Wednesday, September 14, 2005

Lucy's Lament (Lincoln's Army, Johnny McAvoy)

With the impending arrival of the first - and probably not only - Narnia blockbuster, I find my thoughts turning frequently to that glorious world created by C. S. Lewis. Though I know several people whose immersion into that world exceeds my own, I nonetheless consider the Chronicles among my favorite books, Lewis among my favorite writers.

I tend to identify more with male characters in literature, cinema and television, but in this case, Lucy Pevensie, the girl who first discovers the Narnian entrance through the wardrobe in the home of Professor Kirke, most captures my imagination. Well, there is Aslan, of course, but He's rather on a different level. I like to think I'm a lot like Lucy, though I suspect her virtues exceed mine. Nonetheless, I can't help but think that it would be very difficult for Lucy to accept the idea that she can't go back to Narnia. I think of all the children, her connection was the strongest, so the everyday world just wouldn't feel right to her anymore. I've always felt a bit like a fish out of water in modern society, but imagine if you'd actually lived in that fantasy world, actually served a vital role there! How hard it would be to come back and be an ordinary girl in a contemporary world where Magic seems to have no place! This was my mindset as I wrote the following filksong to the tune of the Irish Rovers' Lincoln's Army.

Lucy's Lament

She rests in her room, distracted and gloomy,
Impervious to the pale moonlight's embrace,
And silently sighs as cerullean eyes
Shed teardrops that trickle through troughs down her face.
The lines betray years when, despondent and weary,
To bring to fruition the fate she'd foreseen,
She strove and she pleaded with cries all unheeded
To go back and reign as a Narnian queen.

Her world is uncertain. A fluttering curtain
Of dread brushes past her. She fears an attack
Of the spoken Deplorable Word, an immoral
Action that never could be taken back.
The teen is forlorn, for though Aslan had sworn
That He could be found here, she's not seen Him yet.
In whispers, she wonders if she was under
A spell when it happened, and should she forget?

But sparkling rivers, congenial beavers
And ancient trees thickened with glistening snow
Call to her softly, though her sister scoffs
And claims 'twas a game that they played long ago.
Yet she too was there, and she clung to His hair
On the glorious morn when He conquered the grave.
She too heard His roar and, as never before,
Felt strong and compassionate, faithful and brave.

How Lucy has missed her, this sweet older sister
Who shared the most marvelous job in the world.
Su now calls her weird, but how she once cheered
With the rest when the Narnian flag was unfurled!
How could she abandon that glory for random
Accoutrements of an inferior land?
Lu can't help but feel that those times were more real
And that England will never be nearly so grand.

With hope growing fainter, she's touched every painting
And opened each wardrobe that she's come across.
She's searched every station in deep desperation;
Her spirit sags with a profound sense of loss.
He told her to stay here and make her own way here,
But it's not the haven it was way back when.
Her true home lies hidden till a Storm - or a Kitten -
Summons her back to her kingdom again. 

Lincoln's Army