The Voyage of the Dawn Treader opens with one of my favorite lines from Lewis’s fiction, and repeats that achievement toward its close. “There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.” Said lad is the cousin of the Pevensie children, and he’s a bit of a rotter. One can imagine him getting on quite well with Dudley Dursley, almost. Edmund and Lucy are visiting him when all three are drawn inexplicably into a portrait of a ship at sea: the Dawn Treader. They find themselves three years removed from their last visit to Narnia. Young Prince Caspian is now King Caspian, and he’s on a mission. Now that peace reigns once more, he wants to seek out several exiled lords who were loyal to his father before Caspian’s evil uncle began getting up to mischief. They are scattered throughout the Lone Islands, and so the children and their companions set about visiting different isles, each offering its own dangers and delights.

While this appears to be a straightforward adventure story, it runs on a layer of Christian theology that occasionally makes itself obvious. When Eustace finds himself literally encased in his own vices (in a way I won’t name for fear of spoilers), he tries to tear them off only to find the viciousness still there. Finally, he’s gently told by Aslan that this is something He, the Lion, must do. A secular reader might take this as merely an instance of Aslan being stronger than Eustace, but a Christian sees an overt statement about the need for grace to overcome sin. Aslan is constantly appearing at points where characters are in need of that grace. This isn’t a deus ex machina device; it’s more like Nathan reproaching David after the death of Uriah, or God Himself confronting Jonah after the silly ass pitches a fit when Nineveh is not destroyed.

Although Voyage flags a bit in its last third for me, the first parts of the book are delightful—especially with a good narrator who can bring the Duffers’ inherent absurdity to life. Reepicheep was the only weakness, vocally: it’s hard for a grown man to present both the gravitas of Aslan and a noble mouse-warrior. I loved Jacobi’s Aslan in particular. The book ends with King Caspian having fulfilled his quest and the Pevensies and their cousin on the verge of re-entering our world. Here Aslan tells Lucy and Edmund they are getting too old for Narnia, and that they will never come this way again. The result is one of my favorite passages not just in this book, but in all of the Narnian stories. I am very much looking forward to The Silver Chair and The Last Battle—especially the latter, because it’s narrated by PATRICK STEWART!

“Please Aslan, before we go, will you tell us when we can come back to Narnia again? Please. And oh, do, do, do, make it soon.”
“Dearest,” said Aslan very gently, “you and your brother will never come back to Narnia.”
“Oh, Aslan!!” said Edmund and Lucy both together in despairing voices.
“You are too old, children,” said Aslan, “and you must begin to come close to your own world now.”
“It isn’t Narnia, you know,” sobbed Lucy. “It’s you. We shan’t meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?”
“But you shall meet me, dear one,” said Aslan.
“Are — are you there too, Sir?” said Edmund.
“I am,” said Aslan. “But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

This passage resonates with me the way it is because Lewis somehow accomplishes the task of making Aslan Jesus-like without endlessly quoting the Gospels: he captures Aslan’s dangerous strength, but also his mildlness and compassion, and….gentle knowing. There’s a sweet scene in Prince Caspian wherein Reepicheep the mouse is bemoaning the loss of his tail in battle, and the great Lion settles down and takes him seriously. Reepicheep is so small and his complaint so petty — vain, almost — but the Lion’s love for the mouse is such that he listens and grants the noble warrior his tail back. It made me think of how silly creatures we can be, and yet still receive grace.