Originally when I bought this book, I had gotten it thinking that this would be a book on the nature of story exploring elements of truth. Instead, it was more of a memoir, with L’Engle sharing personal stories interspered with her thoughts on Christianity, and how the nature of story binds both. Don’t get me wrong–I liked it, but I wanted something more scholarly, not reflective. So that’s the only reason I’m marking it 2 stars.
That said, as always, L’Engle’s writing speaks to me. I found her words intensely comforting, since I was going through a rough patch. It was good to get her take on things. I will confess though, towards the end, it felt like she was repeating herself, and I felt it didn’t bring anything new to my mind on the nature of story. The periods where I wouldn’t read the book got longer and longer. At this point, I’m going to mark it unfinished and put it back on the bookcase, since I have other books to read.