All My Road Before Me (#41)

You stranger, long before your glance can light,
Upon these words, time will have washed away
The Moment when I first took pen to write,
With all my road before me—yet to-day,
Here, if at all, we meet…
-C.S. Lewis, Dymer, I, 1

I think the day to day continuity helps one to see the larger movement and pay less attention to each damned day in itself.
-C.S. Lewis, June 20, 1923 (All My Road Before Me)

Leftover Eaters,
To break up the continuity of these rather blasé entries I thought I’d log this one in the style of C.S. Lewis (1898-1963). I’ve been reading quiet a bit of his work lately, having recently completed the Abolition of Man and the majority of All My Road Before Me. The latter of which was composed before his conversion to Christianity, which is fully chronicled in Surprised by Joy. The power of his writing lies in its sheer accessibility (Mere Christianity), although it is also clear that Lewis could leave even the most careful of readers in his intellectual dust if he was so inclined. I’m not quiet sure if my entry makes any sense, but I am attracted to the literary vernacular, which now seems not only comical, but anachronistic.


Friday, November 26, 2004
Up betimes and a fine morning. Although a trifle tired I breakfasted with the family, enjoying generous portions of toast otherwise endemic to France. In the garden, following the meal, I worked a bit on Kundera but only to limited success. While his style is without question poetic and stimulating, he is often rather prone to superfluous extrapolations when the basic idea would have sufficed just fine.
Showered and shaved which did wonders to wake me up. I’m finding more and more that mornings are certainly not me forte. The morning sun, while splendid and rejuvenating, is somewhat incorrigible and unforgiving. Indeed, the night seems softer, and I much more prefer the smaller, perhaps more insignificant stars who come to play.
Until tea time I worked on my journal, and I fear my style is growing all the more abominable. Between poetry and reading I fear I may never find the time to improve it. After tea (which was pleasant enough) I looked into an article on contemporary art which included excerpts from the Magic Flute, which I found very suggestive. The opposition of Sarastro and the Queen and the meeting round in the girl makes a good myth-as already used by Lowes Dickinson, but he left most of his opportunities untouched.
My entry must be somewhat truncated, as I must wash up before starting on the days journey. First, we will dine at the Macaroni Grill in the province of Mandeville, which sounds promising enough. Then, I must spend time completing my wardrobe, as I regret to say it’s come to my attention that my clothing style has become somewhat monotonous, and my ubiquitous blue oxford has outstayed its welcome. And finally, we shall attempt to recreate a Christmas photo not unlike that of the 18th century frontiersmen, to which we owe our rather docile lifestyle, which is of course to say as not to say, humdrum.