Review by Booklist Review
Spufford's defense of Christianity is as unique as it is refreshing. We humans have the potential to really screw things up and too often do. We could use some help. Against the backdrop of human frailty, Spufford retells the story of Christianity: that of a loving and merciful God who seeks us out and leads by example. No one is unforgivable; no one is forgotten. God challenges us to act the same toward others and ourselves, however difficult it may be, and is always there to encourage us to try again when we fail. Because this story of hope, forgiveness, and redemption makes so much emotional sense, Spufford embraces Christianity and proceeds as if God is there, even if it all may not be literally true. This latter admission allows him to refute many of the claims and characterizations of contemporary atheism. With unrelenting passion and honesty throughout, this book successfully accomplishes what it sets out to achieve namely, making the case for the intelligibility and dignity of Christian faith.--McConnell, Christopher Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Unapologetic rhymes with splenetic, and that's one aspect of British writer Spufford's (Red Plenty) rhetorical tour de force, in which he not only takes on the new atheists but also the secularism of his own culture (6% of Britons regularly attend church, the author notes early on). Spufford stakes out ground for arguing the value of Christianity that is neither ontological, teleological, or any-ological. God, he asserts, is the ground of being, experienced emotionally, as one might experience Mozart's Clarinet Concerto. Having moved the boundaries of the argument, Spufford has at it, swearing, skewering, and bringing a sense of humor to bear on the question, "Why bother to be Christian?" A gifted writer, the author is closer to the American William James, who grasped the psychological payoff of religious belief, than he is to fellow Englishman and revered Christian apologist C.S. Lewis. The rhetorical pileup is wearing at times, as are so many contemporary arguments about religion. Spufford's style is as bracing as a cup of real English breakfast tea-strong enough to satisfy believers. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
Spufford (English & comparative literature, Goldsmith's Univ. of London; I May Be Some Time) is one of the most admired writers working today. This memoir, really his second after The Child That Books Built, may come as a surprise to his readers, since it is a profession of his Christian faith. Lest his secular readers fear that his faith requires a sacrifice of the complexity of his mind, Spufford here exhibits his trademark brilliance, humor, and acumen, demolishing the intellectual emptiness of the New Atheism along the way. VERDICT Richly rewarding to mind and heart, and a fine example of one of the era's best writers at full tilt, this book deserves a wide audience. (c) Copyright 2013. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A highly personal--and unconventional--defense of belief in Christian doctrine. Well, not defense of doctrine, exactly, but defense (the root meaning of apologia) of Christian emotions and their "grown-up dignity." Besides, writes Spufford (Red Plenty, 2012, etc.), going on to the second meaning of the term, "I'm not sorry," even though as an Englishman writing about religion, "I'm fucking embarrassed." Spufford's language isn't exactly Aquinian or Augustinian, but it gets to the point--to several points, in fact. One, bouncing off the trope of the messages emblazoned on buses in Britain to the effect that since there probably isn't a God, we should all just try to be happy on our own, gets Spufford's dander up sufficiently to mount a crusade fought in naughty words: "New Atheists aren't claiming anything outrageous when they say there probably isn't a God. In fact they aren't claiming anything substantial at all, because really, how the fuck would they know?" Yes, and vice versa: What's the ontological proof? Spufford is short on arguments that would cause Christopher Hitchens to budge an inch from the position of nonbelief, but his cause seems more personal than all that: He's explaining his belief in the context of what he brightly calls "the human tendency, the human propensity to fuck things up"--that is, to lay waste to all the things that matter and then spend the rest of our lives either trying to patch them up or trying to pretend that it doesn't matter. "I don't care about heaven," he professes. "I want, I need, the promise of mending." C.S. Lewis might not approve of the language, but he'd surely approve of the sentiment. A thought-provoking entertainment.]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
