WELL? Does anyone seriously have an objection?
Ah well, perhaps I should spend a few words explaining the obvious. These writers have defined my imaginative life from my youth. They are my teachers, my mentors, my guides, and the poets for the songs of my soul. So often it seems that they can express my thoughts better than I, and for that I am ashamed, because they would admonish me if they knew and would count me a weak-minded wordsmith. But I treasure every book of theirs, and every piece of advice they give, for more than any other writers they share my values. They wrote to serve God, out of duty and love, and because he gifted them the skill of words upon their creation. When they wrote, they could feel His pleasure. As I read them, I feel their pleasure and His. To have been born at a time when I could grow up with their books as my canon is an honor and a blessing.
In Tolkien’s worlds I have all the grave, high-minded fantasy I shall ever truly need. In his personal letters is gentle, grandfatherly Christian wisdom that shall help me to the end of my days.
The words of Lewis, whether fiction or not, awaken my mind and invigorate it. How can one not weep at The Great Divorce? How can one not be roused to righteous anger at The Abolition of Man, or terrified into self-examination while reading The Screwtape Letters? Has anyone been untouched by Till We Have Faces, or been left un-awed by Out of the Silent Planet, Perelandra, and That Hideous Strength? I would not be surprised one bit if I heard that a dedicated misanthropist had emerged from The Four Loves eager to love and be loved by someone.
These men are my fathers in writing, and my brothers in Christ. I do not seek to copy them, but to learn from them.