A few weeks ago, I published Part 1 of “C.S. Lewis and the Art of Blurbology,” aiming to provide a review of Justin Keena’s C.S. Lewis, Blurbologist (2025) that would be useful to readers and researchers. Besides its practicality, I commented on the sheer good fun of Justin’s efforts in this newest contribution to the Journal of Inklings Studies supplement series.

The term, “Blurbology,” is one of the words that Lewis made up in his own jesting way, drawing from American street-speak that had begun to define the publishing industry.

Once we know what a “blurb” is, “blurbology” falls quickly into place as almost inevitable–one of the words bound to emerge eventually, even as a joke. We don’t know when Lewis or one of his friends first coined the word. However, if you learned cursive (or can trust my partial transcription), we know when he first uses it: a 1950 letter to Roger Lancelyn Green (see full transcription in the original review).

My dear Roger

Thanks v. much for the blurb [for The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe]: I shall send it to [publisher] Bles to-day. It seems excellent to me, but like you I don’t really understand Blurbology.

Yours
Jack Lewis

While Lewis claims not to know much about the art of Blurbology, Justin Keena’s careful study reveals Lewis’ principles of the craft:

1. Blurbs should be accurate
2. Quotations should rarely be used, and used only when they don’t misrepresent the book or interrupt its enjoyment (i.e., no spoilers)
3. Blurbs should capture the author’s intentions for the reading experience

In the earlier review, I talked about each of these ideas and gave examples from the text of the various features of the book. One of the most inconsequential—or possibly irrelevant … at least, idiosyncratic—reasons I split up this review is because I want to talk about the manner in which we read books. I don’t mean “manner” in any sophisticated way, like when I’ve talked about “Different Kinds of Readings for Different Kinds of Books.” No, this time I simply mean that when we read, do we go through page after page, sequentially, or read in some other pattern?

Generally, reading the pages in order is recommended. While I could open any page of Tom Jones and find funny, smart, and mind-numbing storytelling that seems completely disconnected to everything else—and thus, containing a demonically 18th-century kind of unity. However, I would not approach Till We Have Faces, The Lord of the Rings, Anne of Green Gables, The Fionavar Tapestry, or Dracula that way. I can open any of those well-worn books and pick up the tale, but I would not read all the way through, say, Pride & Prejudice, by randomizing the chapters. Even though I think most abridgments should be made illegal, I enjoyed Pride and Prejudice and Zombies as a way of re-experiencing the Jane Austen classic. But even that hatchet job of an adaptation keeps everything in the right order.

Perhaps it is my nostalgia for the Choose Your Own Adventure books of my youth, but there is something to be said about reading anthologies, essay collections, and other kinds of resource books in a seemingly random kind of way.

For example, I was recently interviewing some grad students about Acorn Press’ 2024 ANNEthology—a collection of ten Anne-inspired stories by Canadian YA writers. While I was initially inclined to say “no” to the project because I was angry with myself for not thinking of the title before they did, it turned out to be a brilliant discussion.

To make six stories connect—each one represented by the reading experience of six relative strangers—I jumped into the volume with the piece that most interested me. Then I daisy-chained the readings by their qualities, like fantasy vs. realism, dystopian vs. historical, and so on. See? An enjoyable Choose Your Own Adventure set of tales! If I get killed by zombies, develop galloping consumption, or get lost in nostalgia, I can always take a step back and try again.

This is the kind of approach I used with Justin Keena’s C.S. Lewis, Blurbologist, with marvelous success. Besides the intro, the book has three main sections:

• Part One: Lewis’ Blurbs for His Own Books
• Part Two: Lewis’ Blurbs for Others’ Books
• Appendix: Blurbs for Lewis’ Books (Probably) Written by Others

Each of these sections includes the blurb in question and Justin’s notes about the historical provenance and importance of the blurb, with longer discussions about what parts of the blurb are definitively or possibly Lewis’. These copiously footnoted studies are usually brief—though some run as long as 10 pages. Other than this 20-page introduction, the other general editorial comments are brief.

The game was this: When I encountered a footnote that linked to another blurbological study in the book, I would pause my reading and follow that link. Soon, I wondered two things:

• How much of the book could I read before getting through the 20-page intro?
• How many levels deep could I go chasing footnotes?

Do you see it? The second question was less precise for me, but I was at least 5 levels deep: Intro footnote to a blurb to its reference or footnote at least three more times, then walking back and finishing each section as I went, finally returning to the Intro.

The first question is a bit more fun: How much of the book could I read before getting through the 20-page intro and its four main sections? Here’s the cold, hard data:

Section 1: Lewis’s Attitude to Blurbs and Blurb-Writing:

• 23/26 of Part One blurbs (88.4%)
• 8/26 of Part Two blurbs (30.8%)
• 12/36 of Appendix blurbs (33.3%)

Section 2: Scope and Methodology

• + 1/26 of Part One blurbs (+3.8% = 92.3%)
• + 2/26 of Part Two blurbs (+7.6% = 38.5%)
• + 16/36 of Appendix blurbs (+44.4% = 77.8%)

Section 3: Identifying and Authenticating Lewis’s Blurbs for his own Books

Section 4: Conclusion and Further Directions

• + 2/26 of Part One blurbs (+7.7% = 100%)
• + 10/26 of Part Two blurbs (+ 27.7% = 76.9%)
• + 0/36 of Appendix blurbs (+0% – 77.8%)

Thus, in the first 15 pages, I had read more than half of the book. By the time I had read the introduction, I had read 9/10 of Lewis’ self-blurbs, 4/10 of his blurbs for others, and 3/4 of recovered blurbs for Lewis’ books. Jumping to the conclusion, I increased the first two categories to 10/10 and 3/4. Ultimately only 14/88 blurbs remained—about 30 pages of the 220-page book.

That means that I was able to read 6/7 of C.S. Lewis, Blurbologist in my Choose Your Own Adventure format. Pretty cool. Moreover, I didn’t fall into peril, like some many readers of the genre. I didn’t enter a secret door and fall to my death, or choose the path to the undefeatable ogre, or make friends with a villain. I “won” the book my first time through!

Granted, not many people will read Blurbologist my way—or even read it cover to cover. It is a resource book, written in tight, non-self-indulgent sections so that researchers can get what they need and fans can check up on their favourite books. As I had agreed to read the book, though, I was going to read the entire thing. So why not make a game of it?

Not that the material is flippant, of course—even when some Lewis letter or a note by the editors is humorous. Quite a number of the blurbs in Parts One and Two are new additions to C.S. Lewis’ archive of published material. Beyond Justin Keena’s more fully fleshed-out theory of “Lewisian Blurbology,” I was able to make a number of connection to my other projects. The book is also a good source for seeing another dimension of Lewis’ habits of writing, storytelling, and worldbuilding.

And the project works. At points, I would pause and sketch a note to the effect of, “I don’t think CSL used this word.” For example, on the dust jacket front flap of the UK That Hideous Strength, I had doubts that Lewis used the words “thriller” and “shocker.”

In this volume – which comes nearer to a full-dress novel than anything he has yet given us – C.S. Lewis relates the final adventure of Dr. Ransom, now returned from his planetary travels and living on the outskirts of an English University town. This restriction of the scene to Earth does not mean that the story is less mythical (the author calls it ‘a fairy-tale’) than Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra. It means that the Senior Common Room at Bracton College, the quarrel between Jane Studdock and her husband, the National Institute for Co-ordinated Experiments, the tame bear, and the deeply wronged fields and villages of England are here given that more than earthly background, that dimension of depth which such things (in the author’s view) always have in real life, though not in realistic fiction. The central danger – the ‘hideous strength’ – will be enjoyed by all who like a good shocker: it will also have more serious repercussions for those who may have read the author’s Abolition of Man.

Anticipating my concern, Justin carefully presented an argument that shows where and how Lewis used these words and the ideas in the last two sentences. Concluding with a logical claim, Justin identifies which parts of the blurb are most probably Lewis’ (which I have bolded), while the rest may be the publisher’s phrasing.

So, I gamified the experience of reading C.S. Lewis, Blurbologist. What did this particular approach to reading do for me?

First, it was more fun. Like most children, I love stats, challenges, and games. People always say that reading is its own reward, but why should be stop there? Why not also celebrate a reading badge or post a picture of a pencil worked down to its nub or feel pride at a bookshelf filled with things I’ve actually read?

Second, the fact that I finished most of the book while reading the short introduction shows how integrated Justin’s approach really is. Certainly, he presents copious examples for his claims in this exemplar of evidence-driven scholarly work. On a deeper level, though, Justin’s research echoes one of C.S. Lewis’ key features–that he is a single person. Despite wearing different hats and having incompatible interests, Lewis is not a mixed set of personalities, a collection of contradictory homunculi in the chest of an Oxford don. As we see in the diversity of the blurbs he writes and those written for him, Lewis the literary critic is in unity with Lewis the fantasy writer and Lewis the theologian. Justin’s project of interleaving text and commentary echoes Lewis’s creative practice.

Finally, this may shock you, but not every resource text, archival report, or work of literary criticism is unputdownable. I am a slow reader, so this approach kept me pinned to the page and helped make reviewing this book–writing reviews fills me with dread, I’m afraid to say–something to look forward to. My notes and games help keep me on task as much reading spreadsheets and Goodreads updates, helping me engage with the reading using different parts of my brain.

So … how will you read Blurbologist or your next Choose-Your-Own-Adventure-friendly book?

Posts of Interest