Your numbers are dwindling. Your side is losing. Your way of life is passing from this Earth. In bygone eras, your people transmitted your ideals from one generation to the next with ease. Now, you plant a teaching in the heart of your children, and all the world conspires to strip it out before it can take root. The gravity of this world now inclines away from you. When you set the things you love on the ground, they roll away from you like marbles in an uneven house.
Just before Christmas break, I finished teaching Till We Have Faces for the fourth time in eight years. I read the book aloud, in its entirety, to a class of just two students. Depending on my mood, when I am asked for the title of my favorite novel, I claim it is either Till We Have Faces or Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Of the two, I know Orual far better than the Man or the Boy. Aside of reading Lewis’ last novel for class four times, I’ve probably read it that many times again on my own.