George MacDonald (1) (1824–1905)

What a wonderful world of holy imagination opens up through MacDonald! Irene's grandmother brings me to love and know the Holy Spirit in beautiful new ways. The Light Princess shone new light on the tragedy of vanity and the power of the Gospel. Photogen and Nycteris, besides its own value as a great story, concludes with such a profound vision of eternity as the day which is greater than our day by the same sense that our day is greater than night. The Golden Key was so filled with images show more too difficult to pin down precisely, but it lifted the imagination all the same as it followed life's (and death's) journey. The Giant's Heart was not much more than a fun little fairy tale, but the bit about the prideful lark was profound. All told, the collection was a wonderful immersion in sanctified imagination. show less

I had noted that many passages in Phantastes are mostly poetry, but I didn't realize this until I approached the end: the reason many (even most) passages are poetry is because Phantastes is a poem. Yes, the entire book is a long and meandering poem, and will make more sense (and seem less poorly written) if viewed as poetry rather than novel. It also probably explains why I had enormous difficulty getting through it--I was attempting to read it as a novel.

This quotation from chapter 16 show more refers to a character the protagonist meets, but arguably describes the entire story: "[S]he seemed removed into that region of phantasy where all is intensely vivid, but nothing clearly defined."

More than with Lilith, there's something Bradburyesque about Phantastes; if none of it evokes the feeling of Bradbury's overall body of work, then specifically Dandelion Wine--there's something of that here. I strongly felt that Dandelion Wine was poetry (in substance if not form), sung to the memory of youth; Phantastes is definitely poetry, more so because unlike Bradbury, MacDonald is evidently an actual poet. That becomes much more evident in the later chapters of Phantastes, where MacDonald creates little poems of his own in addition to the German Romantic poetry that he has quoted at times throughout the book.

Because of this, the book is much more challenging than its length (about 190 pages in my edition) suggest. It took me roughly two months to read, although that was partly for being distracted by other books.

Like Lilith, Phantastes is highly impressionistic. Dreamlike quality? I'm not sure I would say it feels dreamlike overall, but MacDonald's way of describing physical setting is extremely similar to what someone with a good memory might write down in a dream notebook. Writers wanting to evoke the surreal or, more generally, to describe imaginatively rather than photographically, should probably study Phantastes. show less

Not nearly so well known or beloved as The Princess and the Goblin, The Princess and Curdie is nonetheless well worth the read. I would argue it is the better work, if less accessible. The writing is much more mature, with better crafted prose, a heavier use of symbolism and a strong theme of how the condition of the soul can very often contrast the outward appearance.

The Princess and the Goblin is very much a children's book. The story of The Princess and Curdie is still often child-like, show more but is slightly more wordy and features some darker content (the ending, in particular, is abruptly bleak). Compared to the former, which is quite explicit as a fairy tale, the fantasy here has more of a parabolic quality, and at times the theological parallels are far too heavy handed and dense to be digestible for a young reader. Older readers will likely get more out of it.

If I have a criticism, it is chiefly of the finale and the unreal lack of judgement on the part of the king toward those that are practically portrayed as demonic. There is mercy and there is negligence, and I would posit that the wrist slaps made in response to repetetive treason are likely reflective of MacDonald's universalism. show less

This has all the lyrical prose of a Victorian Children’s Fairy Tale, whimsical and wholesome. It dangerously approached saccharine sermonizing – if not for the North Wind. Sometimes a Tall Woman with Dark Hair, sometimes a Wolf, or a Fairy, or an Unseen Breath, she is the most intriguing character in a fairy tale I have encountered in some time. Biden by her unnamed Master, she often does what seems cruel, causing pain, suffering, and even death. And yet, in the end, is it revealed that show more all she does is for the healing, the betterment, and the good fortune of people. She is neither callous nor wanton in her destruction, but precise and obedient, doing her duty with a single-minded service to her master. A the Back of the North Wind is a place, a place she cannot see or visit, but a place she often takes those she is bidden to carry there. It seems a place where neither time nor illness nor hungry nor suffering dwell.
Daylight is a bit too cherubic for my taste, but I related to his constant out-of-place nature. He doesn’t fit in but doesn’t seem to notice. It is thought Daylight was modeled after MacDonald’s own son, as a tribute to the boy. His angelic goodness is off-set by the secondary characters, rough-and-tumble crowd, cabbies and street urchins, drunks and benevolent gentlemen. They seem real in a way Daylight does not. But perhaps that is the point.
This is a fantastic fairy tale, whimsical and imaginative, but with a somber ending that makes this far more than just a gossamer tale of nonsense for children. To understand that pain and death are important teachers, vital to our life and growth, is a lesson worth teaching our children. MacDonald’s story helps explain this concept to children in a way that makes sense to them. And may help adults understand a concept that seems so contrary to our minds. show less