If J.R.R. Tolkien was a Titan, Christopher was Atlas, with the weight of a cosmology on his back.
The ending of Solzhenitsyn's book is hopeful. We are given a glimpse of a "good day" in Ivan Denisovich's life.
A young man is sitting at his desk, his quill poised above the parchment while he glances toward a French poem at his side.