I am reading, for the fourth time, Surprised by Joy, the enigmatic memoir of Clive Staples Lewis; Jack to his friends. By his own admission, a “prig”, an intellectual snob, Lewis was also a little boy lost in the numinous worlds of creativity and imagination. He was a deeply thoughtful conservative when such terms weren’t so counterintuitive used together. In this, we differ. But, in so many of the ways closest to my own heart, we are kindred spirits; ‘are’ not ‘were’ because, through his writings and faith he lives on still…