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“Mirror, Mirror on the wall”. Most of us will have heard the story. Yet if by some obscure chance it has happened to pass you by, it goes something like this:
In a land not unlike our own, a beautiful queen reigns supreme, secure in the knowledge of her own unassailable, if isolated, beauty.
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There comes a point in the story of The Silver Chair (C.S. Lewis) in which the adventurers are almost overcome by an enchantment cast by the Queen of Underland. To the smell of a sweet green powder burning on the fire and the soft intonations of a mandolin the Queen repeats a lie,
“There is no Narnia, no Overland, no sky, no sun, no Aslan.”
Then, while the Prince and children slumber, the aptly named Puddleglum speaks to the witch onher own terms: let us assume that you are correct; let us assume the worst.
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