It occurred to me last evening, as I was paging through C.S. Lewis’s An Experiment in Criticism, that for some reason I was vastly enjoying the slim tome and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. It wasn’t just Lewis’s clear and succinct prose, which I’ve always enjoyed for its ability to convey complex concepts in an understandable fashion, or even my overarching agreement with many of his observations on literature, many of which still seem relevant today, some fifty years after they were published.
No, it wasn’t …