My answer to the question, “If you could have coffee (or tea) with any author, living or dead, who would it be?” always used to be, C.S. Lewis. His brain just fascinated me. I always wondered, as I read his non-fiction, was he that articulate just off the top of his head, or did he have to ponder the perfect metaphor for a long time, honing it to just the pith that exactly conveyed his meaning?
This collection of letters is the closest I’ll ever get to having tea with him, though I hope to do so in heaven someday, too. I could hear his voice in the letters, though they were a lot less polished (of course) than his published prose, and dealt with such a wide range of events in his life. He just seemed like such a genuinely good man, too–so humble and unassuming and kind. This collection is arranged in chronological order, and it was devastating to come to the section where his wife Joy entered his correspondence. Then for a couple of years she had a reprieve of her illness (I recently read “Becoming Mrs Lewis” when this was dramatized), before she eventually succumbed. I hadn’t quite realized that this really wasn’t all that long before Lewis himself passed away.
A rare glimpse into the mind of one of my favorite authors.
My rating: ****1/2
Language: none
Sexual content: none
Violence: none
Political content: none
Leave a Reply