And to GUIesque, tarotish little icons – an e-mail with an eye in it, a tulip with a vaginal-or-maybe-disk-drive-like slot in it. An extended conceit to do with personal computers is carried through to the setting of the author’s name – Jeanette.Winterson – and of the title, The. It’s bright, modern, not blurry: ‘21st-century fiction’, as the advertisement on the inner flap proclaims. Instead of one of those browny-orangey oil paintings she has hitherto put on her covers, this one is sunshine yellow, small and square. If this happens to the writer, she is lost.’Īrt Objects: Essays on Ecstasy and Effrontery (1995)įrom the outside, Jeanette Winterson’s new book looks quite different from what she usually does. Eliot observed that to continue to develop stylistically, a writer had to continue to develop emotionally … It is a commonplace of psychology that human beings, beyond a certain age, find it difficult to supplement their personalities with new emotional understandings. ‘We all know of writers who just keep writing the same book, but what is sadder is when a true writer seems to run out of books.
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