by Charlotte Jones Voiklis

Dear Ones,

Today marks the beginning of Banned Books Week, and so it feels appropriate to share some thoughts that have been brewing about Madeleine and this topic  for some time. According to the American Library Association, throughout the 1980s and 1990s, A Wrinkle in Time was one of the most challenged books in the United States. Driven by fundamentalist Christians who reviled her less literal interpretation of the Bible and her vision of a God that welcomes questions and calls us all to love each other no matter our professed faith or categories of identity, the violence and vehemence of the book challenges shook her. Her response was to lean into what she felt was a calling to challenge those forces back. She continued speak at churches and Christian colleges where she wasn’t always welcomed with warm hospitality. (Sarah Arthur has written eloquently about what Madeleine’s message and presence meant to and did for a generation of students and seekers in those worlds in her book A Light So Lovely: The Spiritual Legacy of Madeleine L’Engle).

Madeleine Preaching ca. 1990. Location, photographer unknown

The recent wave (tsunami, really) of organized book challenges is again driven by conservative, white Christians who are threatened by ideas and by visions of a world that includes people that don’t believe as they do. Most of the individual books challenged in 2021 and 2022 have dealt with LGBTQIA+ content, and there has been a separate but related push to censor and limit what can be taught in public schools and elsewhere about the cruel history of slavery and ongoing racism in this country.  A Wrinkle in Time is no longer one of the most challenged books, but while it was, Madeleine had some responses that I think might be helpful to consider in our current moment.

In 1983 Madeleine gave a talk at the Library of Congress called “Dare to be Creative.” (The Marginalian has a great essay about it), In it she says:

We all practice some form of censorship. I practiced it simply by the books I had in the house when my children were little. If I am given a budget of $500 I will be practicing a form of censorship by the books I choose to buy with that limited amount of money, and the books I choose not to buy. But nobody said we were not allowed to have points of view. The exercise of personal taste is not the same thing as imposing personal opinion.

My mother and her siblings can attest to the fact that there were certain kinds of books that were not allowed in the house (comic books!), and I have a strong and stinging memory of my grandmother being disappointed (to put it mildly) when she learned that I had written about Flowers in the Attic for an eighth grade book report.  But again, “the exercise of personal taste is not the same thing as imposing a personal opinion.” My mother gorged on comics at friends’ houses, with no argument from her parents. What could they say?

Madeleine was horrified at institutions and movements that try to limit free will and choice, that have such a small-minded vision of God that they are afraid of questions and demand certainty. “It is the ability to choose which makes us human,” Madeleine wrote in Walking on Water. People must be free to choose, even if they sometimes choose badly or wrongly. Others cannot make those choices for someone else. It is bad enough when individuals or institutions vigilantly guard their borders: “When we censor out most of the world in order to protect our own little version of it, we are creating a kind of hell.” (Penguins and Golden Calves); it is worse when that little version becomes the basis for violently imposing on others. A growing field of scholars like Kristen DuMez, Philip Gorski, Samuel Hall, and Andrew Whitehead have begun to document and expose a movement that seeks to impose through legislation and judicial rulings a very narrow vision of the United States as a theocracy (White Christian Nationalism), where choices of all kinds are proscribed and state violence as well as vigilantism are enshrined in law.

If Madeleine were alive today, what would she be doing? Where would she be speaking? To whom would she be called to minister? I’m not exactly sure, but I do know that she is still at work through her books that continue to be read, and that she is always on the side of more curiosity, more compassion, more choice.

 

Photo by Don Hicks.

Charlotte Jones Voiklis is Madeleine L’Engle’s granddaughter and executor of her estate. She is the co-author with Jennifer Adams of A Book, Too, Can Be a Star (October 2022), a picture book biography illustrated by Adelina Lirius; and, with her sister, Léna Roy, of Becoming Madeleine (2018), a biography for middle grade readers. Charlotte has also written and spoken of her grandmother’s work to a variety of audiences. With a PhD in Comparative Literature, Charlotte’s work experience includes teaching and grant making. She is a volunteer mediator.

by Jessica Kantrowitz

Well, dear ones, 2022 has been a bit of a year already, hasn’t it? I’m not going to write, here, about all the things that have been going on, in the world, in America, in my own small circles, but I will say that it is a lot. I don’t know anyone who isn’t reeling from the steady stream of bad news—epidemiologically, politically, and otherwise. It’s overwhelming and exhausting. Many of us are burnt out, or well beyond burnt out. Many of us are angry and outraged. Anger is an entirely rational, appropriate response to so many of the things happening in the world right now.

But it’s not the only appropriate response.

If you’re like me, you’ve probably heard the expression, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.” It’s so ubiquitous these days that my Googling attempts to find the original author just came up with pages and pages of unattributed quotes. (But let me know if you know!) And if you’re here at the Madeleine L’Engle blog, you’re most likely familiar with the quote from A Wrinkle in Time:

“Stay angry, little Meg,” Mrs Whatsit whispered. “You will need all your anger now.”

But is anger the only byproduct of paying attention? I don’t know. I think paying attention can trigger all manner of emotions and reactions. Fear, overwhelm, sorrow, hopelessness—even joy and hope. Anger is a useful motivator, sure, but all our feelings tell us something, give us insight into ourselves and the world around us.

If you feel angry—that’s appropriate! If you feel despair—that makes sense. If you feel joy because you’ve worked so hard to heal your mental health and are finally in a good place, and cannot let yourself be pulled into that pit again, even by national crisis—that’s valid. Joyful people can work for change, too. Sad people can make a difference in the world. Angry people can use their anger as fuel—but there are other fuels, too.

When Mrs. Whatsit told Meg to stay angry, that was because that was Meg’s particular weakness-turned-strength. It was what she told Meg the first time Meg went to Camazotz, and it was in contrast to what her principal, Mr. Jenkins had said to her when she got in trouble at school:

“Try to be a little bit less antagonistic. Maybe your work would improve if you were a little more tractable.

If you’re not familiar with the somewhat old-fashioned word tractable it means, “easy to control or influence.” This, Mr. Jenkins said, would help her get along at school, but it was the exact opposite of what she would need to resist the mind control of the evil being IT. Meg’s anger and intractability were seen, by her teachers and herself, as faults, but Mrs Whatsit gave them back to her as a gift:

“Meg, I give you your faults.”

“My faults!” Meg cried.

“Your faults.”

Meg’s anger, her antagonism, her intractability (all things, incidentally, that women are told much more frequently than men are their faults) were her gifts.

But those were the gifts given to Meg, not to Calvin, or Charles Wallace, or to Mrs. Murry or Mr. Murry, or the twins. Calvin was given his ability to communicate, and Charles Wallace was given the resilience of his childhood. Mr. and Mrs. Murry, and the twins Sandy and Dennys weren’t explicitly given gifts, but we see them play out in the series: Mrs. Murry’s quiet patience and trust, Mr. Murry’s willingness to risk his life for what he believes in, Sandy and Dennys’ loyalty and dependability. You and I might be given something else, a particular talent, or hard-won wisdom, or a different fault-turned-strength. Anger at injustice is a gift, but there are other gifts. Perhaps the most important thing we can do is acknowledge our feelings without judgment, to let them tell us what they’re there to tell us.

Author and therapist Krispin Mayfield recently tweeted:

“In unhealthy families, certain emotions aren’t allowed. We have to choose between connection with our parent OR expressing anger, sadness, worry (whatever emotion isn’t allowed). The same often happens in churches, & with good reason, we end up believing the same about God.”

But what if all emotions were allowed, and even welcomed, in our families, in our communities, in our churches and mosques and synagogues? What if our weaknesses were our strengths, both individually and because we supported and complemented each other in community?

When Meg goes to face IT for the second time, to save her beloved little brother, Mrs Who quotes the King James Bible (1 Corinthians, though she doesn’t give a reference):

But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty; And base things of the world, and things which are despised, hath God chosen, yea, and things which are not, to bring to nought things that are.

The more we pay attention in our lives, the more we realize this to be true, that the weak things have strength the mighty things don’t understand, that when we look for where God is moving, where the energy and hope is, we have to look among the marginalized, among the despised, among those left out and forgotten, and not among those with power and privilege. We pay attention and we get angry, or we pay attention and we get sad, or we pay attention and we feel numb and overwhelmed, or we pay attention and we compartmentalize and allow ourselves to be renewed by hope and joy. We pay attention, and we let ourselves feel what we feel.

And then, angry, scared, grieving, joyful, overwhelmed, hope-filled, despairing, intractable—we work together to make the world a better place.

 

Jessica Kantrowitz

Jessica Kantrowitz is the author of several books of prose and poetry, including The Long Night and 365 Days of Peace, and the creator of the Finding Your Voice Writing Workshop (next one starts October 7!). She lives in Boston in the fall (and in the other seasons, too, but fall’s her favorite). More at www.jessicakantrowitz.com.