A Swiftly Tilting Planet
by Madeleine L’Engle
I’m spending a month away from home for work. I thought it would be lovely to listen to old favorites, and have whiled away many contented almost-sleeping hours listening to Louisa May Alcott and Elizabeth Enright. Then there was this. Which, don’t get me wrong, I love unreservedly. But in a strange place? In the middle of the night? There’s not a lot of sleeping going on.
This book conjures up my childhood, with the spectre of nuclear war, more cogently than nearly any other fiction I’ve read. L’Engle’s dialogue may be wooden, but her characters manage to overcome that and take up root in one’s psyche.
I can’t say anything objective about this, I don’t know why I even try.