Till We Have Faces is C.S. Lewis’ reworking of the myth of Cupid and Psyche, told from the perspective of Psyche’s ugly half-sister. The myth as Lewis weaves it is a cautionary tale about loving too much and hanging on too tightly.
The book was kind of a hard read for me, more difficult to stay with than Lewis’ other works. I’m not sure why this was the case, since I do enjoy fantasy and mythology. There were few likable characters in it, and it seemed depressing and bleak to me.