A Grief Observed
By: C.S. Lewis / Narrated By: Ralph Cosham
Length: 1 hr and 50 mins
One of the better books on sorrow
Joy’s son, Douglas Gresham (Lewis’s stepson) offers that the “A” in A Grief Observed shows this work to be a study of just one of many, many possible griefs that we as mere and bumbling humans encounter on our journeys through Life. And the more I live my life, losing friends and loved ones, the more I’ve come to realize that Grief is such a singular experience. I’ve always found myself hemming and hawing around the newly (or not so newly) bereaved, unsure as to what to say. It’s always harder the more I’ve come to grief, to know that those grieving are usually pretty angry with Life and with their fellow human beings—we’re an inept lot; we will ALWAYS say and do the wrong thing, either offending by our actions or our lack thereof.
When Wootie died, I dived into a number of audiobooks on Grief, and I came to know firsthand that there are very few words to comfort. I had the GREAT misfortune to listen to Jon Katz’s Going Home where loved animals find their way to the slaughterhouse or to the dinner table when their lives became inconvenient. This was not what I needed with arms that had just come to know emptiness… yet again…
But I found A Grief Observed, Lewis’s musings on grief after surviving the death of his wife Joy to be one of the more comforting ones. Don’t ask me why, but the sudden idea that God either did not exist, or that he was a bit of a Sadist, rang true for me, and to hear it spoken of so clearly was a comfort. Certainly that Lewis questions and comes to a closer relationship was heartening. So little is when we’re grieving.
The book is based on four journals he kept when he went through Joy’s (Or “H” as he calls her since her name was Helen) death. That he questions God’s existence, that he questions God’s motives made some of his admirers at the time most uneasy. I should say not. A life unquestioned isn’t a life… dot dot dot and all that.
Still, I don’t think all people will find it to be just what’s needed at the time. The Foreword shows that it fell upon deaf ears during the first read, was taken up again after a spouse’s death with the thought that this time it would strike closer to home, and yet again it was found wanting. This, I believe, is because the only way to the other side of grief is through it. And that’s a lonely and singular process.
But through this book, I came away with the thought that the only one to help each of us through grief is God—through our understanding of God, and our relationship to the Universe. Certainly, this isn’t a book for the hardened or unapologetic atheist, as is no work of CS Lewis. Let’s not expect THAT of the man.
Ralph Cosham brings his usual smooth tones to the narration. There’s pain in his voice, sensitivity. There’s even a wry sense of humor, an understanding that sorrow is a sick joke that each of us will have to deal with. My only problem was that every now and again I heard him singing “Beasts of England” in my head as I’d just recently listened to his narration of Orwell’s Animal Farm. But that’s just me.
I’m sorry if you don’t find any solace here, as feelings of grief can be overwhelming at times, and one certainly does feel all alone and left out to sea. But I do hope you find at least a slight smattering of comfort.
We all deserve that…
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