{From My Bookshelf}: A Severe Mercy by Sheldon Vanauken

"Oh, Rachel. A Severe Mercy again? Won't you ever stop harping on it?"

I beg leave, my friends, to trespass on your patience at least once more and give you a full review of this fascinating book. I suppose the best way to go about it would be the manner of the Spanish Inquisition likely simmering in your brains since I've talked about this book so much:

"What is it about?" I will reference the very helpful "back of the book" blurb to explain:

This celebrated story traces the idyllic marriage of Sheldon and Jean (Davy) Vanauken, their search for faith, their friendship with C.S. Lewis, and the tragedy of untimely death and love lost.

Right there. ^ That's it. This book is part biography, part romance, part philosophy, and part beauty. Mama had long told me I ought to read it, but the title kind of threw me off. Did I really want to read something called about a severe mercy? But from the opening chapter, written like a novel, this book captured something of my attention and held it all through.

"Who is it by?" Sheldon Vanauken...with many pop-ins and letters and quotes and wonderfulness from C.S. Lewis.

"Why did you like it?" Ye gods and little fishes! What was there not to like about it? I loved the romance and the image of the Shining Barrier--the fence around their love that Van and Davy had been so careful to put up. I loved the gentle breaking-down of the Shining Barrier as God penetrated it and turned them from Us to Us-and-God and, ultimately, God-and-us. I loved the nuances like the one above--the gentle philosophizing that is so impacting but so small and soft you would not notice it unless you were taking time to be still. Think about those three states of thought...so different just by a rearranging of words! Beautiful.

I loved the "Oxford years" and the image of cozy hearth and fireside, intelligent conversation, books loved and read, Christian fellowship in The Studio...England. Haha.

At intervals during the Oxford years, in the vacs, we went off on visits to friends or on longer exploring journeys. There were many one-day or two-day trips to London. There was a jolly Christmas in Yorkshire, full of family games and carolling in the misty streets, at the home of a college friend, Trevor. And a fort-night in Wild Wales with Bee and Peter, and Geraint part of the time, mainly climbing Cader Idris when it was fine, and reading John Buchan in the farmhouse when it was wet.

The people shared my love of a good book, witty, worthwhile conversation...naming every house they lived in. And of course, by the end, they were Christians and therefore we are bonded together in a special way.
I know this sounds strange, but sometimes I feel that I really don't know how to think. By that I mean I don't know how to think in the way other people think--in a way that lends itself to philosophy and conversation and the forming of the beautiful thoughts I love to read so well. At any rate, I suppose that is one of the purposes of reading much--you begin to recognize the path of such thoughts and to think them yourself. That is one of things I also loved about A Severe Mercy. It took quite a few elusive feelings I'd had about things and wove them into tangible words that I will now be able to point to and say "That! That is what I am talking about!"

"What did you learn from this book?" I learned how sadness is different from bitter grief and angry sorrow. I learned how obviously eternity is implanted in the hearts of men--I'd not seen it so clearly and undeniably before. I learned that it is possible to stay in love your whole life long and that quality time together is the glue cementing two people into one. I learned more about C.S. Lewis. I learned about Sheldon Vanauken. I learned that A Severe Mercy is a book I'll return to again and again. I learned a toast, ("If it's half as good as the half we've known, here's Hail! to the rest of the road.") and, to quote Lewise that "Christians NEVER say goodbye!" ;)

Get thee a copy as soon as possible! You will not regret the reading of it.