An innocent boy poisoned by guilt looked up at the bearded and bespectacled man signing his book. Teeming with curiosity, the boy overcame his shyness and asked the man a question that had been bothering him since finishing the man’s last book: “Excuse me, sir, but do you really believe what you write?”
The man with the beard and glasses, finished his signature and looked up at the boy, “What do you mean, do I believe that Lyra exists?”
No, that’s not it, the boy thought, but he couldn’t find the words to correct him, and his head nodded in agreement.
The man told the boy that the books were fantasy, creations of his mind. Of course the boy knew that, and left the bookshop disappointed. He loved the man’s books, got lost in their mystery and wonder, but his message didn’t really make much sense. Why is God a false god, one to be torn down? Why is the Church an oppressive force, an army led by corruption?
I mean, in real-life, the Church is good and whole, and God is loving, complete and perfect, right? Really though, right?