The latest issue of MYTHLORE (the journal of the Mythopoeic Society) contains a review of a book called ART AND ENCHANTMENT: HOW WONDER WORKS, by Patrick Curry. The reviewer quotes this author as positing, "The heart of enchantment is an experience of wonder." Curry is also paraphrased as declaring "enchantment is not something that can be planned on, or willed or forced to occur. . . bidden, created, commanded or managed." As the reviewer describes the message of this book, its definition of "enchantment" or "wonder" seems related to C. S. Lewis's concept of "joy," a spontaneous upwelling of rapture that blurs the distinction between enjoyment and yearning, a feeling that often evaporates just as we realize its existence. Whether enchantment in Curry's sense and joy in Lewis's overlap or not, both can be found, of course, in other realms besides the arts, such as nature, religion, or falling in love.
Patrick Curry's concept of "enchantment" as summarized in the review reminded me of an essay by Lewis on that very topic. He traces the way our lived experience of that phenomenon evolves through three stages -- enchantment, disenchantment, and re-enchantment -- using bicycles as an example. Many of us remember the thrill of getting our first two-wheeler, the sense of freedom, almost flying. Eventually, though, a bike becomes simply a mundane device for routine transport from place to place, possibly to school or a job. We experience disenchantment, not exactly disappointment, but a kind of letdown. Yet at a later age, if we're lucky, we recapture the original thrill of riding a bicycle, in a deeper, more mature way -- re-enchantment.
We go through these cycles in many areas of life. For instance, starting a dream job and discovering the tedious details associated with the day-to-day tasks; or as the title character mentions in THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS, studying Greek because you're captivated by the ILIAD and the ODYSSEY, then having to tackle verb tenses and noun declensions. Keep at it through the tedium and the rough spots, and you may find the excitement reviving when least expected.
We especially live through the enchantment cycle in the process of falling in love and embarking on marriage. At first, we're enthralled with the beloved, wanting to be with him constantly, thrilled by everything about him. However, as Lewis remarks in the "Eros" chapter of THE FOUR LOVES, should we really expect to feel for the rest of our lives exactly the way we felt on our wedding night? Would we even want to be perpetually consumed by that excitement? The all-encompassing enchantment, no matter how rapturous, doesn't last, at least not in its original form. After marriage, we soon notice our true love isn't perfect. He has some annoying little habits, and doubtless he notices similar flaws in us. The breathtaking surges of ecstasy become less frequent, swamped by the mundane chores of running a household and maybe herding children and pets. I remember how satisfying it felt, early in marriage, to iron my husband's shirts. Later, I was just heartily thankful for the merciful Providence that invented perma-press. Partly because of the idealized images of romantic love in popular culture, some couples react to the disenchantment stage by deciding they've fallen out of love and don't really belong together after all. Yet those who stick together in lifelong marriages often grow into a deeper, richer love in the re-enchantment phase.
The romance fiction we read and write deals more often than not with the initial enchantment, the thrill of falling in love. Traditionally, the story ends with the wedding. But the subgenre of "second chance at love" also has an enthusiastic readership, and some stories explore the rekindling of passion between long-married spouses. As treated by skillful authors, both the enchantment and re-enchantment phases of romance can evoke powerful emotions.
Margaret L. Carter
Please explore love among the monsters at Carter's Crypt.
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