Klingsor's First Winter

My wife is currently 7 months pregnant.

So I thought from when she was 6 months pregnant or so, that it would be the perfect time to start reading to our unborn son.

I bought a version of the Chronicles of Narnia that is hardcover, huge and has those pictures that are in the novels, but in color.

The pages are quite huge, and probably have four regular pages worth of words on them.

I read to my unborn son one page a day, usually at night time.

I put my hand on my wife’s tummy as I do, so I can feel our son when I am doing so.

I’m currently about a third of the way through the Magician’s Nephew, which is the first book of the Chronicles of Narnia chronologically, but the fifth book in the Chronicles of Narnia that CS Lewis wrote.

As my unborn son would be able to tell you, the first book is about the dawn of Narnia. Not to spoil anything, but it may involve the lost continent of Atlantis, but that also may just be a red herring, there to throw us off the scent. But as I say this, dear reader, I believe you know I am being a little silly. The mention of Atlantis did surprise me though. That may just be because I am old and forgot about it from my previous times with the book.

I don’t know if there is any meaning to any of this reading, and the last thing I would do is try to verify if there is or not, as that seems like a total waste of time. I hope the vibrations of my voice through my hand are felt and are calming. I hope my reading voice and the regular interval that I do it is soothing. Regardless of any of that, it makes me happy to do it. I think my wife likes it too.

When my unborn son is older (likely after he is born), I hope that he can form opinions on Narnia. Does he find the Calormen to present Muslims in an unfair light in a Horse and his Boy? What does he think of Digory, not Polly giving into temptation in the great hall? What lessons on faith in the underground in the Silver Chair are there, and are they relevant for today? Is CS Lewis being a misogynist in the Last Battle?

That’s for another day though. As I’ve mentioned dear reader, my son is not born yet, and I don’t want to be too unrealistic with my expectations for him.

As a man who shouldn’t be called young, I only have one concern about this. If my son tells me one day that he doesn’t want me read to him anymore, that is fine. The concern I have is that I lose interest in this. I start something with passion, and then get bored and stop. I make an excuse to not do it. May my reading not come out of passion, but out of dedication.

It is winter after all.

Please note, dear reader, that my refusal to reference the three most well known Narnia books, and to reference the four lesser known Narnia books was not on purpose, but that it is key to my soul. I have shown myself to you.

This is my new blog.

My last blog I believe was just called chestnutvinegar, which is an alias I use online so that the crazies don’t stalk me in real life.

The name of this blog is inspired from the short story (or novella perhaps) by Hermann Hesse called Klingsor’s Last Summer. I flipped it on its head, and made a last summer become a first winter.

I haven’t read it in quite a while (despite having bought a physical copy of the book last year), but to summarize, it is about a painter’s last summer alive. The painter is engulfed in passion and spontaneity for life and love and all that jazz. He dies. A similar thing I have heard about is a “Dance of Death”. I’ve heard about that from 1980’s DC band Rites of Spring, but I think it’s from something much older than that.

In youth, there is something so attractive about frantic undefinable self-destructive passion for life. I first read Klingsor’s Last Summer on my Amazon Kindle in a Saezeriya drinking chilled red wine alone, eating salad with little shrimps and Cobb salad dressing. I felt self-destructive passion in my own way at that time.

But then something changes.

Perhaps you pull a Klingsor and die, so nothing really changes except that you die.

Or perhaps you don’t and you live, and you did not self-destruct and you continued to live after the story is over.

This to me is Klingsor’s First Winter. If summer is spontaneity, then winter is ordinary. When Klingslor’s Last Summer failed to burn out life, Klingsor’s First Winter begins.

As you may know, I am still alive (as of this writing).

So the idea was perhaps to document that.

I don’t mean to be a slave to ideas though. I’m drinking red wine as I write this. But it is true to say there is nothing desperate about the wine I’m drinking, if that makes sense. It’s calculated. It’s part of a budget.

It just is what it is, and we best not think too too much. Don’t want to go crazy about it or anything. Just felt I better explain the name of the blog, because it may not roll off the tongue for some.