There aren’t many writers who can evoke a smile or even laughter with just a sentence or two, but G.K. Chesterton is one of them. Chesterton possessed a buoyancy of spirit and vibrancy of mind largely unparalleled in English letters. The greatness of his heart, expansiveness of his soul, and breadth of his zeal bubble over on the page in an irresistible way. Often, if a writer’s personality takes over the writing too much, it mars the work. But in Chesterton’s case, it’s the opposite: He let his personality spill out with the ink, and the work is better for it, because few personalities are as charming, intelligent, deep, and funny as Chesterton’s.
Certainly, Chesterton’s arguments and observations are in themselves insightful; but what sticks with you after reading his work isn’t so much a sense of carefully crafted, deeply-researched logical arguments (his arguments aren’t particularly crafted) but rather the glimpse into an astute and colorful mind—a mind that’s a bit disorganized, and a bit raucous, yet shot through with common sense, clarity, good humor, and even flashes of brilliance.
