Yesterday’s blog post was, quite literally, sugar sweet, so today seems like a good day as any to spice the dish with something rather more sinister.
When I was still in primary school, I occasionally went to the secondary school in which they worked, where, to my delight, there was a school library, run by one of my earliest real life childhood heroes, Mrs MacKay. I spent a lot of time in there, and while I had already read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, I was, at age 7, yet to encounter the rest of the Chronicles of Narnia. Mrs MacKay lent me the rest, and, when there was a fire in the school – don’t panic: the library survived intact, and replaced the small amount of smoke-damaged stock. For me, despite the initial horror, there was a silver lining to this dark cloud of smoke, as she sent home with my parents a full set of the Chronicles which smelt only slightly smoky. They were wrapped in strong plastic covers, and still have the typed library cards inside them. They are some of my most treasured possessions. The Magician’s Nephew and The Silver Chair are my two favourites, and to my mind definitely the strangest. As a lifelong medievalist (albeit unconsciously, at first), I suspect that part of the attraction are the mysterious women to be found loitering in woods and by lakes; for an authentic medieval example of such a woman, may I direct you to my post about Marie de France’s Lanval, also part of this Christmas Feast blog sequence? Given that C. S. Lewis was a real medieval scholar, not a dabbler like me, I’m pretty sure that such stories were, at least partly, his inspiration for Jadis and the Lady of the Green Kirtle, but that’s a discussion for another day. Now on to the feast!
If you’ve not read The Silver Chair, I recommend that you stop reading at this point if you wish to read it without any spoilers. I’ve put in a picture of the front cover of my copy to protect you from the rest of the discussion.
The Silver Chair by C. S. Lewis (Fontana Lions, 1980). Cover design by Stephen Lavis.
Our scene begins with Daughter of Eve Jill and Son of Adam Eustace, and the Narnian Puddleglum (one of Lewis’s best creations, without question – Eric Morecombe: Extreme Deadpan version), a Marsh-wiggle, on one of their worst days. Having been caught in a terrible snowstorm, in the dark,seemingly in the middle of nowhere, they are in almost complete despair until the moment when Jill sees lights far above them. Finally they have found Harfang, the home of the Gentle Giants, where they will be safe and warm once again. They are given “food and wine and baths … lollipops … dolls … physics … possets and comfits and caraways and lullabies and toys” (p. 128), and dinner that night is “cock-a-leekie soup, and hot roast turkey, and a steamed pudding, and roast chestnuts, and as much fruit as you could eat” (p.130). And the Autumn Feast, as mentioned by the friendly Lady of the Green Kirtle, hasn’t even come around yet. Doesn’t it all sound rather marvellous? Don’t you want to go to Harfang and spend some time with friendly giants?
Pauline Baynes‘s illustration of Harfang (Source: The Chronicles of Narnia Wiki).
Well, not so fast, young whippersnappers!
Despite their being well-supplied with all manner of luxurious comforts, albeit to a somewhat uncomfortable degree, our plucky trio soon need to move on with their quest, and begin looking for a way out of Harfang. But before they can leave, they begin to understand that they are in serious trouble. It begins one night over dinner, when Puddleglum overhears two giants joking about the fact that the stag who became the main venison dish attempted to dissuade them from eating him. It’s the first time in the Chronicles that we are confronted with the horror of characters eating the talking animals of Narnia. Could it be that these are not such gentle giants after all? Eustace, Jill, and Puddleglum in particular, lose their appetites and creep from the Great Hall. But it only gets worse, I’m afraid. While waiting for their moment to escape through an open kitchen door, Jill sees an open cookery book. It’s open to the letter ‘M’. Nothing to worry about, there, right?
Pauline Baynes’s illustration of Jill’s discovery of the recipe book. Source: Pinterest.
MALLARD. This delicious bird can be cooked in a variety of ways.
…
MAN. This elegant little biped has long been valued as a delicacy. It forms a traditional part of the Autumn Feast, and is served between the fish and joint. Each Man –
but she could nor bear to read any more. She turned round. The giantess had woken up and was having a fit of coughing. Jill nudged the other two and pointed to the book. They also mounted the bench and bent over the huge pages. Scrubb was still reading about how to cook Men when Puddleglum pointed to the next entry below it. It was like this:
MARSH-WIGGLE. Some authorities reject this animal altogether as unfit for giants’ consumption because of its stringy consistency and muddy flavour. The flavour can, however, be greatly reduced if-
It is quite a relief that we don’t find out any more than this, but I am nonetheless vaguely curious; I have always wondered what other unfortunate creatures the giants brought back from their Autumn Feast hunt. When I was wee, I thought that Jill and Eustace would literally be served sandwiched between a piece of fish and some meat joint, which was a rather horrifying visual, but the Giant King later makes it clear that they are to be served up in “man-pies”; I really should have understood this given the presence of two pie dishes lined with pastry immediately next to the recipe book. Not that such a fate and presentation is any less horrific than the fish-human-meat stack of my imagination.
On that note, sweet dreams, dear readers! ‘Ware giants!
I read those books so many times – The Magician’s Nephew was one of my favourites too.
Yay! Another fan – it’s a strange book, but really wonderful.