Category Archives: book publishing

Narnia: Why the Order Matters

 

The Narnia Tales box set.

Circa-1970s, a complete set of the Narnia Tales -- in the right order.

 This week I bought my third complete set of the Narnia Tales. 

 I don’t buy every set of the Narnia Tales that I see, of course, but within seconds of seeing this one, I clutched it tight. 

 The books, you see, were in the right order. 

 The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian, et al, ending with The Last Battle

 When HarperCollins became the publisher in 1994, the books were  reordered to chronological order, rather than C.S. Lewis’ published-book order. New sets begin with The Magician’s Nephew, which is book 6 of 7, for pete’s sake!) 

 I consider the series’ reordering about money and not the purported reason given by Douglas Gresham, Lewis’ stepson. Gresham’s and HarperCollins’ reason was based on a 1957 letter Lewis wrote to a little American girl: 

 I think I agree with your [chronological] order for reading the books more than with your mother’s. The series was not planned beforehand as she thinks. When I wrote The Lion I did not know I was going to write any more. Then I wrote P. Caspian as a sequel and still didn’t think there would be any more, and when I had done The Voyage I felt quite sure it would be the last, but I found I was wrong. So perhaps it does not matter very much in which order anyone read them. I’m not even sure that all the others were written in the same order in which they were published. 

Clearly Lewis was being nice to a little girl who didn’t have much imagination — and even less patience. 

Furthermore, Lewis never made a move to have the original publisher change the order. Did he think that perhaps God had as much to do with the order as anything, given that he never expected to write more than one? (I like to think so.) 

 Today’s society wants everything now, Now, NOW. Much like the Blueberry Girl in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. (And we all know what an unfortunate end she had.)  The chronological order appeals to that crowd. 

 Decades ago when I made my first foray way through the Narnia Tales, I was enthralled to learn the back story late in the game. (“Oh, that’s who the professor was?!”) And I was thrilled to see Lucy and Edmond again in The Horse and His Boy when I’d thought all hope was lost of seeing them ever again. 

Those misguided enough to buy one of today’s ill-ordered complete sets will never know the homecoming  joy they would have discovered had they stuck to the original order. 

Stick to the real order.

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Remembering Dick Francis

Dick Francis, jockey, mystery writer

In Dick Francis' nine-year steeplechase career, he won about 350 races.

Dick Francis died February 14, 2010.

An author I discovered when I was in about seven grade, I toted his books with me for decades, beginning with, I remember well, Nerve.

My riding instructor had introduced me to him, knowing that I was a reader, and knowing that I was crazy about horses and jumping. Like he was.

Eventually I caught up with everything he’d already published, and I began waiting impatiently till his next year’s new offering hit the shelves.

In those early years of reading Francis, I read for the thrill of joining his under-estimated protagonists — who had reached into the depths of their souls by the last pages — as well as the sheer joy of galloping around the courses with him. (Clutching the reins! An explosion of muscles hurtling forward! The sounds of 1,200 pounds of horse digging for breath! And the quiet crunching of oats in a stall, and the smell of alfalfa.)

As an adult and writer, I grew to appreciate his writing. This man knew how to open a book. He knew leads, and he understood the wandering reader’s mind long before TV, the Internet, and science told us our attention spans longed for 3-seconds increments.

In the ’90s, I interviewed him for The Seattle Times, and had a hard time squelching my hero-worship to make way for journalistic objectivity. His wife, Mary, and his son, Felix (who became a co-writer after Mary died), were also there. We met at the Four Seasons in downtown Seattle on a Sunday afternoon, and it became a highlight of my writing/reading life.

Francis, I learned after he’d died, was born on Halloween in 1920. He died on Valentine’s Day. A sweet life.

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