Category: Blog Series Page 5 of 217

The Horse and His Boy

by C. S. Lewis , illustrated by Pauline Baynes

DETAILS:
Series: The Chronicles of Narnia, #5
Publication Date: June 25, 1994
Format: Paperback
Length: 243 pg.
Read Date: December 16-17, 2025

If you need to know what this book is about, or anything about this series…seriously, just stop what you’re doing and pick up this book. I don’t mean to be a snob, or maybe I do, but something was missing from your childhood, and now is your time to fix it. I realize that there are many legitimate reasons for people not to have read this, and I’m not questioning the choices you or your parents made (actually, I guess I am). But I’m not going to try to talk about this book like I do most others.

If only because everything worth saying has been said by other, better, writers. Probably several times.

I’ve also read this too many times to count as a child—even through my college years, and at least once a decade since. I’ll probably pick up the pace of re-reading them so I can talk to the grandcritters about them, too.

But I feel the need to say something now, so here are a few things that jumped out at me during this read:

And when all the serious eating and drinking was over, a blind poet came forward and struck up the grand old tale of Prince Cor and Aravis and the horse Bree, which is called The Horse and His Boy and tells of an adventure that happened in Narnia and Calormen and the lands between, in the Golden Age when Peter was High King in Cair Paravel. (I haven’t time to tell it now, though it is well worth hearing.)

Seriously, who reads this bit from The Silver Chair for the first time, and says, “I want to know that story”?
It is so hard to read all the “true Northern stock,” “dark faces,” and “accursed but beautiful barbarians” of the North stuff. You remember going in that kind of thing is going to be there, along with the pseudo-Arabian caricatures. But remembering it and reading it are two different things.

…Bree said, “And now, Tarkheena, tell us your story. And don’t hurry it—I’m feeling comfortable now.”

Aravis immediately began, sitting quite still and using a rather different tone and style from her nusual one. or in Calormen, story-telling (whether the stories are true or made up) is a thing you’re taught ,just as English boys and girls are taught essay writing. The difference is that people want oto hear the stories, whereas I enver heard of anyone who wanted to read the essays.

Granted, his students were much more advanced than these boys and girls, but this is not really something you want to read after a sleepless night or two finishing up an assignment. (still, who’s going to disagree with him?)
Edmund, Susan, and the rest of their party are indulging in that court-speak that bugged me at the end of LWW. I’m so glad Caspian didn’t get too into that. Surely there’s another way to signal that they’re all royal and grown-up?
During the climactic battle, rather than seeing it from the perspective of a combatant or two, we just get a play-by-play from the Hermit observing it for those with him. This is a fantastic way to get this information—especially for Lewis’ audience. All the highlights, none of the blood and gore.
I thoroughly enjoyed Bree going on about the nature of Aslan (just before meeting him and showing how little he knew)—he reminded me so much of the pompous Liberal from The Great Divorce.
Shasta/Cor’s line, “And by the way, Father’s an absolute brick [how odd that a Calorman uses slang from the UK]. I’d be just as pleased—or very nearly—at finding he’s my father even if he wasn’t a king. Even though Education and all sorts of horrible things are going to happen to me.” Just delights me. Huck Finn lives!
It’s interesting that Lucy is able to tell the tale of the Wardrobe here at the end of the book. How long are the Pevensies around after this before they get to the point that they’ve forgotten it? How are Lucy and Susan (who is likely pursued by more than just this twerp) unmarried in all that time? Pfui—how are Peter and Edmund? The more I think about this point, the more bothered I am.
Speaking of marriage, this is likely my favorite bit of writing from this book (and really, this is book has more genuinely funny moments/depictions than the rest of the series):

Aravis also had many quarrels (and, I’m afraid, even fights) with Cor, but they always made it up again: so that years later, when they were grown up, they were so used to quarreling and making up again that they got married so as to go on doing it more conveniently.

At the end of the day, this is a perfectly fine MG adventure story. Could it be better? Yeah. Does it almost feel like someone was trying to establish the Narnia Cinematic Universe? Yeah. Is it as unsatisfying as The Magician’s Nephew? Nope.

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