A Grief Observed

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A Grief Observed

C. S. Lewis

Biography & Memoir

Jul 29, 2018

Although not as widely popular as The Chronicles of Narnia, C. S. Lewis’s many works of Christian reflection, such as The Problem of Pain and Mere Christianity, have proven enduringly valuable to people of faith (and even to those possessed by doubt). Yet no book Lewis wrote in any vein has likely provided as much practical and spiritual consolation as A Grief Observed, his searching meditation on the anguish he suffered upon the death of his wife after a brief, intensely happy marriage.

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James Biskey

Mar 29, 2019

An excellent companion for dealing with the loss of a loved one (or simply lost love). At 24, newly dumped and blindsided by life, I treasured A Grief Observed for its ability to put into words what I was feeling but couldn't express. Incredibly comforting, cathartic, and ultimately hopeful.

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Ben Stewart

Mar 31, 2019

Downwind from heartache and trials, it is crucial to reflect on how those things impact the self. In ways hard to express, C. S. Lewis is the king of those things which are subtle but vital.

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Josh

Apr 17, 2019

Heart wrenching. Perfect for anyone who has dealt with great loss or ever will.

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Rebecca C Monroe

Mar 15, 2022

Two quotes: And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps, more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness. And: Today I had to meet a man I haven’t seen for ten years. And all that time I had thought I was remembering him well—how he looked and spoke and the sort of things he said. The first five minutes of the real man shattered the image completely. Not that he had changed. On the contrary, I kept on thinking ‘Yes, of course, of course. I’d forgotten that he thought that – or disliked this, or knew so-and-so –or jerked his head back that way.’ I had known all these things once and I recognized them the moment I met them again. But they had all faded out of my mental picture of him, and when they were replaced by his actual presence the total effect was quite astonishingly different from the image I had carried about with me for those ten years. How can I hope that this will not happened to my memory of H? That it is not happening already? Slowly, quietly, like snow-flakes –like the small flakes that come when it is going to snow all night –little flakes of me, my impressions, my selections, are settling down on the image of her. The real shape will be quite hidden in the end. Ten minutes -- 10 the seconds – of the real H. would correct all this. And yet, even if those ten seconds were allowed me, one second later the little flakes would begin to fall again. The rough, sharp, cleansing tang of her otherness gone.

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