Ever since I read Claire’s review of Two-Part Invention by Madeleine L’Engle (1988), I’ve been keen to read it. That was back in 2012, and I bought a copy while I was in Washington D.C. in 2015 – and have finally read it. Claire was right, of course, and I encourage you to go and read her wonderful review.
My only other experience with L’Engle is A Wrinkle in Time, and that put me off a little bit, because I didn’t like it at all – but my distaste for young adult science-fiction is weaker than my trust in Claire’s opinions. And Two-Part Invention could scarcely be any more different. For one, it is a memoir – in fact, the fourth in a series of memoirs, though I only learned that after I’d finished. In it, L’Engle largely focuses on her relationship with her husband, actor Hugh Franklin, flashing easily between their first meetings and their current experiences. Those experiences are dominated by a serious illness that Franklin is facing – this is no charming reminiscence. Often it is brutal, though undercut with the gentleness that is the keynote of L’Engle’s personality and style.
I love any book where a house is important, and Crosswicks is central to this memoir. It’s the New England farmhouse where L’Engle and Franklin lived for many years – sometimes splitting their time between it and New York, and sometimes becoming so immersed in the life of the small community that they ran the local shop. It’s where L’Engle is sitting while she writes Two-Part Invention, which has an almost diary-like feel at times. She is in the midst of her husband’s terrible illness, not knowing what the end of it will be – or even the next step. Parts are penned while they wait for individual diagnoses, as stepping stones either to or away from something disastrous.
On the other hand, she looks back to their meeting with somewhere between clear-sightedness and rose-tinted glasses. I suppose it’s the sepia of nostalgia that, even if it is scrupulously honest, cannot help being fond of those long-ago versions of oneself. I liked everything about this book, but I particularly enjoyed these sections. I find anything set in the theatrical world fascinating, fiction or non-fiction, and so I loved L’Engle’s memories of encountering the dashing leading man – and being surprised when he was interested in her, a bit-part player. One of the delightful things about Two-Part Invention is what I learned about American theatre of the mid-century:
Those of us on the lower rungs of the theatrical ladder were encouraged to work on scenes from other plays in order to develop our acting techniques. We were allowed to rehearse on-stage, although, because of the rigid rules of the stagehands’ union, we were not allowed to move any of the furniture. Occasionally we made bold to shove a table or chair out of the way, but we had to be sure we were not caught doing it (otherwise, the stagehands would have had to be paid), and we had to put whatever it was back in exactly the place from which we had taken it.
Two of my most interesting jobs in The Cherry Orchard were musical. At the end oft he first act I played a small lullaby on a recorder. It was necessary that I be in full costume and visible from at least one seat in the audience; otherwise, I would had to join the prohibitively expensive musicians’ union.
L’Engle doesn’t go into enormous detail about her writing career, though some of her books appear as milestones in other events, particularly her debut. It is a bit startling to see others appear in passing, when presumably they took a lot of time and energy to create, but I suppose L’Engle chose the thematic remit of the book – which is chiefly her relationship with her husband, and how that came to be and developed.
It might sound like the two strands of this memoir would be at odds – that the present-day waiting for test results and diagnoses might clash with the theatrical and romantic nostalgia. The brilliance of Two-Part Invention is that they flow in and out of each other so well. And I suppose that’s because they are connected by L’Engle’s love for her husband – both the memories and the current anxieties are founded on that depth and honesty of love that only comes from decades spent together, through thick and thin.
One of the things I found interesting in Claire’s review was that she was a little jolted by L’Engle’s writing about faith, though came to appreciate the way L’Engle wrote about it and the depth of intimacy that this brought. I was also a bit jolted by it – because it’s so rare to see people discuss their faith this freely and honestly. As a Christian, I of course loved seeing it – without the need to apologise or dampen it down. Very refreshing, and made the memoir feel all the more real and relatable to me. Perhaps I can’t relate to much in L’Engle’s life, but I can certainly relate to that.
Perhaps this wasn’t the perfect time to read this memoir, given that a pandemic isn’t an ideal world in which to read anything with a health crisis at the centre of it – and yet, despite the darkness that runs through the centre of this book, my main feeling coming from it is that it was beautiful to spend this time with L’Engle. It is like spending time with a good, honest, vulnerable friend – and I’ll certainly keep an eye out for the others in the series now.
I haven’t read any of L’Engle’s nonfiction! I read a ton of her fiction when I was younger, which I suspect is the sort of thing (like CS Lewis) that you have to read as a kid in order to enjoy as an adult; but I haven’t returned to that in years and years either. I remember that she was a person of strong faith, which has made me want to try her memoirs — like you, I have a hard time finding books that talk about faith in such an open way.
Yes, so many children’s books are like that – though I have had some success with ones I’ve only read as an adult, it is pretty infrequent.
I am obviously delighted to finally hear your thoughts on this and am so glad you enjoyed it! I’ve read two of her other Crosswicks Journals now and though this still stands out as the best they are also very absorbing. The Summer of the Great-Grandmother, about caring for L’Engle’s mother during the last summer of her life, is particularly moving.
All things come to those who wait :D
I’m so glad you enjoyed this. I think you’d get a lot out of L’Engle’s nonfiction in general because of how naturally she incorporates her faith. Beyond the journals, I’ve also enjoyed Bright Evening Star, a book about the Incarnation that I picked up one Advent season and know I’ll reread on Christmases to come. She wrote in so many genres that her oeuvre is a little intimidating. I haven’t particularly enjoyed her poetry (at least what was included in the 3rd Crosswicks book), but I’d like to try more of her fiction for children and adults. Like you, I didn’t love A Wrinkle in Time, at least not as a child — I think I just didn’t understand it; I loved fantasy but never got into SF. I’m rereading it now, though, and hoping to get more out of it.
Thanks so much for the recommendations!
Simon, one of her adult novels that you might like is A Severed Wasp. It’s about a renowned pianist who has just retired to New York and who becomes entangled with some of the clergy at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine (where L’Engle was librarian for many years). It’s one I return to again and again.
Two recommendations for that, perfect!
Just put in a request for the book at the library. Sounds amazing!
Lovely, hope you enjoy!
I’ve never been much into science fiction, and I don’t read YA, so I therefore never read Wrinkle – not then, and not now. But I had no idea she had written anything else (I thought of her as a type of Harper Lee writer – one book wonder. Of course, that wasn’t true, either).
Yes, I had no idea she was so prolific until I started getting these comments!
L’Engle might be my all-time favorite writer, and I especially love this book. You might enjoy Walking on Water, another of her nonfiction works. In that one she explores her ideas of how faith and creativity intersect. More interesting stories from her life in that one as well.
Ooo that does sound wonderful, thank you Lindsay.
I’m glad you enjoyed this. I had forgotten there was so much about her time in the theatre, a good connection for Reading the Theatre there! The one of the Crosswicks journals I’ve read over and over is the first one, A Circle of Quiet. It’s a wonderful mixture of thoughts about life, faith, and art.
Oh yes, I meant to align it with Reading the Theatre and forgot! I’m excited to try the others in the series.
What, if any, is the connection to J S Bach? That was my first thought when I saw the title.
Ah yes, she uses the idea of two-part invention as a metaphor for marriage.
I have read one or two of the Crosswicks books, and was very moved and absorbed by her graceful, thoughtful writing. Now I must see if I can find one of them in the mudroom. We keep buying them for 50 cents at the Planned Parenthood Book Sale, then weeding them, then buying them back again. There’s bound to be at least one of them around.
I loved A Wrinkle in Time long, long ago, but was really fondest of the Austin books, a series of realistic novels about Vicky Austin and her fascinating, intelligent family. Actually, the family is a lot like the one in A Wrinkle in Time! And I noticed one of the commenters recommended her adult novel, A Severed Wasp. I do think you would like it, if you ever get in the right mood. Her adult novels are a bit awkward, because she tries to fit almost too much in, but this is the best of them.
Thanks for writing about these books that I do want to rediscover!
Many thanks for the recommendation! Severed Wasp is such an intriguing title…
I loved all of her Diary books until I read that her children considered them “fiction.” I especially loved this one about her marriage. No pleasing the family, I guess! Very nice review.