The Silver Chair

Another week, another Narnia book. This one was so-so. I found myself very bored for the majority of the first two thirds of it, and the climactic moment occurs with about a quarter of the book remaining; there really wasn't much going on here at all, and what did go on was largely uninspired and predictable. In this regard, it felt very much like Prince Caspian. But it was a slightly better book overall. A big part of this was Puddleglum, a "marsh-wiggle," who is probably my favorite Lewis character to date. For once, Lewis has crafted his own race - some sort of dreadlocked duck-like humanoid with the lanky build of a scarecrow - as opposed to the trite and overused fantasy cliches he typically throws into his stories: dwarves, centaurs, fauns, and the like. Puddleglum is as pessimistic as Charlie Brown, and his dry humor and depressing wit made for a refreshing change in the Narnia books which tend to be full of hope, sunshine, and staunch optimism. Puddleglum felt like a Lewis Carroll creation and some of his antics made me feel as if I was reading Alice in Wonderland Lite. At other times, I felt like I was reading a terrible Gulliver's Travels knock-off, as our heroes took an all-too predictable series of chapters interacting with both giants and underground-dwelling people. I mean, honestly, the "Giant Land" part of the book couldn't have been any more obvious from start to finish. It turns out that the giants who have invited our three journeyers into their castle for a great big feast are actually planning to cook and eat the trio. This might not have even been so clear from the get-go had Lewis not referenced that the giants seemed "untrustworthy" to the kids like five or six times. Plenty of other plot points and "twists" could be seen coming right from their respective set-ups, but I won't bore myself or any possible readers out there by delving into them; the book is, after all, "for children," as its cover so clearly indicates. One more Narnia book separates me from the completion of this banal heptalogy. I'll put on my shit-eating grin and bear it, but honestly, my expectations are pretty low. After all, why expect book seven to be any better than the average of books one through six?