i share similar feelings to you - i read voyage in the dark 2 years ago for a university module called 'decadents and moderns' and it changed my life. for once i felt like someone might actually understand the way i viewed the world, the way i lived my life. thank you for writing this. it was a wonderful read.
"I’ve always felt safest in my room and in bed..." It might amuse you to visit the Musée Carnavalet in Paris, where you can see the bed in which Proust wrote the greatest "modernist" novel.
Your writing is very fine. The relationship with writing somehow reminds of the author of several DNB articles about writers who would visit me in Oxford. I stopped talking to him really because he admitted that he would consume not only himself, but also people he was ostensibly friends with, in service of writing.
Yet he is no master manipulator, quite the reverse, and he failed in his attempt--started in the BM bookshop--to enlist my help to murder his mother's lover. Utterly harmless, though described by a triumphant jobsworth detective as a very dangerous man, he eventually got 10 years in Belmarsh, whence he wrote a column in Prospect magazine. Found Jesus, who supported him jumping his license, until he was re-arrested.
I always remember climbing the gate at Blenheim Palace, but he was too weedy and girly to attempt to follow me, so he missed the last bus. His own blog discloses even more oddity. Writing does strange things to its acolytes.
i share similar feelings to you - i read voyage in the dark 2 years ago for a university module called 'decadents and moderns' and it changed my life. for once i felt like someone might actually understand the way i viewed the world, the way i lived my life. thank you for writing this. it was a wonderful read.
I'd like to get in touch. Lilianpizzichini@gmail.com
this is such a gorgeous piece - it's beautiful that you have such an affinity with Jean Rhys!
this is a beautiful essay. thank you for sharing it with the world.
thank you 🤍
"I’ve always felt safest in my room and in bed..." It might amuse you to visit the Musée Carnavalet in Paris, where you can see the bed in which Proust wrote the greatest "modernist" novel.
Your writing is very fine. The relationship with writing somehow reminds of the author of several DNB articles about writers who would visit me in Oxford. I stopped talking to him really because he admitted that he would consume not only himself, but also people he was ostensibly friends with, in service of writing.
Yet he is no master manipulator, quite the reverse, and he failed in his attempt--started in the BM bookshop--to enlist my help to murder his mother's lover. Utterly harmless, though described by a triumphant jobsworth detective as a very dangerous man, he eventually got 10 years in Belmarsh, whence he wrote a column in Prospect magazine. Found Jesus, who supported him jumping his license, until he was re-arrested.
I always remember climbing the gate at Blenheim Palace, but he was too weedy and girly to attempt to follow me, so he missed the last bus. His own blog discloses even more oddity. Writing does strange things to its acolytes.