The Genius of Lewis
I’ve always believed C. S. Lewis was a far superior story teller than J. R. R. Tolkien. But for the longest time, I couldn’t place my finger on why. That day of clarity has come.
The genuis of Lewis, in my opinion, is that he uses far fewer words yet is able to elicit much more mileage from them. He truly is a master of words. Tolkien is good, but Lewis is on a different playing field altogether.
Tolkien describes his world down to every last speck. Lewis, on the other hand, describes just enough of the world for the imagination to grab onto. He knows once the imagination is hooked, it can do a far better job of creating the world than any of his words. Now, this is where his genius comes in. Lewis sets up his words in such a way that even though a million different people may vary as to how they construct the worlds beyond his words, the worlds still end up being remarkably and surprisingly similar, moreso than one would expect. (If you want to see for yourself, just ask other readers how they imagined certain characters and story elements.) The way he combines his words allow the imagination to be free, yet leads it down a very specific path. And he does it with so few. Never is there a stray word. Never is there a maybe-I-need-to-put-this-word-in-there-to-make-sure-they-know-what-I’m-talking-about word. Each word is planned. And the combinations are precise.
Now, some may argue that the above is basically a description of storytelling in general. However, when you read Lewis, you see that his story telling is special. It’s sure brilliance! The books are short, but the worlds are lush, vast, and biblically profound. He embodies and gives new meaning to the proverbial phrase, “Brevity is the mark of a master.” Tolkien is good. Lewis is breathtaking.
Of course, when you talk about the logorrhea phenomenon, you cannot forget to mention Karl Barth. Logically, of course, he has nothing to do with the previous paragraphs since he is not a fiction writer…but you gotta mention him anyway. Barth is verbose beyond redemption. He is not this way without purpose, however. His accomplishment is that in restating similar truths differently in a dizzying number of ways, he is able to squeeze out truths about truths that could not be seen otherwise. It’s quite remarkable actually.
There is, of course, another reason he writes this way – he wants to prevent being misunderstood. But the irony is that he’s been misunderstood just as much as any other theologian, if not more. (Side note: I’m personally not very fond of Barth’s writings or theology in general, though I appreciate them. I do, however, applaud his faithfulness to the centrality of Christ. Also, the structure of some of his insights have helped me clarify my Reformed Faith, though the actual content of those same insights I would contest.)
Lovers of Tolkien and Barth, please don’t hate me. Love the both of them still, I do.
(By the way, if you haven’t already read them, I highly recommend the first two books of Lewis’ space trilogy.)
