Marcus Rowland: The Problem of Susan
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calufraxStory: The Problem of Susan
Author: Marcus Rowland
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 12441
Author's Summary: After her family is killed, Susan Pevensie starts to remember Narnia. Someone thinks that's a very bad idea.
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness
Warnings: Mild swearing, spoilers for all of the Narnia books
Recced Because:
Marcus Rowland isn't the first fanficcer to associate blue boxes and wardrobes. This complex and wonderfully researched take on the crossover interweaves Narnia and the Whoniverse in ways that are surprising, heart-wrenching, and fantastic.
Both canons are given respect, and the final coda made me laugh out loud with surprise. The writing is detailed and descriptive, but also compulsively readable, and you can tell that the author has done a lot of research to ensure historical accuracy (right down to checking the appropriate phases of the moon).
Most interesting, to me anyway, is that this fic looks at what happened to Susan after Narnia, and explores not only why she forgot, but also what became of her after the Last Battle.
“Did I fall asleep?” asks Susan Pevensie.
“For a little while,” says the handsome RAF captain seated across the railway carriage. He has an American accent, and she wonders if he’s a Hollywood actor, come to Britain to fight the Nazis. Even in 1943 there are still some around, though many have gone to the Pacific. “Are you okay?”
“I had a really odd dream.” She doesn’t want to discuss it. There were talking animals, and witches, and magic. Like the games she and her brothers and sisters used to play, and she doesn’t want to seem a child. “Got a cigarette?”
“Aren’t you a little young to smoke?”
“I’m seventeen.” She adds on eighteen months.
“Sure you are….” He obviously doesn’t believe her.
“Well, sixteen and a half.”
“Riiiight.”
“Does it matter?”
“Legal smoking age is sixteen,” says the captain, “and even that’s too young to make decisions that’ll eventually kill you. I’d make it eighteen or twenty-one. I’ve got some bubble-gum if you’d like that.”
“No thanks.” He’s obviously some sort of puritan. She reaches into her bag and looks for her own cigarettes, doesn’t find any. Instead she gets out her compact and lipstick, and spends a minute or two adjusting her makeup. And yes, she’s sulking a little, but he probably doesn’t notice.
Author: Marcus Rowland
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 12441
Author's Summary: After her family is killed, Susan Pevensie starts to remember Narnia. Someone thinks that's a very bad idea.
Characters/Pairings: Jack Harkness
Warnings: Mild swearing, spoilers for all of the Narnia books
Recced Because:
Marcus Rowland isn't the first fanficcer to associate blue boxes and wardrobes. This complex and wonderfully researched take on the crossover interweaves Narnia and the Whoniverse in ways that are surprising, heart-wrenching, and fantastic.
Both canons are given respect, and the final coda made me laugh out loud with surprise. The writing is detailed and descriptive, but also compulsively readable, and you can tell that the author has done a lot of research to ensure historical accuracy (right down to checking the appropriate phases of the moon).
Most interesting, to me anyway, is that this fic looks at what happened to Susan after Narnia, and explores not only why she forgot, but also what became of her after the Last Battle.
“Did I fall asleep?” asks Susan Pevensie.
“For a little while,” says the handsome RAF captain seated across the railway carriage. He has an American accent, and she wonders if he’s a Hollywood actor, come to Britain to fight the Nazis. Even in 1943 there are still some around, though many have gone to the Pacific. “Are you okay?”
“I had a really odd dream.” She doesn’t want to discuss it. There were talking animals, and witches, and magic. Like the games she and her brothers and sisters used to play, and she doesn’t want to seem a child. “Got a cigarette?”
“Aren’t you a little young to smoke?”
“I’m seventeen.” She adds on eighteen months.
“Sure you are….” He obviously doesn’t believe her.
“Well, sixteen and a half.”
“Riiiight.”
“Does it matter?”
“Legal smoking age is sixteen,” says the captain, “and even that’s too young to make decisions that’ll eventually kill you. I’d make it eighteen or twenty-one. I’ve got some bubble-gum if you’d like that.”
“No thanks.” He’s obviously some sort of puritan. She reaches into her bag and looks for her own cigarettes, doesn’t find any. Instead she gets out her compact and lipstick, and spends a minute or two adjusting her makeup. And yes, she’s sulking a little, but he probably doesn’t notice.
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