(no subject)
Oh goodness, Madeleine L'Engle has died. How sad. I went out to dinner with λ's sister and her husband tonight, and the sister's husband said he had almost had the chance to take a class with L'Engle last summer but that her failing health had caused her to bow out. I believe my intelligent response to that was "She's old." She was old, in fact, 88, and she was probably dead when I was having that conversation. What a shame. She was a lovely writer. The Wrinkle in Time series was obviously landmark, but then I've read just one of her adult novels - A Live Coal in the Sea - read it when I was in high school, and I'm really glad that I did, because I loved it and I think her gentle perspective on grace and mercy was an important thing for me to absorb in a period when I was primarily marinating in C.S. Lewis's more cut-and-dried philosophy.
That will leave a hole in the literary landscape, for me anyway. Rest in peace, Madeleine.
That will leave a hole in the literary landscape, for me anyway. Rest in peace, Madeleine.