I must remember that L’Engle was born in 1918. The character Polly, who narrates this book, is 16. Her creator is 50 years older. So while it is unlikely that a sixteen year old of Polly’s background, education and intelligence would think lesbianism belongs in the closet, a woman in her mid-sixties in the early nineteen-eighties probably would. For all that, the relationship between Max and Ursula is wonderful. Interesting that L’Engle portrays such a loving partnership while obviously feeling uncomfortable about it.

I was introduced to L'Engle's first three books (A Wrinkle in Time, A Wind in the Door, and A Swiftly Tilting Planet) as a student in jr. high school (7th or 8th grade) in the late 1970s. It left an impression of excitement from that point onward. I wanted to revisit them and read others in the L'Engle universe and reread them as an adult. They didn't disappoint. I think A Wrinkle In Time, A Wind in the Door, and A Swiftly Tilting Planet were tops out of others (Many Waters, An Acceptable Time, The Arm of the Starfish, Dragons in the Waters, and A House for a Lotus). This is the third book in the "O'Keefe Family" series...a generation after the Time Quintet series.

This one is a three because of L'Engle's writing style. It makes you want to read Shakespeare, listen to beautiful music, and travel to Greece.

However, it has problems. Polly is sexually molested by a dear friend of the same sex who is overcome by illness and alcohol. She is injured when running away and also afraid she'll be perceived as gay, so she eventually she calls her much older boyfriend with whom she has sex. While he at least tells her this was a mistake, it's statutory rape!

Every adult who finds out what happened, including the
boyfriend and Polly's uncle discourage her from ever telling her parents. The book is about learning to forgive her friend, Max, who is approaching death.

There's a lot to unpack here, especially with respect to sexual assault, grooming and CSA.

I want to preface my review by emphasizing that I do think it's possible to write a book where multiple grown adults make sexual advances toward a 16-year-old, the 16-year-old doesn't think the adults did anything wrong, and the narrative still makes it very clear that the adults were in the wrong even if the 16yo doesn't think so, because of power dynamics and grooming. This is not a book that successfully communicates "All of these people were in the wrong, not just the obviously creepy ones."

It's really seriously concerning to me that the narration seemingly makes excuses for these 20something aged men openly expressing to a 16 year old girl that they want to fuck her because she's "so mature" that they "forget" she's 16. If you're in your 20s and you "forget" someone's 16, that's a huge red flag for grooming.

What was L'Engle thinking when she wrote a scene where Polly, having run away from an attempted sexual assault and having been groped by a classmate hours later, tells Remy (sp) what happened and Remy wordlessly undresses her and thinks "now is the time to ~make love~ to Polly"... And the narrative presents this as a healing experience for Polly. Where she seems to dissociate.

(I'm not denying that sexual activity can be a healing experience after sexual assault, but at the bare minimum the person who had the trauma needs to independently communicate "I want to do this", the other person needs to constantly and explicitly check in and be ready to abruptly stop without judgment if the person with trauma dissociates or wants to stop for any reason, and they need to have some kind of aftercare and debriefing. And both people need to be near enough in age that there isn't a power dynamic where grooming is possible, like between a doctor doing his residency and a 16-year-old, or between a college junior and a high school junior.)

Even though Remy the next day says it was wrong of him to pursue Polly sexually, he blames Polly in a way and repeats that she's so Mature™ that he "forgot" she was a minor. The authorial commentary on this seems to be that it's a potentially valid excuse for sexual advances toward minors, and the narrative appears to want us to sympathize with Polly, who in that particular moment doesn't think Remy did anything wrong. I'm seriously questioning what L'Engle was thinking in this book ostensibly written for an intended audience of teens near Polly's age.

Zachary is much more forward with his intentions toward Polly but I worry that his function in the narrative was partly to make Remy look better. Zachary makes Polly feel uncomfortable and he repeatedly crosses boundaries in ways the narrative does hint are inappropriate, but the narrative doesn't seem to present Zachary's "I won't do anything you don't want me to" as a problem. It's a big problem when the responsibility is put fully on the recipient of sexual advances to stop unwanted ones, because it feeds into the idea that men are just unable to control themselves and if a man crosses a woman's boundary it's her fault for not stopping him. It's unclear if the authorial commentary actually disagrees with this, because it's made clear that Polly's classmate in the truck scene was being inappropriate, that it wasn't Polly's fault when Max attacked her, and that Zachary should stop hassling Polly about sex.

In the time L'Engle grew up, it was an established social script that in order to say yes to premarital sex, a woman would need to be coy and flirtily say no, but Zachary is interpreting Polly's discomfort (from her very recent trauma of three people making inappropriate or unwanted sexual advances toward her within the same 24 hour period, which she understandably doesn't want to describe to a guy who repeatedly expresses his annoyance at her saying she's not ready for sex with him) as her just being coy.

Zachary's sexual intentions toward Polly are also not presented as inappropriate even though he's implied to be like, 20? They're closer in age than Remy and Polly but there's still a power dynamic involved and their age difference is enough that Zachary knows he'd be breaking the law. No one but a groomer will compliment someone they're pursuing with "you're so mature for your age that I forget you're only 16."

I also found it very difficult to understand L'Engle's decision process for why everyone insists that Polly should forgive Max just because Max is a dying old woman who only tried to attack her when drunk, and Polly does just that in the end. The authorial commentary on this seems to be "drunk people aren't themselves" and "it's wrong to suddenly cut ties with a dying elderly person no matter what." I found it troubling that Ursula seemed to know that Max was a predator when drunk, and nothing in the narrative indicates that a reader should find it disturbing that everyone views Max as not responsible for her actions when drunk.

I also found it troubling that in the flashback Polly has to a time when a classmate exposed himself and assaulted her in the lunch line in elementary/middle school, Meg's response is to tell Polly the same thing happened to her and that there's nothing anyone could have done (uh, the boy could have NOT assaulted her). I know that at the time of publication, schools wouldn't have done anything , but it's so bleak and horrible that the authorial commentary here is that you have to accept it and move on, while the aggressor faces no consequences and isn't even told they need to respect boundaries. I can't imagine how a reader with CSA trauma before my time would have responded to this incredibly bleak outlook on how girls should expect their boundaries to be treated by boys, and by adults in their lives going forward, and that they just have to suffer through it and move on.

This whole book can be summed up as "At least four people fail to respect Polly's boundaries and bodily autonomy, at least three adults groom her, and the narrative commentary is that legality and potential pregnancy are the only problems when an adult makes sexual advances toward a minor they've groomed to want it. Also if a sick dying person attempts to assault you, you're obligated to forgive them and continue having an interpersonal relationship with them because they're dying." What on earth was L'Engle thinking??

It's difficult to tease out which parts of this book would have been radically progressive, because the ultimate conclusion of Polly forgiving Max muddles any possibility of suggesting that Polly deserved to have her boundaries unquestionably accepted by all the adults in her life. Perhaps it was radical to have a complex and sensitive portrayal of lesbians, where even though one was dying, the relationship was portrayed as the same kind of bond shared by a married man and woman? I didn't get the impression that L'Engle wanted readers to come away thinking that gay people are inherently predatory, because Polly's parents' opinions about lesbians would have been considered radical acceptance and the narrative presents Max's actions as due to her trauma of witnessing her father sexually abusing her sister.

I'm not sure if the narrative is suggesting that Max's not forgiving her father, or her frequently expending energy on a grudge, made her become like him. That would explain the ultimate message of it being important for Polly to forgive Max, but the narrative's message there could also be explained by the kind of radical forgiveness expected in many types of Christianity. But the meaning of forgiveness in the narrative seems to be saying "You did nothing wrong" or "You didn't cause me harm," instead of "You hurt me but I'm not holding a grudge." Or the narrative seems to be expressing that cutting someone out of your life counts as a grudge, even if it's to preserve your own safety and well-being.

Tldr: What was L'Engle thinking??

Madeleine L’Engle is one of my favorite authors. It absolutely pains me to give one of her books a two star rating but it I have to be honest. I don’t know what was going on in her personal life to cause such a huge shift in tone and subject matter, but it caused an awful book. There was no experimental scientific theory being worked out. The conclusions the main character makes about life are downright horrific. Attempted child abuse is not something to be hushed up or brushed aside and accepted as part of life. I knew that everyone said to just skip this book in the series, and I always have, but was curious enough to give it a try now. I’ve read her other books in the series and this one lifts right out and doesn’t affect the others.

Of the 3 books so far of the O'Keefe series, this one had more of a YA feel. Yes, I gave only 3 star rating, maybe it's a little more 3.5 stars. The story is all from Polly's POV and she is the protagonist through out the story; with going sort of back and forth between the present time as she visits Greece and Cyprus. Depending what activity she might be doing she some flashbacks is her reminiscing or dreaming of the past. We get thoroughly immersed into how Polly things, which I feel is a better fit for Madeleine L' Engle than crazy murder plots of the first two books and how her dad seemed to lack ideal parental skills. In A House Like a Lotus, there were actually a couple times in heart to heart h Polly. Why, I didn't give this rave reviews, even though it was 2x's better than first and second book is because Polly was hurt & broken by the drunk scene of Max this is the climax; with her at the end of the book finally talking to her on the phone to say she loved her which meant that she forgave her. Not the fact that she was taken advantage in having sex or made a pass by a guy that is married. Plus, is it me, but did the book just suddenly end?

I’m glad I read this as an adult and not a teenager. I love L’Engle, but I’ve always struggled with the character of Polly as she gets older probably because I see parts of teenage me in teenage Polly. L’Engle writes rawly about young people discovering life and the brokenness of the world. She’s also quite poetic and idealistic in some ways which I tend to enjoy. This was also written in flashback + stream of consciousness, first person narrative which isn’t as common for a L’Engle book in this genre, yet I think it helped set the tone and put forth the theme in a way third POV couldn’t.

I’ll likely always be annoyed by Zachary (both in the O’Keefe series and in his appearances with the Austins), and be even more exasperated by the girls responses to him (because knowing what it’s like to be in their shoes makes you want them to see differently).

I thought this was a beautiful and flawed depiction of a teenage girl learning herself, seeing her parents and other adults as “human” for the first time, and starting to make her own way in the world - and being about a teenager, it’s full of confusion, melodrama, hurt, romanticism, life lessons, big questions, big emotions, mistakes, and fear.

For those looking for a book similar to the first two in this series be warned - there is alot more sexual content in this one. Also thought that Polly's character was not the same bright, innocent child that was seen in the first two (she is 17 in this one).

If you don't like reading books with sex scenes do not read this book - sex (in various forms) is a pretty major theme of the book. Not sure it is portrayed in a positive light, but it is still there pretty explicitly.

This is a beautiful book with so much to offer, but my God, I want to revise it over and over until it rests comfortably in the 21st century. There are some instances where texts that are trying to be progressive age all the worse for their forward-thinking statements, and sadly A House Like a Lotus is one of them.

This book was a formative influence on me growing up. I read it when I was twelve and was, well, deeply freaked out by the sex n' violence in it -- nothing on a level of what I expect from a L'Engle. I was not quite as sheltered as Polly, but it was pretty close. I reacted to Max's lesbianism with the same progression that Polly did. Max's breakdown freaked me out, as did the sex scene with Renny. I put the book down after finishing it with a skeevy feeling, and refused to count it, or An Acceptable Time, with the Time Quartet.

I read the book again when I was eighteen. Now I was closing the chapter on high school, and with a more mature perspective I could put Max and Renny and the rest into perspective, and the ending of forgiveness and grace rang true with me. I realized just how much this book had influenced my personal morality, without my even realizing it -- when the shock had faded, I was still left with a profound respect for the complicated, contradictory nature of other people, and driven to attempt understanding, love, and forgiveness. A++ to Madeleine L'Engle in that regard. When her mysticism and true sense of agape shines through (as in Osia Theola's vision in the last few pages), this book is nearly transcendent.

Now, six more years have passed. At twenty-four, I reread the book, in preparation for giving An Acceptable Time another go.

I should add, a twenty-four year old who has lived abroad, whose hobbies include reading up on discourses of race, feminism, and queerness on tumblr.


Where before I was nodding along with Polly and empathizing with her struggles to accept Max's queer identity, now I was very nearly yelling at her to get over herself and not be so terrified that she might be queer herself. (Although wanting to avoid giving fuel to the bullies, that is a motive I can get.)
I know that this novel was groundbreaking and daring and brave for its time, but that has not really helped it to read any easier in the year 2014.
I cannot express how frustrating it is that the Murry-O'Keefe family* spend half of the novel assuring themselves and each other that it's OKAY for Polly to hang out with a lesbian, that of course they trust Max with Polly, then Max assures Polly that she loves her "like a daughter," that Polly is in no danger from Max whatsoever -- until the climax, where Max clearly** makes a sexual assault on Polly, which sends Polly into a tailspin of pain, risky behavior, coldness, and angst. The only redemption for this at all is that L'Engle sets up that Max is (bitterly) repeating the cycle of mistakes that her own father made, which cost Max's sister her life. That takes it out of implying "Queer women are disgusting and secretly lust for teenagers!" into "People repeat their parents' mistakes; ah, Greek Tragedy," which is comparatively more palatable.

* And I still do not see the angry and wilfull Meg Murry I so love in this contented, un-academic, peaceful mother of seven. Only occasionally do I glimpse the Meg of Wrinkle et alia.

** Actually, it's not very clear at all. Polly's reaction (though consistent and well written) is not on a level with what the prose describes.

Queron Renier may actually take the cake for having aged badly as characters go. As L'Engle writes him, he is this painfully bland, goody-goody all-American good Boy Next Door, a boy that Polly's parents approve of and trust, and they are right to do so -- right up until he has sex with Polly, a patient in his care, who is deep in shock, trying desperately to prove to herself that she's not a lesbian***, did I mention DEEP IN SHOCK and CLEARLY UNABLE TO GIVE INFORMED CONSENT. After which, he's all properly remorseful, slips in that he's been "lusting after Polly all summer" -- he, a twenty-something medical intern, she, a sixteen-year-old girl. I found myself yelling some very unpleasant names at Renny as the novel went on. Yikes, gross, get him away from this novel, Ew.

And as Mari Ness pointed out in her reread, the question of forgiving Renny is never brought up. Polly never explicitly realizes that Renny did anything wrong. You'd think the great healer Aesculapius would have some choice words for a guy who took such liberties with his patient.

*** I repeat, Polly, get a grip on yourself and embrace your inner bisexual goddess. Ffs.

While I'm on the subject, I don't much care for Omio, either. I'm suspicious of the idea that marrying someone of a nation that has done you wrong can mean you've completely forgiven that nation; and that a married man with a child takes such liberties with Polly's personal space, with such overt romantic gestures -- ew, ew, ew, no, I've lived in France, and married men hitting on single and solitary young women isn't cool even when a Frenchman does it.



And then we have Zachary. Oh, Zachary. I'm really fond of that guy, actually. His constant nihilism and angst and utter, absolute self-absorption is pretty hilarious. If Polly is Celia from As You Like It, Zachary is like Jacques -- convinced he's the melancholy and brooding hero when everyone else is rolling their eyes SO HARD. He also does a hell of a better job of respecting Polly's boundaries than Renny or Omio does (this is not saying much; Zachary still spouts BS like "If you're not a virgin, why won't you have sex with me waaah"), Zachary is a big bundle of issues and terrible decisions, but I can't help but like him.

The convention organizers for the Cyprus convention -- I really wish the novel spent more time with them, and not with Renny (blech) or Omio (-_-). This convention sadly betrays another instance of L'Engle's progressiveness failing to age well -- that the various cultures, especially Baki, are alluded to with a mystical, exotic air, like the Noble Savage that after describing two black women, a black man, and a Greek man in a room, Polly-the-narrator then hails a white guy entering the room by saying that he looks "normal" -- ouch. Somehow the Africans at a literature conference haven't heard of Shakespeare, even though they are proficient in English. Huh. Polly's conversations with Max don't fare much better, with Max at one point saying "My god, they are always shooting each other in that part of the world" -- a truly ridiculous statement in a country with gun laws as lax as the United States, also, way to reduce an entire region to violence and instability, thanks.

L'Engle's preachiness grates occasionally. Children talking about the partying antics of their peers with such refined detachment, a conversation about tourists destroying everything, which then slides cleanly into casual talk about genocide, en route to a moonlit swim -- what. I can see why this book would turn off a first-time reader, or a skeptic, or someone who holds all media up to a very high standard of inclusivity and representation.

But if the book could be revised of these problematic elements (if Max's tragic flaw was alcoholism and, say, art fraud, rather than sexual assault), or if they could be clarified or addressed properly (Renny brought to justice, Zachary being not-quite-as-much-of-a-jerk), if L'Engle could rewrite the novel seeing the world as it is now, it could be hailed as what it is at its best -- a moving, graceful, and beautiful bildungsroman about forgiveness, connection, and the ability to let people be complicated, and love them despite all that.

Yes, this book needed a review this long. For a book with this complicated a legacy on my own soul, if nowhere else, I needed to keep all of the facets -- the complex and contradictory facets -- in hand, like Osia Theola's astonishing vision.

In case you haven’t figured this out yet, here’s a hint about my personality: If I’m reviewing a Madeleine L’Engle book, it means I had a rough week and needed to be with an old friend.

Madeleine L’Engle is that friend to me. No, I never met her personally; but I go to her books time and time again, whenever I’m feeling melancholy, or in a rut, or listless, or reverent, or particularly annoyed, or even just bored. She is dependable in her brilliance, her wisdom, and her ability to surprise me (more than once I’ve exclaimed, “Oh my gosh! Madeleine L’Engle just used the F-word!” or something equally surprising).

We all need friends like Madeleine. If you don’t have one yet, I recommend finding one. You’ll be thankful for years to come.

Anyway, like I said, last week was a bad week. No need to bog you down with details, but let’s just say that I’m in a grieving season, work has been super stressful, and I’m struggling not to punch people in the face on a daily basis.

So, Madeleine to the rescue.


This is the original, 1984 cover, and the version I read.

A synopsis:

16 year old Polly O’Keefe lands in Athens, Greece, with a whole slew of hurts, grief and secrets. When she discovers she is unexpectedly alone in Athens (her aunt and uncle are delayed for a few days), she ends up spending her time with a young man she just met. Zachary is tall, dark, and handsome; and while his attentions charm Polly, she is very aware that he carries his own stormy burdens. Despite his unpredictability, Polly trusts him–a surprising feat, considering she has had her trust in others damaged lately.

In alternating chapters of past and present, we journey with Polly through a friendship that provided great support and growth, only to suffer a devastating blow. As Polly deals with the hurt of her past, her present relationships–with Zachary, and coworkers at a retreat center–begin to showcase the anger, pain and inability to forgive she’s carrying. When Polly’s fate takes a dangerous turn on an outing with Zachary, her capacity for forgiveness is challenged more than ever.

Surprisingly, I had never read this one before. When a friend recently reminisced about this as one of her favorites, I had to pick it up. I was not disappointed.

As always, L’Engle’s sense of narrative is strong and compelling. Though there is no time travel or supernatural mystery here, as there so often is in her work, the pacing of the character development keeps you turning pages. What is the wound that Polly so stubbornly clings to? Why would she turn from idolizing her friend at home, to fearing and avoiding her?

I love how human Polly is. She is aware of her own humanity–which is refreshing–and is constantly questioning her decisions and emotions. Being from a scientific family (she is the daughter of Meg Murray O’Keefe and Calvin O’Keefe from A Wrinkle in Time), Polly is very self-aware, and logical in her thought process. But her emotions still manage to get the best of her, and drive her to make decisions that hurt her even more. I love this because I understand it. I’m very much a “Thinker” vs. “Feeler,” but I’ve made my fair share of irrational, emotionally-based decisions that have hurt me and those I love.

I love, also, that Polly really does know herself. She makes mistakes for sure, but she is not easily persuaded to act in a way that she is not comfortable with. Zachary, for example, guesses at one of Polly’s secrets, and attempts to persuade her into a more intimate physical relationship. While Polly is tempted, she does not buckle under Zachary’s advances, simply because she knows what she is and is not ready for. This dedication to her morals is exactly what makes Polly such a strong and dynamic character. She is not a watered-down, overly sexualized teen. She’s dignified, she’s flawed, and she knows herself.

Humanity in all of its flawed glory is a powerful theme in A House Like a Lotus. Each character, like a lotus flower, is layered and beautiful. From Polly and her emotional baggage, to the complicated and beautiful relationship between Max and her lover, Ursula, to the rash but adoring Zachary–everyone in this book is human. (And that isn’t always the case for many writers. I think writing compelling, real characters at every level in a book is one of the most difficult tasks a writer faces.)

While I do think this book is YA, I am very thankful I read it for the first time as an adult. I’m not sure I would have connected with Polly as well when I was a teenager. L’Engle’s writing is, as always, beautiful and elegant–but the setting and themes would have been a little more abstract for me when I was a teen. But that’s just me. I think older teen readers, or readers who just love good characters, will discover traces of themselves in Polly and her friends. What more could you want from a book, anyway?

[LOVE YA BOOKS? FIND MORE OF OUR REVIEWS ON YAKETYYAKS.COM...PLUS OTHER AWESOME STUFF! :)]

I’m bewildered by how much I remember enjoying this book as probably a pre-teen. Not only is this book a confusing mess, but it’s so unhealthy I just can’t stomach it. I read probably 40% of it. It’s homophobic, racist, sexist, and just plain creepy. It’s hateful in a variety of ways, and it’s all over the place with it. Lots of digs thrown in about people if different ethnicities, religions, and orientations. And some really pointless bashing of southerners. Cowpertown and Mulletville? Ridiculous.

Also, they seriously had Polly drunk driving at 16 like it was no big freaking deal.

Just awful.

This book is a novel length version of someone shouting the phrase "I can't be homophobic, i have one gay friend!!!!" But also with the bonus inclusion of thinking that (hetero) pedophilia is normal and healthy.


Like. Seriously. There's just so much wrong with this book.