As much as I have enjoyed many of Lewis' writings in different stages of my life, some of these letters did prove to be somewhat of a slog for me, particularly those addressed to his brother (sorry Warnie). And yet, after awhile the letters do get interesting, as Lewis goes into the Army, attends university, and develops a strange relationship with a friend’s mother he calls the Minto, and whom he begins to live with, due to a mutual vow with his friend that one would care for the other’s parent if the other were to fall in battle. Yes, it sounds like the stuff out of a film, but it is all there; and there is much to surmise from between the lines. One almost feels sad for Lewis’ father, Albert, who is caring but highly criticized figure in the letters (perhaps due to his disapproval of Lewis’ strange relationship with the Minto and the financial toils it placed upon his pockets—for now he had to provide for an undergraduate son without work and the Minto, who does come across as a bit manipulative. Additionally, Lewis’ come to a later realization of his own unjust treatment of his father, and much of his youthful and selfish (even priggish) attitudes are in evidence throughout.
Of course, the real heart of this collection, and the most interesting letters by far are those addressed to his Galahad, Arthur Greeves, and one almost senses the same type of passion and eagerness to write one another that one feels when exchanging love letters in one’s youth. Of course, these are not love letters, and they do not touch on the homoerotic (despite Arthur’s sexual orientation); rather the letters touch upon shared interests and passions about subjects and mostly of books, such as found in Malory, Milton and Morris and even of classical music (no different than the way I remember communicating similar passions with friends in my own youth).
Both youths (and later young men) have developed the sort of aesthetic appreciations that come much later in life for most of us (myself included). Lewis talks about his love of certain bindings an ardent bibliophile and we do not get Arthur’s side of the conversation (a real pity, since he seems to invoke the best out of Lewis). Try this excerpt for size, wherein Lewis writes to Arthur: “Feelings ought to be kept for literature and art, where they are delightful and not intruded into life where they are merely a nuiscance.”
Both men seem to be like Grail knights, searching for something that is only hinted at and never fully satisfying, even in Lewis’ frequent walks with him across beautiful landscapes, which Lewis describes so beautifully and succinctly (he seems to have a preference for colder climes and autumnal shades). He writes to Arthur telling him about a painted scene: “a dull, gloomy pool in a wood in autumn, with a fierce scudding rain blown slantways across it, dashing withered leaves from the branches and beating the sedge at the sides. I don’t suppose that makes you realize it at all, but there was a beautiful dreariness about it that would have appealed to you.” Now, how I would have enjoyed the company of these two Grail knights walking across such dreary landscapes and loving them!
Lewis and his Galahad are searching, and the letters capture the uncertainty (even the terror) of it all; I love this correspondence between them because it is precisely the type of modern day Grail quest “more mystic & eerie than the ‘Morte” (to borrow Lewis’ own word about a French Grail romance) that I have been wanting to read about, and which has left me unfulfilled even in Lodges’ “Small World” and Percy’s “Lancelot.” Who knew I would find such a quest, sandwiched in between Lewis’ early correspondence.
Who can resist this cheering up that Lewis gives to his despondent friend: “…cheer up, and whenever you are fed up with life, start writing: ink is the great cure for all human ills, as I have found out long ago.”
And this bit of shared ink has given me much joy, as I read through the growing friendship, lapses and all, until we realize the quest for the Grail cannot be completed in this world. The quest involves hints of what we are seeking, but it is still the quest and the quest itself cannot be confused with that which we are actually seeking. Lewis comments about Arthur’s re-reading of Morris towards the end of this collection: “I feel more and more that Morris has taught me things he did not understand himself. These hauntingly beautiful lands which somehow never satisfy,–this passion to escape from death plus the certainty that life owes all its charm to mortality–these push you on to the real thing because they fill you with desire and yet prove absolutely clearly that in Morris’s world that desire cannot be satisfied.”
Highly recommended to both the Arthurian and Lewis enthusiast.