This book will always be my favorite of the Narnia series. While it travels upwind of so many expectations of how a good book is supposed to behave, the result is one of the most achingly beautiful stories I’ve ever known.

Dread vs Wonder:

Most stories tend to be driven by dread—the characters are motivated mainly by fear of evil and loss. As the logic goes, if you let your characters go too long on their merry way without experiencing problems, the reader will likely fall asleep.

While most of the individual episodes in Voyage are driven by an element of real peril that needs to be overcome, there’s no major villain or overarching threat. Instead, the overall story is driven primarily by wonder and anticipation for the discoveries and rewards that lie ahead.

Reepicheep embodies the spirit of the book in his thirst for adventure—not because he’s looking for an adrenaline boost, but because he sees danger and hardship as valuable opportunities to exercise virtue and win honor.

In a truly unconventional twist, the climax of the story comes after all danger is behind the adventurers. The last quarter of the book is sustained by the pure joy of discovery and the ever-increasing brightness and beauty of the Last Sea. In its own way, the thrill of the wonders at the world’s end is just as strong as any epic showdown.

Disaster vs. Grace:

Conventional writing wisdom tells us that stories should keep making life worse for the characters. Anything that gets a character out of trouble should come with a cost, and lucky interventions are a crutch that should be avoided. Following these guidelines escalates the tension and steers clear of convenient fake-outs that simply erase the problem.

Each of the Dawn Treader’s adventures kicks off with a nasty surprise (otherwise, they wouldn’t quite qualify as adventures.) However, rather than getting thrown from the frying pan into the fire, the characters keep on finding deliverance in unexpected grace.

Instead of experiencing escalating disasters and a building sense of danger, the story presses deeper into joy the farther east it goes. Curses are broken, nightmares dissolve into nothing, and things once feared are revealed to be life-giving gifts. When morning comes, we find that the dragon is a friend, the sun is rising on Ramandu’s table, and the expanse stretching before us is sweet.

Aslan himself often shows up to save the day with warnings, guidance, and transforming power. In another book, these divine interventions could easily end up feeling like a major cop-out, but here, it works. The journey to the Utter East is ultimately about Aslan drawing the characters nearer to himself, and he’s the story’s true hero. Rather than cheap, deus-ex-machina coincidences to get the characters out of a corner the author has written them into, Aslan’s appearances come across as the main point the adventures have been leading toward from the beginning.

Technique vs. Heart:

The rules exist for very good reasons. It’s difficult to break them in a way that works. This is why we don’t have more stories like The Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

It’s relatively easy to threaten characters and destroy their world. It takes far more work, heart, and imagination to create a transportive experience of beauty and joy.

As a writer and editor, I want to create and nurture stories characterized by grace and joy (especially in the midst of danger and darkness.) I’d love to be able to tell you how you can do what Lewis did, but I don’t think reverse-engineering his story and studying his technique are going to give us everything we’re looking for.

Powerful storytelling is much more than technical skill. It flows from the storyteller’s heart: the writer’s longings, griefs, and deepest loves.  

We can only give away what we’ve received, and there’s no silver bullet for developing the thirsty and generous heart that makes this possible. Cultivating a writer’s heart is a lifelong journey in faithful pursuit of the things worth writing about—all of which are ultimately found in Christ.

So keep pressing on toward the Utter East. Make God your heart’s desire, and readers will feel his worth in the strength of your longing.

Open your eyes to receive his gifts that have shielded and sustained you this far, and you will find rich treasure to share with others.

Make companions of fellow travellers (real and fictional) who strengthen your love for the light from the passion of their own flame.

What you find will expand the borders of your imagination and your capacity for wonder—and someday, it will do the same for your readers.