When I was a small child, my mother persuaded me to eat cheese by feeding me tiny stars of cheese cut with a cookie cutter. When I had developed a taste for the cheese stars, I moved on to regular slices without much difficulty.
Today someone asked me what I particularly like about the writings of C. S. Lewis. I had difficulty articulating it; hadn’t really tried before. Thinking it over, though, I realize it is because he also cuts my cheese into stars. Maybe that’s a funny metaphor, but it suits me.
What Lewis mostly presents in his writing is truth. And we know truth to be a wholesome thing, even when presented roughly. Lewis, however, presents it beautifully, and shows so many ways that it is beautiful in itself. His imaginative presentations caught me early because they are lovely for their imaginative aspects; later I learned to see the truth behind the imaginings, and to delight in that. When I have delighted in it in Lewis’ writing, I am much abler to appreciate it where the beauty is less apparent, to find the ways that it is beautiful … to move, if you will, to slices from stars.
And the point of writing that here? Well, perhaps it is simply that I think the endeavor of cutting cheese in palatable shapes is a very worthwhile one, and I hope, by the grace of my God, to be able to do it.