arnian
elebration

agical ood

And finally, the food I don’t have recipes for, but wish I did. I should dearly love to have Bacchus, Silenus and the Maenads come and whip me up a dance for fun and beauty, a magic dance of plenty. I’d make them a nice bonfire in my back yard and let them go to it . . . where their hands would touch and where their feet would fall a feast would come into existence . . . sides of roasted meat would fill my yard with delicious smells, and wheaten cakes and oaten cakes, honey and many-colured sugars and cream as thick as porridge and as smooth as still water, peaches, nectarines, pomegrantes, pears, grapes, strawberries, raspberries - pyramids and cataracts of fruit. I would feast the trees on the good, rich black soil of Oregon late into the night, under the watchful moon.

Though I’m not particularly fond of Turkish Delight, the Toffee Tree that grows from the toffee fallen from Uncle Andrew’s pocket in The Magician’s Nephew would be very useful; in and of itself and in principal as well. I could plant a Whopper, a few french fries and a bottle of catsup and have Taran fed for the rest of his life. By the same token, though I would not want to have to deal with the Dufflepuds on a daily basis, Coriain the Magician’s ability to give everyone what they like best for dinner is an enviable talent.

I’ve always been completely fascinated by the idea of the live gems of Bism. What must the energy be like in a place where they can
squeee you a cup of diamond juice or pluck you a fresh ruby from a tree? This is something I’m not likely to ever find out, considering the only way to get there is underground. And yet imagine the smell of a freshly peeled sapphire . . .

In The Magician’s Nephew, Digor brings his mother an apple; that much maligned fruit of many mythological entanglements. Though this is called “The Apple of Youth” it is clearly, in this case, The Apple of Love. This particular fruit is about Health and Hope, about seeds and all sorts of bright beginnings. I could use one of those apples, and I know just where I would plant the core.

When the Dawn Treader reached the wonders of the last sea they found that the waves had turned sweet and were no longer salt. Thus was Reepicheep’s prophecy fulfilled: “Where the waves grow sweet, Doubt not, Reepicheep, there is utter East.” When Caspian first tasted the sweet water, he lifted his head and his face was changed, “not only his eyes, but everything about him seemed to be brighter. “Yes, he said, “it is sweet. That’s real water that. I’m not sure that it isn’t going to ill me. But it is the death I would have chosen - if I’d known about it till now.”
“What do you mean?” asked Edmund.
“It’s - it’s like light more than anything else,” said Caspian.
“That is what it is,” said Reepicheep. “Drinkable light.”

That is the recipe I wish I had the most, the drinkable light of the Silver Sea. “It’s the loveliest thing I have ever tasted,” said Lucy with a kind of a gasp. “But oh - it’s strong. We shan’t need to eat anything now.” And one by one everybody on board drank. And for a long time they were all silent. They felt almost too well and strong to bear it; and presently they began to notice another result . . . they could look straight up at the sun without blinking. They could see more light than they had ever seen before. And the deck and the sail and their own faces and bodies became brighter and brighter and every rope shone.”

And so we end where we began . . . with light. Professor Lewis’s message is as clear as that crystal water and much simpler and deeper than the allegory on which it floats. I remember a world where good ultimately triumphed over evil, where courage, ustice, love and mercy could be learned and earned, won and worn like glory on the brow; where animals talked as they should and lived protected as they still could; where the spirits of trees danced, loved and protected as well. I remember a world where a child could spread their word wings and be imprinted with a precious piece of a forever dream. And to that dream even adults are allowed to return, again and again . . . and because that world is as it is, I remember and so do you.

uthor Dancing in Light.