Houselander may have been a mystic, but there's nothing unapproachable or ethereal about her autobiography. In fact, she writes with a lyricism and perspicacity reminiscent of C. S. Lewis, which, combined with her propensity for engaging metaphors that spring from her fascinatingly sacramental imagination, make her prose delightful and poignant.
I found myself near tears as I read the epilogue, in which the editors include a poem of hers, called "The Birth". It touches on so many of the themes in the preceding chapters and vividly depicts the motherhood of Mary and the universality of her Son's sacrifice. Here's a bit of it:
"Mary,
his Mother,
stood at the foot of the Cross.
She heard the seed
that had shone in her womb
falling into the ground,
and the sound
of a great wind
sweeping the red harvests
from end to end of the world.
And she heard
the sound of his blood, that was hers,
like the sound of a great sea
flowing in waves of light
over the world's darkness,
flowing down the hillside,
through the holy city,
and all the cities,
all over the world
till the end of time,
flooding the souls of men
with the waters of life.
Mary, the Mother of God,
looked from the night
to a million million dawns,
whose rising suns
were a million million Hosts.
And she saw the crowds,
coming again to the mountain side
from the ends of the earth,
and the end of time."
Isn't that breathtaking? She obviously had a deep devotion to the Blessed Sacrament. You really have to read her...I don't think you'd regret it!