When we talk about stories, we often talk about their endings. But sometimes, the most intriguing conversations happen when an author decides to rewrite a story's "happily ever after"—or in this case, its grim exclusion. Neil Gaiman's short story, "The Problem of Susan," ignites a passionate flame in the ongoing literary debates and interpretation of C.S. Lewis's Narnia, specifically regarding the fate of Susan Pevensie. It's a provocative piece that challenges not just a beloved classic, but also our very assumptions about justice, divinity, and the tricky business of growing up.
Gaiman, a master of myth and modern folklore, doesn't just ask "What happened to Susan?" He asks, "What kind of world would punish a child for lipstick and parties?" and, more disturbingly, "What kind of god would stand by?"
At a Glance: Unpacking "The Problem of Susan"
- The Core Problem: Neil Gaiman's 2004 short story (and its 2019 comic adaptation) tackles C.S. Lewis's decision to exclude Susan Pevensie from Narnia for "growing up" and embracing "nylons, lipstick, and parties."
- Gaiman's Reimagining: Through the character of Professor Hastings (strongly implied to be an older Susan), Gaiman introduces a dark, traumatic reality: a train crash that killed her family, forcing her to confront the grim aftermath.
- Aslan's Darker Side: In the story's dream sequences, Aslan is deconstructed from a noble lion to a "vicious predator" engaging in shocking acts, serving as a critique of arbitrary, cruel divine judgment.
- Themes: Explores sexism in religious allegory, the trauma of survival, the nature of stories, and the moral implications of seemingly trivial pleasures.
- Collection Context: "The Problem of Susan" is part of a larger collection, The Problem of Susan and Other Stories, which delves into broader themes of storytelling, imagination, and the power of narrative.
- For the Fans: While deeply thoughtful, the collection, particularly "The Problem of Susan," is likely to resonate most strongly with existing Gaiman enthusiasts and Narnia scholars.
The Enduring Enigma of Susan Pevensie: A "Problem" Decades in the Making
For generations of readers, C.S. Lewis's The Chronicles of Narnia captivated imaginations, presenting a world of magic, talking animals, and profound allegories. At its heart were the Pevensie children, who journeyed from wartime England into a land where courage was tested and faith rewarded. Yet, one character's fate has long gnawed at the edges of Narnia's enchanted legacy: Susan Pevensie.
In The Last Battle, the final book of the series, Susan is notably absent from the "real Narnia" (Heaven) that her siblings and their friends enter. The reason given is startlingly mundane: she's "no longer a friend of Narnia" because she's "interested in nothing nowadays except nylons and lipstick and invitations and a lot of rot." She has, in essence, "grown up" in a way Lewis found objectionable for a Narnian queen.
This explanation has sparked endless debate among readers, critics, and scholars alike. Was Lewis punishing Susan for her burgeoning sexuality, her femininity, or simply for embracing the ordinary joys of adulthood? The seeming cruelty and triviality of her exclusion struck many as out of character for a benevolent author and a compassionate Narnian universe. It left an open wound in the hearts of many who adored the courageous Queen Susan. It's into this festering wound that Neil Gaiman, with characteristic insight and a willingness to confront literary sacred cows, pours his unique brand of narrative medicine—or perhaps, narrative poison.
Neil Gaiman's Provocative Reimagining: Unpacking "The Problem of Susan"
Gaiman's 2004 short story, later adapted into a stunning comic book by Dark Horse Comics in 2019 with art by P. Craig Russell, doesn't merely question Lewis's choices; it violently deconstructs them. He takes "The Problem of Susan: Literary Debates and Interpretation" from an academic discussion to a visceral experience.
A Familiar Problem, a Darker Lens
The story introduces us to a young journalist, Greta, who is interviewing Professor Hastings, a retired academic specializing in children's literature. Professor Hastings is, to put it mildly, a thinly veiled stand-in for Susan Pevensie herself. The premise is ingenious: Gaiman gives Susan a voice, albeit indirectly, years after her supposed spiritual exile.
Through their conversation, Gaiman immediately zeros in on the core "problem": Lewis's judgmental reasoning for Susan's exclusion. Professor Hastings dissects the sexism inherent in punishing a girl for "trivial pleasures" like appearance and social life, contrasting it sharply with the often-unquestioned masculinity of adventure and war present in the Narnia tales. It's a sharp, pointed critique that resonates with many modern readers who find Lewis's moralizing outdated and deeply problematic.
The Unspeakable Trauma: A Mortal Coil for the Immortal Child
Gaiman then ratchets up the emotional stakes dramatically. Professor Hastings recounts a horrific train crash—a real-world catastrophe that claimed her entire family. She describes the grisly aftermath, the gruesome task of identifying mutilated bodies, and the lingering trauma of being the sole survivor.
This is Gaiman's crucial intervention. He posits that Lewis's Narnian ending spares Susan the true horror of being "grown up" in this world. If the Pevensie children were returned to their real lives after Narnia, then the very real, very brutal experiences of a post-war world, accidents, and death would be their lot. By making Susan the survivor of such a visceral tragedy, Gaiman suggests that her "growing up" wasn't a moral failing, but a forced confrontation with mortal terror and suffering far beyond anything Lewis ever detailed. It's a powerful argument: if Susan was punished for choosing this world, Gaiman forces her to endure its harshest realities.
Aslan Deconstructed: The Lion, The Witch, and The Horror
Perhaps the most controversial and unsettling aspect of Gaiman's story comes through Greta's dreams, heavily influenced by her interview with Professor Hastings. In these dreams, Aslan, the majestic, benevolent lion who symbolizes Christ in Narnia, is twisted into something monstrous. He becomes a "vicious predator," a "monster" with a taste for human flesh.
Gaiman depicts a nightmarish scenario where Aslan makes a sinister pact with the White Witch, not to defeat her, but to engage in a ritualistic sacrifice of children. He describes Aslan eating Lucy and Susan, and engaging in grotesque sexual acts with the Witch. This reimagining is designed to shock and disturb, challenging the very foundation of Narnian morality and Lewis's Christian allegory. It forces the reader to confront the idea: what if the divine figure you trusted was actually a horrific, capricious entity? This portrayal, while undeniably impactful, has been described by some critics as "heavy-handed, vindictive, and surprisingly obvious" in its attempt to dismantle Lewis's work. It's less a subtle subversion and more a direct, brutal assault on a cherished symbol.
Themes Beyond Narnia: Sexism, Cruelty, and the Nature of God
"The Problem of Susan" isn't just about Narnia; it's a vehicle for Gaiman to explore broader, more profound themes:
- Sexism in Allegory: Gaiman starkly highlights how easily a female character's journey can be trivialized or punished for non-conformity, especially when "growing up" involves traditionally feminine pursuits. It critiques the idea that spiritual purity or worthiness is somehow incompatible with human sensuality or interest in the material world.
- The Cruelty of Divine Judgment: If Aslan represents a divine power, Gaiman asks what kind of cruel and petty deity would condemn a child for such minor "sins" and then inflict such profound suffering (the family's death) as a consequence. It questions the arbitrary nature of salvation and damnation, especially in the context of childhood.
- Trauma and Survival: Professor Hastings' experience as the sole survivor of the train crash underscores the psychological toll of trauma. Gaiman suggests that Susan's real struggle wasn't spiritual, but existential—how to live after experiencing unimaginable loss and horror.
- The Nature of Stories and Their Truths: By reimagining such iconic figures, Gaiman forces us to consider that stories, even beloved ones, are interpretations. They can be re-read, challenged, and even rewritten to uncover different, sometimes darker, truths lurking beneath the surface.
- Cats as Predators: A subtle but consistent theme in Gaiman's work, including "The Problem of Susan," is the portrayal of cats (and Aslan, the great lion) in a negative or ambiguous light, emphasizing their predatory nature rather than their domestic charm.
Dreams and Reality: Where the Supernatural Lingers
It's crucial to note that the most horrific events—Aslan's monstrous acts, his pact with the White Witch, the consumption of children—are largely confined to dreams experienced by Greta and Professor Hastings. In the story's "real world," no overt supernatural events occur. This distinction is vital for understanding Gaiman's approach. The dreams act as psychological manifestations of trauma, anger, and the subconscious reinterpretation of established narratives. They are not presented as literal events that happened in an alternate Narnian timeline, but rather as the emotional and symbolic fallout of "The Problem of Susan." They represent the mental battleground where the meaning of Narnia and its characters are fought and redefined.
The "Action Survivor" and a Quiet End
Greta, the journalist, concludes that Professor Hastings (and by extension, Susan) is an "Action Survivor"—a term typically used for characters who endure extreme, often violent, events and emerge, if not whole, then resilient. She sees Susan not as a fallen queen, but as someone betrayed and punished by a cruel, arbitrary god, yet who has survived and found a way to live with her truth.
The story ends on a quiet, poignant note. Professor Hastings dies peacefully in her sleep, dreaming of an unwritten Mary Poppins book and her own obituary. It's a conclusion that offers a semblance of peace, a gentle release for a character who has carried the weight of both a fictional curse and a very real-world trauma. Her death, dreaming of a story, reinforces the idea that stories, both real and imagined, are fundamental to our lives, our identities, and ultimately, our understanding of death itself.
Why Gaiman Tackles Susan: A Master Deconstructionist at Work
Neil Gaiman isn't just a writer; he's a literary archaeologist, constantly digging beneath the surface of familiar narratives to unearth their hidden complexities, contradictions, and forgotten myths. His engagement with Susan Pevensie's fate is no random act; it's deeply consistent with his broader artistic philosophy.
Challenging Canonical Authority and the Mythic Canon
Gaiman has made a career out of reinterpreting, reimagining, and sometimes outright dismantling established myths, fairy tales, and literary canons. From American Gods (where ancient deities walk among us in mundane settings) to his retelling of Norse mythology, he revels in finding the human, flawed, or dark core within stories often presented as sacred or simplistic. Susan's "problem" offers a perfect canvas for this: a seemingly arbitrary judgment from a beloved children's author, ripe for a more nuanced, modern ethical examination. He's not simply criticizing Lewis; he's participating in an ancient storytelling tradition of myth-making and remaking.
The Ethics of Childhood Literature: What Messages Do We Send?
Children's literature, while often seen as innocent, carries immense power in shaping young minds and moral frameworks. Lewis's Narnia, with its strong Christian allegories, imparts specific lessons about faith, sacrifice, and good versus evil. By spotlighting Susan's exclusion, Gaiman implicitly asks: What kind of moral compass does it provide when a girl is condemned for embracing her natural development, for finding interest in "nylons and lipstick"? Is this the message we want to give children about growing up, about femininity, about self-acceptance? Gaiman forces us to reconsider the subtle (and not-so-subtle) ethical implications embedded in the stories we tell our youth.
Deconstructing the "Happy Ever After": What Happens Next?
Many stories, especially fairy tales, conclude with a tidy "happily ever after." Gaiman, however, is fascinated by what happens after the credits roll, after the "ever after." What are the real-world consequences, the trauma, the disillusionment that characters would face? This is a recurring theme in his work, where the protagonists of grand adventures often find their real lives messy and complicated.
For Susan Pevensie, "The Problem of Susan" rips away the fairy tale ending and replaces it with the brutal reality of survival, loss, and the enduring human struggle. It's a reminder that even in fantasy, there's a longing for narratives that acknowledge the messy, unpredictable nature of existence, and the quiet dignity of simply enduring.
The Wider World of "The Problem of Susan and Other Stories"
"The Problem of Susan" doesn't stand alone. It's the titular story in a collection that delves deeper into the power of narrative, the act of telling, and the impact of stories on our lives. While Gaiman's Susan piece is undoubtedly the most talked about, the other stories in The Problem of Susan and Other Stories contribute to a cohesive exploration of storytelling itself.
"Locks": The Reader's Share in the Story
Illustrated by P. Craig Russell, "Locks" is a short, four-page meditation on the very act of reading. It contemplates what readers bring to stories—their own experiences, their imaginations, their fears, and their hopes. The story suggests that a narrative isn't just the words on the page; it's a co-creation between author and audience. The reader fills in the gaps, envisions the scenes, and invests emotional meaning. This theme subtly underpins "The Problem of Susan" as well, as Gaiman effectively asks readers to bring their own moral compass and modern sensibilities to Lewis's classic.
"October in the Chair": Old Tales, New Horrors
This story features a framing sequence with personifications of the twelve months, each telling a tale. While the framing device has been noted by critics for "outliving its novelty," the core story itself, illustrated by Scott Hampton, is a classic Gaiman move. It successfully applies the irrationality and casual cruelty often found in traditional fairy tales to a modern setting. It reminds us that the darkness and unpredictability of ancient myths still resonate, and can be chillingly effective when placed in a contemporary context. It's a testament to the enduring power of fairy tale archetypes and their ability to comment on the human condition across centuries.
"The Day the Saucers Came": Gaiman's Genius for the Absurd
Considered by many to be the collection's most successful piece, "The Day the Saucers Came" showcases Gaiman at his quirky, imaginative best. It's an original and funny idea about what ordinary people were doing the day Earth was invaded by flying saucers. Instead of grand heroics, we see characters engaged in mundane tasks, caught off guard, or reacting with surprising indifference. Paul Chadwick's seven well-designed, eye-catching full-page illustrations enhance the story's unique blend of the cosmic and the commonplace. It highlights Gaiman's versatility and his ability to find profundity and humor in the most unexpected scenarios, often by playing with reader expectations of genre.
Audience Appeal: For the Fans, By the Fans?
The collection, particularly "The Problem of Susan," is likely to appeal more to Gaiman's existing fanbase and those deeply invested in literary criticism than to casual readers. Its deconstructive nature, its explicit engagement with literary history, and its sometimes challenging subject matter require a certain level of familiarity with Gaiman's style and Lewis's original work. For those who appreciate Gaiman's intellectual playfulness and his willingness to grapple with complex moral questions, the collection offers rich rewards. However, someone unfamiliar with Narnia or Gaiman's broader work might find "The Problem of Susan" less impactful or even jarring.
Navigating Literary Debate: How to Engage with "The Problem of Susan"
Engaging with a work like "The Problem of Susan: Literary Debates and Interpretation" means stepping into a conversation that's both intellectual and deeply emotional. It's about more than just agreeing or disagreeing with Gaiman; it's about understanding the nuances of literary interpretation.
Appreciating Intent vs. Execution
Gaiman's intent in "The Problem of Susan" is clear: to challenge Lewis's potentially sexist portrayal of Susan and to explore the darker, more traumatic realities that Lewis's allegory overlooked. However, as noted by some critics, the execution of the story, particularly the dream sequences with Aslan, can feel "heavy-handed, vindictive, and surprisingly obvious."
As readers and critics, we can acknowledge the validity of Gaiman's critique while also evaluating his artistic choices. Did the shocking portrayal of Aslan serve the story's purpose effectively, or did it risk alienating readers and overshadowing the more subtle points about trauma and survival? This distinction—between a writer's valid thematic goals and the success of their chosen narrative methods—is crucial for nuanced literary analysis.
Reconciling Beloved Characters with Darker Takes
For many, Narnia holds a cherished place in their childhood memories. Confronting a beloved character like Aslan reimagined as a monstrous figure can be unsettling, even jarring. This experience highlights the tension between a reader's emotional connection to original texts and the right of authors to reinterpret them.
When engaging with such works, consider:
- Is the reinterpretation adding a new, valuable layer of meaning, or simply gratuitously subverting the original?
- Does it prompt you to reread the original with fresh eyes, noticing details you previously overlooked?
- Can you hold both interpretations simultaneously, appreciating each on its own terms?
It's okay to feel conflicted. The power of these debates often lies in their ability to make us think more deeply about the stories we hold dear.
The Power of Fan Fiction and Reinterpretation: A Continuum
Gaiman's "The Problem of Susan" can be viewed as a highly sophisticated form of literary fan fiction. It's an authorized, published example of what countless fans do: taking beloved characters and worlds and exploring "what if" scenarios, filling in gaps, or challenging perceived injustices. This act of reinterpretation is a vital part of literary culture, allowing stories to evolve, adapt, and remain relevant across generations. Gaiman's work, in this sense, is part of a broader continuum that extends from ancient myths being retold to modern fan communities debating character motivations. It showcases how stories are never truly "finished" but live and breathe through ongoing engagement.
Pitfalls to Avoid When Interpreting
- Dismissing the Original Outright: While Gaiman critiques Lewis, his work doesn't invalidate the original Narnia. Both can exist. Avoid the temptation to declare one superior without careful consideration.
- Ignoring Context: Understand the cultural and historical context in which both Lewis and Gaiman wrote. Lewis's views on gender, while problematic by today's standards, were products of his time. Gaiman's critique is a product of his time.
- Over-reading or Under-reading: Don't impose meaning that isn't there, but also don't dismiss profound implications because they make you uncomfortable. Strive for a balanced, evidence-based interpretation.
- Personalizing Criticism: Remember that literary debates are often about ideas and interpretations, not personal attacks on authors or readers. Keep the discussion focused on the text itself.
Beyond the Page: What "The Problem of Susan" Asks Us
Ultimately, "The Problem of Susan: Literary Debates and Interpretation" is more than just a story about a fictional character; it's a mirror held up to how we consume, critique, and create narratives. Gaiman doesn't just offer an alternate ending for Susan; he offers a challenge to the reader.
His work encourages us to:
- Question Authority, Even Literary Authority: Just because a story is a classic, or written by a revered author, doesn't mean it's beyond scrutiny. Gaiman empowers us to engage critically with all texts, to ask hard questions, and to demand ethical consistency from our fictional worlds and their creators.
- Embrace Nuance and Complexity: Life, and by extension, good fiction, is rarely black and white. Gaiman forces us to confront the messy middle ground where salvation can feel like punishment, where gods can be monsters, and where growing up might mean facing horrors far worse than a missed heaven.
- Recognize the Power of Reinterpretation: Stories are not static. They are living entities that can be re-imagined, repurposed, and given new life by each generation. Gaiman's "Problem of Susan" is a powerful testament to the ongoing conversation between authors, readers, and the timeless appeal of narrative itself. It reminds us that every story has the potential for infinite retellings, each shedding a new light on its meaning, its implications, and its enduring impact.
So, the next time you encounter a story, beloved or brand new, remember Susan Pevensie. Remember Professor Hastings. And remember that the most interesting problems are often those that invite us to look beyond the obvious, to question the answers, and to never stop asking "what if?"