We read out loud at the breakfast table, my mother and I. A chapter of the Bible, and a chapter of a classic. One of the first classics I remember reading over Malto-Meal, was The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, as well as the rest of the Chronicles of Narnia series.
My mom did voices, and I imagined a world of make-believe, with dwarves and fauns, satyrs and minotaurs. I could almost taste what I thought might be Turkish Delight. (I tried it a few years ago, and I was completely incorrect in my imaginings.) I fell in love with Aslan, and wished it were so easy to love Jesus.
Maybe that is what was most important about these books to me. Aslan made Jesus more real to me. Isn’t that ironic? (don’t you think?) A fantasy made Jesus more real to me.
“At all ages, if [fantasy and myth] is used well by the author and meets the right reader, it has the same power: to generalize while remaining concrete, to present in palpable form not concepts or even experiences but whole classes of experience, and to throw off irrelevancies. But at its best it can do more; it can give us experiences we have never had and thus, instead of ‘commenting on life,’ can add to it.”
— C.S. Lewis
And now, the real question. As for the controversy about the order in which the books should be read. What order did I read the books? The order in which they were written, of course!