I FINISHED A BOOK.
It only took me a month. And it was a graphic novel . . . adaptation . . . of a children's book.
A Wrinkle in Time seems to have played a prominent role in my generation's collective childhood. I, personally, was convinced that I WAS Meg Murray. I had mousy brownish/blondish hair. I wore glasses (more accurately, I was prescribed glasses that my mom purchased and that I promptly stored in a junk drawer). I was grievously misunderstood by my peers. MY NAME WAS MEG.
In short, this book resonated with me when I was an overachieving member of the school orchestra whose favorite clothing item was a Mr. Bubble T-shirt and whose go-to hairstyle was Princess Leia buns. (WHY wasn't I more popular in middle school?)
But NOW? If this graphic novel adaptation is any indication of how my grown-up self connects with A Wrinkle in Time . . . not so much. And that's a giant bummer.
I already sort of talked about how I was disappointed that this adaptation wasn't designed to appeal to a more mature audience. That's not really a thing. I mean, it's a thing, but it's not a thing. Because I can definitely see what Hope Larson was going for by keeping the adaptation of a kids' classic in the realm of . . . well, kids.
No, my REAL problem with this is that I kiiiind of hated Meg.
|WOMAN I WILL SMACK YOU.|
Could this whiny, stubborn, impatient, childish girl really have been one of my most prominent literary role models? I know a lot of her faults were part of the character and part of the story---the overarching message being, "Embrace your faults because they are what make you a special snowflake who will one day save the world."
But Adult Me is not buying that malarkey. And maybe that's because I know Things about The World now.
|Thanks a LOT, World. You jerk.|
Something that DID remain exactly as I remembered? Calvin O'Keefe.