I often wondered what it would have been like to have been one of the Pevensie children who were fortunate enough to enter Narnia but then found themselves returned to their ordinary, regular lives in England? There must be a constant yearning to leave the tediousness of school and daily chores and go back to a land where they were kings and queens. Here I was, a grown man in a foreign city, and yet a tear ran down my cheek because the magic of a book I had read in my childhood suddenly sprang back upon me in encountering this lamppost. It looked exactly like the one Lucy first sees upon entering Narnia, shortly before she meets the faun Mr.
While I was in Kyiv, Ukraine, I was walking down a snowy sidewalk and came across this lamppost. But even as I grew up, the desire to find a way to enter a magical world never left me. Nor was I able to enter some magical world by jumping in any puddle I came across (as it is well known that they can be portals), no matter what I happened to be dressed in (including church clothes, which got me in a whole lot of trouble). Never got one and, therefore, were denied the possibility of entering Narnia. It was with great dismay that I discovered that a closet in a suburban home does not lead to any magical realms and I proceeded to beg my parents for my own wardrobe. These were the books that made me not only a reader but made me long to become a writer, as well as find a portal to a magical world.
It was Christmas of 1977 when I received a boxed set of the complete paperbacks of C.S.
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