A friend recently suggested I read George MacDonald. Now, since this is a friend I deeply respect and readily listen to, I picked up a used copy of one of his books. Apparently, C.S.Lewis, the modern St. Paul to Evangelicals, said of MacDonald, "I never wrote a book in which I did not quote George MacDonald." That's pretty high praise for a well-established professor and writer.
So, I read. Take Middle Earth and plop it down amidst the common setting of Scotland. Read of rough fishermen with coarse language rather than elves swift or Narnian fauns. See the broad sweep of history condensed to one moment in a simple life. See the divine in the mundane.
Everything that makes a story great weaves through his novels with the ease of a practiced hand.
This reminds me that I owe a bright new thread in my literary pursuits to the recommendation of a friend. Indeed, she has never steered me wrong in her recommendations, giving generally better suggestions than most people I know. Of course, that's true not only of books, but of life.
The people that know what books we would enjoy also know how to speak to our souls in other ways.
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