I read plenty of C.S. Lewis as a kid, but the reputation of Till We Have Faces for philosophical density scared me off. Then, as an adult, my lukewarm feelings toward Greek myths and desire to diversify my reading kept me from picking it off the stack. But an offline book club picked it for our April read, and I had the opportunity to finally see what I’d been missing. Answer: a lot. 

Till We Have Faces is based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche, which I did not previously know but which was provided in the materials at the end of my copy. It’s told from the perspective of one of Psyche’s two sisters, now Queen of her land, and is split asymmetrically into two parts. The first part covers more than 80% of both the reading time and the lead’s life and is framed as the lead’s case against the gods for the ways in which they have wronged her—primarily in regards to a long-ago incident in which her sister was taken from her. It’s written with the clarity I’ve come to expect from Lewis and with no small amount of storytelling skill. And while it certainly delves into heady themes, it remains foremost a story and is never what I would call dense. The second part, on the other hand, is a hastily scrawled amendment that provides context from the narrator’s last days and casts a new light on what came before. And while this second part, covering just five chapters, is no less beautiful than the first, it reads like a fever dream, heavy with symbolism and thematic depth. 

As someone whose reading is skewed heavily toward new releases, the contrast in Till We Have Faces (first published in 1956) is striking. And it’s not necessarily because of writing style or general cultural perspective. There are obviously differences in both regards—Till We Have Faces is very much not a product of the 2020s—but Lewis’s book is extremely readable and directs more than a few barbs at the pervasive sexism of the society in which it’s set. For me, the real divergence comes in the handling of the book’s themes. Till We Have Faces is an incredibly theme-driven story, but it has the feel of an exploration more than a polemic. The trendier theme-driven books of the last few years (and I’ll note explicitly here that I’m comparing a single older book to a trend in popular contemporary fiction; this is not a comparison of new books as a whole to old books as a whole) have a tendency to wear the theme on their sleeve in a way that punches hard with an unambiguous moral stance that serves as the basis for the story to follow. And I have read some really tremendous books that take this tack—more a call to arms than a true struggle with complicated ideas. 

But Till We Have Faces is very much a book that wrestles with its ideas, to the point that it can be hard to pinpoint the primary theme until the final chapters. Ultimately, it is a book that does have a true central question, and it is a book that stakes out a firm and confident answer to that question. But it has no interest in making the opposite answer unthinkable—on the contrary, it sketches such a convincing case that it’s often hard for the reader to avoid seeing things through the lead’s eyes, even when it’s clear that the lead herself is bound to repudiate her earlier perspective. 

The question itself—that of divine hiddenness, or “why don’t the gods come right out and say what they want instead of hiding behind obscure signs and prophecies”—might resonate more with religious readers than the general populace, but the way the book handles the question is fascinating independent of how compelled one is with the question at stake. And there’s plenty of thematic depth even beyond the main question, as resolving the question of why the gods hide themselves requires more than a little introspection. These secondary themes focus especially on love and the ways it can be corrupted into something more life-taking than life-giving. This exploration is unusual in its almost exclusive focus on non-romantic expressions of love and fascinating in how every notable relationship comes with a significant power imbalance. Much like with the theme of divine hiddenness, Lewis is willing to dive straight into the messiness, spending little time on outright villains and much more on well-meaning people who find themselves unwittingly harming those they love, making for absolutely fascinating interpersonal dynamics that are truly some of the best parts of the book. 

I’ve spent a lot of time in this review without saying much of the plot, but that’s not because it’s such a theme-driven book that there isn’t one. There is very much a story here, but the plot structure is more that of a character study than of a five-act play. The myth the book retells is the fulcrum on which the plot turns, but the lead has plenty of life to live both before and after, and Till We Have Faces doesn’t eschew those parts that are not directly relevant to the main conflict. But for all that this isn’t a plot-driven narrative, Lewis never loses sight of the fact that it’s a story first, and it’s always the plot and characters driving the theme, never the other way around. 

My biggest complaint about Till We Have Faces is something that I’m not even sure is a flaw: the last 20% feeling like a fever dream. The thematic work comes to the forefront toward the end of the story, and it remains excellent. The plot, on the other hand? Well, it’s still happening, it’s just so chaotic that it can be hard to tell waking from dreaming and reality from symbolism. I’m not sure that’s the wrong artistic choice for the story, but it did make it harder to get my head around parts of it in ways that probably decreased my enjoyment a bit. But only a bit. And perhaps in a way that I’d appreciate more on reread. 

Overall, Till We Have Faces is a brilliant theme-heavy novel. It’s engaging and subtle, with the storytelling never taking a back seat, and the reader never feeling like they’re being punched in the face with the One Correct Opinion. The structure is much more character-driven than plot-driven, and there are moments toward the end where it gets disorienting, but the character work is excellent and the story is honestly pretty easy reading for the first 80%. This won’t be a book for everyone, but it’s a fantastic book. 

Recommended if you like: theme-heavy novels, character studies, reflections on divine hiddenness, Greek mythos.   

Can I use it for Bingo? It has Reference Materials and Dreams. I believe it fits the letter of the Eldritch hard mode, though I’m less sure about the spirit. 

Overall rating: 18 of Tar Vol’s 20. Five stars on Goodreads.