At first sight, it would seem that G.K. Chesterton and Alexander Solzhenitsyn have very little in common. The one has a reputation for jollity and rambunctiousness, the other for sobriety and solemn sternness. One penned swashbuckling fantasies about lovable eccentrics, the other wrote gritty works of realism set in prison camps or cancer wards. Although both have been described as prophets, Chesterton is a laughing prophet, capering with the anarchic joie de vivre of St. Francis; Solzhenitsyn, on the other hand, is a searingly serious seer, blasting the follies of the age with the excoriating scorn of a modern-day Jeremiah. In spite of such appearances to the contrary, and as I hope to show, these two giants of twentieth century literature are, in fact, kindred spirits who share the same political philosophy and the same religious orthodoxy.
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