Some authors just have to grow on us, or rather, we, into them.

Amazed tonight. It took me until my late 20's to appreciate some of C.S. Lewis' more difficult books, until my early 30's to enjoy JRR Tolkien's books, until my mid-30's to appreciate Charles Dickens' novels and George MacDonald's more difficult books, until my late 30's to appreciate Jane Austen and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and until tonight to fall in love with GK Chesterton's writing. Each age seems to have a surprise waiting around the corner if I don't give up on authors I once thought too verbose or too straightforward, too fanciful or too prosaic, too accessible or too difficult. I guess that some writers have to grow on you, or perhaps, we grow into them...like a pair of shoes that the child in us can't quite wear yet because our toes just don't yet reach far enough to keep them on when we walk.

I'm therefore compelled to say, "I'm so glad to finally make your acquaintance tonight, Mr. Chesterton. We've met several times before, but I was too young, busy, inexperienced, or immature to recognize you for the artist that you are."