This line appears in one of Christopher's mother's letters – the one in which she explains why she left him and his father. After going on at length, with heart-wrenching explanations and recollections, she writes that she realizes Christopher might not be able to understand any of the letter at all, suggesting that she's writing this letter as much for herself (as a release valve, as a way to express her own grief and guilt) as she is to apologize to Christopher.

Three very fraught sentences here. In the first, he claims that the lie was intentional, to protect Christopher from harm. In the third, he claims that the lie was <em>un</em>intentional. And nestled in between, the delightfully damaged word "Honestly" – as if anything this person says can be trusted now.

This just reinforces the sinister nature of lying – that once you start lying, it's really difficult to back out. Christopher's father expects him, of all people, to understand. We'll also point out again how conflicted he is about just how he ended up telling his son this awful lie.

Wow, is it just us, or this incredibly unconvincing? What exactly do they have in common: being lonely? That's it? Well, that's not a good sign. And it's that realization that makes them realize they're in love with each other? Does that sound right to you? Should we give them the benefit of the doubt here?

This is a powerful image, evoking just how earth-shattering the discovery of his mother's letters must be. It has even dislodged his sense of self, so that he sees his own identity as being wrapped up in his mother's idea of him in her letters.