by Jeanette Winterson
ISBN: 0151011176
I think I can finally forgive Jeanette Winterson.
It is hard thing when an author breaks your heart. See, I found Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit early on, and loved it. The story, the language… and it was a first novel. The thrill of discovery was mine! I thought Boating for Beginners was funny — the Holy Wisp, the whole bit. Then The Passion was entrancing, the closest thing to a perfect novel I’d ever read, and I read it over and over. “Trust me. I’m telling you stories,” Winterson wrote, and I did.
Sexing the Cherry‘s twelve dancing princess were magical. Okay, so the very end of that book wasn’t as magical, but the first part was so well done, I could let it go. I see now it was really the first sign of trouble. Written on the Body was a disappointment, what with the unecessary namelessness (Please! We all know it is a lesbian romance, quit being so clever!) I found Art and Lies dreadful, and I didn’t finish it. I closed that book, put it on the shelf, and started saying “Jeanette Winterson used to be my favorite writer.”
Having loved so fiercely, I was willing to grant second (third?) chances, and I read Gut Symmetries. It was better. I saw her read the first chapter — she didn’t technically read it, as she had committed it to memory — and I was memserized. Winterson’s ego is outsized; so is her talent. Then came The Powerbook, and it was the novel I’d been hoping for — a magical return to form.
Filled with anticipation and more than a bit of trepidation, I started Lighthousekeeping. I liked the orphan girl Silver, Pew, and the Dark family saga. I loved Winterson’s idea of stories again, the refrain of “tell me a story” and the fairy tale touches:
I had no idea where to look, or what I was looking for, but I know now that all the important journeys start that way.
Recommended. For those who were once entranced and then bitterly disappointed, highly recommended. It’s time to read Winterson again.
