In a world where everyone’s a hero and no one’s quite sure why, imagine Andrew Klavan stepping into the pages of classic tales as their central character. You see, Andrew, the charming raconteur with a wit as sharp as a hobbit’s blade, wonders what would happen if he were the protagonist of all these great stories, like a conservative columnist freshly arrived in a politically correct saga of magical mishaps.
Take, for instance, the beloved saga of Middle Earth. If Andrew were Frodo, the adventure to defeat Sauron would take on a distinctly different flavor. Andrew, taller and more refined than your average hobbit, would certainly question the practicality of invisible rings beyond the realm of fictional etiquette. But alas, the world might still crumble to dark forces while dear Andrew devises clever quips about oversized hairy feet vanished into thin air. After all, even the darkest lord might appreciate a chuckle now and then.
Speaking of mischievous pursuits, Andrew ponders the world of witches and wizards in the Harry Potter series. One wave of his wand, and the Sorting Hat might come alive, baffled by Andrew’s unique leadership style. The villain Voldemort could be defeated not by magic spells but through a spirited debate on why ambition should be balanced with a nod to traditional values. Surely, wizarding duels and fiery speeches would fill Hogwarts’ halls, creating an enchantingly harmonious world where even the staunchest Death Eater would want to cast a ballot.
Now, faith and fantasy converge in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, where Andrew imagines himself navigating the strangeness of Narnia. With a lion guide as enigmatic as Aslan, Andrew’s journey takes on a uniquely intellectual twist. Imagine adding a collar with a clear message around Aslan’s neck, one stating, “Identity clarified: True wisdom lies within knowing oneself.” An amusingly astute addition to a tale often shrouded in curiosity and allegory.
Yet, when faced with the winding tales of The Odyssey, Andrew steps into Odysseus’ sandals, but with a practical twist. Like a poetic voyage cut down to size, Andrew finds his journey home a swift affair, perhaps demonstrating that heroism isn’t always a matter of time, but rather clever efficiency and a keen longing for home-cooked meals. And, with a loving wink to Penelope, it might be more romantic to make promises you can keep when you’re not distracted by fantastical mermaids.
Finally, amid the epic chess game that is Game of Thrones, Andrew’s story wouldn’t involve dragons or iron thrones but rather the finer things in life—maybe a peaceful game of musical chairs. A land where alliances are crowned through courteous chatter and where political strategies are replaced with thoughtful debates over tea, possibly brewed by a less fiery dragon.
In all these tales, if Andrew Klavan were the star, not much would go according to the original script. Nevertheless, his blend of humor, common sense, and a dab of silliness would surely make these stories a fascinating read. Alas, the classics have been written, but as with any good piece of literature, there’s always room for a little reinterpretation and a great deal of laughter.
