Till We Have Faces

Just finished re-reading C. S. Lewis' Till We Have Faces. What a wonderful book. The author's finest work of fiction, I believe. Lewis seems more immersed in his story here than elsewhere, letting it speak on a level that leaves his usual didcacticism--however fine and good-natured that trait often is in him--far behind. The story cannot be summarized in nifty little aphorisms. However, I did a quick search to find out what other bloggers have said, and discovered this helpful analysis at a very lit'rary blog called Iambic Admonit. Also, this blogger just finished it as well. Why does that seem kind of cool to me? That I can quickly discover on the Internet that another human being was reading the same book at the same time, and blogged about it on the same morning?