They don't write 'em like they used to. The writings of St. Teresa have meant so much to me over the last couple of years; her honesty, humility, and charity are a balm to those who, like me, often chafe at the hubris that characterizes so much of contemporary spiritual writing. "Few tasks which I have been commanded to undertake by obedience have been so difficult as this present one of writing about matters relating to prayer," she writes. "for one reason, because I do not feel that the Lord has given me either the spirituality or the desire for it; for another, because for the last three months I have been suffering from such noises and weakness in the head that I find it troublesome to write even about necessary business."

Right off the bat, it's profound humility that gives shape to this most insightful little guide. And as Teresa demonstrates at each stop through the Interior Castle that is the human soul, it's humility that gives shape to the whole of contemplative life. Humility, of course, doesn't consist of self-denigration, but self-knowledge. The whole of this book is an invitation to practice that kind of humility. It's easy, then, to see why Simone DeBeauvoir said of her, "Saint Teresa is one of the only women to have lived the human condition for herself, in total abandonment."

With that in mind, a good deal of what Teresa has to say is quite challenging. If humility is the groundwork on which the Interior Castle is built, complete abandonment to divine will (read: detachment) is the only real means of entry. I wouldn't, therefore, recommend this as introductory text to contemplation (or to the corpus of St. Teresa at all, for that matter). Since Teresa was so fond of Song of Solomon, it's best to heed the Bride's words to the Daughters of Jerusalem: "Do not stir up or awaken love until it is ready!"