I had a lot of thoughts today, random and jittery and appropriate for this close to fall but still Southern California day.
They were silly - largely about Tim Gunn and essential wardrobe pieces and how he made me want to buy expensive underwear and a trench coat and get the pants I have on tailored (which I need to do anyway as they're just a tad short with a good size hem).
But I turned on LJ, and there's were several posts about the death of Madeleine L'Engle, and I had to stop all the other thoughts and breathe through tears that were immediate and sharp.
I don't know how many people on LJ, in fandom, were weaned on L'Engle, how many read A Wrinkle in Time at an impressionable age and felt like they were never the same. I'm guessing it's a lot of us. And even with my self-acknowledged tendency to believe my experience is everyone's experience, sometimes it is. (Mostly it's not, but the ways in which we relate are sometimes so beautiful, the things we share from childhood feel so rich and warm).
Meg Murray was just... she's not terribly attractive, and she's smart but doesn't do well in school. She's prickly and emotional and loves her family, feels protected by them (and eats sort of disgusting things I discovered. Because between her and "Cricket in Times Square" I felt like liverwurst was going to be for me, and seriously? No, no it's not). She's imaginative, and knows she's an outcast, and is fiercely loyal and protective or her smart and strange family.
And these things happen to her, and she's strong, lets her weaknesses and strengths save her and I never... I was never the same.
I read "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" too early, always a precocious reader, and was disappointed, didn't understand what it meant, how to get back to the warmth and familiarity of Meg and Calvin as young. I read "Arm of the Starfish" and "Dragons in the Waters" early as well, and always felt like L'Engle's characters were like me - confused, precocious, awkward, and full of potential.
There were two points in my reading life where L'Engle hit me, and her work had a profound impact on me. I still understand science and physics the way I do because of her explanation of the tesseract and dimensions - bringing time together instead of walking along it. And I remember where I was when I read those pages, sitting on a couch, and later, on the floor in our spare bedroom, trying to figure out what it all meant and having a sense of this great big universe out there. Being so grateful that it was someone like Meg Murray who was navigating it, astonished at the Mrs. Who and company (not knowing yet about triads and crones, about guiding voices and the parts of oneself), being astonished when we get glimpses of who these women really are. It was an exposure to the fantastic that was mine, that was about girls and women, and I've always craved that sort of fantasy and science fiction. The mundane, the feminine, the practical.
And then, a little older, but still a kid in so many ways, I got strongly attached to the Austin books and to the books featuring Poly, and was not quite ready for some of the emotional developments in them. For the kind of growing that they were doing that I wasn't ready for - the way that sex was a part of their lives, the way that relationships were in ways that didn't feel teenagey and stagey, but real and deep and scary. I was uncomfortable reading about Poly navigating gender and sexual issues and dynamics, watching her confront issues I wasn't yet ready to face. But those issues and books became gateways into other characters from me, and I remain grateful.
I also think that L'Engle's characters had a relationship with faith and with God that did much to soothe me. I love that she had them talk frankly about much of this, that faith and worship and disbelief and the fantastic could all harmonize, could all be out there and discussable and not just an ordained thing, or an absent thing. It made my own disquieting relationship with religion and faith that much easier to bear.
The writer I am, the thinker I am, and most importantly, the reader I am owes a profound debt of gratitude to Ms. L'Engle. Not just because Meg Murray grew up beautiful, but because her characters always grew up flawed, but with acute purpose, and the knowledge that love and family were at the heart of everything, even the universe.
They were silly - largely about Tim Gunn and essential wardrobe pieces and how he made me want to buy expensive underwear and a trench coat and get the pants I have on tailored (which I need to do anyway as they're just a tad short with a good size hem).
But I turned on LJ, and there's were several posts about the death of Madeleine L'Engle, and I had to stop all the other thoughts and breathe through tears that were immediate and sharp.
I don't know how many people on LJ, in fandom, were weaned on L'Engle, how many read A Wrinkle in Time at an impressionable age and felt like they were never the same. I'm guessing it's a lot of us. And even with my self-acknowledged tendency to believe my experience is everyone's experience, sometimes it is. (Mostly it's not, but the ways in which we relate are sometimes so beautiful, the things we share from childhood feel so rich and warm).
Meg Murray was just... she's not terribly attractive, and she's smart but doesn't do well in school. She's prickly and emotional and loves her family, feels protected by them (and eats sort of disgusting things I discovered. Because between her and "Cricket in Times Square" I felt like liverwurst was going to be for me, and seriously? No, no it's not). She's imaginative, and knows she's an outcast, and is fiercely loyal and protective or her smart and strange family.
And these things happen to her, and she's strong, lets her weaknesses and strengths save her and I never... I was never the same.
I read "A Swiftly Tilting Planet" too early, always a precocious reader, and was disappointed, didn't understand what it meant, how to get back to the warmth and familiarity of Meg and Calvin as young. I read "Arm of the Starfish" and "Dragons in the Waters" early as well, and always felt like L'Engle's characters were like me - confused, precocious, awkward, and full of potential.
There were two points in my reading life where L'Engle hit me, and her work had a profound impact on me. I still understand science and physics the way I do because of her explanation of the tesseract and dimensions - bringing time together instead of walking along it. And I remember where I was when I read those pages, sitting on a couch, and later, on the floor in our spare bedroom, trying to figure out what it all meant and having a sense of this great big universe out there. Being so grateful that it was someone like Meg Murray who was navigating it, astonished at the Mrs. Who and company (not knowing yet about triads and crones, about guiding voices and the parts of oneself), being astonished when we get glimpses of who these women really are. It was an exposure to the fantastic that was mine, that was about girls and women, and I've always craved that sort of fantasy and science fiction. The mundane, the feminine, the practical.
And then, a little older, but still a kid in so many ways, I got strongly attached to the Austin books and to the books featuring Poly, and was not quite ready for some of the emotional developments in them. For the kind of growing that they were doing that I wasn't ready for - the way that sex was a part of their lives, the way that relationships were in ways that didn't feel teenagey and stagey, but real and deep and scary. I was uncomfortable reading about Poly navigating gender and sexual issues and dynamics, watching her confront issues I wasn't yet ready to face. But those issues and books became gateways into other characters from me, and I remain grateful.
I also think that L'Engle's characters had a relationship with faith and with God that did much to soothe me. I love that she had them talk frankly about much of this, that faith and worship and disbelief and the fantastic could all harmonize, could all be out there and discussable and not just an ordained thing, or an absent thing. It made my own disquieting relationship with religion and faith that much easier to bear.
The writer I am, the thinker I am, and most importantly, the reader I am owes a profound debt of gratitude to Ms. L'Engle. Not just because Meg Murray grew up beautiful, but because her characters always grew up flawed, but with acute purpose, and the knowledge that love and family were at the heart of everything, even the universe.
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Date: 2007-09-07 07:50 pm (UTC)I started a response here. It turned into a post ;).
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Date: 2007-09-07 07:50 pm (UTC)Also, I totally remembered the liverwurst! And wanting to like it b/c Meg did.
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Date: 2007-09-07 08:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 07:57 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 09:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 09:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 09:38 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 10:18 pm (UTC)And damn, I got distracted by the cat and hit post instead of spell check and I wasn't done....gah.
So, thank you for your beautiful post. I must go re-read those books. and by the way, have you read the Green Knowe series by Lucy M. Boston?
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Date: 2007-09-07 10:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-07 10:45 pm (UTC)http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Green_Knowe (don't read too far as there will be spoilers) Maybe go to amazon instead?
Here's the link for the manor web site: http://www.greenknowe.co.uk/
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Date: 2007-09-08 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-08 06:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-10 01:08 am (UTC)