At the very end of the last book C. S. Lewis wrote, during the last year of his life on earth, he said to his fictitious correspondent Malcolm: ". . . but don't run away with the idea that when I speak of the resurrection of the body I mean merely that the blessed dead will have excellent memories of their sensuous experience on earth. I mean it the other way round: that memory as we now know it is a dim foretaste, a mirage even, of a power which the soul, or rather Christ in the soul (He went to 'prepare a place' for us), will exercise hereafter. It need no longer be intermittent. Above all, it need no longer be private to the soul in which it occurs. I can now communicate to you the fields of my boyhood--they are building-estates to-day--only imperfectly, by words. Perhaps the day is coming when I can take you for a walk through them." Letters to Malcolm: Chiefly on Prayer , Letter XXII Let me go on record here as saying that I want to be one of the first t