Originally published at Thus Sayeth the Lord…. You can comment here or there.

Madeleine L’engle died in Connecticut last night.

A Wrinkle In Time was the first speculative fiction book I can remember reading, if you discount the sneak-peeks of comic books at the grocery story. I didn’t know what it was at the time—it was a selection in a third grade reader. I read the selection about nine-hundred times. It was the part where Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which first appear to Calvin, Meg, and Charles. I remember being terrified of Mrs. Which—she was so otherworldly, and L’engle’s use of italics to indicate her voice, along with her sibilants enhanced the effect.

When I found the book in the library, I fell in love with it immediately. Of course I identified with Charles Wallace. He was strange, smart, arrogant…like me. (Except for the smart part…J) And I didn’t recognize what an arrogant little boy I was until I was older. So…strange. Like me. Which I recognized even then. And the conflict between the highly moral children and the repressive government on Camazoz spoke something very deeply to my soul—this was how I identified my world. This was how I ultimately saw life. Still see life, sort of.

I read A Wind in the Door a few years later—I think I was in fourth or fifth grade. I remember being utterly enchanted by Proginoskes—wings, eyes, self-assuredness. What wasn’t to love? The idea that even the very smallest things are important in the great scheme of the universe was very attractive.

That theme is echoed in A Swiftly Tilting Planet. This was my favorite of the three books (yes, I know the Time series is now considered a quintet—adding Many Waters, and An Acceptable Time seems to me a bit sacrilegious), largely because Charles Wallace is a much more active participant. Also, it has this really wonderful poem that carries throughout the book—which Wikipedia tells me is based on St. Patrick’s Lorica.

The Time series was special to me because it made me feel special. Empowered, even. So…thanks, Mrs. L’engle. The world is better—or, at least, *I* am better—for you having lived and written.