"Praise, praise!" I croak. Praise God for all that's holy, cold, and dark. Praise him for all we lose, for all the river of the years bears off. Praise him for stillness in the wake of pain. Praise him for emptiness. And as you race to spill into the sea, praise him yourself, old Wear.

Irreverent and hilarious yet loving portrait of faith, told through the life of 12th century sailor-turned-hermit Godric of Finchale. I loved Godric's unvarnished truths about the realities of spiritual aridity, difficulties in prayer and struggle with temptation.

That afternoon, it had been as though an unseen hand had drawn back a curtain and, for the briefest moment, I had seen through such a window. In a flash of “outsight” I had known timelessness and quiet ecstasy, sensed a truth of which mainstream science is merely a small fraction.