It seems the universe is directing me to finish reading Surprised By Joy (I started it 3 years ago, wild-camping for a week on the hill where the boy Merlin made his first prophesy; snatched insomniac pages read by 2am headtorch on a bed of tick-filled bracken while Queen Elizabeth II died; rain disintegrated the book before Lewis had had the chance to be truly surprised).
Lewis is suddenly everywhere (there's a new Narnia tale in the book I recently published; I've been dipping into Screwtape; and at the Folklore Centre in Todmorden, I bought a copy of his Pilgrim's Regress... which opens with a fab prologue on Romanticism as the infinite regress of desire).
I can never find an afternoon long enough in which to completely read these books.
Thank you, as ever, for sparking thoughts.
It seems the universe is directing me to finish reading Surprised By Joy (I started it 3 years ago, wild-camping for a week on the hill where the boy Merlin made his first prophesy; snatched insomniac pages read by 2am headtorch on a bed of tick-filled bracken while Queen Elizabeth II died; rain disintegrated the book before Lewis had had the chance to be truly surprised).
Lewis is suddenly everywhere (there's a new Narnia tale in the book I recently published; I've been dipping into Screwtape; and at the Folklore Centre in Todmorden, I bought a copy of his Pilgrim's Regress... which opens with a fab prologue on Romanticism as the infinite regress of desire).
I can never find an afternoon long enough in which to completely read these books.