Reading "Through a Glass, Darkly" is like having a conversation with one's image in the mirror and learning that a whole other world exists on the other side of the glass. It's enough to make anyone's mind a little turvy-topsy, if you take my meaning.
Here is an example of what to expect: At the beginning of the novel, Cecilia draws an angel on her windowpane with one of her tears--a tear angel. It makes her wonder if tear angels are the same as angel tears. Like I said, everything is turned downsideup . . . but it all still manages to make sense.
The two main characters are a human girl named Cecilia and an angel from Heaven named Ariel. Cecilia is so ill that she cannot leave her bed, so Ariel comes to visit her on an angel watch. As he tells her things about Heaven, she tells him things about Earth; so this is really a conversation between an aspect of Heaven and an aspect of Earth. It so happens, Ariel tells Cecilia, that only angels and humans are able to wonder at themselves--to wonder at being able to wonder.
The conflict in this story comes more from their dialogue than from the plot. If you like philosophy, then you'll love the way they toss ideas back and forth like a game of pong-ping. "Through a Glass, Darkly" is more mystical than "Sophie's World", however, and more poetic. In "Sophie's World" Jostein Gaarder toyed with everyone's world of knowledge, asking us how we can be sure we know what we think we know. In this novelette, he plays with the heady concept that we are all eyes of God, scattered throughout Creation: the mirrors the Creator uses to see Himself and all His works. A philosopher/astrologer named Alan Watts described this same concept as "God, playing hide-and-seek with Himself." (Or isn't it seek-and-hide?)
This book is a lot like "Mr. God, This Is Anna" by Fynn. Part irreverent theology, part reverent heresy, "Through a Glass, Darkly" is so far-out that it speaks directly to what is close-in. Read it with an open mind and a young heart.