Posted By Rosanna Boscawen on Tuesday 16th Apr 2013
For 24 hours only, we're offering a 30% discount on Helen Oyeyemi's novels White is for Witching and Mr Fox and Sunjeev Sahota's debut novel Ours Are the Streets.
It’s a bright afternoon in 1938 and Mary Foxe is in a confrontational mood. St John Fox, celebrated novelist, hasn’t seen her in six years. He’s unprepared for her afternoon visit, not least because she doesn’t exist. He’s infatuated with her. But he also made her up.
“You’re a villain,” she tells him. “A serial killer . . . can you grasp that?”
Will Mr Fox meet his muse’s challenge, to stop murdering his heroines and explore something of love? What will his wife Daphne think of this sudden change in her husband? Can there be a happy ending – this time?
Posted By Helen Oyeyemi on Wednesday 15th Jun 2011
A man I used to like once told me he was still in love with everyone he’d ever loved. I didn’t comment, but that remark enraged me to the bone. Nothing so straightforward as jealousy, it was more of an ideological thing, I think. A romantic totalitarianism that would, in my case, be dropped at the first hint of actual violence. However, bear with me; if true faithfulness in love requires the renunciation of former partners, isn’t it simply a very strict kind of fidelity, to put all old loves out of the world altogether?
Mary Foxe came by the other day – the last person on earth I was expecting to see. I’d have tidied up if I’d known she was coming. I’d have combed my hair, I’d have shaved. At least I was wearing a suit; I strive for a sense of professionalism. I was sitting in my study, writing badly, just making words on the page, waiting for something good to come through, some sentence I could keep. It was taking longer that day than it usually did, but I didn’t mind. The windows were open. I was sort of listening to something by Glazunov; there’s a symphony of his you can’t listen to with the windows closed, you just can’t. Well I guess you could, but you’d get agitated and run at the walls. Maybe that’s just me.