I am a recent convert to Jeanette Winterson, having seen her interviewed for the first time a year or so ago, and been intrigued.
This is the 4th of her books that I have read and is my favourite to date. She has a way of using words that makes prose sing like poetry. Each sentence is exquisitely pared down and no word is left to chance; each is chosen specifically and carefully for its effect.
She was appallingly uncared for and unloved as a child growing up in the house of the awesome Mrs Winterson (her father is all but absent throughout her formative years, although he shares the house with them). Her mistreatment is dealt with in a cool and objective detachment which belies her rage and fear of rejection.
This is a disturbing and beautiful memoir which brims with hope and love. Read it.
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