P.L. Travers
A Remembrance of the Author of “Mary Poppins” (from the Los Angeles Times Book Review)
P. L. Travers died recently, at the age of 90. Perhaps it was wrong for me to think that she would always be here for us, for me. She was the wisest woman I ever met.
Travers wrote the “Mary Poppins” books. They are brilliant and profound works, but few people seem willing to overcome their prejudices and entertain that possibility. When I’ve pressed those books on friends, their eyes seem to fill with saccharine memories (of Disney’s film and Julie Andrews and her umbrella) and they smile indulgently as if this is one more proof of my eccentricity.
I once asked Travers what she thought about the Disney film, and she replied obliquely: “When I left the theater, I was weeping.” That was her conversational manner. She left it for you to consider whether they were tears of joy or (as I assumed) prompted by some other emotion. In any event, she later said, the book and the film occupy two different worlds.
I never had the audacity to call her by her given name of Pamela. She told me once how she abhorred the American custom of seizing on…
