A Letter to the Luminous Deep

Book 1: The Sunken Archive

by Sylvie Cathrall

Genres: Fantasy; Historical Fantasy; Epistolary Fiction

Synopsis

A charming fantasy set in an underwater world with magical academia and a heartwarming penpal romance, perfect for fans of A Marvellous Light, Emily Wilde's Encylopaedia of Faeries and The House in the Cerulean Sea.
 
“An underwater treasure-chest to be slowly unpacked, full of things I adore: nosy and loving families, epistolary romance, gorgeous worldbuilding, and anxious scholars doing their best to meet the world with kindness and curiosity.” —Freya Marske, author of A Marvellous Light

A beautiful discovery outside the window of her underwater home prompts the reclusive E. to begin a correspondence with renowned scholar Henerey Clel. The letters they share are filled with passion, at first for their mutual interests, and then, inevitably, for each other.

Together, they uncover a mystery from the unknown depths, destined to transform the underwater world they both equally fear and love. But by no mere coincidence, a seaquake destroys E.'s home, and she and Henerey vanish.

A year later, E.'s sister Sophy, and Henerey's brother Vyerin, are left to solve the mystery, piecing together the letters, sketches and field notes left behind—and learn what their siblings’ disappearance might mean for life as they know it.
 
Inspired, immersive, and full of heart, this charming epistolary tale is an adventure into the depths of a magical sea and the limits of the imagination from a marvelous debut voice.

Praise for A Letter to the Luminous Deep

“A shimmering, delicately crafted delight.” —H.G. Parry, author of The Magician's Daughter

“A fascinating and charming story told in a uniquely elegant voice.” —Louisa Morgan, author of A Secret History of Witches

“Both the setting and the story are exquisite.” —Megan Bannen, author of The Undertaking of Hart and Mercy

Release date: April 23, 2024

Publisher: Orbit

Print pages: 400

Sample

Dear Scholar Clel,

Instead of reading further, I hope you will return this letter to its envelope or, better yet, crumple it into an abstract shape that might look quite at home on a coral reef.

I become exceedingly anxious around strangers, you see, and I dared only write this note after convincing myself that you would never read it. It is only now – when I can picture you disposing of these pages in some appropriately dramatic fashion – that I may continue my message without succumbing to Trepidation.

You do not know me at all, Scholar Clel, but after reading your most recent publication (as well as the four preceding it), I feel as though you have become a dear friend. I only wish a human companion ever brought me as much intellectual bliss as Your Natural History Companion does!

Surely you receive letters of this nature from eager readers all the time, though, so I will depart from flattery and approach the more pressing subject that inspired me to risk writing to you in the first place. As a Scholar of Classification, might you assist me from afar with an inquiry of relative import?

A few tides ago, I encountered a species unlike any I have ever seen. Lacking a name for such creatures, I dubbed them “Elongated Fish”. They cannot be Subtle Pipefish, as they do not possess needle-like “noses” and far surpass the approximate measurements you offered in your Appendix. (My Fish are also decidedly Unsubtle.) During my observation of the Fish, I noted the following additional traits: they are remarkably quick in the water, possibly crepuscular or nocturnal, and territorial to a fault.

Allow me to elaborate, if I may.

Yesterday, I sat by my window, watching glimmers of sunset from the surface dye the drop-off waters a stately purple. I do this sometimes when I feel most at odds with my Brain, you see, and find it quite effective. I was all alone – my sister Sophy recently departed on the Ridge expedition – though because you are also a Scholar, I assume you know about that expedition all too well – my apologies – and it was then that I witnessed a most unusual scene starring the Elongated Fish. Their colouring was a kind of magenta speckled with silver, but stretched almost transparent – like strands of hair about to break. Most bizarrely, their bulbous green eyes sat flat on the very tops of their heads rather than protruding in profile. From tip to tail, each measured longer than our house is tall.

O – my apologies again – I hoped to avoid boring you with biography, but I suppose the preceding paragraph might confuse you since you do not know where I live. You may have heard of the late, renowned Architect, Scholar Amiele Cidnosin – she who developed the first underwater dwelling, located a few hundred fathoms off-coast from your own Boundless Campus and colloquially called the “Deep House”. Well, she was my mother, and I colloquially call it “home”. While I am not a Scholar myself (and pray that you will forgive my boldness in writing to someone of your Academic prestige), perhaps you have encountered my esteemed sister Scholar Sophy Cidnosin (from the School of Observation at Boundless – o, I mentioned her just a few sentences ago, did I not?) or my (rather less) esteemed brother Apprentice Scholar Arvist Cidnosin. (Yes, our mother defied the typical Boundless custom and gave us what she deemed “Scholarly Virtue Names” – which we all promptly despised and altered. “Sophy” is short for Philosophy and “Arvist” (somehow) for Artistry. I dare not tell you my given name.)

Now you understand that I am uniquely privileged when it comes to observing marine life in its natural habitat.

I first noticed only one creature: a solitary ribbon lost in looping sojourns around the window. When she (?) first darted past my window I felt my heart vibrate. Her eyes rolled around in perfect circles as she executed repeated stalks – perhaps not quite grasping the presence of the glass that disqualified me as potential prey. (The sharks who frequent the waters just outside my chamber long since learned to ignore me.)

Some amount of time later – I found it hard to keep track of the hour – I marvelled at the moonbeams illuminating the Elongated Fish as she continued watching me. After ages of stillness, she flinched, folding and opening like a concertina. I assumed I startled her with my stirring until I spied an even larger creature pulsing its way around the house. As this second Elongated Fish sped closer, “my” Fish dashed towards the interloper, swirling into a furious helix. They wove around each other, tighter than thread. Tails choked necks and fins found wounds. I watched with rapt horror as they fell into the abyss below the drop-off together. Neither returned.

Now, considering your diverse experiences “in the field”, as it were, I suspect you will not find this encounter especially impressive – and I confess that my Elongated Fish can hardly compete with the Exceptional Squid Skirmish my family witnessed at the Deep House in Year 991 – but the novelty of these unfamiliar creatures struck me. I adore how each “Epilogue” of your books invites readers to stop by your Laboratory Anchorage at Boundless Campus to share news of unusual sightings with you, but circumstances prevent me from coming in person. Still, I would be most grateful if you would consider assessing my account of these creatures from afar.

That is, of course, assuming you did not do as I asked by destroying this letter without even reading it.

Sincerely,

E. Cidnosin

P.S. Allow me to apologise for the rudimentary sketch of the Elongated Fish that I enclosed. Please attribute any unforgivable errors to my non-existent professional training.

Dear Captain Clel,

Forgive this unexpected intrusion from your former “acquaintance-through-grief” – otherwise known as me, Sophy Cidnosin (well, Cidnorghe now, technically – as my wife and I are newly wed, we combined our family names in accordance with Boundless Campus custom).

If it helps, I also go by “E.’s sister”.

When you and I met for the first (and final) time – just after Henerey and E.’s disappearance – I promised “to keep in touch” in that vague, non-committal way that one so often does. Well, I come at last, a year later, to make that promise less empty. I do not wish to resurrect painful memories for you; rather, I hope that the contents of this package will provide some comfort.

After I lost E., I tasked myself with putting my sister’s belongings in order as a distraction. Even after the Deep House’s destruction, E.’s safe-box – a funny, waterproof little thing designed by our mother – survived intact, tucked into a crack in the coral bed. When the salvagers presented me with the safe-box just days after the explosion, I wasted no time (nor spared any expense) in hiring a locksmith to open it. I expected to find the box stuffed with drawings, rare books, curious shells, and perhaps a family photograph or two. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that my excessively introverted sister kept a cache of countless letters, the bulk of them dating from the period just before her disappearance – and sent by your brother.

I am a researcher by profession, Captain Clel. When I face a problem, I investigate all evidence and form a hypothesis. But it seems that my logical self vanished when E. did.

I did not ignore the safe-box entirely during those early days. I was not so far gone. I sorted through the box’s contents, arranging the letters into neat stacks on my desk for safekeeping. (Oddly enough, it was at this point that I found that daybook of Henerey’s I gave you when we met last year. Why, I wonder, would he store it in the safe-box and not take it with him?) Yet every time I thought about opening even a single letter, I felt half-sick.

My guilty conscience tormented me for tides as I resisted the urge to read E.’s personal documents. I considered destroying the papers that serve as her only physical remains – cramming them into a crucible in my wife’s laboratory, donating them to my brother in the guise of “mixed-media art supplies”, or sailing out to the vast trench in the sea that marks the site where our family home once stood and sending the letters to meet their maker. I suspect my sister may have preferred any of these more destructive options. She was quite a private soul. But, dear Captain Clel, I must confess that tragedy has equipped me with a new propensity for selfishness. I can ignore the lure of the letters no longer, even if that makes me a traitor to my own sister.

A few tides ago, then, I pledged to construct an archive of E.’s existence – which is to say that I have started looking through the letters at last. I realised, however, that my “records” have limitations. I may read only what E. received from others, not her own words (excluding those she sent to myself and our brother Arvist, of course, which I already possess). With the exception of this enclosed draft of her first letter to Henerey (which I intentionally placed before my letter in the package so as to pique your interest with mystery), I do not know anything about what she said to him.

My proposal, then: if you inherited your late brother’s personal effects and do not object, would you consider sharing some items of interest with me? Though I imagine the process might be devastatingly difficult, I do hope that together we may make sense of their final days – and feel more connected to them. (I have also included an ambitiously high number of coins in this envelope to cover your potential postal expenses.)

In archival solidarity,

Sophy Cidnorghe

Dear Scholar Cidnorghe,

I neglected your envelope. As soon as I recognised your name I felt rather overcome. My husband, Reiv, read everything you sent aloud to me. When we finished, he suggested that “sharing with [you] some of [my] feelings about Henerey might prove cathartic”, because he is from Intertidal Campus originally and believes that honest emotional expression is an essential act of self-maintenance.

He’s right, no doubt.

Your project offers the kind of cleansing that appeals to me. I’m not one for words. That was Henerey’s forte. But you are right to presume that I still possess every scrap of paper upon which he ever scribbled and every note he ever received from friend or colleague or stranger or enemy.

Unlike you, I have not touched his letters, nor felt any particular pull to do so. Unexpected deaths produce a museum’s worth of detritus. In the early days, a courier seemed to arrive every other hour with another box of Henerey’s things from his Anchorage room, his laboratory, his ship-quarters, or his carrel in the library.

I locked every box away without opening them. It seems we respond to grief in different ways. I feared (and still fear) that even the sight of his fashionable shirts or messy handwriting would break me.

But perhaps I need to break. With the support of my husband, I will start looking for things that fit within the timeline you wish to explore. In the meantime, if there is anything else you would like to send me, go ahead. I was intrigued when E. referred to your role on the Ridge expedition. “Ridge expedition” is a phrase you don’t hear thrown around much these days. Reiv and I used to read all the expedition missives together. Until they stopped, that is.

I have enclosed the cost of postage to reimburse you.

With gratitude,

Mr. Reiv & especially Mr. Vyerin Clel

P.S. Can’t believe E. started this whole thing by sending him a letter out of the blue. He loved that, I’m sure. He also loved her – even surer.

Dear Vyerin,

Your reply made me feel so radiantly hopeful that I am writing back (as you well can see) just a day later – I trust you won’t mind. Many thanks to Reiv for reading you the letters and helping us begin this exciting partnership!

I look forward to seeing anything from E. that you uncover. O, I almost forgot – I also have Henerey’s first letter to E. for you, though she reread it so many times that it’s nearly falling apart in places. I shall endeavour to make a fair copy for our purposes. Additionally, because you seemed to take particular note of the Ridge expedition and my (unforgettable and regrettable) involvement therein, I shall also make fair copies of some correspondence between E. and myself from around that time period. Perhaps that will be of interest to you. If not, feel free to discard the copies as you see fit.

Enclosed you will find a sum suitable to cover the cost of many letters to come. If you wish, we may also correspond via Automated Post missives so that we can speak with greater speed (when it comes to any shorter questions or clarifications). My A.P. callsign for electronic communication is 2.02.CIDNORGHE.

Does that suit you?

With excitement,

Sophy

Dear Sophy,

Suits me very well. More to follow upon receipt of your package. Though I hate it on principle, I admit that Automated Post is far more efficient than waiting for letters to be delivered. (Still, I would wait any amount of time to get to know my brother a little better.)

Sincerely,

Vyerin

P.S. Reiv had to encourage me to write the above parenthetical. But that doesn’t make it any less genuine.

Dear Sophy,

If you wrote to me, I know you would open with a summary of your recent activities, outings, and intellectual opinions. Thus:

Activities: None (as I have rarely left my bedchamber since your departure and survived only by devouring a stash of preserves secreted in my closet).

Outings: None (excepting when I realised that said preserves had been secreted in said closet for an unknown amount of time, and might therefore have spoilt, causing me to flee to the library for a full hour to research what potential antidotes I might craft in the event that I fell ill from accidental self-poisoning – but do recall, dear sister, that I spent over eight hours in mortal terror the last time I thought I poisoned myself, so really, this is a wonderful improvement!).

Opinion: One might say that I miss you.

Had you found yourself stepping back through our airlock yesterday morning and striding upstairs to greet me, you would have encountered a familiar sight from our childhood. I spent the entire day (minus that hour in the library, of course) curled up in my porthole, my body almost joining in a perfectly contorted “O”.

During this period of – self-reflection, let’s say – I spied some rather curious fish. After referring to my dearly beloved copy of Clel’s Your Natural History Companion, I realised that they were also quite unlike anything currently known to Scholars of Classification. Will you believe what I did next, Sophy? Well, I drafted a letter of inquiry to Scholar Henerey Clel himself! Whether or not I shall send the letter remains to be seen, but goodness, my heart flutters to think that I might have encountered a new species.

Don’t worry, dear Sophy – my fish shall not outshine all the unique and undiscovered creatures that you will see. So let me return to you and your adventures! Imagine – my very own sister, one of the first to visit the deepest parts of the ocean! I cannot even begin to picture the Ridge (I say as though I do not keep a fine artistic rendering of the abyssal seascape right here at my desk). Really, I know my eccentric fish will seem quite prosaic compared to the wonders that await you and your colleagues down there.

I strive to keep my thoughts from troubling me too much in this empty house. As always, I wish I could turn back time to our childhood, when we all were safe and comfortable under one roof and countless fathoms of water. At the very least, I’m sure Mother could have identified those mysterious creatures immediately, were she still here! I considered writing to Father again, but, as always, he continues to honour his Vows by ignoring my correspondence entirely.

I hope his reluctance to write does not run in the family and that I will hear from you presently. Please write to me as soon as you can and tell me something about your new life that’s taken you by surprise.

With much love,

E.

Dear Scholar* Cidnosin,

I spent the past few days simultaneously wanting to thank you for the letter you sent and to apologise for my own delayed response. Around the time when you wrote to me, I was volunteered (I hope my uncharacteristic use of passive voice will convince you that I had no choice in the matter!) to coordinate a study related to the Ridge expedition: a simulation assessing what might happen if a population of Sustaining Cod were introduced to the abyssal zone as a mechanism for observing long-term adaptation to life in the dark. (The notion of forcibly transplanting species to an unknown environment purely for our intellectual benefit alarms me, of course. And that is to say nothing of the fact that it would take years of experimentation to witness the evolutionary process across generations! But I am convinced that it is indeed a thought experiment, because there is nothing my department enjoys more than keeping me busy with “simulating” things we will never actually do.)

Apologies for my babbling. I suppose I could have simply said that I have been “busy”. Yet I mention my troubles only to demonstrate the ways in which your warmly worded letter sustained me during a frustrating time. I would like to imagine that this is some kind of long-distance conversation, and most such discussions (for better or for worse!) often involve informal pleasantries. And I suppose if you and I are to converse, I should formally introduce myself (which seems silly, because you already know who I am, but nonetheless):

Hello there! My name is Henerey Clel, Scholar of Classification at Boundless Campus – though my family (just me and my brother Vy, so a little smaller than yours) hails from the Atoll. I transferred to Boundless two years ago, and the cultural change still overwhelms me. I do not know how much you know of the Atoll, but my home, while driven by Formality and Procedure, feels like a caring community of learners. Boundless, on the other hand, is a place of both Innovation and Intensity, to put it lightly… but I am sure I will grow accustomed to it eventually! (As you may have already gathered from the fact that I read your letter, I am fluent in both Atoll and Boundless shorthand styles.)

Since we are now properly acquainted (or will be, whenever you read these words!), let me admit that your letter not only delighted but utterly perplexed me. As I mention in my book, Subtle Pipefish vary in size (and I know not why I feel compelled to say that again, because your letter demonstrates that you are clearly well acquainted with my writing, but at this point, I’m feeling too abashed to start this letter over so – enjoy this earnest glimpse into my soul!), but I have never seen one larger than half a wavesbreadth at absolute maximum. If I understand the scale of your remarkable drawing correctly (I remain utterly taken by your unusual method of formatting the measurement key on the reverse of the sketch) your specimens were nearly twenty times that, far surpassing even moderately sized Toothed Whales! I do wonder if they might have been particularly robust Fathom Eels, though I have never known one to leave the safety of deeper waters (nor behave in such an aggressively territorial way). Perhaps something agitated them?

Just as your field report tantalised me with odd Eel behaviour, your brief biographical note dazzled me. Forgive me for sounding trite and romantic, but you grew up in the home of my dreams. Though it might seem unusual for a Scholar of Classification to be so fascinated with an architectural marvel, I always envied the inhabitants of the Deep House (by which I mean you) their (by which I mean your) unfettered ability to not only study but live among all the denizens of the open ocean. What a life! Of course I know of your sister (who wouldn’t? We can talk of nothing but the Ridge expedition on campus these days, and I do believe I may have met her a few times since moving to Boundless!) and I recognise your brother’s name. I never realised, however, that the two of them had another sibling.

I hope this does not make me come across as inappropriately interested in your personal affairs, but please know that if you deem it suitable, I would absolutely adore to hear more about your experience living at the Deep House. To return to the topic of your initial inquiry, let me add that should circumstances arise in which you spot the Elongated Fish/Fathom Eels again, I would be most grateful if you would send me more sketches (or even verbal descriptions!) so I may continue my studies from afar. I await your reply with incredible interest.

Eagerly,

Schr Henerey Clel

*I pray you will not misinterpret my use of the Scholarly honorific for you as a mockery. You emphasised in your letter that you are not an academic, and I respect that. I have dubbed you Scholar Cidnosin in my mind simply because you possess knowledge that I do not. And while you signed your name to your letter, I know that Boundless folk consider it quite forward to address someone by their first name when they are newly acquainted, so I am erring on the side of caution. This is all to say that I am most truly interested in whatever you have to say. (Though perhaps I should stop saying things now.)

Dearest E.!

Consider this letter my equivalent of shouting “I made it!” as we dock at last on the Ridge! Our craft’s systems informed me that we are now 2190 fathoms below the water’s surface and 8060 fathoms from our point of origin at Boundless Campus. (Most importantly, my personal calculations suggest that I am just over 6500 fathoms from you and the Deep House – the furthest I ever travelled from home!)

When I imagined my first deep-sea descent, I assumed that my eyes would never leave the portholes. I pictured myself cheering as the surface light faded from the water and marvelling as I sank through bands of deepening blue, like those in Mother’s woodcut illustration of the ocean’s layers that mesmerised us as children. Yet, in reality, I spent most of the journey clutching this blank sheet of stationery and staring into its emptiness for comfort – you’ll laugh, since you so tout my so-called “bravery”, but for whatever reason I seem to fear the abyssal darkness into which only one other person ever journeyed before. It certainly did not help my nerves when the water tossed our vessel about after we intercepted the wake of some anonymous whale, and the currents hardly let up afterwards. But now that my stomach has settled a bit, I shall write to you to distract myself.

It is hard to tell what the rest of the crew thinks about being suspended inside a pressurised sphere. The surprisingly icy winds at the Boundless Campus lagoon froze us into silence before we stepped inside the Depth Capsule (just like a typical depth-craft, but large enough to fit several occupants comfortably). Whether my companions now refrain from introducing themselves due to weariness (you know I am abnormally fond of rising early) or typical Scholarly nervousness, I cannot say!

I also find myself frustrated by my inability to recognise my new colleagues based on their academic portraits (which are always reproduced as such tiny images, to be fair, and our enterprising Expedition Specialist Schr Forghe does not even have a portrait on record). The unpleasantness is heightened by the fact that we all dressed in the most uncomfortably formal clothes, since we had no choice but to pose for an overeager Photographer from Intertidal Campus before we embarked. By the way, E., can you believe that there now exists a true camera – not one of those old-fashioned photo-engraving devices – capable of capturing images underwater? The Expedition Specialist will apparently have access to such a marvel for our field studies. I hope I may have a chance to see it in action.

A group portrait of the scene at this very moment in the Depth Capsule would feature the following figures:

THE FIRST COLLEAGUE: Let us begin with a proper identification, as I believe quite strongly that this Scholar clad in neatly pressed emerald Atoll Campus robes is Schr Ylaret Tamseln. If the kind smile, copper freckles, and cascading brown curls were not enough to bring her portrait to mind, the fact that she is reading a massive astronomical tome makes it undeniable that I sit but a few seats away from the most esteemed Scholar of the Skies living today. Will I sound desperate if I say that there is something about the way in which she hums softly while reading that reminds me of you (and calms me, as a result)?

THE SECOND COLLEAGUE: Another Atoll Scholar, sitting to Scholar Tamseln’s left, finds solace in a more recreational activity: playing a one-person round of Columns with bronzed game pieces unlike any I’ve ever seen before. (Clearly you and I, practising with Father’s simple coral blocks as children, were but amateurs!) This unknown colleague’s refined crimson robes (stitched with an impressive pod of blue whales) flash against their tan complexion. They are also the tallest among us, and keep scrunching their neck downwards to keep their shoulder-length black hair away from the air vent on the ceiling.

THE THIRD COLLEAGUE: Here we see the only member of our crew not dressed in approved Scholarly robes but rather in what I might describe as a – sleeping gown? – a gossamer cape exclusively for lounging purposes? – featuring a tessellation of geometric patterns in golden thread that seems plucked from the wearer’s own yellow beard. No one but an Intertidal Scholar possesses that level of panache. Outside of the striking attire, however, this crew member’s pink countenance (tinged almost purple with nausea) and fondness for staring at an idle point on the ceiling suggests that perhaps I am not the only person aboard who distrusts deep-sea travel.

THE FOURTH COLLEAGUE: I have saved the most notable Scholar (I say that from a hypothetical artist’s perspective, of course!) in our company for last. Not even the third colleague’s fashion can compete with this fourth person’s shell-pink robes, sewn with swooping sea stars that iridesce in the dim light of the capsule. (Again – this outfit is so classically Intertidal in its innovation that it almost seems a parody.) A constellation of tiny pearls glistening in a crown of dark braids completes an ensemble that makes my new colleague seem ready for the most elegant underwater gala. Only on three occasions so far has this crew member turned away from the porthole to look back at us, revealing bright eyes surrounded by white filigreed spectacles; deep brown, dimpled cheeks touched with glimmering rose blush; and the charming expression of someone lost in pleasantly complex thoughts. Though I know it is not meant for me, exactly, I find that smile somewhat comforting.

Did I succeed in setting the scene for you, sister? I may be the least artistically inclined Cidnosin in the family – but I did try to channel you and Arvist by paying close attention to colour, texture, and composition! Please be gentle in your critique. (You’ll notice that I did not describe myself, as you surely have not forgotten me yet – but I will say that after reviewing everyone’s fine robes, I am quite satisfied with the monochrome sleekness of my trousers, blouse, and coat.)

Now I hear the thump of what must either be the docking ramp activating or the sound of our imminent destruction, so I assume we may soon debark. Perhaps I will subject you to another word-picture (a domestic interior this time, rather than a portrait) once I’m settled in! We shall see how soon I escape my duties to pen another update…

Hoping that you are taking care of yourself (Elongated Fish and all!),

Sophy

P.S. You did end up sending that letter to Henerey Clel, surely? And surely he must have responded by now? How delightful. I’ve run into him a few times on campus before – very quiet and charming (in case you wondered).

Dear Sophy,

Thank you.

You gave me access to words from my brother that I’ve never seen. Makes him feel very much alive.

I hope E. will forgive me, as I cannot stop reading this letter over and over and over again. I can imagine him saying every line on the page with a sparkle in his eye.

(That is not to say that the other letters you sent me were not also informative and engaging and of historical import. They certainly were. Especially the last one. Even the simple sight of Henerey’s name written in your postscript to E. shook me in the most joyous manner.)

It is very important to me that we continue. I hope you agree.

Gratefully,

Vyerin

P.S. I never realised how many talents Henerey had until he was gone. I did not even read his best-known book until it was too late to congratulate him upon it. These days, I cannot stop paging through it. His rhetorical style is compelling, and his intellectual acumen obvious. But there is, above all, a warmth in his writing that I have never seen in any other Academic publication. To. . .