The tales of Narnia open up to us a certain kind of world. It is a world which has been made--made by Someone, beautifully made. Its fabric is shot through with glory. There is no peak, no valley, no sea or forest, but bears the weight of this glory, no law of the land that does not mirror the exact pattern of this glory, no spell or incantation or taboo that does not reach through the veil that protects the mundane and the obvious from the great glories and mysteries that press upon them. No creature--no faun, dryad, star, or winged horse--that does not bear about and exhibit in its own form some bit of the shape of that glory. And, alas, there is no evil that does not turn out to be fraud, parody, or counterfeit of that glory. In every case, the appeal of evil in Narnia springs from illusion and leads eventually to sterility, destruction, and anger.
Thomas Howard, C.S. Lewis: Man of Letters (Ignatius Press), p. 33.
