In 1948, a year after she rewilded the landscape of literature with Goodnight Moon, Margaret Wise Brown watched the love of her life fade to black. Michael Strange, born Blanche Oelrichs, had cast an instant spell on Margaret–outspoken, sophisticated, and self-possessed . . . Both women were born in the wrong century, bent on bending it to their will; both were accidental radicals, just by living unselfconsciously . . . Margaret loved Michael with unassailable devotion, and Michael was dying. So she did the hardest […]