I remembered the name Antony Flew from studying philosophy in the late sixties. Rightly or wrongly I associate him with dry post-war Oxford names like Gilbert Ryle, PF Strawson and John Austin. This book though felt like something shiny off the evangelist shelf, the sort of thing shiny fundamentalists hope will convince you because it’s in print. But you can’t judge a book by its cover, even if this one proclaimed it was the WINNER OF THE CHRISTIANITY TODAY BOOK AWARD.

[Review continues in: Another Flew over the cuckoo’s nest.]