Books When Justin Phillips sat down to research and write a book about CS Lewis at the BBC, it was also to be a summation of sorts to his life's work. Sadly he died after the first draft was finished. His daughter took up the baton to finish the piece and it almost overwhelmed her as well. Here she writes about the challenge:
"An author can be in danger of stifling and muting their own work, taking from it any autonomous identity. But a book is always an extension of its author, however impersonal the subject matter. There’s something of the maternal relationship about it: a baby takes its own time to develop a truly original personality.

Now this author was missing. He’d abandoned his work in progress. He’d died — and I had appointed myself as the surrogate mother, or foster parent, or social services. Picking up someone else’s baby at such a late stage is not easy. Who else is there to consult when the footnote reads ‘?????? Page 24’ or ‘check later with WHCI’?
It's good to see that some posthumous writing can be worthwhile. Now if only someone would let Asimov rest ...

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