Tag Archives: Madeleine L’Engle

Dare to be honest?

When asked for the best children’s books, do you a) list the ones you truly loved the best, or b) mention the ones you reckon are expected of you? The ‘proper’ books of childhood.

Last week I was impressed to find I wasn’t totally alone in thinking the new list of 11 best books for under tens, published by the BBC wasn’t one I agreed with. They asked critics, who are supposed know about this. All adults, I imagine.

Charlotte’s Web, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, Where the Wild Things Are, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Little Women, The Little Prince, Winnie-the-Pooh, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, A Wizard of Earthsea, A Wrinkle in Time, Little House on the Prairie.

These are fine books. But how much were they even the favourites when these critics were under ten, and how likely is it that they will continue to please young readers of today? Under ten 25 or 50 years ago is not the same as now. Much as I loved Little Women, I’d give it to an older reader today.

I’m not too keen on Roald Dahl. Never read Narnia, but accept that many have and will continue to do so. I have a feeling I’ve not got round to Charlotte’s Web, either. It’s one of those books that are always mentioned, and so well known that it can be hard to keep track of whether or not you’ve actually read it.

Surely this is primarily a list of the books a group of adults believe they loved the best, or feel are the books they ought to admit to in public? Rather like the castaways on Desert Island Discs, who were always asking for the Bible and Shakespeare, and I suspect, not always because those are the very best books in the world. True, there is a lot to read in both, but the choice feels more to be about what you dare say in public. Brave is the person who’d admit to not being a reader, or one who’d prefer Enid Blyton or Lee Child, to pick a couple of very popular writers.

As a foreigner, I feel I’m allowed not to know all these books from childhood. But if I were to choose my favourites, I feel I would be expected to go for Astrid Lindgren, rather than some unknown or forgotten light fiction (by that I mean there were lots of books I loved to bits, but where I either didn’t note the author’s name, or can’t remember it now). Nothing wrong with Astrid, I hasten to add, but whereas I liked Pippi Longstocking back then, today I’d rather not suggest her, but go for one of the others.

And there is that difference between now and then. What I liked 50 years ago, and what I reckon a little Bookwitch today would enjoy. It’s not the same. These critics would also not all be the same age, so their choices show a top eleven from the mid-20th century onwards.

If Offspring were under ten today, there are about four books on the list I’d give them (wouldn’t prevent them from picking any of the books themselves, of course). If I ever end up with Grand-Offspring, I might offer two of these books, and after that I’d go for much more recent books. There are countless wonderful reads for under tens from the last 25 years.

A Wrinkle in Time

With my usual flair for not having heard of classics that ‘everyone’ else grew up with, I only came across  A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle two years ago when Meg Rosoff was talking about it. She wanted to give me her spare copy which she then failed to find. As with most things, once you have heard of them, they crop up with increasing frequency. It wasn’t long before my next American writer (Rebecca Stead) mentioned that she had also been influenced by A Wrinkle in Time.

Madeleine L'Engle, A Wrinkle in Time

Always suspicious of odd sounding titles and unusual author names, I took my time over this, but you’ll be pleased to know that Daughter’s Christmas present to me was most welcome. Having been warned by Meg that I had to love it, I even got round to reading it with startling speed. By strange coincidence it was on a dark and stormy night…

And I’m fine. If I’m to be shunned, it won’t be over A Wrinkle in Time. It’s lovely!

I especially love Charles Wallace, Meg’s little brother (that’s Meg in the book, not Ms Rosoff). And it was only halfway through the book that I realised that some of my fears for him might have been erroneously formed by listening to something someone said, out of context. Although this darling boy does put himself in dreadful danger.

Next, I love their friend Calvin, who is almost too good to be true, in that ‘olden days’ American way. And the mother, Mrs Murry. What a woman! But I do see what Meg saw in Meg. I just can’t identify with her in the same way. She’s a lovely heroine, and very brave, going travelling through space and time to find her lost scientist father.

It’s almost true that they don’t write books like this any more. And I do wish I’d read it back in the 1960s. I loved this kind of book, and I loved science fiction. But all’s well that ends well, and now I have read it.

Thank you, ladies!