There is something to be chronicled every day. It needs not a map but a history, and if I don’t stop writing that history at some arbitrary point, there’s no reason why I should ever stop. Much of his text is quasi-theological other parts have a self-help flavour that quickly morphs into lyricism: “Sorrow,” instructs Lewis, “turns out to be not a state but a process. For a believer, writes Lewis, bitterly, “the conclusion I dread is not ‘so there’s no God after all’, but ‘so this is what God’s really like. In good times of happiness and security, you might have no sense of needing any consolation and might even assume that God will not be available when he is needed. This unsentimental, even bracing, account of one man’s dialogue with despair is both compelling and consolingĮven a confused non-believer can appreciate the deep sense of betrayal here.
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