why) when he realized that the frost was over." He finally catches up to the others in his reaction to Aslan.
---&---
At the beginning of Chapter Twelve, as the beavers and the children (without Edmund) are just about to meet Aslan at the Stone Table, the narrator describes the setting:
They walked on in silence drinking it all in, passing through patches of warm sunlight into cool, green thickets and out again into wide mossy glades where tall elms raised the leafy roof far overhead, and then into dense masses of flowering currant and among hawthorn bushes where the sweet smell was almost overpowering.The "cool, green thickets" here caught my attention. It's the same description that the narrator gives in Chapter Nine (The Founding of Narnia) in The Magician's Nephew: "They stood on cool, green grass, sprinkled with daisies and buttercups." Not only is Narnia returning to spring after the years-long winter, but it's returning to the Narnia it was at its founding.
I think the "cool, green" description might also be a subtle reference to Psalm 23:2 - "He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters." There's a connection of character descriptions here: Aslan as Christ and Christ as the Good Shepherd.
In the next chapter, which returns to Edmund in the Witch's captivity, there are more descriptions that seem to be taken from Psalm 23. The Witch "halted in a dark valley all overshadowed with fir trees and yew trees," and "it was so dark in this valley under the dark trees." Lewis even repeats the "dark" in that second description. Both of them are like Psalm 23:4 - "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me."
---&---
In Chapter Sixteen, Aslan revives the statues that the Witch has made her enemies into, starting with a lion:
He had bounded up to the stone lion and breathed on him. ... Then a tiny streak of gold began to run along his white marble back - then it spread - then the colour seemed to lick all over him as the flame licks all over a bit of paper - then, while his hindquarters were still obviously stone, the lion shook his mane and all the heavy, stone folds rippled into living hair.This bears some resemblance to God's creation of man in Genesis (and therefore also connects to the similarities between the Founding Narnia in The Magician's Nephew and the Genesis Creation account). Specifically, both have the breath of life in common. "Then the LORD God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature." - Genesis 2:7.
---&---
An-other subtle characterization of Aslan-as-Christ is in the final chapter, Chapter Seventeen. After the battle against the White Witch, "they slept where they were. How Aslan provided food for them all I don't know; but somehow or other they found themselves all sitting down on the grass to a fine high tea at about eight o'clock." This is a similar situation to the Feeding of the 5,000 (Matthew 4:13-21), in which Christ feeds 5,000 men, along with women and children, from only five loaves and two fish. Both Aslan and Christ feed a large group of people through miraculous means.
Wednesday, October 7, 2015
Hans Christian Andersen's "The Gardener and the Noble Family"
Since March, I've been reading The Complete Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales. About two weeks ago, I read "The Gardener and the Noble Family," and a particular phrase stood out. The narrator describes Larsen, the titular gardener: "He was goodhearted and a good and faithful worker."
Because it was originally written in Danish and this is an English translation, I'm hesitant to assert anything too strongly, but the "good and faithful worker" seems like a phrase taken directly from the Bible, specifically the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). To the servants who increased the money that was entrusted to them, the master - once he returns - tells each, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Of course, the New Testament was written in Greek, so there are translation problems there too. Arguing for the resemblance between a Danish phrase and a Greek phrase using only English translations is a precarious position, but the lessons for both texts are the same too.
In the Parable of the Talents, the third servant - who buried the money he was entrusted with instead of investing it - is rebuked upon the master's return. He's told that he should have done something with the money, which is what the other servants did.
Larsen, the gardener in Andersen's tale, is like the two "good and faithful" servants; he's a good steward. The noble family is impressed with fruit, melons, and flowers that other families have, but the produce - unbeknownst to them - came from their own garden under Larsen's care. At the end of the story, they reflect on Larsen's value:
Because it was originally written in Danish and this is an English translation, I'm hesitant to assert anything too strongly, but the "good and faithful worker" seems like a phrase taken directly from the Bible, specifically the Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). To the servants who increased the money that was entrusted to them, the master - once he returns - tells each, "Well done, good and faithful servant." Of course, the New Testament was written in Greek, so there are translation problems there too. Arguing for the resemblance between a Danish phrase and a Greek phrase using only English translations is a precarious position, but the lessons for both texts are the same too.
In the Parable of the Talents, the third servant - who buried the money he was entrusted with instead of investing it - is rebuked upon the master's return. He's told that he should have done something with the money, which is what the other servants did.
Larsen, the gardener in Andersen's tale, is like the two "good and faithful" servants; he's a good steward. The noble family is impressed with fruit, melons, and flowers that other families have, but the produce - unbeknownst to them - came from their own garden under Larsen's care. At the end of the story, they reflect on Larsen's value:
"Anything that Larsen does," said the noble family, "they beat the drum for. He is a lucky man. We should almost be proud to have him!"To some degree, this is like a verse near the end of The Parable of the Talents: "For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away" - Matthew 25:29. Larsen is a good steward, so he's able to retain his job as gardener. It might not be "abundance" exactly, but it is a result of his good management.
But they were not a bit proud of it; they knew they were the masters of the manor, and they could dismiss Larsen, but that they wouldn't do. They were good people, and there are many good people of their kind in the world - and that is fortunate for all the Larsens.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Edgar Allan Poe's "Ligeia"
This post contains spoilers.
A few weeks ago, I finished reading a collection of Edgar Allan Poe works. When I read "Ligeia" in March, this sentence caught my attention:
At the end of the story, after Rowena - the narrator's second wife - dies, she comes to life again but looks like and apparently has become Ligeia. So those similar-sounding and similar-looking phrases from early in the story (it's the third sentence) act - in some ways - as an element of foreshadowing. As Rowena's body is transformed into Ligeia's, so does "thrilling" change into "enthralling," "steadily" into "stealthily," and "unnoticed" into "unknown." The words don't undergo as perfect a change as the body, but if they did, the same word would just appear twice.
Re-reading the story, I found a few other instances of foreshadowing. While the narrator is describing Ligeia's eyes (which eventually prove to be the attribute that convinces him that Rowena's body has become Ligeia's), he compares the feeling he gets from them to "one or two stars in heaven... [that are] double and changeable." When Ligeia falls ill, her eyes "blazed with a too - too glorious effulgence." As she's dying, the narrator is "entranced to a melody more than mortal - to assumptions and aspirations which mortality had never before known." Each of these descriptions foreshadows the later transformation. There's the narrator's inconsistent count ("one or two") of the "double and changeable stars," the double "too" - also a homophone for two, and an-other pair of similar-sounding and similar-looking words: "assumptions and aspirations."
It's very subtle foreshadowing that doesn't become apparent until re-reading the story with the knowledge that Ligeia reappears at the end, but with that knowledge, the phrases that describe doubles and changing become more significant and more meaningful.
A few weeks ago, I finished reading a collection of Edgar Allan Poe works. When I read "Ligeia" in March, this sentence caught my attention:
Or, perhaps, I cannot now bring these points [the circumstances under which the narrator met Ligeia] to mind, because, in truth, the character of my beloved, her rare learning, her singular yet placid cast of beauty, and the thrilling and enthralling eloquence of her low musical language, made their way into my heart by paces so steadily and stealthily progressive, that they have been unnoticed and unknown.At the time, I just noticed that a few of the phrases sound and look similar: "thrilling and enthralling," "steadily and stealthily," and "unnoticed and unknown." About two weeks later, I thought of a way that they fit with the plot of the story. I recently re-reading it so I could write this post.
At the end of the story, after Rowena - the narrator's second wife - dies, she comes to life again but looks like and apparently has become Ligeia. So those similar-sounding and similar-looking phrases from early in the story (it's the third sentence) act - in some ways - as an element of foreshadowing. As Rowena's body is transformed into Ligeia's, so does "thrilling" change into "enthralling," "steadily" into "stealthily," and "unnoticed" into "unknown." The words don't undergo as perfect a change as the body, but if they did, the same word would just appear twice.
Re-reading the story, I found a few other instances of foreshadowing. While the narrator is describing Ligeia's eyes (which eventually prove to be the attribute that convinces him that Rowena's body has become Ligeia's), he compares the feeling he gets from them to "one or two stars in heaven... [that are] double and changeable." When Ligeia falls ill, her eyes "blazed with a too - too glorious effulgence." As she's dying, the narrator is "entranced to a melody more than mortal - to assumptions and aspirations which mortality had never before known." Each of these descriptions foreshadows the later transformation. There's the narrator's inconsistent count ("one or two") of the "double and changeable stars," the double "too" - also a homophone for two, and an-other pair of similar-sounding and similar-looking words: "assumptions and aspirations."
It's very subtle foreshadowing that doesn't become apparent until re-reading the story with the knowledge that Ligeia reappears at the end, but with that knowledge, the phrases that describe doubles and changing become more significant and more meaningful.
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew
I just wrote a short post about The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew, but - as it usually happens - after I posted it, I found something else I could have added.
Last July I started reading the whole Bible. I'm only in Job so far, but I recently read something about Creation that seems to be an-other one of the Biblical parallels in the founding of Narnia that I wrote about last year. God asks Job where he (Job) was when the earth was created:
Last July I started reading the whole Bible. I'm only in Job so far, but I recently read something about Creation that seems to be an-other one of the Biblical parallels in the founding of Narnia that I wrote about last year. God asks Job where he (Job) was when the earth was created:
"Where were you when I laid the foundation of the earth? Tell me, if you have understanding. Who determined its measurements - surely you know! Or who stretched the line upon it? On what were its bases sunk, or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?" (Job 38:4-7)Because I'd just read The Magician's Nephew, "the morning stars [singing] together" sounded really familiar. In Chapter Eight, the whole company of characters are standing in darkness when they start to hear singing.
Then two wonders happened at the same moment. One was that the voice was suddenly joined by the other voices; more voices than you could possibly count. They were in harmony with it, but far higher up the scale: cold, tingling, silvery voices. The second wonder was that the blackness overhead, all at once, was blazing with stars. ... The new stars and the new voices began at exactly the same time. If you had seen and heard it, as Digory did, you would have felt quite certain that it was the stars themselves which were singing, and that it was the First Voice, the deep one, which had made them appear and made them sing.I'm not sure if the stars' singing is meant to be a reference to that passage in Job, but since the founding of Narnia has connections to the Creation account in Genesis and since that Job passage also deals with Creation, I think there's something to it.
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew
I recently started re-reading The Chronicles of Narnia books (I read them all around this time last year).
In Chapter Five of The Magician's Nephew, the Queen explains The Deplorable Word to Digory and Polly: "It had long been known to the great kings of our race that there was a word which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it."
I didn't realize this the first time I read that part (because The Deplorable Word comes first), but The Deplorable Word is sort of the opposite of what Aslan does in Chapters Eight and Nine. He sings Narnia into existence:
In Chapter Five of The Magician's Nephew, the Queen explains The Deplorable Word to Digory and Polly: "It had long been known to the great kings of our race that there was a word which, if spoken with the proper ceremonies, would destroy all living things except the one who spoke it."
I didn't realize this the first time I read that part (because The Deplorable Word comes first), but The Deplorable Word is sort of the opposite of what Aslan does in Chapters Eight and Nine. He sings Narnia into existence:
When a line of dark firs sprang up on a ridge about a hundred yards away she [Polly] felt that they were connected with a series of deep, prolonged notes which the Lion had sung a second before. And when he burst into a rapid series of lighter notes she was not surprised to see primroses suddenly appearing in every direction. Thus, with an unspeakable thrill, she felt quite certain that all the things were coming (as she said) "out of the Lion's head". When you listened to his song you heard the things he was making up: when you looked around you, you saw them.Where Aslan's singing brings things into life and existence, the Queen's Deplorable Word "destroy[s] all living things."
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
Les Misérables (Part I, Book Seven, Chapter 11)
This post contains spoilers.
In reading Les Misérables, I recently got to the courtroom scene where Monsieur Madeleine reveals his true identity as Jean Valjean. He does this to protect Champmathieu, who was thought to be Jean Valjean and who was going to be sent to the galleys for life. In the preceding chapters, it was explained that Champmathieu allegedly stole a branch of apples. The particular object of his alleged theft got me thinking about religious parallels here, and in Chapter 11 ("Champmathieu More and More Astonished"), I found many of them.
First, from the previous chapters, Champmathieu's alleged theft of apples is a parallel to Adam and Eve's taking the forbidden fruit from the tree in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:6). Jean Valjean intercedes for him, and in doing so, I found a lot of parallels between Valjean and Christ. By correcting the misplacement of the identity, Valjean obviates the punishment that Champmathieu would have been faced with. Similarly, Christ takes on humanity's punishment in the crucifixion. To some degree, 1 Corinthians 15:22 demonstrates this parallelism and Christ as a second Adam: "For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive."
Chapter 11 itself starts with a description of Monsieur Madeleine (not yet revealed as Jean Valjean). It's specifically noted that "his hair, already grey when he came to Arras, was now perfectly white." There's a footnote in my edition that explains that "To have hair turn white overnight from an emotional shock is a common melodramatic device in nineteenth-century fiction." I suppose "emotional shock" is a valid reading, but if Valjean is Christ-like in his intercession, that whiteness demonstrates purity and even the Transfiguration. Later in the chapter, the narrator says, "Nobody said to himself that he there beheld the effulgence of a great light, yet all felt dazzled at heart." The revelation of Valjean's identity is also called a "luminous fact." This isn't too different from "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" (Matthew 17:2). Valjean reveals his identity before Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille, three of his former galley-mates, and Christ's identity as true God at His Transfiguration is revealed before Peter, James, and John, three of his disciples. After Valjean provides some details about some suspenders that Brevet owned in the galley, Brevet is "struck with surprise" and "gazed wildly at him" - a reaction that isn't too dissimilar from the disciples: "When the disciples heard this ["This is my beloved Son"], they fell on their faces and were terrified" (Matthew 17:6).
Immediately after Valjean reveals his identity, "That species of religious awe was felt in the hall," and as he leaves the courtroom, "there was at this moment an indescribable divinity within him." Like the Transfiguration, there are features that indicate a deity.
When an attorney calls for a doctor, thinking Monsieur Madeleine has gone mad, Valjean interrupts him "with a tone full of gentleness and authority" - more Christ-like attributes. Valjean also says, "I tell you the truth," which Christ frequently says in the Gospels.
Finally, while Valjean's intercession for Champmathieu could be read as Christ's intercession for Adam (and for humanity as a whole), there are also parallels to Christ's trial before His crucifixion. There's the obvious similarity that both are trials, but more specifically there's the crowd's choice to release Barabbas instead Christ where here Valjean acts to release Champmathieu and offers himself instead. There are slight differences, since Christ didn't act to release Barabbas and Valjean is actually guilty, but the decisions of each that lead to the courtroom scenes are similar. Before being turned over in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39). Valjean goes through his own version of this, asking himself what is the right thing to do and pondering over it for multiple chapters. But he too does as God wills (or as he thinks God wills) and gives himself up.
At the end of the chapter, Champmathieu is released from all accusations, because even though Valjean thinks Champmathieu is guilty (in his lengthy considerations in Book Seven, Chapter 2, he tells himself, "He has stolen! it is useless for me to say he has not stolen, he has stolen!"), he still interceded for him.
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After writing the original draft of this post, I found in later chapters some parallels that are more crucifixion-centered. At the beginning of Chapter 5 in Book Eight, the narrator describes the reaction that the citizens of M--- sur M--- have after Monsieur Madeleine is revealed to have been Jean Valjean the galley slave. "We are sorry not to be able to disguise the fact that, on this single sentence, he was a galley slave, almost everybody abandoned him. ... Three or four persons alone in the whole city remained faithful to his memory." This is similar to Christ's disciples' falling away after His arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane: "Then all the disciples left him and fled" (Matthew 26:56).
About a page later, Valjean escapes from prison and returns home. The narrator explains that
I'm not sure if the Valjean-as-Christ parallels continue throughout the book (I guess I'll find out), but they do seem particularly strong in these chapters.
In reading Les Misérables, I recently got to the courtroom scene where Monsieur Madeleine reveals his true identity as Jean Valjean. He does this to protect Champmathieu, who was thought to be Jean Valjean and who was going to be sent to the galleys for life. In the preceding chapters, it was explained that Champmathieu allegedly stole a branch of apples. The particular object of his alleged theft got me thinking about religious parallels here, and in Chapter 11 ("Champmathieu More and More Astonished"), I found many of them.
First, from the previous chapters, Champmathieu's alleged theft of apples is a parallel to Adam and Eve's taking the forbidden fruit from the tree in the Garden of Eden (Genesis 3:6). Jean Valjean intercedes for him, and in doing so, I found a lot of parallels between Valjean and Christ. By correcting the misplacement of the identity, Valjean obviates the punishment that Champmathieu would have been faced with. Similarly, Christ takes on humanity's punishment in the crucifixion. To some degree, 1 Corinthians 15:22 demonstrates this parallelism and Christ as a second Adam: "For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive."
Chapter 11 itself starts with a description of Monsieur Madeleine (not yet revealed as Jean Valjean). It's specifically noted that "his hair, already grey when he came to Arras, was now perfectly white." There's a footnote in my edition that explains that "To have hair turn white overnight from an emotional shock is a common melodramatic device in nineteenth-century fiction." I suppose "emotional shock" is a valid reading, but if Valjean is Christ-like in his intercession, that whiteness demonstrates purity and even the Transfiguration. Later in the chapter, the narrator says, "Nobody said to himself that he there beheld the effulgence of a great light, yet all felt dazzled at heart." The revelation of Valjean's identity is also called a "luminous fact." This isn't too different from "And he was transfigured before them, and his face shone like the sun, and his clothes became white as light" (Matthew 17:2). Valjean reveals his identity before Brevet, Chenildieu, and Cochepaille, three of his former galley-mates, and Christ's identity as true God at His Transfiguration is revealed before Peter, James, and John, three of his disciples. After Valjean provides some details about some suspenders that Brevet owned in the galley, Brevet is "struck with surprise" and "gazed wildly at him" - a reaction that isn't too dissimilar from the disciples: "When the disciples heard this ["This is my beloved Son"], they fell on their faces and were terrified" (Matthew 17:6).
Immediately after Valjean reveals his identity, "That species of religious awe was felt in the hall," and as he leaves the courtroom, "there was at this moment an indescribable divinity within him." Like the Transfiguration, there are features that indicate a deity.
When an attorney calls for a doctor, thinking Monsieur Madeleine has gone mad, Valjean interrupts him "with a tone full of gentleness and authority" - more Christ-like attributes. Valjean also says, "I tell you the truth," which Christ frequently says in the Gospels.
Finally, while Valjean's intercession for Champmathieu could be read as Christ's intercession for Adam (and for humanity as a whole), there are also parallels to Christ's trial before His crucifixion. There's the obvious similarity that both are trials, but more specifically there's the crowd's choice to release Barabbas instead Christ where here Valjean acts to release Champmathieu and offers himself instead. There are slight differences, since Christ didn't act to release Barabbas and Valjean is actually guilty, but the decisions of each that lead to the courtroom scenes are similar. Before being turned over in the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prays, "If it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will" (Matthew 26:39). Valjean goes through his own version of this, asking himself what is the right thing to do and pondering over it for multiple chapters. But he too does as God wills (or as he thinks God wills) and gives himself up.
At the end of the chapter, Champmathieu is released from all accusations, because even though Valjean thinks Champmathieu is guilty (in his lengthy considerations in Book Seven, Chapter 2, he tells himself, "He has stolen! it is useless for me to say he has not stolen, he has stolen!"), he still interceded for him.
---
After writing the original draft of this post, I found in later chapters some parallels that are more crucifixion-centered. At the beginning of Chapter 5 in Book Eight, the narrator describes the reaction that the citizens of M--- sur M--- have after Monsieur Madeleine is revealed to have been Jean Valjean the galley slave. "We are sorry not to be able to disguise the fact that, on this single sentence, he was a galley slave, almost everybody abandoned him. ... Three or four persons alone in the whole city remained faithful to his memory." This is similar to Christ's disciples' falling away after His arrest in the Garden of Gethsemane: "Then all the disciples left him and fled" (Matthew 26:56).
About a page later, Valjean escapes from prison and returns home. The narrator explains that
It has never been known how he had succeeded in gaining entrance into the court-yard without opening the carriage port. He had, and always carried about him, a pass-key which opened a little side door, but he must have been searched, and this taken from him. This point is not yet cleared up.This seems to have some connection to Christ's appearing to His disciples (after the resurrection) even though they were within a locked room. "On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you'" - John 20:19.
I'm not sure if the Valjean-as-Christ parallels continue throughout the book (I guess I'll find out), but they do seem particularly strong in these chapters.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
Les Misérables (Part I, Book Three, Chapter 9)
This post contains a minor spoiler.
The day after I posted about finding a reference to 1 Corinthians 13 in Les Misérables, I found an-other important Biblical reference.
Part I, Book Three is about Fantine, her three friends, and their lovers, rather than Jean Valjean. Chapter 2 starts with "In this year, 1817, four young Parisians played 'a good joke.'" The joke itself doesn't come until chapter 9. Throughout Book Three, these four students have been telling their lovers that they have a surprise for them. In chapter 9, after eating at a restaurant, they get up (ostensibly to go and get the surprise) and just leave the girls. After a hour, the waiter gives them a letter (on which is written "THIS IS THE SURPRISE") that the students left for them. It starts:
In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), a son asks his father for his share of the inheritance, goes off travelling, and "squander[s] his property in reckless living" (15:13). A famine comes, leaving him even more desperate, so he gets a job feeding pigs (and finds himself envying even their food). Then he realizes that his father's servants are treated better, so he goes back to his father's house, intending only to ask to be a servant and say "I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (15:19). But, instead, his father welcomes him joyfully and commands his servants to "bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found" (15:22-23).
The key difference between the actual prodigal son and the four students is that the prodigal son demonstrates penitence ("I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you'" [15:18]) where the students pride themselves because they think themselves "virtuous."
There's also a difference in the incentive to return home. The prodigal son returns merely so that he can find work and lodging, but the students' letter explains that the fatted calf is a reward that the parents are offering in exchange for their sons' homecoming. The prodigal son wasn't expecting a feast upon his return, but the students seem almost weary of the prospect, as if it's an ordeal they have to go through. If anything, they're like the prodigal son at the beginning of the parable, when he wants his share of the inheritance and is interested in "reckless living."
What struck me about the prodigal son comparison is its irony. The students want to appear as if they're good sons and do what their parents want, but the actual prodigal son attained a much better understanding of his filial relationship.
The day after I posted about finding a reference to 1 Corinthians 13 in Les Misérables, I found an-other important Biblical reference.
Part I, Book Three is about Fantine, her three friends, and their lovers, rather than Jean Valjean. Chapter 2 starts with "In this year, 1817, four young Parisians played 'a good joke.'" The joke itself doesn't come until chapter 9. Throughout Book Three, these four students have been telling their lovers that they have a surprise for them. In chapter 9, after eating at a restaurant, they get up (ostensibly to go and get the surprise) and just leave the girls. After a hour, the waiter gives them a letter (on which is written "THIS IS THE SURPRISE") that the students left for them. It starts:
Oh, our lovers!The students want to portray themselves as honorable men who do what their parents want, and - in doing so - they compare themselves to (or say that their parents compare them to) the prodigal son. But, instead, their comparison illustrates their complete ignorance of the prodigal son.
Know that we have parents. Parents - you scarcely know the meaning of the word, they are what are called fathers and mothers in the civil code, simple but honest. Now these parents bemoan us, these old men claim us, these good men and women call us prodigal sons, desire our return and offer to kill for us the fatted calf. We obey them, being virtuous.
In the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32), a son asks his father for his share of the inheritance, goes off travelling, and "squander[s] his property in reckless living" (15:13). A famine comes, leaving him even more desperate, so he gets a job feeding pigs (and finds himself envying even their food). Then he realizes that his father's servants are treated better, so he goes back to his father's house, intending only to ask to be a servant and say "I am no longer worthy to be called your son" (15:19). But, instead, his father welcomes him joyfully and commands his servants to "bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found" (15:22-23).
The key difference between the actual prodigal son and the four students is that the prodigal son demonstrates penitence ("I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, 'Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you'" [15:18]) where the students pride themselves because they think themselves "virtuous."
There's also a difference in the incentive to return home. The prodigal son returns merely so that he can find work and lodging, but the students' letter explains that the fatted calf is a reward that the parents are offering in exchange for their sons' homecoming. The prodigal son wasn't expecting a feast upon his return, but the students seem almost weary of the prospect, as if it's an ordeal they have to go through. If anything, they're like the prodigal son at the beginning of the parable, when he wants his share of the inheritance and is interested in "reckless living."
What struck me about the prodigal son comparison is its irony. The students want to appear as if they're good sons and do what their parents want, but the actual prodigal son attained a much better understanding of his filial relationship.
Wednesday, August 5, 2015
Les Misérables (Part I, Book Two, Chapter 13)
About a month ago, I started re-reading Les Misérables (this is the second time I've read it). I recently finished Book Two, and at the very end (in Chapter 13 - "Petit Gervais"), I think I found a reference to 1 Corinthians 13.
The narrator writes that Jean Valjean "beheld himself then, so to speak, face to face, and at the same time, through that hallucination, he saw, at a mysterious distance, a sort of light which he took at first to be a torch. Examining more attentively this light which dawned upon his conscience, he recognised that it had a human form, and that this torch was the bishop."
The "face to face" part in particular is what reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13:12: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." The study notes in my Bible gloss this passage, explaining that it's talking about the personal knowledge of God that the believer will have, but in Les Misérables, it seems to apply more to Jean Valjean's self-examination and his later certainty in what he has to do. Shortly before his seeing himself face to face, the narrator asks:
That higher path is characterized by the bishop bearing illumination, which is a similar description to what 1 Corinthians 13:12 has. Things are no longer seen dimly, but with illumination ("The light grew brighter and brighter in [Valjean's] mind..."). The preceding verse seems to have some relation to Valjean's choice too: "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways" (1 Corinthians 13:11). Valjean also seems to acquire a new perspective (he now "know[s] fully"):
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*Usually, I'd be hesitant to assert something about a translated work based on a particular phrase, but I checked an-other translation I have, and it too uses "so to speak" in both passages.
The narrator writes that Jean Valjean "beheld himself then, so to speak, face to face, and at the same time, through that hallucination, he saw, at a mysterious distance, a sort of light which he took at first to be a torch. Examining more attentively this light which dawned upon his conscience, he recognised that it had a human form, and that this torch was the bishop."
The "face to face" part in particular is what reminded me of 1 Corinthians 13:12: "For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known." The study notes in my Bible gloss this passage, explaining that it's talking about the personal knowledge of God that the believer will have, but in Les Misérables, it seems to apply more to Jean Valjean's self-examination and his later certainty in what he has to do. Shortly before his seeing himself face to face, the narrator asks:
Did a voice whisper in his ear that he had just passed through the decisive hour of his destiny, that there was no longer a middle course for him, that if, thereafter, he should not be the best of men, he would be the worst, that he must now, so to speak, mount higher than the bishop, or fall lower that the galley slave; that, if he would become good, he must become an angel; that, if he would remain wicked, he must become a monster?These two passages are linked by the expression "so to speak."* Of the two options presented, Valjean chooses to "mount higher than the bishop." The chapter (and Book Two) ends with him "in the attitude of prayer, kneeling upon the pavement in the shadow, before the door of Monseigneur Bienvenu."
That higher path is characterized by the bishop bearing illumination, which is a similar description to what 1 Corinthians 13:12 has. Things are no longer seen dimly, but with illumination ("The light grew brighter and brighter in [Valjean's] mind..."). The preceding verse seems to have some relation to Valjean's choice too: "When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways" (1 Corinthians 13:11). Valjean also seems to acquire a new perspective (he now "know[s] fully"):
His past life, his first offence, his long expiation, his brutal exterior, his hardened interior, his release made glad by so many schemes of vengeance, what had happened to him at the bishop's, his last action, this theft of forty sous from a child, a crime meaner and the more monstrous that it came after the bishop's pardon, all this returned and appeared to him, clearly, but in a light that he had never seen before. He beheld his life, and it seemed to him horrible; his soul, and it seemed to him frightful.At the end of the previous chapter (chapter 12 - "The Bishop at Work"), the bishop tells Jean Valjean that "It is your soul that I am buying for you. I am withdrawing it from dark thoughts and from the spirit of perdition, and I am giving it to God!" This dedication to God is an important part of the book, so it's fitting that Hugo's narrator uses Biblical descriptions like these from 1 Corinthians 13 to describe Valjean.
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*Usually, I'd be hesitant to assert something about a translated work based on a particular phrase, but I checked an-other translation I have, and it too uses "so to speak" in both passages.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Odyssean Parallels in "The Robber and His Sons" from Grimm's Fairy Tales
I recently read Grimm's Fairy Tales, and in one of them - "The Robber and His Sons" - I found a lot of Odyssean parallels. The titular robber's sons have been thrown in jail after stealing the Queen's horse, and the robber (who's reformed and had been against his sons' plot) tells the Queen three stories of his past life as a robber in order to free them.
The robber's first story is about his attempt to steal "an immense treasure of many thousand pieces of gold and silver" from a giant. With his men, he goes to plunder the treasure, but the giant returns and catches them. The robber and his hundred men are divided among ten of the giants so that there are groups of ten robbers for each giant. The giant from whom they were trying to steal takes the robber and nine other men to a cave where he eats one a day. The robber - as the thinnest of the ten - is left for last. The robber notices that the giant has bad eyes, so he starts scheming. He claims he is a physician and can help the giant. Then he "put[s] oil in a vessel and mixed in with sulphur, pitch, salt, arsenic, and other destructive ingredients, and then I put it over the fire, as if I were preparing a plaster for his eyes." The giant loses his sight from the robber's treatment and storms around his cave, striking the floor with a club. The robber, however, is still trapped, as "the cave was everywhere surrounded with high walls, and the doors were closed with iron bolts." The robber disguises himself as a ram among the giant's sheep, which works for awhile, but then the giant picks the fattest of his flock (the robber in disguise) to eat. The robber jumps out of the giant's hand and eventually escapes, "shout[ing] in a mocking tone to him that I had escaped him in spite of all."
There are more than a few similarities between the robber's story and Odysseus' experience with the Cyclops in Book IX of The Odyssey. [The following quotes are from E.V. Rieu's translation.]
While Odysseus and his men don't have the intention to steal from the Cyclops (Odysseus even prevents his men from taking the Cyclop's cheeses: "I was not to be persuaded. I wished to see the owner of the cave and had hopes of some friendly gifts from my host."), they do take "some cheeses just for ourselves" and eat them while waiting for the Cyclops to return from tending his flock.
When the Cyclops returns, he seals the cave with a stone. "It was a mighty slab, such as you couldn't have budged from the ground, not with a score of heavy four-wheeled waggons to help you." The Cyclops doesn't show hospitality to Odysseus and his men, rather he
Odysseus' plan works, and they skewer the Cyclops' eye. "The fiery smoke from the blazing eyeball singed his lids and brow all round, and the very roots of his eye crackled in the heat." After complaining to his friends that "Nobody's treachery... is doing me to death," the Cyclops opens the cave and plans to catch Odysseus and company as they run out. Odysseus ties each of his men beneath three sheep, but he hides himself under a single ram. The Cyclops doesn't notice the men beneath the sheep, but he becomes suspicious about the ram, asking "Why are you the last of the flock to pass out of the cave, you who have never lagged behind the sheep?" Eventually, he lets the ram go, and Odysseus frees himself and his men from their sheepy bonds.
Odysseus has to taunt the Cyclops though, even after his crew warn him not to. While still in range of the Cyclops' hearing, Odysseus shouts back at him: "Cyclops, if anyone ever asks you how you came by your unsightly blindness, tell him your eye was put out by Odysseus, Sacker of Cities, the son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca."
Both stories involve an attempt at robbery, a giant, an almost-inescapable cave, the daily eating of the narrator's men (with the narrator saved for last), the putting out of an eye, hiding under a ram amid a flock of sheep, and a final taunting. After each final taunting, the narrator is almost caught a second time. In "The Robber and His Sons," the robber is given a ring that causes him to repeatedly say, "Here I am!" and in The Odyssey, Odysseus' shout gives the Cyclops a target to throw a rock at.
I think it's pretty clear that the story in "The Robber and His Sons" took at least a few elements from The Odyssey.
The robber's first story is about his attempt to steal "an immense treasure of many thousand pieces of gold and silver" from a giant. With his men, he goes to plunder the treasure, but the giant returns and catches them. The robber and his hundred men are divided among ten of the giants so that there are groups of ten robbers for each giant. The giant from whom they were trying to steal takes the robber and nine other men to a cave where he eats one a day. The robber - as the thinnest of the ten - is left for last. The robber notices that the giant has bad eyes, so he starts scheming. He claims he is a physician and can help the giant. Then he "put[s] oil in a vessel and mixed in with sulphur, pitch, salt, arsenic, and other destructive ingredients, and then I put it over the fire, as if I were preparing a plaster for his eyes." The giant loses his sight from the robber's treatment and storms around his cave, striking the floor with a club. The robber, however, is still trapped, as "the cave was everywhere surrounded with high walls, and the doors were closed with iron bolts." The robber disguises himself as a ram among the giant's sheep, which works for awhile, but then the giant picks the fattest of his flock (the robber in disguise) to eat. The robber jumps out of the giant's hand and eventually escapes, "shout[ing] in a mocking tone to him that I had escaped him in spite of all."
There are more than a few similarities between the robber's story and Odysseus' experience with the Cyclops in Book IX of The Odyssey. [The following quotes are from E.V. Rieu's translation.]
While Odysseus and his men don't have the intention to steal from the Cyclops (Odysseus even prevents his men from taking the Cyclop's cheeses: "I was not to be persuaded. I wished to see the owner of the cave and had hopes of some friendly gifts from my host."), they do take "some cheeses just for ourselves" and eat them while waiting for the Cyclops to return from tending his flock.
When the Cyclops returns, he seals the cave with a stone. "It was a mighty slab, such as you couldn't have budged from the ground, not with a score of heavy four-wheeled waggons to help you." The Cyclops doesn't show hospitality to Odysseus and his men, rather he
seized a couple [of the men] and dashed their heads against the floor as though they had been puppies. Their brains ran out of the ground and soaked the earth. Limb by limb he tore them to pieces to make his meal, which he devoured like a mountain lion, never pausing till entrails and flesh, marrow and bones, where all consumed.The next day, the Cyclops "once more seized upon two of us and prepared his supper." But meanwhile, Odysseus has been scheming. With his men, he's sharpened a piece of timber, "poked it into the blazing fire to make it hard," and plans to "lift the pole and twist it in the Cyclops' eye when he was sound asleep." Odysseus encourages the Cyclops to drink some wine and tells him that his name is Nobody, to which the Cyclops replies, "Of all his company I will eat Nobody last, and the rest before him. That shall be your gift."
Odysseus' plan works, and they skewer the Cyclops' eye. "The fiery smoke from the blazing eyeball singed his lids and brow all round, and the very roots of his eye crackled in the heat." After complaining to his friends that "Nobody's treachery... is doing me to death," the Cyclops opens the cave and plans to catch Odysseus and company as they run out. Odysseus ties each of his men beneath three sheep, but he hides himself under a single ram. The Cyclops doesn't notice the men beneath the sheep, but he becomes suspicious about the ram, asking "Why are you the last of the flock to pass out of the cave, you who have never lagged behind the sheep?" Eventually, he lets the ram go, and Odysseus frees himself and his men from their sheepy bonds.
Odysseus has to taunt the Cyclops though, even after his crew warn him not to. While still in range of the Cyclops' hearing, Odysseus shouts back at him: "Cyclops, if anyone ever asks you how you came by your unsightly blindness, tell him your eye was put out by Odysseus, Sacker of Cities, the son of Laertes, who lives in Ithaca."
Both stories involve an attempt at robbery, a giant, an almost-inescapable cave, the daily eating of the narrator's men (with the narrator saved for last), the putting out of an eye, hiding under a ram amid a flock of sheep, and a final taunting. After each final taunting, the narrator is almost caught a second time. In "The Robber and His Sons," the robber is given a ring that causes him to repeatedly say, "Here I am!" and in The Odyssey, Odysseus' shout gives the Cyclops a target to throw a rock at.
I think it's pretty clear that the story in "The Robber and His Sons" took at least a few elements from The Odyssey.
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