Some years ago, coming out of my husband’s funeral, a friend handed me a copy of C.S. Lewis’ A Grief Observed. She was a close friend, no stranger to pain; someone I trusted. I learned also to trust this book. Ostensibly an account of Lewis’ response to the death of his wife, Joy Davidman (“H.” in the book), its first sentence took almost bodily hold: “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” It helped explain why, for a time, I could no longer read: grieving disables, as if one were concussed. It acknowledged the fog that descends after violent feeling, blanking out the world, making it a grey, indifferent place. Grieving is not a state; as Lewis discerns, it happens inchoately, ineluctably, over a long period of time. Contradictory yet
29 January 2015, The Tablet
A Grief Observed: readers’ edition
Get Instant Access
Continue Reading
Register for free to read this article in full
Subscribe for unlimited access
From just £30 quarterly
Complete access to all Tablet website content including all premium content.
The full weekly edition in print and digital including our 179 years archive.
PDF version to view on iPad, iPhone or computer.
Already a subscriber? Login