![]() ![]() ![]() And this brings us to the most striking thing about Winterson: Even when one of her novels fails (as this one, I believe, does), it tends to be more interesting than the usual run of competent and successful novels that proliferate by the bushel.Īcclaimed as one of the most exciting writers to come out of England in a generation, Winterson has developed a style-lyrical, rhythmic, fragmentary, hallucinatory and fabulistic-that has become her signature. This is not to say, however, that her latest book isn't meticulously crafted: If anything, it is too perfectly arranged, too symmetrical, almost mechanical in its formal precision and resolutions. Winterson's novels are far more invested in the sensuousness of language and the play of thought than in such meat-and-potato stuff as plot, setting and character. The complications and symmetries of this menage a trois provide the occasion for Winterson's riffs on desire, longing, surprise, fortuity and fate. ![]() Through a series of baroque twists and tricks, Alice becomes the lover of both Jove and Stella. Reduced to its barest bones, the book depicts a contemporary love triangle whose three points are Alice, a young English lecturer on alchemy and the new physics Jove, a charismatic theoretical physicist at Princeton's Institute for Advanced Studies and Stella, a poet. His question may anticipate the reader's response to Jeanette Winterson's latest novel. `What kind of a story is that?" asks Jove of his wife, Stella, who has just told the tale of her own miraculous gestation and birth. ![]()
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