Aug 19, 2017
I suppose it will be considered heresy in some quarters, but I've never been what you would call a fan of the writing of G.K. Chesterton. Some people can't get enough of GKC. I can.
Not that I haven't tried to read him. Now and then, failing to acquire this particular taste and suspecting the fault lies with me, I've tackled still another book by Chesterton in hopes of falling in love with him as others have done.
In this way I've consumed quite a bit of Chestertonian prose. I've read The Everlasting Man and The Man Who Was Thursday, I've read the books about St. Francis of Assisi and St. Thomas Aquinas, I've read a smattering of Father Brown stories and a few essays. And I've always had the same question at the end: What's all the shouting about?
Chesterton the man, as he comes through in his writing, was obviously an admirable fellow – intelligent, good humored and generous even toward those with whom he disagreed. (Even in the "death of God" man, the raging German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche, he sees something to speak well of, calling him "brave, proud and pathetic.")