Of the many covers this book has been given, I think I like this one best because of those old boating shoes of Harold’s. Can you imagine walking that far in them?

I don’t know what your opinion is, but here’s mine: The Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry was utterly delightful.

Truly—I don’t know why I didn’t read it sooner! Apparently the paperback edition has 384 pages (I read it on Kindle), but Harold’s tale was so moving and well-told that it seemed like a short story riddled with riches.

I was hooked on Joyce’s storytelling from page one (Kindle location: who knows?), and as the story unfolded, I felt as if I was not simply reading about Harold’s journey, but also journeying along with him. With my familiarity with the practice of pilgrimage, it was exciting to take note of each moment of significance as it passed—each shift in the story that led Harold both further down the path and further into himself—and I was impressed with how accurately Joyce conveyed the transformative elements of the practice. It just goes to show that pilgrimage is written on the hearts of each one of us, doesn’t it?

This is especially true from early on in the book. I couldn’t help but underline this phrase from the very first chapter after Harold has passed the second or third post box but before he encountered the girl in the garage: In reference to his walking, Joyce says, “He had started something and he didn’t know what it was, but now that he was doing it, he wasn’t ready to finish.” What a perfect parallel to the practice of pilgrimage both without and within, no?

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