yeeticheep

Of you asked the Gentle Queen what love is, she’d tell you that it’s a rare but beautiful thing.

If you asked the Just King what loyalty is, he’d tell you that it’s a hard thing to stand by.

And if you asked the Valiant Queen what faith is, she’d tell you it’s something not everybody has.

But the High King would also tell you that when the one that you love most dearly is in trouble, you might just find that you have some.

Then the Gentle Queen would tell you that it’s also at times a very easy thing to let happen, and sometimes even harder to let go of.

Before you could walk away the Just King would also tell you that if you exercise it enough, it soon becomes as easy as breathing.

“How are we to live in an atomic age?” I am tempted to reply: “Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.” … “the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together. If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. 

They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.”

This ask made my day when I saw it, because it was obviously in response to a tag I left on a recent edit: “I am fully capable of spending another 4 hours ranting about Susan Pevensie but I’m trying not to.” Which is, in itself, a reference to the time I wrote this essay on Susan, which I think took me between 3-4 hours to write. And just imagine if I also counted the time I spent on Flowers For Her Grave; my 10 chapter fic on Susan’s life leading up to and after the events of The Last Battle. 

And the worst part is I am also absolutely DYING to spend ANOTHER four hours talking about Susan Pevensie, because that is one of my favourite subjects. But it is currently 9:10pm, so I do not have time to talk for 4 hours. That would be Irresponsible.

BUT I AM GOING TO RANT A LITTLE ANYWAYS.

So the edit which inspired that tag featured lyrics from “Kingdom Fall” by Claire Wyndham, and the specific lyrics are the chorus: “I’d rather watch my kingdom fall. I want it all, or not at all.”

Which connects to Susan SO MUCH, and also contrasts her to her siblings in a significant way. Because, of course, Susan always had a hard time with the faith aspect of her time in Narnia, but I have no doubt that she loved Narnia while she was there. But when she couldn’t go back? Well, then she didn’t want it anymore. It wasn’t enough to cling to the remnants that lived inside her. Instead, she let go completely of the world she lost, and took hold of the only world she could reach. For her siblings, it was different, though. Because they did believe, and they knew they had Aslan to look for back in England. They had things to hold on to. 

For Peter, Edmund, and Lucy, they know that Narnia is not completely gone, even if they can’t get back. They have their memories. They have the lessons they learned. They have their strengths and bravery. And they have ASLAN. They never completely let go, because they understand that they don’t have to. Remembering helps them in their true purpose of growing closer to Aslan in our world. But Susan doesn’t share that.

Sometimes she still has a glimmer of something Narnian about her. Some days she is still more queenlike than childlike. Some days she is braver than she believes herself capable. But she doesn’t choose this. If ever she is aware that this stems from her time in Narnia, she rejects it. Because she can’t just have some of Narnia. It’s not enough for her to have a piece. She only wants what she can touch; what she can hold. She puts her walls up the moment it gets taken away from her. She clings to that false degree of control, because it’s all she has. 

She lets go. Gives it up.