till we have faces

I am a little bit obsessed with C.S. Lewis.

I grew up on the Narnia series, and, now that I’m older, I’ve found myself really enjoying his other works — “The Problem of Pain,” “Mere Christianity,” “The Screwtape Letters” and, of course, “Till We Have Faces.” I’m currently reading the latter book — a retelling of the myth of Cupid and Psyche from the perspective of Psyche’s older sister — and the imagery and language in the book are really striking. It’s quickly climbing the list of my favourite books, and I can tell it will be one I will want to read over and over.

I can see why the myth would have haunted Lewis, as so many of the reviews I’ve read of that book claim it did. It’s really kind of a tragic story, and the spin he put on it is so poignant and touching. I won’t ruin it for those who haven’t read it, but if you love books and you love words, this is definitely a good read.

I have always been someone who loved to read, and I never really understood people who don’t like to read, who don’t want to lose themselves in books, who only want to read a book once and no more. Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve always enjoyed burying myself in the lives of others — and that’s always meant books to me. Honestly, I hope it always does.

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