Lois Lowry
Lois Lowry
Lois Lowryis an American writer credited with more than thirty children's books. She has won two Newbery Medals, for Number the Stars in 1990 and The Giver in 1994. For her contribution as a children's writer, she was a finalist in 2000for the biennial, international Hans Christian Andersen Award, the highest recognition available to creators of children's books. Her book Gooney Bird Greene won the 2002 Rhode Island Children's Book Award. In 2007 she received the Margaret Edwards Award from...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionChildren's Author
Date of Birth20 March 1937
CityHonolulu, HI
CountryUnited States of America
People are starting to refer to 'The Giver' as a classic, but I don't know how that is defined. But if it means that 10, 20, 50 years from now kids will still be reading it, that is kind of awe-inspiring.
As female hormones decrease, they're replaced with an overwhelming urge to grow delphinium.
Oddly, the military world is one of great sameness. There is an orderly quality to life on an army base, and even the children of the military are brought up with that sense of order and sameness.
People can lie in letters, but they tend not to. They certainly lie in memoirs.
There are those, I think, who are attracted to the glitz of celebrity life. I am not one of them.
When I moved from Cambridge, I donated all my fiction. I carefully cut out pages the authors had autographed for me. I didn't want those autographed books showing up on eBay.
I think teens are drawn to these speculative books that portray what might happen and what could happen.
My mind is always on whatever next project I'm working on.
Gathering Blue' was a separate book. I wanted to explore what a society might become after a catastrophic world event. Only at the end did I realize I could make it connect to 'The Giver.
It be better, I think, to climb out in search of something, instead of hating, what you're leaving.
And it was lonely, to yearn, all alone.
Sometimes I wish they'd ask for my wisdom more often - there are so many things I could tell them; things I wish they would change. But they don't want change. Life here is so orderly, so predictable - so painless. It's what they've chosen.
The community of the Giver had achieved at such great price. A community without danger or pain. But also, a community without music, color or art. And books.
Always in the dream, it seemed as if there were a destination: a something--he could not grasp what-that lay beyond the place where the thickness of snow brought the sled to a stop. He was left, upon awakening, with the feeling that he wanted, even somehow needed, to reach the something that waited in the distance. The feeling that it was good. That it was welcoming. That it was significant. But he did not know how to get there.