D&O

John Lanchester, 5 June 1997

Most good novelists make life seem more interesting than it is. The very fact that their work offers a continuous aesthetic or psychic frisson is a kind of falsehood, a betrayal of reality; and...

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Good Girl, Bad Girl

Elaine Showalter, 5 June 1997

Call it the Zeitgeist, call it the return of the repressed, but personal memoir, intellectual autobiography, or the mixture of literary and confessional writing defined by Nancy Miller as...

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The Strangely Inspired Hermit of Andover

Christine Stansell, 5 June 1997

Like many people who came to New York City in the high-flying years of the early 20th century, Kenneth Burke approached the city as a work of art. ‘I cannot express it, it is too...

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Two Poems

Simon Armitage, 5 June 1997

The RamHalf-dead, hit by a car, the whole of its forma jiggle of nerves, like a fish on a lawn.To help finish it off, he asked me to standon its throat, as a friend might ask a friendto hold, with...

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Genius in Its Pure State

Mark Ford, 22 May 1997

The French Writer Raymond Roussel was 56 years old when he left Paris for Sicily in the early summer of 1933. It seems clear he had no intention of ever returning to France. His theatrical...

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Four Poems

Lavinia Greenlaw, 22 May 1997

Minus Ten The snow is blameless. It falls like someone who cannot stop talking, in querulous drifts. It covers the same ground we barely remember, collects evidence wherever we slip. Thaw turns...

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Story: ‘Terminus’

Hilary Mantel, 22 May 1997

On 9 January, shortly after eleven on a dark sleety morning, I saw my dead father on a train pulling out of Clapham Junction, bound for Waterloo. I glanced away, not recognising him at once. We...

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Like Heaven

Lorna Scott Fox, 22 May 1997

I wonder how many culture-pilgrims have journeyed to Martinique since Texaco won the Prix Goncourt in 1992, to see whether a shanty town of that name really exists. The novel may be a lush...

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Higher Man

John Sutherland, 22 May 1997

The authorities are always interested in the assassin’s bookshelf. The Israeli police were quick to release the fact that Yigal Amir had a copy of The Day of the Jackal. Before Theodore...

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He’ll have brought it on Himself

Colm Tóibín, 22 May 1997

Sometime in the early sixties, when I was eight or nine, the actor Micheál MacLiammóir came to Enniscorthy, a small town in the south-east of Ireland where we lived, to perform his...

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Life on the Town

Michael Wood, 22 May 1997

This long novel is haunted, dedicated to the dead, but quite without nostalgia, almost without grief. It starts with an intimate loss (‘I’m beginning this book on All Saints’...

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A Year upon the Sofa

Dinah Birch, 8 May 1997

Anti-feminist women puzzle and infuriate their feminist sisters. How can a capable and rational woman persuade herself to oppose a cause from which she has gained so much? Is it self-hatred, or...

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Shee Spy

Michael Dobson, 8 May 1997

Twenty years ago, when Maureen Duffy first published The Passionate Shepherdess: Aphra Behn, 1640-89, Behn was still known principally as the celebrated but largely unread founder of...

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Poem: ‘Sorry’

Ruth Padel, 8 May 1997

For Don and Chris who asked me to check the genitive of clitoris not in Greek, which is easy, but Latin. I’m trying standard dictionaries in three languages for that sleek particular satin-...

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Poem: ‘A Deletion’

Don Paterson, 8 May 1997

Ruth, I can’t believe none of them knew; on the other hand, it’d only take a few to -ectomise it from the lexicon – and what brave soul’d report that it had gone? (Lady:...

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Things happen all the time

James Wood, 8 May 1997

There are writers for whom reality seems a secret novelty; and there are writers for whom it seems a shared habit. In the first category-which would include Dostoevsky, Conrad, Svevo –...

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In Memoriam: V.S. Pritchett

John Bayley, 24 April 1997

It’s often said that the short story today goes with poetry. But the trouble with bringing poetry in is not only that the ‘poetic’ is a bad thing in prose but that it implies a...

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Poem: ‘The King of Cats’

Paul Durcan, 24 April 1997

To Francis Stuart on his 95th Birthday You – on a Friday evening in Dublin At the curtain of the 20th century – Dare me to be a child again: ‘Imagine being Dostoevsky ......

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