This is my fourth post about 2015’s books for The Classics Club. I’ll be reading one classic book a month through 2018. Track what I’m reading for the Classics Club here. I’ll try not to include too many spoilers in my review but I may need to discuss some in order to fully review the book. I’ll warn you if I’m going to mention one.
Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold by C.S. Lewis
- Year Published: 1956
- Reread? Or new to me?: new to me
- Number of Pages: 324
- Date Finished: just before the end of July
- Number of Days it took me to read it: ??
- Page/Day ratio: ??
- Will I reread this?: Maybe? See below.
Please forgive me for the briefness of this review. I’ve fallen WAY behind on reviewing my Classic Club books, although I have kept up with the reading. So I’m remembering my experience reading this from a few months ago.
I opened Till We Have Faces with great anticipation, having heard on a podcast that this book was one of three that should be taken to a desert island. A family member of mine also told me of how deeply she was affected by the story.
Sadly, for me – I was relatively unmoved. The story was sad, especially with the immensity of the mistakes made by everyone involved. I must confess, however, that I just didn’t find the deeper, life-impacting meaning in it. I did shed a few tears at the end but certainly wasn’t left pondering much of anything. I was oddly let down by this. I wanted it to be overwhelming, not underwhelming! What does this say about me? That I totally missed the point? That I wasn’t open to letting it affect me while I was reading it? Or perhaps just that we are all individuals and consequently have different responses to the same novel?
I am glad I read this but I don’t know if I will get around to the multiple readings recommended by the desert island podcast guest to really be able to absorb all I can from it.
How about you? If you’ve read this, were you in the “stone-hearted” camp when reading Till We Have Faces and consequently totally understand me? Or are you shocked and horrified at my lack of sensitivity to Lewis’s deeper message?
Unfortunately, it’s too late to invite you to join me in reading the books that I read for August, September, October, and November. So perhaps you’d like to join me in reading Little Lord Fauntleroy by Frances Hodgson Burnett in December? I’ve read A Little Princess and The Secret Garden too many times to count but somehow haven’t read this one yet.