People have asked me whom I mean by Sunday. Well, I think, on the
whole, and allowing for the fact that he is a person in a tale--I
think you can take him to stand for Nature as distinguished from God.
Huge, boisterous, full of vitality, dancing with a hundred legs,
bright with the glare of the sun, and at first sight, somewhat
regardless of us and our desires.
There is a phrase used at the end, spoken by Sunday: "Can ye drink
from the cup that I drink of?" which seems to mean that Sunday is
God. That is the only serious note in the book, the face of Sunday
changes, you tear off the mask of Nature and you find God.
Monsignor Knox* has called _The Man Who Was Thursday_ "an
extraordinary book, written as if the publisher had commissioned him
to write something rather like the Pilgrim's Progress in the style of
the Pickwick Papers"--which explains perhaps why some reviewers
called it irreverent. The very wildness of it conveys a sense of
thoughts seething and straining in an effort to express the
inexpressible.
Pages:
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393