Madeleine L'Engle

I remember the first time I met Meg Murray. She was a gangly girl, smart and out of place because of it. I remember wrapping myself within myself as I read about this girl with whom I could relate. I wanted a little brother like Charles Wallace and parents that believed in me because they could see, right now, how great I was even if I wasn't popular, or pretty, or smart. I lived low self esteem and Madeleine L'Engle wrote about it as if she not only understood it, but had the heart to explain it to all of us poor confused girls so that we had the hope that one day we would not be so gangly, we would love a boy like Calvin O'Keefe who would be smart and see us for who we could be, not how we were. Madeleine L'Engle made unicorns tangible beings to us, showed us the pain of growth and to this day, I cannot think of seraphim and cherubim without being reminded of L'Engle's creation.

Madeleine L'Engle took me to a supernatural world, my first introduction to science fiction that led to Asimov and Heinlein and Bradbury and then eventually to shows like Firefly and Battlestar Galactica simply because she helped me like a little bit of science fiction in my well told tales. She was the introduction to a great cast of characters and a great way of looking at myself that that I revisit and re-read time and time again.

In 2000, I finally bought my own copies of the first three books of the Murray series after reading them from the library all my life. They were beautiful with a cover I hadn't seen before nor haven't since. The covers were unique and mystical, the way I've always remembered the feel of the stories, the way I'd always thought of Madeleine L'Engle.

I cried when I read today that Madeleine L'Engle had died. It surprised me, but the impact she had on my young self was much stronger than I realized.

Rest in peace, Madeleine L'Engle. Rest In Peace.