As I have already mentioned once or twice, I was a stubborn child sometimes. I won't go into this again right here but the result is that I spurned The Chronicles of Narnia all throughout my childhood, and for no good reason. There they sat, on the bookshelves at the top of the stairs, available whenever I might want them, and I refused to try them. I didn't like the name. I was creeped out by the title The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, and just didn't think I'd like it. So I left it. Until I was 18. But, when I was 18, I took them down and I read them and felt that the world was a different place. That I was different within it. And it's ok that I waited until then. It was best, that I waited until then.
I have since read and reread the entire series, many times. Sometimes I will just pick up one, the one I'm in the mood for. Usually it will be The Horse and His Boy. Sometimes it will be The Silver Chair.
Reading The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is always special. Because it's magical and adventurous, and scary, and good, and full of so many things that are wonderful. Edmund is wonderful. I adore his story. His Narnia experience helps him become the boy and man he was wavering away from before The Wardrobe. And the real goodness in him after his experience with evil, is unshakable thereafter. I love Lucy, and her pure heart, and Aslan, and his rich mane. I love Mr Tumnus and his paper parcels, and the lampost, and the wardrobe. I love Narnia.
“You have a traitor there, Aslan," said the Witch. Of course everyone present knew that she meant Edmund. But Edmund had got past thinking about himself after all he'd been through and after the talk he'd had that morning. He just went on looking at Aslan. It didn't seem to matter what the Witch said.”
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