There really is so much to love about this book. The last one, in fact, plays a major role in the novel: our main character, Miranda (named for the Miranda Rights) adores Madeline L’Engle’s classic, preferring to carry around and read her beat-up copy rather than read the books with the spunky girls on the cover her teachers put in front of her. Frankweiler, The Westing Game, Harriet the Spy, and - most of all - A Wrinkle in Time. It has the feel of those books about precocious kids in the 1970s, books that I loved growing up: From The Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. There’s a sense of mystery, of charm, that is palpable, and you know whoever you hand the book to will absolutely love it, yet the book itself defies description. Once in a while a great book comes along, one that draws you in and yet will remain completely elusive when you try to tell others about it.
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