I clearly remember the day my mom picked it up from a bookstore shelf and handed it to me, saying we should get it because I would probably like it. We were somewhere that had a bigger bookstore than our own mall, which was always exciting for me. (Yes, nerd, I know.) My mom was big on the Newbery  stickers, and was a big reader herself. The cover was totally unappealing, it must be said. It was this one:

THAT IS NOT MRS. WHATSIT, and that’s all I have to say.

There was a terrific op-ed by Pamela Paul in the New York Times last week that sums up perfectly what this book and Meg Murry did. Meg is one of the ultimate heroines for bookish girls: “Meg harbors doubts about her own intellectual abilities, and her exacting expectations rub off on the reader. If anything, the book enchants readers who might not entirely grasp its concepts with the delight in not knowing; the realization that even the most know-it-all kids do not, in fact, have all the answers and that certain questions are worth asking.”

And that was one of the important things for me, for sure. But perhaps more what this book did for me was make real life–science–magical. I have always been a fantasy reader, and I read a lot of ghost stories in this era of my reading life, too. And suddenly, Madeleine L’Engle showed me tesseracts, and what existing in the second dimension might be like, and added onto it Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which, plus the idea that a star might sacrifice itself to save us all from darkness. And the idea that like and equal are not the same thing.  In Anna Quindlen’s introduction to one of the newer editions, she mentions the “fiction of science.” Perhaps that’s what I truly responded to as a kid–and still do now–that fiction, science, and magic…they are all the same thing.

In this world that Madeleine L’Engle created, too, it’s okay to be bright; unapologetically, incredibly brilliant, regardless of your age, and the adults treat the children and teenagers as intellectual equals. The dangers and difficulties are brutal and harsh. Nothing is softened for anyone, no matter his or her age. Truths are told. And they must be faced. At the celebration of Wrinkle in Time‘s anniversary this weekend, one of the many pithy things said was that Madeleine L’Engle believed that we must dare to disturb the universe. A video interview of Ms. L’Engle was shown, and she also said in it, “A good story always teaches something, but not if you plan to. It has to happen.” She knew how to do that, because she gave us Meg, in all her faults, and in all her love for the other characters, and she gave us a journey to go on with Meg.

In her Newbery speech, Madeleine L’Engle says, “A book, too, can be star, ‘explosive material, capable of stirring up fresh life endlessly,’ a living fire to lighten the darkness, leading out into the expanding universe.”

Her book certainly expanded mine.

For instance, you could go over to the Greenwillow blog for a short video from Chris Crutcher, who knows a thing or two about having books challenged in schools and libraries. You could follow the #speakloudly conversation on twitter or visit SpeakLoudly.org, where teachers, librarians, bloggers, and authors (including Greenwillow’s own David Macinnis Gill) are speaking out against censorhip. You can go to BannedBooksWeek.org to see a map of all the reported challenges in the US between 2007 and 2010.

And you can visit the amazing Leah Clifford’s blog for the reminder that everyone is allowed to Speak Loudly, even those we don’t necessarily agree with, and the also fantastic Veronica Roth’s blog for another thoughtful perspective.

What do I think about during Banned Books Week? I think about how lucky I am to have grown up in a house where reading was encouraged. No, more than encouraged. Both of my parents are readers, though we have pretty different tastes. So there was always room for reading in my home. Curled up on the couch, in my room, at the kitchen table, in the yard, in the car, at my grandparents’, on vacations, even while we waited to be seated when we went out to dinner. Every week, I got $5 after piano lessons in the mall music store and went directly to the Walden books to spend it.

And despite having two overprotective parents (Seriously. I’ve never had a broken bone–no, not even a finger or toe–or stitches, or anything.), I was always, always allowed to read whatever I wanted. Because my parents knew that books open up the world. And they knew that they were raising good kids who would ask them questions when they needed to. They knew that discussion was better than taking something away.

I have learned so much, throughout my life, from books that are frequently challenged. From A Wrinkle in Time, I learned that science is incredible and that family never lets you down; from Bridge to Terabithia, I saw how important imagination and friendship is, and one way to cope when a loved one is lost; from Of Mice and Men that you really do have to be careful if you don’t know your own strength and you’re holding something cuddly; from A Light in the Attic that I loved poetry; and so much more.

That’s what I want to celebrate during Banned Books Week: that every child, teenager, parent, librarian, and teacher can choose to read the books that speak to them, and that they want to speak about.

And that authors will have the freedom to keep writing the books that we all need.

My Heart Is like a Zoo by Michael Hall.

Or, for something a little more on the silly side, check out:

And I thought of that reading experience this weekend after walking through some of the exhibits at the Morgan Library. The museum has a fantastic, if small, exhibit on Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, which includes original art and handwritten original manuscripts. (Undeniably amazing.) But it also has a Gutenberg Bible, letters and original manuscript pages from the likes of Dickens, Eliot, and Hemingway, and a number of illuminated prayer books and bibles. At the end of the summer, I also went to an illuminated manuscript exhibit at the Met which blew my mind a little bit.

Standing in front of a book that’s a thousand years old–a thousand years old–with an eReader and a blackberry in my bag made my brain want to implode. That’s a millenia of ways to read all within a few square feet. And those centuries-old books are so full of craft. People spent years and years perfecting their skills to make those books. The calligraphy, the artwork, the bookbinding, papermaking . . . it’s a work of art. One that you can tell a person, or many people, put care and attention and love into. All books are works of art, even today. Care goes into the choosing of typeface, the layout, design, presentation. Every single detail is taken into account.

The lack of physical presence is one of my worries about ebooks. And that’s not to say that I don’t like ebooks, or digital books, or whatever is currently developing. I think it’s exciting and interesting and part of the future of reading. But have we figured out the craft of creating them yet? Right now, they seem more about convenience and availability, not design or art. A good story is a good story no matter how it’s presented, but a good package makes the reading experience even better. None of the digital readers are what I’d call beautiful yet. (Ok, maybe the iPhone is the exception here.) But I think we’ll get there, so that reading a digital book has the same physical presence, evokes the same sensory memory that reading The Secret Garden–and so many other books–has always had for me.

And this bit from the very end hits poignantly on the sentiment that makes me feel sure that, however much publishing and books may change with the advances of technology, they’ll always be needed.

“We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort.
And that is why we write.”

In one of my (long ago) college critical theory classes, we talked about the idea of all authors having an antenna that is always on, always picking up signals from the wider world. This has always stuck with me. Authors have finely tuned observational powers, which always astonish me, and sometimes they are able to observe more than what they can see/hear/smell/taste/touch. Sometimes their observations stretch into that cloud. That’s how some elements and themes can end up in a work even when the author may not consciously intend it. And how there are certain themes that a number of different authors end up writing about at the same time. The most noticed recent example is probably the Kristin Cashore and Suzanne Collins books. Graceling and The Hunger Games both had characters with similar names (Katsa and Katniss), who had to confront killing other characters in the course of their stories. And now, the companion/sequel to each has the word “fire” in it. It’s odd coincidences like these that make me believe in the cloud. I see it often in submissions, too. It’s always interesting to get a number of submissions from different kinds of writers, who are all in different parts of the countries and writing about different characters and plots, that somehow have intersecting elements.

To me, that’s the magical part of writing. Somewhere out there, invisible to the rest of us, all of these stories exist, all of these ideas, emotions, and people whom we readers need to help us make sense of the world, of life, even when we might not know exactly what we needed. And authors are tapping into that cloud, giving those stories to us, maybe sometimes without even being aware of it themselves. It’s a pretty amazing gift, if you ask me.

2. What book do you own the most copies of?
I have two of a few books (“good” copies and lending copies). But I get attached to the copy I read (yes, I mark my favorite lines/passages, and sometimes write notes in margins), so I don’t usually feel the need to buy multiples of books.

3. What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
I’m not very secretive at all about my fictional crushes, as evidenced by my previous post about them.

4. What book have you read more than any other?
Well…the books I’ve edited. But besides those, probably Matilda by Roald Dahl, Beauty by Robin McKinley, and the aforementioned Alanna books.

5. What was your favorite book when you were 10 years old?
See last answer. That’s why they’re the ones I’ve read most!

6. What is the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
I was very disappointed by Breaking Dawn, I must say.

7. What is the best book you’ve read in the past year?
You mean besides the ones I’ve worked on again, right?

I loved Graceling by Kristin Cashore, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, Paper Towns by John Green, Asta in the Wings by Jan Elizabeth Watson, Jellicoe Road by Melina Marchetta, The President’s Daughter by Ellen Emerson White, and Spook by Mary Roach.

8. If you could tell everyone you tagged to read one book, what would it be?
Oh, my. Criss Cross by Lynne Rae Perkins or Megan Whalen Turner’s books.

9. What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
Hm. That depends what “difficult” means. Ulysses by Jame Joyce was one of the most challenging books I’ve ever read, but it also teaches you how to read it as you go, so I never felt overwhelmed by it, and it’s so, so, so rewarding in the end. The first Octavian Nothing by M. T. Anderson was the hardest for me to get through because it’s just not the book for me.

10. Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
I feel pretty indifferent to both, actually.

11. Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Shakespeare. I’m a theatre dork.

12. Austen or Eliot?
Austen.

13. What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
I’ve got big gaps in my reading of the canon. Like, I’ve never read 1984, Catcher in the Rye, Kurt Vonnegut, On the Road…

14. What is your favorite novel?
For reals? I can’t answer that.

15. What is your favorite play?
Hard one! Reckless by Craig Lucas, Private Lives by Noel Coward, The Real Thing by Tom Stoppard.

16. What is your favorite poem?

Many of a college friend of mine, who is yet to be published. I love very short, evocative poems that capture specific moments and feelings.
17. What is your favorite essay?
I don’t know that I have one, though I quite like reading them.

18. What is your favorite short story?
I adored Karen Russell’s collection St. Lucy’s Home for Girls Raised by Wolves.

19. What is your favorite non-fiction?
Dear Genius, edited by Leonard Marcus.

20. What is your favorite graphic novel?
I’m not widely read in graphic novels, but I really liked American Born Chinese and To Dance and Robot Dreams.

21. What is your favorite science fiction?
The Hunger Games

22. Who is your favorite writer?
Way, way, way too many to try to pick one. Writers are tremendously creative and talented and amazing people.

23. Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
I’m not a Dan Brown fan, but plenty of people are. I don’t like calling writers overrated. They work so hard, and there are so many readers with such widely varying tastes.

24. What are you reading right now?
The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai.
25. Best memoir?
I can’t remember the last memoir I read!

26. Best history?
I have to be honest, I don’t enjoy reading history. I like biographies, and nonfiction in general, but history often is presented too dryly for me. I’d love suggestions for one that I might like, though!

27. Best mystery or noir?
The Westing Game

The novels that have struck me most are The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau-Banks, The Forest of Hands and Teeth, and Graceling. I really liked them all for their strong female characters and their approaches to how these young women see their choices. In Disreputable History, Frankie has to deal with getting the guy she’s had a crush on, but him not seeing all of her, seeing her only as adorable, rather than the brilliant, challenging person she is. She has the thought in one situation, reflecting on how she’s proud of herself for confronting someone, “At least I wasn’t someone’s little sister, someone’s girlfriend, some sophomore, some girl–someone whose opinions don’t matter.” And later, “She will not be simple and sweet. She will not be what people tell her she should be.” In The Forest of Hands and Teeth, Mary lives in a world overrun by zombies, where humans are only safe in a fenced off village. But Mary’s heard of the ocean, and believes in it, wants to find it. She, too, ends up struggling with her love for a boy and her wish to see the ocean, to believe that more exists outside their fences. “Ever since that day on the hill, ever since he promised he would come for me, this was always supposed to be our dream, together. It was never supposed to be about having to choose one or the other,” she says at one point. It’s fantastic that teens have strong characters like Frankie and Mary who are confronting these sorts of conflicts, so that readers can see how these young women decide, deal with it. So that they see that being conflicted like that is okay. That they shouldn’t lose themselves for someone else. The only quibble I have is: why does it have to be a choice? Why can’t they be true to themselves and their dreams and have love? Of course, maybe the key there is that neither Mary nor Frankie have met the right guys, the ones that get them, and really see them. Which is part of what I adore about Graceling. Katsa has the same trouble– “She loved Po. She wanted Po. And she could never be anybody’s but her own.”–but she finds a way to have both. She’s able to remain thoroughly herself, but also to love and be loved, however unconventionally.

Katsa reminds me a little of Alanna from Tamora Pierce’s Song of the Lioness quartet (which have been my favorite books since I was ten) in how she reconciles having her freedom and her love. The Alanna books were among the first of the “kickass girl” books, in which the hero is a girl, not a boy, along with Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword and The Hero and the Crown. So, twenty-ish years later, and there are many, many more books showing girls as heroes, as strong, independent people. But still facing the same choices and problems. I’d like to think that these days, though, these aren’t feminist issues, but people issues. And I do think there are boy books about the same themes.

you take it off
of course you take it off
it doesn’t worry you
it isn’t your shoe

-Naomi Shihab Nye