One of my favourite “childhood” books was/is The Magician’s Nephew, the first — chronologically speaking — in the Narnia series by C.S. Lewis. The author himself would have disputed the suggestion that it is simply a children’s book; he suggested that we read it again later in life. I love the whole series, but The Magician’s Nephew in particular for its metaphysical leanings and the idea that we could find ourselves in some sort of in-between state and jump into pools leading to different worlds. That is deep stuff, and reminds me of The Tibetan Book of the Dead and the like.
Then there is Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, which features a child falling down a rabbit hole into another world — much the same theme as C.S. Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew, but wackier.
No doubt, this theme appears in all sorts of fiction, and it reflects man’s belief and hope — or perhaps innate knowledge — that life is a but a dream, and that we will awaken after this life only to jump into another pool and . . . row, row, row our boats, gently down the stream . . .
These thoughts preoccupy me on this deceptively bright sunshiny day that belies the fact it is minus-20C outside. A metaphor for life itself . . . as we think we know it . . .