Notes on 'The Horse and His Boy'

An open letter to my boys

Quick note: If you haven’t read The Horse and His Boy, do that first. Spoilers ahead. Also, this is my first post back in a while. If you’re interested in some context around my return, check out this update.

Dear Jack and Bennett,

One of my totally-unnecessary-strong-opinions-that-no-one-has-asked-for™ is that The Horse and His Boy is C.S. Lewis’s best Narnian adventure and perhaps his best book. I realize I’m putting The Horse and His Boy over other Lewis classics like Mere Christianity or The Weight of Glory.

I said what I said.

But this book has it all. Of all the Narnian adventures, it’s easily the most action-packed… Running away from home (or running back home?), escaping a tyrant, battling a mad prince, talking horses, long-lost twins, a subtle, budding romance, and the kind of insights that make Lewis, Lewis.

Despite all that, if I’m being honest, I don’t remember liking The Horse and His Boy as much as a kid. Maybe some of the dialogue just hits different as an adult—or at least in this season of life. So consider these “lessons” a few rough notes for us to discuss later. But for now, I’ll continue to enjoy reading you this book before bed.

1. In Narnia, “practical” isn’t a compliment; it’s a warning.

One of the first things we learn about Arsheesh, Shasta’s morally ambiguous adopted father, is that he has a “very practical mind.” When Shasta asks about the northern lands, Arsheesh dodges the question. Shasta, understandably, believes his father is keeping something from him.

“In reality, however, the fisherman talked like this because he didn’t know what lay to the North. Neither did he care. He had a very practical mind.” (emphasis added)

The danger of being “too practical” is that you measure people by what they can do for you. But people aren’t tools. They’re made in the image of God, and you would do well to treat everyone you come across with reverence and openness.

Our world often ties value to usefulness. Yet the most important things like love, friendship, beauty are good simply in themselves. Enjoy all the impractical stuff you get to do as kids. Hold onto that as you grow older and resist the pull to be “too practical.”

This lesson deserves a longer reflection.

2. Sin may look desirable from the outside—but when you’re in it, you realize it’s a pile of sh*t.

“Inside the gates Tashbaan did not at first seem so splendid as it had looked from a distance.”

The city of Tashbaan is called one of the “wonders of the world.” From a distance, Shasta was dazzled. But once inside, he found it crowded, smelly, and full of refuse. Sin works the same way. From the outside, it sparkles. But once you’re in it, you realize you’re standing in filth.

May we all have the wisdom of Shasta as he leaves the city behind him.

”When he came out he lay on the grass looking across the water at Tashbaan—all the splendor and strength and glory of it. But that made him remember the dangers of it too.”

3. Everyone needs a Sallowpad in their life.

Sallowpad is one of my favorite minor characters in Narnia, and I’ve been convinced that everyone should have a wise, talking Raven friend. You should work on finding one as soon as possible.

“Ah!” croaked the Raven [Sallowpad]. “It is an old saying: See the bear in his own den before you judge of his conditions.”

Here is another choice line from Sallowpad…

“I warned your Majesties, I warned you,” said Sallowpad the Raven. “Easily in but not easily out, as the lobster said in the lobster pot!”

4. Remember this the next time you think you’re the “most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world”…

These are some of the best pages in the entire book.

“I do think,” said Shasta, “that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world. Everything goes right for everyone except for me…”

“I do not call you unfortunate,” said the Large Voice.

“Don’t you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?” said Shasta.

“There was only one lion,” said the Voice.

“What on earth do you mean? I’ve just told you there were at least two lions the first night, and—”

“There was only one: but he was swift of foot.”

“How do you know?”

“I was the lion.”

And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued, “I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight to receive you.”

Tears everytime I get to this part. I pray that you two reflect on this whenever life feels hard.

5. Aslan’s way isn’t a shortcut; it’s a journey.

Aslan is everywhere in the story, though rarely in obvious ways. One might wish he’d intervene more forcefully. I’ve often felt that way about God. But both Aslan and God deliver blessings through the journey, not around it. They don’t do it for us, but with us. And if we stay open, that journey transforms us.

Joseph saved his family, but first he was betrayed by them.

Moses led God’s people out of Egypt, but only after giving up life as a prince.

Samuel modeled faithfulness, but had to endure Eli and his sons’ corruption.

David was promised the crown, but first he had to fight giants.

And sometimes it wakes us up to things we’d rather not face—as it did with Bree. One of my favorite lines from the story is the old Hermit’s response to Bree’s self-pity after not stopping to ‘save’ Aravis and Hwin from the lion that was chasing them:

“It’s all very well for you,” said Bree. “You haven’t disgraced yourself. But I’ve lost everything.” “My good Horse,” said the Hermit, who had approached them unnoticed because his bare feet made so little noise on that sweet, dewy grass. “My good Horse, you’ve lost nothing but your self conceit…” (emphasis added)

What a gift if we let it be, like Aravis does.

“I know,” said Aravis. “I felt just the same. Shasta was marvelous. I’m just as bad as you, Bree. I’ve been snubbing him and looking down on him ever since you met us and now he turns out to be the best of us all. But I think it would be better to stay and say we’re sorry than to go back to Calormen.”

It’s always better to say you’re sorry than go back to sin… er, I mean Calormen.

But in all seriousness, do Bree and Aravis overcome their pride without the trial of the journey? Unlikely. The journey both reveals and forms one’s mettle.

And sometimes (often?), we may never understand our trials. But as the Hermit says to Aravis…

“Daughter,” said the Hermit, “I have now lived a hundred and nine winters in this world and have never yet met any such thing as Luck. There is something about all this that I do not understand: but if ever we need to know it, you may be sure that we shall.”

We should learn to be okay with not knowing it.

6. Courage is the most important virtue.

By the end, we learn that Shasta was prophesied to deliver Archenland from its greatest danger. Imagine his parents hearing that prophecy, then losing him to abduction.

That’s another kind of whiplash.

But would Shasta have grown the same way if he’d had a posh upbringing? His twin, raised in comfort, had plenty of courage, though it often turned into rashness. Shasta couldn’t afford that. Carelessness probably meant a beating. Somehow (by Aslan’s providence, I suppose), he grew into a boy who kept choosing courage, and those choices compounded.

Shasta was dreadfully frightened. But it came into his head, “If you funk this, you’ll funk every battle all your life. Now or never.” (emphasis added)

Courage is the most important virtue. If you don’t have it, it’s hard to practice any virtue at all, especially when things are difficult.

7. Aslan (and God) wants to be asked.

I get chills every time I get to this part:

“Who are you?” he said, scarcely above a whisper. “One who has waited long for you to speak,” said the Thing. Its voice was not loud, but very large and deep.

One who has waited long for you to speak.

What a powerful image of God, who patiently longs for us to pursue Him.

This part reminds me of an exchange between Polly and a different talking horse in The Magician’s Nephew:

“Wouldn’t [Aslan] know without being asked?” said Polly.

“I’ve no doubt he would,” said the Horse… “But I’ve a sort of idea he likes to be asked.”

Go to God and ask. He likes to be asked.

8. God only tells you your story.

There’s lots going on in life right now that makes me wish I could see God’s grand plan. Unfortunately, I’ll probably never know the reasons nor understand the consequences of this particular situation (and countless others), and whatever is revealed to me will only be in part.

I have to trust that God is present in this situation (see lesson 4) and then be faithful in those parts of it that include me.

Something I hope you two learn earlier than I have (and sadly, it’s something I’m still learning) is that you’ll drive yourself mad trying to understand someone else’s story. I don’t mean empathy; I mean the constant need to explain why God allowed this or that in someone else’s life.

“Then it was you who wounded Aravis?” [asked Shasta]

“It was I.” [said Aslan]

“But what for?”

“Child,” said the Voice, “I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own.”

This is a harder pill to swallow when you’re angry. But a friend once told me that being angry is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. The only thing you can control is yourself.

You’re probably asking yourself something like, “Dad, are we still talking about the book?”

Good question.

9. Even (Especially?) in an enchanted land, there’s law and duty.

You would be forgiven if you thought there couldn’t be anything serious about a fantastical land like Narnia. (There are, after all, talking horses and ravens, fauns, and a Lion who is the Son of the Emperor-Beyond-the-Sea). But you would be wrong.

“But Corin will be the king then, Father,” said [Shasta].

“Nay, lad,” said King Lune, “thou art my heir. The crown comes to thee.”

“But I don’t want it,” said [Shasta]. “I’d far rather—”

“Tis no question what thou wantest… no I either, ‘Tis in the course of law.”

Tis no question of what thou wantest!

That will be my line next time you two complain about picking up your toys.

In enchanted worlds like Narnia and ours, law is written into the fabric of the universe.

True freedom is recognizing it and understanding your duty in our enchanted world. Right now, your vocations include being brothers and sons. You have a responsibility toward each other, your mom, and me. You’ll learn faithfulness in the small ways you abide in that vocation now (see lesson 6).

You’ll occasionally fall short. That’s okay. But be like Edmund in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (and not Judas). Looking forward to reading that one with you all, too.

Love,

Dad