Barbara L. Talcroft
A Wrinkle in Time (Time Quintet Series #1)by Madeleine L'Engle
It was a dark and stormy night; Meg Murry, her small brother Charles Wallace, and her mother had come down to the kitchen for a midnight snack when they were upset by the arrival of a most disturbing stranger.
"Wild nights are my glory," the unearthly stranger told them. "I just got caught in a downdraft and blown off course. Let me sit down for a moment, and/p>… See more details below
It was a dark and stormy night; Meg Murry, her small brother Charles Wallace, and her mother had come down to the kitchen for a midnight snack when they were upset by the arrival of a most disturbing stranger.
"Wild nights are my glory," the unearthly stranger told them. "I just got caught in a downdraft and blown off course. Let me sit down for a moment, and then I'll be on my way. Speaking of ways, by the way, there is such a thing as a tesseract."
A tesseract (in case the reader doesn't know) is a wrinkle in time. To tell more would rob the reader of the enjoyment of Miss L'Engle's unusual book. A Wrinkle in Time, winner of the Newbery Medal in 1963, is the story of the adventures in space and time of Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin O'Keefe (athlete, student, and one of the most popular boys in high school). They are in search of Meg's father, a scientist who disappeared while engaged in secret work for the government on the tesseract problem.
A Wrinkle in Time is the winner of the 1963 Newbery Medal.
Barbara L. Talcroft
Read an Excerpt
A Wrinkle in Time
By Madeleine L'engle
Farrar, Straus and GirouxCopyright © 1962 Crosswicks, Ltd.
All rights reserved.
It was a dark and stormy night.
In her attic bedroom Margaret Murry, wrapped in an old patchwork quilt, sat on the foot of her bed and watched the trees tossing in the frenzied lashing of the wind. Behind the trees clouds scudded frantically across the sky. Every few moments the moon ripped through them, creating wraithlike shadows that raced along the ground.
The house shook.
Wrapped in her quilt, Meg shook.
She wasn't usually afraid of weather.—It's not just the weather, she thought.—It's the weather on top of everything else. On top of me. On top of Meg Murry doing everything wrong.
School. School was all wrong. She'd been dropped down to the lowest section in her grade. That morning one of her teachers had said crossly, "Really, Meg, I don't understand how a child with parents as brilliant as yours are supposed to be can be such a poor student. If you don't manage to do a little better you'll have to stay back next year."
During lunch she'd rough-housed a little to try to make herself feel better, and one of the girls said scornfully, "After all, Meg, we aren't grammar-school kids anymore. Why do you always act like such a baby?"
And on the way home from school, walking up the road with her arms full of books, one of the boys had said something about her "dumb baby brother." At this she'd thrown the books on the side of the road and tackled him with every ounce of strength she had, and arrived home with her blouse torn and a big bruise under one eye.
Sandy and Dennys, her ten-year-old twin brothers, who got home from school an hour earlier than she did, were disgusted. "Let us do the fighting when it's necessary," they told her.
—A delinquent, that's what I am, she thought grimly.—That's what they'll be saying next. Not Mother. But Them. Everybody Else. I wish Father—
But it was still not possible to think about her father without the danger of tears. Only her mother could talk about him in a natural way, saying, "When your father gets back—"
Gets back from where? And when? Surely her mother must know what people were saying, must be aware of the smugly vicious gossip. Surely it must hurt her as it did Meg. But if it did she gave no outward sign. Nothing ruffled the serenity of her expression.
—Why can't I hide it, too? Meg thought. Why do I always have to show everything?
The window rattled madly in the wind, and she pulled the quilt close about her. Curled up on one of her pillows a gray fluff of kitten yawned, showing its pink tongue, tucked its head under again, and went back to sleep.
Everybody was asleep. Everybody except Meg. Even Charles Wallace, the "dumb baby brother," who had an uncanny way of knowing when she was awake and unhappy, and who would come, so many nights, tiptoeing up the attic stairs to her—even Charles Wallace was asleep.
How could they sleep? All day on the radio there had been hurricane warnings. How could they leave her up in the attic in the rickety brass bed, knowing that the roof might be blown right off the house, and she tossed out into the wild night sky to land who knows where?
Her shivering grew uncontrollable.
—You asked to have the attic bedroom, she told herself savagely.—Mother let you have it because you're the oldest. It's a privilege, not a punishment.
"Not during a hurricane, it isn't a privilege," she said aloud. She tossed the quilt down on the foot of the bed, and stood up. The kitten stretched luxuriously, and looked up at her with huge, innocent eyes.
"Go back to sleep," Meg said. "Just be glad you're a kitten and not a monster like me." She looked at herself in the wardrobe mirror and made a horrible face, baring a mouthful of teeth covered with braces. Automatically she pushed her glasses into position, ran her fingers through her mouse-brown hair, so that it stood wildly on end, and let out a sigh almost as noisy as the wind.
The wide wooden floorboards were cold against her feet. Wind blew in the crevices about the window frame, in spite of the protection the storm sash was supposed to offer. She could hear wind howling in the chimneys. From all the way downstairs she could hear Fortinbras, the big black dog, starting to bark. He must be frightened, too. What was he barking at? Fortinbras never barked without reason.
Suddenly she remembered that when she had gone to the post office to pick up the mail she'd heard about a tramp who was supposed to have stolen twelve sheets from Mrs. Buncombe, the constable's wife. They hadn't caught him, and maybe he was heading for the Murrys' house right now, isolated on a back road as it was; and this time maybe he'd be after more than sheets. Meg hadn't paid much attention to the talk about the tramp at the time, because the postmistress, with a sugary smile, had asked if she'd heard from her father lately.
She left her little room and made her way through the shadows of the main attic, bumping against the ping-pong table.—Now I'll have a bruise on my hip on top of everything else, she thought.
Next she walked into her old dolls' house, Charles Wallace's rocking horse, the twins' electric trains. "Why must everything happen to me?" She demanded of a large teddy bear.
At the foot of the attic stairs she stood still and listened. Not a sound from Charles Wallace's room on the right. On the left, in her parents' room, not a rustle from her mother sleeping alone in the great double bed. She tiptoed down the hall and into the twins' room, pushing again at her glasses as though they could help her to see better in the dark. Dennys was snoring. Sandy murmured something about baseball and subsided. The twins didn't have any problems. They weren't great students, but they weren't bad ones, either. They were perfectly content with a succession of B's and an occasional A or C. They were strong and fast runners and good at games, and when cracks were made about anybody in the Murry family, they weren't made about Sandy and Dennys.
She left the twins' room and went on downstairs, avoiding the creaking seventh step. Fortinbras had stopped barking. It wasn't the tramp this time, then. Fort would go on barking if anybody was around.
—But suppose the tramp does come? Suppose he has a knife? Nobody lives near enough to hear if we screamed and screamed and screamed. Nobody'd care, anyhow.
—I'll make myself some cocoa, she decided.—That'll cheer me up, and if the roof blows off at least I won't go off with it.
In the kitchen a light was already on, and Charles Wallace was sitting at the table drinking milk and eating bread and jam. He looked very small and vulnerable sitting there alone in the big old-fashioned kitchen, a blond little boy in faded blue Dr. Dentons, his feet swinging a good six inches above the floor.
"Hi," he said cheerfully. "I've been waiting for you."
From under the table where he was lying at Charles Wallace's feet, hoping for a crumb or two, Fortinbras raised his slender dark head in greeting to Meg, and his tail thumped against the floor. Fortinbras had arrived on their doorstep, a half-grown puppy, scrawny and abandoned, one winter night. He was, Meg's father had decided, part Llewellyn setter and part greyhound, and he had a slender, dark beauty that was all his own.
"Why didn't you come up to the attic?" Meg asked her brother, speaking as though he were at least her own age. "I've been scared stiff."
"Too windy up in that attic of yours," the little boy said. "I knew you'd be down. I put some milk on the stove for you. It ought to be hot by now."
How did Charles Wallace always know about her? How could he always tell? He never knew—or seemed to care—what Dennys or Sandy were thinking. It was his mother's mind, and Meg's, that he probed with frightening accuracy.
Was it because people were a little afraid of him that they whispered about the Murrys' youngest child, who was rumored to be not quite bright? "I've heard that clever people often have subnormal children," Meg had once overheard. "The two boys seem to be nice, regular children, but that unattractive girl and the baby boy certainly aren't all there."
It was true that Charles Wallace seldom spoke when anybody was around, so that many people thought he'd never learned to talk. And it was true that he hadn't talked at all until he was almost four. Meg would turn white with fury when people looked at him and clucked, shaking their heads sadly.
"Don't worry about Charles Wallace, Meg," her father had once told her. Meg remembered it very clearly because it was shortly before he went away. "There's nothing the matter with his mind. He just does things in his own way and in his own time."
"I don't want him to grow up to be dumb like me," Meg had said.
"Oh, my darling, you're not dumb," her father answered. "You're like Charles Wallace. Your development has to go at its own pace. It just doesn't happen to be the usual pace."
"How do you know?" Meg had demanded. "How do you know I'm not dumb? Isn't it just because you love me?"
"I love you, but that's not what tells me. Mother and I've given you a number of tests, you know."
Yes, that was true. Meg had realized that some of the "games" her parents played with her were tests of some kind, and that there had been more for her and Charles Wallace than for the twins. "IQ tests, you mean?"
"Yes, some of them."
"Is my IQ okay?"
"More than okay."
"What is it?"
"That I'm not going to tell you. But it assures me that both you and Charles Wallace will be able to do pretty much whatever you like when you grow up to yourselves. You just wait till Charles Wallace starts to talk. You'll see."
How right he had been about that, though he himself had left before Charles Wallace began to speak, suddenly, with none of the usual baby preliminaries, using entire sentences. How proud he would have been!
"You'd better check the milk," Charles Wallace said to Meg now, his diction clearer and cleaner than that of most five-year-olds. "You know you don't like it when it gets a skin on top."
"You put in more than twice enough milk." Meg peered into the saucepan.
Charles Wallace nodded serenely. "I thought Mother might like some."
"I might like what?" a voice said, and there was their mother standing in the doorway.
"Cocoa," Charles Wallace said. "Would you like a liverwurst-and-cream-cheese sandwich? I'll be happy to make you one."
"That would be lovely," Mrs. Murry said, "but I can make it myself if you're busy."
"No trouble at all." Charles Wallace slid down from his chair and trotted over to the refrigerator, his pajamaed feet padding softly as a kitten's. "How about you, Meg?" he asked. "Sandwich?"
"Yes, please," she said. "But not liverwurst. Do we have any tomatoes?"
Charles Wallace peered into the crisper. "One. All right if I use it on Meg, Mother?"
"To what better use could it be put?" Mrs. Murry smiled. "But not so loud, please, Charles. That is, unless you want the twins downstairs, too."
"Let's be exclusive," Charles Wallace said. "That's my new word for the day.
Impressive, isn't it?"
"Prodigious," Mrs. Murry said. "Meg, come let me look at that bruise."
Meg knelt at her mother's feet. The warmth and light of the kitchen had relaxed her so that her attic fears were gone. The cocoa steamed fragrantly in the saucepan; geraniums bloomed on the window sills and there was a bouquet of tiny yellow chrysanthemums in the center of the table. The curtains, red, with a blue and green geometrical pattern, were drawn, and seemed to reflect their cheerfulness throughout the room. The furnace purred like a great, sleepy animal; the lights glowed with steady radiance; outside, alone in the dark, the wind still battered against the house, but the angry power that had frightened Meg while she was alone in the attic was subdued by the familiar comfort of the kitchen. Underneath Mrs. Murry's chair Fortinbras let out a contented sigh.
Mrs. Murry gently touched Meg's bruised cheek. Meg looked up at her mother, half in loving admiration, half in sullen resentment. It was not an advantage to have a mother who was a scientist and a beauty as well. Mrs. Murry's flaming red hair, creamy skin, and violet eyes with long dark lashes, seemed even more spectacular in comparison with Meg's outrageous plainness. Meg's hair had been passable as long as she wore it tidily in braids. When she went into high school it was cut, and now she and her mother struggled with putting it up, but one side would come out curly and the other straight, so that she looked even plainer than before.
"You don't know the meaning of moderation, do you, my darling?" Mrs. Murry asked. "A happy medium is something I wonder if you'll ever learn. That's a nasty bruise the Henderson boy gave you. By the way, shortly after you'd gone to bed his mother called up to complain about how badly you'd hurt him. I told her that since he's a year older and at least twenty-five pounds heavier than you are, I thought I was the one who ought to be doing the complaining. But she seemed to think it was all your fault."
"I suppose that depends on how you look at it," Meg said. "Usually no matter what happens people think it's my fault, even if I have nothing to do with it at all. But I'm sorry I tried to fight him. It's just been an awful week. And I'm full of bad feeling."
Mrs. Murry stroked Meg's shaggy head. "Do you know why?"
"I hate being an oddball," Meg said. "It's hard on Sandy and Dennys, too. I don't know if they're really like everybody else, or if they're just able to pretend they are. I try to pretend, but it isn't any help."
"You're much too straightforward to be able to pretend to be what you aren't," Mrs. Murry said. "I'm sorry, Meglet. Maybe if Father were here he could help you, but I don't think I can do anything till you've managed to plow through some more time. Then things will be easier for you. But that isn't much help right now, is it?"
"Maybe if I weren't so repulsive-looking—maybe if I were pretty like you—"
"Mother's not a bit pretty; she's beautiful," Charles Wallace announced, slicing liverwurst. "Therefore I bet she was awful at your age."
"How right you are," Mrs. Murry said. "Just give yourself time, Meg."
"Lettuce on your sandwich, Mother?" Charles Wallace asked.
He cut the sandwich into sections, put it on a plate, and set it in front of his mother. "Yours'll be along in just a minute, Meg. I think I'll talk to Mrs Whatsit about you."
"Who's Mrs Whatsit?" Meg asked.
"I think I want to be exclusive about her for a while," Charles Wallace said. "Onion salt?"
"What's Mrs Whatsit stand for?" Mrs. Murry asked.
"That's her name," Charles Wallace answered. "You know the old shingled house back in the woods that the kids won't go near because they say it's haunted? That's where they live."
"Mrs Whatsit and her two friends. I was out with Fortinbras a couple of days ago—you and the twins were at school, Meg. We like to walk in the woods, and suddenly he took off after a squirrel and I took off after him and we ended up by the haunted house, so I met them by accident, as you might say."
"But nobody lives there," Meg said.
"Mrs Whatsit and her friends do. They're very enjoyable."
"Why didn't you tell me about it before?" Mrs. Murry asked. "And you know you're not supposed to go off our property without permission, Charles."
"I know," Charles said. "That's one reason I didn't tell you. I just rushed off after Fortinbras without thinking. And then I decided, well, I'd better save them for an emergency, anyhow."
A fresh gust of wind took the house and shook it, and suddenly the rain began to lash against the windows.
"I don't think I like this wind," Meg said nervously.
"We'll lose some shingles off the roof, that's certain," Mrs. Murry said. "But this house has stood for almost two hundred years and I think it will last a little longer, Meg. There's been many a high wind up on this hill."
"But this is a hurricane!" Meg wailed. "The radio kept saying it was a hurricane!"
"It's October," Mrs. Murry told her. "There've been storms in October before."
As Charles Wallace gave Meg her sandwich Fortinbras came out from under the table. He gave a long, low growl, and they could see the dark fur slowly rising on his back. Meg felt her own skin prickle.
"What's wrong?" she asked anxiously.
Fortinbras stared at the door that opened into Mrs. Murry's laboratory which was in the old stone dairy right off the kitchen. Beyond the lab a pantry led outdoors, though Mrs. Murry had done her best to train the family to come into the house through the garage door or the front door and not through her lab. But it was the lab door and not the garage door toward which Fortinbras was growling.
"You didn't leave any nasty-smelling chemicals cooking over a Bunsen burner, did you, Mother?" Charles Wallace asked.
Mrs. Murry stood up. "No. But I think I'd better go see what's upsetting Fort, anyhow."
"It's the tramp, I'm sure it's the tramp," Meg said nervously.
"What tramp?" Charles Wallace asked.
"They were saying at the post office this afternoon that a tramp stole all Mrs. Buncombe's sheets."
Excerpted from A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L'engle. Copyright © 1962 Crosswicks, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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this book is soo good. its such a heartwarming story and i just LOVE the ending. i can read this book over and over again for sure
I purchased this book for my granddaughter to read. She and I took turns reading the book to one another. We found it most delightful. We were able to vocalize the various parts and it was great fun. Great reading for all ages.
This classic tale of Meg and her brother Charles Wallace has been in my subconscious ever since I read it when I was a child. The themes of good versus evil, the hero being a young misfit girl who I could readily identify with, all gave me hope that I would one day be someone who could make a difference (although I didn't see how). This book is more than just a book - it is a message that "everything is going to be all right" without sugarcoating the evil that lurks outside and without hiding the fact that you, the next generation, is what has to fight it. A MUST READ for every YA reader. If it wasn't on my Nook, I'd sleep with it under my pillow.
I have read the entire series. It is so creative, well paced, adventurous, and absolutly AMAZING! Please buy it! You will be enthralled with it!
This book is truely unique, I must say. Reading the other reviews, I see it aint everyone's cup 'o tea. And that's completely acceptable! People have different tastes and intrests and I respect that. You cant judge this book by its covor, nor can you take one's word for it. This book took me to Meg's house and the planet Uri in surprising, beautiful detail. , its 100% Kid friendly, (For the moms reading this that are looking for appropriate books for their children to read) and very good Christain qualities. I wont give any of the bool away, but if you have your spiritual eyes open you can see those quallities right away. In other words, I personally loved it and I reccomend that one would at least give it a chance.
Just kidding; I still like Harry Potter. But Madeleine L'Engle is definately supieror when it comes to character development. Meg - the protagonist - is really likeable, and I also enjoy the evident closeness displayed between her and her brother Charles Wallace. I rmember reading this just barely out of Elementary - I loved it! I'm 20 now and have read it twice more since then and still enjoy it. Great for all ages and a perfect 5 stars!
This book was one of my favorites as a child and I re-read it as an adult as well as reading all of the companion books (A Wind in the Door, Swiftly Tilting Planet, etc.) I loved them both as a child and an adult. The characters show a whole range of personalities and struggles as well as character traits such as bravery and kindness.
I read "A Wrinkle in Time" first when i was in grade school...i loved it then..Now, almost 30 years later barnes&noble has a new edition on nook..bought it..still love it as much now as i did when i was a kid!
4th grade and up, all should read it, then re-read it every 10 years so you don't forget the importance of imagination in our lives to help us find new and better ways to use our gifts to serve others and create our own lives.
I loved the book when I read it. But its not a book that sticks in your mind. I watched the movie and I remember more but before the movie I only remember the basic and the parts that the kids in my class highlighted.
This book was ok, but the author had a whole bunch of confusing made-up words that were not in the dictionary, there were no pictures to show what was going on, and so much talking with nonsense words that it made it pretty boring. Don't waste your time and money and just don't buy it. You will probably not like it. I suggest spending your money on books that have real, understandable words.
I truely hated this and trust me im very open about books and try to find something ok with them but i couldn't with this book it is really boring i froced myself to read to the end if this is someones favortive it must only book they've ever read. PLEASE don't waste your time reading this book
this book is amazing. It's one of my favourites. would recommend to everyone.
This book made me think so much. My imagination ran wild!
I was so engrossed by this book and so empathized with the character of Meg that I think it really affected me for the rest of my life. The science-fiction fantasy element and the emotional heart of the book make it winning for readers who love adventure, and those looking for a warm-hearted family story. I must have read the book a dozen times as a child- and even as an adult, I'd love to curl up with it again. L'engle's imagination is nothing short of inspiring, and her characters win your heart.
The greatest part about this story is the lesson,be careful what you wish for,I don't want to ruin anything so I won't go into detail, but that is what I got out of the story.
I read this book for a project in school and it is wonderful. It has so many adventures and it is so exciting!
I enjoyed this book very much. It tells a story of three children, Meg and Charles Wallace are siblings, and their friend Calvin, who go on an adventure to find Meg's missing father. They are helped by three mysterious, though lovable characters, Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Who, and Mrs. Which, who turn out to be much more than they appear. I especially liked the quotations from famous figures from around the world that are frequently elucidated by the mysterious ladies. The story has an underlying theme of the power of love and the strength it gives us all to face the world around us.
I first read this book when I was 11 or 12 years old. From that moment I was hooked on science fiction. The science ideas touched on in this book were way ahead of their time and are still cutting-edge today.
My son brought the book home as required reading and it looked like a great read. And so it is! A very interesting, well spun story. However, the author purposely dethrones Jesus as the Son of God by mentioning him as a mere man just like other great men who have lived on this earth. We need to be careful to know what our children are being 'taught' even in fun and intriguing literature.
I read this book for the first time when I was ten, and it was one of the very first books I remember enjoying. Ten years later, I picked it up again, and while it brought me back to my childhood experience, re-reading also allowed me to see deeper into this book's themes, like the commentary it offers on communism. A Wrinkle in Time is a must-read for people of every age!
I LOVE this book. The plot's wonderful (I won't go into it because I destroy things when I try to summarize them and anyway you probably already know what it is). But I like the characters. Meg isn't quite accepted at her school. She's sort of an outcast, and I especially like that because I can relate to that. Much as I like Meg, though, I think my favorite character (at least of L'engle's works, if not in all the works I've read) is Calvin. He sort of masquerades as a 'beautiful person' - in with the popular crowd, basketball star, etc. But once we get to know him, he fits in more with the Murrys, who (for a lack of suitable words) just plain care more. Well, I may have ruined this attempt at a review...oh, well. It's a great book! Read it!
Do you know those books where you accidentally yell out loud to a character to run or hide because you are so tied into the book? The book, A Wrinkle In Time, is one of those books. The book started out with an unearthly stranger coming to visit the Wallaces house at midnight. The visitor was Mrs. Which. Most people thought she was a ghost who haunted the black house deep in the wood. She wanted to help Meg and Charles Wallaces find their missing father. The author, Madeleine L¿Engle, described setting, characters, and plot very detailed. It gave me a feeling that I was right there with them the whole time. Somehow it had the power to keep me reading the book rather than giving it up. At first, I agreed with what Meg and Charles were doing. But then I realized it was also a book with two endings. It all depends on what kind of personality you have. Some people choose one ending while others choose another. I did expect some surprising events toward the end. But it turned out to be a usual ending. The ending was just like those of other books.
My mom doesn't really like it when I write reviews about bad products but I will tell you the truth: this book was a disappointment. this is the first book by madeline l'engle i've read and because of this horrible book, I can assure you I won't read any more of her books. the books is plain stupid and confusing. I would never read a book like this. this book is insanely creepy and not good for young readers and too lame for older readers.
I WAS 8 WHEN I READ THIS WITH MY DAD! AND I MADE HIM READ IT AGAIN!