Is There Hope?

Maybe. On the other hand why am I hoping?
Two days ago I wrote a line and saved it. What for?
It definitely seemed like an opening line.
For what? A story? A novel?
Perhaps it’s simply a line that I like. That’s probably what it is.

R.I.P. Beryl Bainbridge

I Don’t know how many of you recognize her name. Or if you’ve read her. She wasn’t a crime writer. Although a few novels had a crime in them.

She was 77. That’s not a tragedy, I know. The tragedy is that I won’t get to read another novel by her. Okay, that’s not a tragedy either. But it’s sad. She was a wonderful English writer who was nominated 5 times for the Booker prize. She won the Whitbread twice and many other awards. Somewhere along the way she was made a Dame.

There were a few movies made from her books.

Some novels were historical, but most were not. She published 18 altogether. My favorite was Injury Time. I almost never read a book twice but I did this one. It was hilarious. Not all her books were funny.

She seemed to me to be a very quirky person. I remember reading in an interview years ago that there was a bullet hole in a living room wall and she decided to leave it there forever.

So if you haven’t read Bainbridge do yourself a favor and look for her books. I’m sure you can find them at online book sites. I’d be surprised if you could in a bricks and mortar store. But perhaps in a used bookstore or an independent.

Beryl Bainbridge was a unique and superb novelist.