This book certainly has a particular audience. For the casual Lewis reader, it's better to read works Lewis published during his lifetime. This collection of letters, at over 500 pages, will only feel like walking through high weeds. But for the avid Lewis reader, this work provides rich insight into the man himself in a way that even the best biographies cannot touch.
These are collected letters Lewis wrote to family, friends, teachers, and students spanning from 1916 (at just 17 years old) to 1963, just weeks before his death. The letters are edited and arranged chronologically, which gives a sense of Lewis' development in thought, perspective, and character over his life. Unlike a biography, we see from the inside what Lewis liked (and disliked), pondered, and loved. The answers are unsurprising to one who knows Lewis well: books (so many books), a select circle of people, and eventually God.
Most will recognize Lewis clearest in the second half of the book, after he'd become a Christian. During the tipping span in February 1930, he writes: "Terrible things are happening to me. The 'Spirit' or 'Real I' is showing an alarming tendency to become much more personal and is taking the offensive, and behaving just like God. You'd better come on Monday at the latest or I may have entered a monastery." As he deepens in faith, Lewis becomes a treasury of humble wisdom, and his shift in character is subtle but tangible. "The great thing," he writes in March, 1951, "is to stop thinking about happiness. Indeed the best thing about happiness itself is that it liberates you from thinking about happiness." Sounds like the Lewis I know and love.
The first half of the book, while less engaging, still contains insight into Lewis' background. Some letters are almost comical, given the path Lewis eventually walked. In February 1919, he writes to his father about being elected Secretary of his college literary club. He talks about recording the club minutes, adding, "so if I am forgotten as all else, at least a specimen of my handwriting will be preserved to posterity." Just a specimen. Oh the irony.
Jewels of his daily life are tucked everywhere. My particular favorite is Lewis' letter to his brother in April 1940 in which he talks extensively about how he accidentally went out with mismatched shoes and what he tried to do about it. In January 1950, he discusses a collaborative book he planned to write with Professor Tolkien, though it never materialized. What might have been.
His literary preferences, his religious conversion, his time with the Inklings, the birth of Narnia, the death of his wife Joy to cancer -- his life is all here. And while you can pull individual letters to read as a picture of his thoughts, the whole collection gives the picture of the man.
My only complaint is that the Index at the back of authors, topics, and people referenced within the letters is largely unhelpful. It's too bare to be of much use. An expanded and more specific index of subjects like Lewis' references to Christ's resurrection or his thoughts on political engagement would help connect the dots on Lewis' particular views.
As it is, the book is great for its audience. Lewis is poignant to the end, writing to fellow writer Jane Douglass in late September, just 22 days before his death: "Autumn really is the best of the seasons: and I'm not sure that old age isn't the best part of life. But of course, like Autumn, it doesn't last."
His personal letters, however, have lasted. And I'm so glad.