Chapter One: The Wrong Door (The Magician's Nephew)

We open on London circa 1900 or, as Lewis puts it, when “Sherlock Holmes was still living in Baker Street and the Bastables were looking for treasure in the Lewisham Road” (1). This sentence, by the way, led me to believe that Sherlock Holmes was based on a historical personage until I was in sixth grade. I also thought the Bastables were a group of back-up detectives who helped Holmes solve mysteries, probably because “Bastables” sounds vaguely like “Baskervilles.” (They’re actually a group of Enid Blyton characters, according to the Wikipedia article I looked at a minute ago.) I swear I wasn’t a particularly stupid child. I just didn’t have much interest in Sherlock Holmes, so the issue never really came up.

Anyway, Lewis describes these days, which would have coincided with his early childhood, as a mixed bag. Just like in the more upbeat Little House books, the clothes were uncomfortable and the schools were filled with unspecified horrors, but the food was awesome. Living the semi-dream is Polly Plummer, my second-favorite female character in the series. At least, she was when I was wee. I don’t want to spoil the rest of the chapter right now, but so far I don’t know how Jill Pole is going to top her.

Polly is just hanging out in the back garden of her row house when our hero, the unfortunately-named Digory Kirke, pops his head over the wall and introduces himself. Lewis interestingly remarks that his face “could hardly have been grubbier if he had first rubbed his hands in the earth, and then had a good cry, and then dried his face with his hands. As a matter of fact, this was nearly what he had been doing” (2). This description has always raised questions for me. The crying and the face-drying, I understand, but why was he rubbing his hands in the dirt? Was his grief so intense that rubbing dirt on his face seemed appropriate at the time, or did he suddenly become upset in the middle of some recreational digging? I mean, either way, I get where he’s coming from; I’m just curious how this all played out.

After an exchange where they insult each other’s names, an annoyed Polly points out that Digory’s face is dirty. She manages to stop herself before she calls him a crybaby, but it’s too late, because Digory’s life has turned into an Awful Shit Parade and he doesn’t care who knows it. He hates living in London (which he calls a “Hole,” Sweeney Todd-style), he misses his pony in the country, his dad’s in India, he’s staying with his crazy uncle, and, worst of all, his mom’s dying.

Now, The Magician’s Nephew is usually considered one of the most light-hearted books in the series, but, really, a dying mother is a very somber element to introduce in the first chapter of a children’s book. I remember being very worried about Mrs. Kirke, personally. Orphans and half-orphans abound in children’s literature, but it’s less common for authors to describe when the protagonist actually loses (or is in danger of losing) a parent. C. S. Lewis’s own mother died of cancer in 1908, when he was nine or ten, so there’s sadly an autobiographical element here.

Embarrassed, Polly says that she’s sorry and quickly changes the subject to something more cheerful: the possible madness of Digory’s uncle. The topic does seems to distract Digory, whose description of Uncle Andrew is worrying to read as an adult. Aunt Letty, Andrew’s sister, makes every effort to prevent communication between uncle and nephew, even at the dinner table…and Digory doesn’t seem to think she’s being unreasonable. Polly and Digory speculate about what might be hidden in Uncle Andrew’s forbidden study, making some Jane Eyre and Treasure Island references as they do.

It’s the beginning of a beautiful friendship. They hang out nearly every day that summer, mainly playing indoors because the weather is so wet and cold. (As a North Carolinian child, I had no concept of wet, cold summers, so this element of the story seemed quite exotic to me.) Polly shows Digory her “cave,” a little room of sorts in her attic where she stores “a cash-box containing various treasures, and a story she was writing and usually a few apples. She had often drunk a quiet bottle of ginger-beer in there: the old bottles made it look more like a smugglers’ cave” (7). Have I mentioned that Polly is awesome?

Digory and Polly also develop a scheme to sneak into the abandoned house next to Polly’s through the attic passage. According to Polly’s dad, it’s vacant due to “the drains,” but Digory says that’s “all rot” and invents a more outlandish explanation that involves “a gang of desperate criminals” (9). Polly doesn’t seem as invested in the possibility of mortal danger, maybe because her home life is more stable than his. Nonetheless, she’s psyched to explore. They prepare by taking candles—adorably, they bring two “[because] it was such an important occasion” (9)—but it turns out that they both suck too much at math to figure out how far they need to walk before they reach the empty house’s attic. These are clearly my people.

As the title of the chapter and their dubious arithmetic skills foreshadowed, Polly and Digory end up opening The Wrong Door…to a rather cozy room with a fire in the grate and tons of books on the shelves. It seems to be empty, so Polly decides to walk inside, where she is promptly distracted by a tray with four sparkly rings on it. “If Polly had been a very little younger she would have wanted to put one in her mouth,” Lewis comments, blissfully unaware of Ring Pops (12).

After noticing a strange sort of humming sound in the room, Polly tells Digory it’s okay to come inside. He enters, only to suggest leaving immediately. Before he can dissuade Polly from staring at the pretty, shiny rings, Uncle Andrew pops out of nowhere. Well, okay, I think he’s been sitting in a high-backed armchair facing away from them the whole time, but still, who does that?

I’ll answer my own question: Uncle Andrew does that. His physical description—“He had a long clean-shaven face with a sharply-pointed nose and extremely bright eyes and a great tousled mop of gray hair” (13)—makes him seem a tad eccentric, but things quickly go from colorful to creepy. Uncle Andrew immediately locks the door to the room, grins at the kids, and says, “Now my fool of a sister can’t get at you!” (14). Dude!

Polly and Digory have roughly the same reaction as me, thinking “[it] was dreadfully unlike anything a grown-up would be expected to do” and edging towards the attic door (14), but Uncle Andrew blocks that exit, too. He’s creepily described as having “very long, beautifully white, fingers” (14). Then he ignores the children’s pleas to let them go and sighs, “You’ve no idea how lonely I sometimes am” (15). You know, I really didn’t want to write this sort of thing here, but I have to say it: Uncle Andrew makes a very credible child molester. I’m glad this is high fantasy novel for children that was published in 1955, because this scene might otherwise take a very upsetting turn.

Uncle Andrew continues not to help his case by telling Polly she’s pretty and offering her a shiny yellow ring as a present. Apparently using people’s ability to notice her attractiveness as a litmus test for their sanity and having a squirrel-like affinity for shiny things, Polly reaches for the ring…and disappears as soon as she touches it!

What is going on?

Discussion Questions

1. Do you think it’s best to read the Narnia books in order of publication, or in chronological order? Do you think it matters at all?

2. Who is your favorite female character in the series?

3. In your opinion, did Digory intentionally rub dirt on his face, or was it an accident?

4. Do you ever want to put jewelry in your mouth? If not, do you think you would if you were just a little bit younger?

5. Why is the creepy relative so often an uncle? 

Next Up: Uncle Andrew continues to be creepy.