In Till We Have Faces, C.S. Lewis has created an entertaining, thought provoking reinterpretation of the Greek myth of Cupid and Psyche. The myth, in his hands, becomes a Christian parable and an apologia for a transcendent god who remains unseen and unheard. Like his friend, J.R.R. Tolkien, I cordially dislike allegory. He has some interesting things to say about selfish love and authenticity, but the story drips with self-conscious wisdom and profundity. It left me with an aftertaste of narcissism. ★★★☆☆
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