It takes a confident man to write a biography of C. S. Lewis and then turn to me for comments. After all, there have been many biographies of Jack already written, including the one I wrote for children. I have said often enough that they vary from the good to the bad to the just plain ugly. Biographies are written for a variety of reasons, and these too vary in the same way: some are written to advance knowledge of the subject and his or her work; others, to advance the biographer in fame and fortune; and still others are little more than attempts to leap on a passing bandwagon. But the biography that follows is different. It has a better, more valuable reason for its existence.
I have more or less given up reading the new biographies of Jack, not so much because of the inaccuracies they contain—though there are usually enough of them—but because they are written by people who knew him far less well than I did, if they knew him at all. Their words, speaking only of the good biographies, are the products of much reading of Jack’s works and much research into what others have written about him. They are consequently prone not only to error but also to a more serious malady—they dry out! The pages crackle with facts, faces, places, dates, and history. Some of them are very good books about Jack, but—here’s the rub—Jack is not in them.
But this book is different. It is the story of Jack’s real and true life—not the mere flash of the firefly in the infinite darkness of time that is our momentary life in this world, but the one he left this world to begin—and how he came to attain it. Brown helpfully works his way through the dross and difficulties of Jack’s earthly life in search of every factor, every influence, every event, and all of the people who showed Jack where the narrow path lay and taught him where it led.
I am the only person now living who lived with Jack in his home and grew to know him very well. I am the only person alive who watched as Jack wept with the pain of a crippling illness and yet smiled at me, saying that it was just something to be borne with fortitude and “is probably very good for me.” I grew up with Jack as my guide. This real Jack whom I knew walks the pages of this book.
Douglas Gresham
Malta, February 2013