“Do I hope,” he says on, “that if feeling disguises itself as thought I shall feel less?” And later, on, he says, “Feelings, and feelings, and feelings. To his credit, he appears fully aware of this, and expresses his own doubts about his painful intellectual ramblings about what is, in truth, a purely emotional experience.
While Madeleine L’Engle’s introduction was an erudite and emotional expression of her grief after losing her husband of 40 years, Lewis’s first two chapters were too angrily self-absorbed and incoherent for me to gain any comfort or connection with his writing. Perhaps his sincere grief, and its intensity, is different to my grief because, thankfully, I haven’t yet lost my own much-loved spouse.
In the last year, I've experienced a spate of close family deaths, but Lewis’ A GRIEF OBSERVED is a personal diary I could relate to only fleetingly.
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