Author Madeleine L’Engle, whose novel “A Wrinkle in Time” has been enjoyed by generations of schoolchildren and adults since the 1960s, has died, her publicist said Friday. She was 88. L’Engle died Thursday at a nursing home in Litchfield of natural causes, according to Jennifer Doerr, publicity manager for publisher Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
The Newbery Medal winner wrote more than 60 books, including fantasies, poetry and memoirs, often highlighting spiritual themes and her Christian faith.
Although L’Engle was often labeled a children’s author, she disliked that classification. In a 1993 Associated Press interview, she said she did not write down to children.
“In my dreams, I never have an age,” she said. “I never write for any age group in mind. When people do, they tend to be tolerant and condescending and they don’t write as well as they can write.
“When you underestimate your audience, you’re cutting yourself off from your best work.”
She will be missed.
Oh, she was prolific. And Pavarotti was fat?!
Well, he wasn’t a Slenderella, you know. But let’s talk about L’Engle.
I enjoyed the Wrinkle in Time novels as a kid.
L’Engle was a great children’s author.
That’s a mean thing to say, you know. She didn’t like being characterized like that.
I’d like to think that if she was a ghost with testicles, she’d be resting her ghostly balls on your head for saying that.
And there’s nothing you could do about it.
Actually, Madame L’Engle IS a ghost with testicles and everyone but you can see her resting them on your head. They’ve been there for WEEKS. Its impossible, but its TRUE.
But I digress.
As one of the great children’s authors of all time, L’Engle will be sorely missed.
The point is, Monseur Teabag, Ms. L’Engle was not a children’s author.
I hope I’ve made myself clear.
Care to respond?
No. I’ve made my point.
It’s my sincere hope that Ms. L’Engle’s relatives do not chance to visit this website and read the scurrilous accusations on your part of Ms. L’Engle being a children’s author.
I’m sure the ghost balls thing would get a pass, however.
I’m sure that Madame L’Engle’s relatives are scouring the internet looking for signs of how bloggers are talking about L’Engle’s death and her children’s books. Once they chance upon this website, they’ll realize that the internet is nothing more than an infinite joke machine without a point. Ghost balls, indeed.