I'm a little late to the news, but just read of the passing of Madeline L'Engel, author of one of my very, very favorite books, A Wrinkle in Time. As a kid, I never, ever got tired of re-reading that book. I'm probably writing fantasy today because of it. Heck, I'm probably writing today because of it - at least in part. Meg. Charles Wallace. Tesseracts. And that planet (Camezotz, was it?) where all those kids were bouncing the balls exactly the same and the one little boy bounced out of synch and his mother rushed out and dragged him inside. Even at nine when I first read Wrinkle, I knew how horrible that was. Knew how wonderfully subversive it is to be a non-conformist. And - I think - I never fully followed some of the rules again.
Rest in peace, dear Ms. L'Engel.
Til next time...
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