Chapter two deals with Susan growing up in England. It's got a little less humor and seems a littler more serious than the first chapter, but then I think that after Narnia they'd all be more serious and less jovial. This portion also subtly deals with how the other three children coped with being back, although Susan is definitely the main focus.
Chapter Two: Not Again
We were so horrified when Susan became a girl in Narnia, though I suppose horrified isn't the correct choice of words. Peter was horrified; Lucy and I were just amused—first by Susan's new frilliness, and later by Peter's reaction. Eventually, though, we all got over it. After all, the Narnian Susan still knew how to truly enjoy herself—sort of. I don't know what sort of person delights in continually waking her brother before the sun has risen even though she is quite aware that he is not a morning person, but at least she had a sense of humor. I guess.
Despite her public aloofness, I would catch Susan having a pillow fight with Lucy or chasing after Peter and whatever object of hers he took. And in Narnia, Su and I would talk. I think it was those talks that convinced me she was still our Susan. Peter and Lucy have always been the jovial, bright two, both in appearance and spirit, while Susan and I have always been quieter and more reserved. Or at least I am now, after my first…er… experience in Narnia.
In Narnia, the four of us went through so much. There was an abundance of good times and happiness, yet we still had our rifts, disagreements, and annoyances. As much as I complained to Lucy when Peter and I would fall out, or Susan would coddle me, I would give anything for those times, and I know Lucy and Peter feel the same.
Even after returning to England, Susan was still the perfect lady we had become accustomed to. She fussed over our appearances and used courtly manners in public. It was terribly embarrassing the first time one of my mates caught her straightening my collar. I had gotten so used to it in Narnia that I didn't think twice of it in England: I haven't let her near my collar since. I could tell she mourned the loss of her wonderful gowns, but then again, we all missed our comfortable, Narnian clothing. All the same, she still cared a great deal about her scratchy cotton blouses and heavy skirts that showed her ankles. I know how much that irritated the girls when we first returned—probably just as much as the lack of swords annoyed me and Peter.
That first year back in England we sought comfort in each other, contentedly reverting back to our old mannerisms and speech when alone. When we returned to Narnia to help Caspian, I knew we were all silently hoping that perhaps we could stay and grow up here. And I'm sure all of us entertained the thought of resuming our rule. A second Golden Age for Narnia, perhaps? Maybe then Susan would have stayed a true Narnian. Yet like many dreams, this one died hard, and we were returned to our own, grimy world. That's when we began to lose Susan.
As time passed, we began to lapse into old habits and friendships, moving on, while still remembering. It was quite a joke the first time we caught Lucy sucking her thumb again. Still, none of us were happy to be dealing with a second, unnecessary dose of growing pains.
Lucy threw herself into her fairytales and short stories. The fairytales she reads are lovely, though I can't help but think a little unrealistic. Susan scoffs at them all together, telling Lucy that someday she's going to have to give up her childish behavior and move on. Lucy's stories, though, are amazing. She's decided that she's going to document all of our adventures so that we always remember them, and I do love reading the things she's remembered that no one else has. Besides that, she taken to pleading with me every night to continue her lessons on swordplay (we found two marvelous sticks in the backyard). She's gotten rather good, and I know she's starting to begrudge me for never teaching her properly in Narnia. I have no problem teaching her here: there aren't any battles for her to be killed in.
Peter has become completely involved in his school's rugby team, and I know that he loves creating strategies and the adrenaline that comes with rushing down the field. Rather than taking an early-morning ride on the beach like he used to, he runs around our block several times and then wakes me up to spar. I can't figure out why I have to be the one to do swordplay with both Lucy and Peter. It's not that I don't love it, but honestly, 5:00 in the morning is a tad early. Why can't they practice with each other?
As for me, I've engrossed myself in my studies. I hope to someday become a judge like I was in Narnia. I think it's the about closest thing I can get to being 'the Just' again. Poor Peter's got an even tougher time of it. I'll never forget his face that first time Mum told him it was past his bedtime, and he ought to be getting some sleep. Of course, Mum had no idea that Peter the Magnificent, High King of Narnia, would go to bed when he pleased.
It's Susan that's got us thrown for a loop. She's completely absorbed in her friends, a thought that makes me cringe. I vividly remember what my group of 'friends' got me into before we entered Narnia. I was not an enthusiast of the many balls and parties we attended during our rule, though I will admit I enjoyed some of them. Unfortunately, parties are all Susan is interested in—that and the boys who attend them.
My sister who refused to be courted by any of the hundreds of men who sought her hand has now decided that it is appropriate for her to 'befriend' the slobs who live in this wonderful world. I was appalled the first time a boy came to escort her to a party, and further dismayed when she had a different escort for the next one. I mean, if she must insist on indulging these baboons, is it too much to just pick one? Apparently so.
Nor is it enough for Susan to just wear her hair down or own one pair of shoes. Oh no. My new sister must own the latest fashions from Paris and style her hair like the Americans do. Her trip to America was not at all a good idea like Mum and Dad thought. Apparently Americans are very stylish, and Susan's greatest desire is to move there when she's old enough. So
entranced was she by this "new world," as she called it, that she completely brushed off mine and Lucy's story of the Dawn Treader and Caspian. She simply told us to "stop playing games, dears," and not to "bother Peter with your silly stories. You know how busy he is studying for the exams."
That was when I realized how lost Susan was to us and how she had become one of those flighty English girls I had been so glad to avoid. That realization hurt nearly as much as the loss of Narnia. I found it so difficult to believe that Susan would rather attend frivolous parties and spend time with her shallow friends than remember a world that embodied purity and beauty: a world where we truly grew up.
Like the grown up Susan in Narnia, this Susan despises practical jokes, but she doesn't laugh at them several days later like my sister did. Rather she gives a glass-breaking shriek and huffs out of the room. If she's in a particularly good mood, we might be graced with a reprimand. I gave up pranking Susan shortly after our second return to England. I wonder if Susan knows what she's done to Lucy. I cannot possibly be expected to give up one of my favorite pastimes.
The Susan here also avoids swimming and archery completely. She quickly quit her archery lessons after falling in with her new group of friends, claiming that she was "more advanced than the teacher anyways." While I don't doubt this a bit, I have to wonder where she believes she got her skill with a bow if she thinks Narnia was just a little game we made up to pass the time. She never practices anymore, and reprimands Lucy, Peter, and I when she catches us sparring. After all, according to Susan, we don't live in the Middle Ages. Unfortunately, we don't live in Narnia either.
I suppose I was lying when I said she avoids swimming at all costs. Last summer she went to the public pool with her friends to show off her new bathing clothes, but she came home in an embarrassed huff. Apparently one of the boys had asked her about the long scar on her shoulder, and she couldn't remember where she got it. I'm not sure why this was so utterly embarrassing to her, but it was all the same. I remember where she got the scar, though, and I know Peter and Lucy do too. We were all terrified the day Susan was carried home from the Western Woods almost unconscious. Her horse told us that she had been attacked by one of the Witch's remaining allies: a lone wolf. That was before Peter and I began our crusade to completely expunge the Witch's allies from Narnia, though after our lovely encounter with the hag and Nikabrik, I don't suppose it ever will be. Not that Susan cares.
Although Susan doesn't swim or do archery anymore, she still paints when given the chance. I find it ironic that she has become so fascinated with painting landscapes, and that many of the landscapes she paints are places she claims to be from dreams. Of course I'm completely aware that the shining palace in the middle of the desert with flags around the city is not at all a dream, but rather the palace of the prince—or shall we say ass?—she nearly married.
Unfortunately, now all of the men she courts are similar to Rabadash, or at least I think they are. At least in Narnia I could adequately terrify her beaus, now I'm just the annoying younger brother—something which bothers me to no end and for some reason amuses Peter.
The odd thing about the new Susan and her denial of Narnia is that I think she very vividly remembers the land we ruled for almost fifteen years. Her paintings prove that. Sometimes when she's with her friends I'll catch her gazing off into the distance, as if thinking of something important. She always shakes it off quickly, but a familiar gleam in her eyes is usually present for a minute after. I'm nearly positive that at these moments she's struck by a memory—a memory that she knows is more than a dream.
Peter has told me and Lucy that this is Susan's way of coping with the loss of Narnia. But that's Peter for you, always trying to be the kingly defender. What Peter doesn't know is that when he's away at the university, Lucy and I are granted the lovely privilege of dealing with Ms. Pevensie in her worst moods. These moods make me wonder what in Narnia Aslan was thinking when he gave her the title 'the Gentle.' More like 'the Moody' if you ask me.
Lucy seems to think that Peter's right and that Susan will come back to us someday and leave her girlish ways behind. Well, Lucy doesn't say "girlish ways," but I assume that's what she means. It's Susan's stubborn need to be prim and proper that started all of this. The rest of us are "coping," as Peter puts it, just fine.
Some days I can't help but blame her friends and beaus. Every time a new boy knocks on our door, it takes all of my willpower not to send him to the dungeons. That or just punch him in the face. I could, too. Peter's not usually home to stop me, though Lucy would probably give me an earful, and chances are Susan would never speak to me again.
The thing is, though, that Lucy doesn't have deal with Susan's twittery little friends giggling over her. Every time I enter the bloody room I feel like every eye is focused on my oh-so-muscular form. I'm two years younger than most of them for Pete's sake! And it is, indeed, for Peter's well-being that I put up with them. If I didn't let them giggle and wink, then Peter would be in for an awful awakening every time he came home. There would probably be twice as many girls waiting in our kitchen to say hello, something that makes him blush furiously every time. He never did have Susan's cool demeanor when dealing with suitors.
Actually though, Peter's homecomings are one of the rare times I see my old sister. She allows herself to loosen up in Peter's presence, though she still avoids the topic of Narnia. I suppose it's because he makes her feel safe, though I can't really abide by that. After all, it was I who got her out of Tashbaan. Not Peter. He was up in the North frolicking with the giants.
Anyhow, when it's just the four of us Susan seems to actually enjoy our company. Or at least she pretends to for Peter. I don't think she hates us or anything, I just think that she's been
caught up in the whirlwind of growing up. Unfortunately, by doing so she has traded her dignified and queenly manner for an adulthood that fits with this world.
I hesitate to call Susan a lady anymore. Not just because she would bite my head off and tell me to stop playing games, but because she no longer deserves the title. We've all changed since returning from Narnia, but Peter, Lucy and I have not forsaken ourselves or Aslan. I know that Susan will come back to us one day. After all, once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. That's got to be true, even here.
As painful as it is living in England, I'm glad Narnia happened, and I'm very thankful for my siblings, Susan included. Unfortunately, though, I cannot consider her Queen Susan the Gentle until she gives up this flighty, trivial life she seems to be so fond of. Susan will always be my sister, but until that time, her new title will have to be Susan Pevensie the Moody. I think it quite suits her.
Let me know what you think. It kind of strayed a bit from the original topic, but I think it expresses the differences between Susan growing up here and growing up in Narnia. Let me know if there's anything I can do to make this better. Thanks.
I don't own any of these lovely characters of places.