A review of C.S.Lewis’s “The Magician’s Nephew”

This is the prequel to “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe,” but was written after that book, first published in 1955.  Nothing unusual in this, we do it today with successful franchises, going back to before the beginning for new adventures and fresh insights into the world of the tales.  George R.R. Martin has just written a prequel to his staggeringly popular ‘Game of Thrones’  series, for example.  Then there’s the Star Wars prequels.  So you can see from these examples that sometimes this is successful, sometimes not.  Questions to consider; does it link in coherently with the world building of the series as a whole?  Does it bring fresh excitements and understandings?  Does it work as a stand-alone tale?  For George Lucas, arguably, there were real problems with these things.  Here, it most definitely does.
This is a cracking story that you could come to with no other introduction to the works of Professor Lewis.  It tells, as many of our richest children’s stories do, of a new friendship in the long Summer holiday, of exploring long secret passageways and secret rooms, of sinister relatives, and a heartbreaking reality of  dying mother.  Then, an exploration into a wider fantasy world, with a wicked Queen, a certain magical and heroic lion, and the birth of a new world.  Welcome to Narnia.
There are wonderful scenes that live on in the imagination, including the ‘multi-verse’ anticipating glade of pools that provide routes into different worlds and a haunting vision of evil in the dying world of Charn, with its progressively evil rulers represented in statue form, so the increasing moral despair and degradation in their faces is preserved and plain to see.  Then the evil breaks into this world, and there’s a semi-comic and chaotic chase involving the evil Queen, a hi-jacked Hansom cab, the Police, and various others.  The creation of Narnia is a hauntingly beautiful beautiful scene, life birthed by song.  And we see the origin of Narnia’s eco-system of intelligent, talking animals, and the framework is set for the future novels with a human King and Queen and the introduction of evil magic to this new world.
It’s a cracking story well told.  Seasoned readers of Lewis will enjoy spotting Lewis’s signature themes explored in his more grown up novels and writings such as the power of myth, the estrangement of evil, and more.  It’s a joy, and I recommend it.

A review of Daniel Keyes “Flowers for Algernon.”

This is the genre source novel for a lot of recent SF on science and human intelligence, for example the novel, book and spin off tv series ‘Limitless;’ the drama of someone failing suddenly boosted to genius status, the excitement of that journey, but also a commentary on what it does to their soul, and the recognition that humanity is profoundly more than it’s shared IQ. But I don’t think this tale has ever been told with the tragic weight and pathos with which it is told here.

‘Flowers for Algernon’ is a Nebula Award wining novel from 1968. And as such it has that period feel of determined smoking by men in suits and in white coats, a drama back-lit by hard, white clinical lighting. And yet the story is heartbreakingly human.
Charlie Gordon is, in the language of the day, retarded, but with a determination to learn and improve himself that brings him to the attention of Messers Strauss and Nemur, scientists ready to try their new treatment of enzymes and brain surgery that, following succesful experiments on the titular mouse Algernon, they believe will make a breakthrough in treating human mental retardation.
Slowly Charlie’s progress reports move from the barely literate, priamry school spelling journal entries to more intelligent, insightful and sophisticated prose, as Charlie’s intelligence grows, all the while gainong momentum. Along the way he starts to remember the abuse suffered at the hands of his mother. The scientists have added therapy to Charlie’s treatment as they foresaw that a boost in IQ would cause emotional issues in their patient. Meanwhile Charlie’s co-workers at the bakery where he works in a janitorial role view him with increasing bewilderment and fear, as he moves from warm and likable idiot to a much colder, frighteningly intelligent and emotionally aloof persona. Charlie finds himself coming to terms with sexual attraction and love, and soon he comes to resent the scientists who seem to refuse to believe he was a genuine person before the operation. Particularly as that genuine person, the frightened retarded child, still peeps fearfully out from the new Charlie’s gaze, making his presence felt at unexpected times. Most notable of these are when he attempts to make love to Alice, a woman who taught him in a ‘special school’ in his past life and who recommended him to the University hospital for their new research, because of his passion to learn. The ‘old’ Charlie had his early sexual urgings met with physical and emotional abuse as a boy, and that boy surfaces when new Charlie tries to move beyond it.

And so the drama plays out at all these different levels. There’s the excitement of the growing intelligence, the thrill of learning, the astonishment and fear of old friends and colleagues, the hostility, the mysteries of Charlie’s boyhood and the family trauma to unravel, and Charlie’s struggle to move into adult sexuality. Then the next phase, the outstripping his mentors as he become a genius, his intelligence reaching up to the Heavens…and then you get the fall of Icarus. Algernon the mouse grows sick, frenziedly throwing himself against the walls of his cage and diminishing in intelligence. Charlie has to face up to the fact that the science may have overreached itself, and that his house is built on treacherous sand. The story can and does go in only one direction, it’s no spoiler to say, as it’s telegraphed clearly though-out the novel (and on the back blurb). And it is a heartbreaking journey, very bleak, but with the hopeful recognition that the human condition is richer than IQ alone, and that the journey, for Charlie and for humanity, is still a noble one.

This is an excellent novel, true landmark SF. As stated it has a steely, clinical prose, but this does not undermine the very human drama. The litereary trick of the incremental development of Charlie’s prose in his journal entries to signify his growing intelligence is masterfully done.
So if you are looking for an antidote for the sprawling, multi-verse spanning ‘hard SF’ that’s in favour today, or just want to read a SF classic, pick this up.