I maintain, even after I learned that Susan was "no longer a friend of Narnia," that there was nothing wrong with Susan but the patriarchy. Yep, the good old fashioned patriarchy. Someday maybe I'll write about women in children's fantasy--not girls, women--and analyze how often they are portrayed by male authors as fussy, ineffectual stick in the mud mothers who reinforce the rules while the boys (and sometimes the girls) go exploring and discover things. Paging Dr. Freud! Dude fantasy writers, please go see your therapist.
Or maybe I'll just read more of Ana Mardoll's Ramblings about the Chronicles of Narnia, which she deconstructs brilliantly, skewering Lewis' sexism and racism without flinching. Fans of Susan--even fans heartbroken by her "betrayal" of Narnia--should check out this post and others re: Narnia on this amazing blog.
I admit that, as a kid, Susan was a distant second fiddle to my favorite, Lucy. She was the one who was always reluctant to start adventures, counseling caution and foresight (often quite practically, as in Prince Caspian, wherein Susan is the one to suggest they maybe outta find some food soon), but ultimately being too much of a woman for battle. The Horse and His Boy was the first book to really trouble my daughters about Susan's status: why, for example, does Lucy go to war against the Calormenes, performing "as good as a man...or as good as a boy, at any rate" while Susan is a "real grown up lady," more woman than girl, and therefore stays home from the war. Never mind that she is a kick ass archer and swimmer, nor that she participated in battles as a teenager. For Lewis, growing up into a woman means leaving the battles behind in favor of "lady stuff" like nylons and lipsticks, of which (along with parties) Susan has always been inordinately fond.
As a 'tween reader of the Chronicles, I fancied myself a tomboy, despite my inept performance at most games involving balls, precisely because I scorned things like lipstick and nylons. Lipstick was for painting wounds on my Barbies, and nylons were for putting over my face in order to impersonate robbers and terrify my little brother. Parties? At the time, these consisted of parties of the slumber variety, which (when I was invited at all) were the 6th grade Catholic school version of psychological Abu Ghraib. I exaggerate. But still, any party that involves a crowd of tween girls taunting you to take off an article of clothing makes staying a girl and fighting in Narnian wars seem a hell of a lot less scary. I'll admit it--Susan's world was scary. I felt more comfortable in Lucy's kinder, gentler boy-land.
Lucy got to fight with the boys. Susan had to stay home with her lipsticks. As a kid, I was sure which side I was on.
My daughter C., on the other hand, had always loved Susan. This was pre-revelation that Susan was no longer a friend of Narnia, of course. In fact, C. went as Susan one year for Halloween. She wore a red velvet dress, a gold cape, a tiara, and cowboy boots. She carried, of course, Susan's bow and arrow and her horn, a gift from Aslan. For C., it was a very big deal that Susan got the horn, the instrument that allows the blower to call for help during the darkest, most dreadful circumstances. It was also a big deal that Susan was beautiful, and gentle, yet also a kick ass archer. I think it fascinated my daughter that you could be feminine AND shoot arrows like a boss. Perhaps this says more about her generation than it does about the merits (or demerits) of Susan. For little girls today, femininity does not rule out, well, ruling. For my generation, you had to masquerade as a boy or a man to get any respect.
C. was disappointed to find out about Susan's disavowal of Narnia, but her questions are quite revealing. Rather than asking why Susan was no longer a friend, she cut right to the chase: Why didn't Susan remember Narnia? How could she seriously claim that it was all a game the Pevensie children played as kids? C.'s practical bent in this line of questioning is worthy of Susan herself. Deny Narnia? Why in the world would you do that if you'd spent an entire lifetime in Narnian time ruling it as queen?
I tried to comfort C. as I would have comforted myself. I told her that Susan might go back to Narnia someday. In fact, a friend of a friend has allegedly written a fan fiction novel about Susan's (adult) journey back to Narnia. Definitely an idea I wish I had come up with. But when the Last Battle came around to its conclusion, C. was no longer satisfied. How could Susan come back to Narnia if Narnia were at an end?
Eventually, C. abandoned Susan. She has plans to be Lucy for Halloween this year. I can tell that her heart isn't in it in the same way.
For all of C.S. Lewis' extraordinary imagination, he failed to imagine a world outside of patriarchy. Girls may be boys, but women are always women. And women ultimately have no place in Narnia. (Except the grandmotherly figure of Polly, but I'd argue that post-menopausal women in Lewis' mind were not "women" in the same lipsticky, nylon-clad sense. Though I bet Polly still liked to party).
Next up: My best friend, Jill!
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