Forgive me if this blog has become a book journal. Lately, I've done almost nothing interesting but read. My thoughts, the things I chronicle, are a monologue running against the authors with whom I spend ever-longer evenings.
Surprised By Joy by C.S. Lewis
This is CS Lewis. If you like his nonfiction, you'll love this; if not, then you may find it dry to impenetrable. I am in the former group and found the book stimulating.
His writing is always refreshing, combining a conversational style with big words and bigger concepts. Having dictionaries of literary references and philosophical terms would have helped me at times. But figuring out what he means is half the fun.
But gems abound, such as this opine on modern, atheist books written by prominent philosophers (Shaw, Wells, Mill, Voltaire...):
"They were all entertaining; but hardly more. There seemed to be no depth in them. They were too simple. The roughness and density of life did not appear in their books."
That 'roughness and density of life' appears in his book.