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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459488" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A novel situation</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">She looked not unlike the anti-heroine<br>of her own novels<br>or was it the other way around? <br>mousey but together, <br>neatly dressed <br>in an understated way<br>like her Paris dressmaker mother<br>who'd fled Vienna</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though in fact she was a brilliant bluestocking lecturer<br>and trenchant critic<br>who'd embarked, on the side, <br>on novel writing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">However the British<br>don't like people who do two things well<br>and the critics - mostly men -<br>panned her rotten<br>while the women reserved judgment.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">She had a standard plot -<br>mousey, together spinster<br>meets possible, quiet Him<br>who might be The One<br>but who turns out too morally wet<br>for Her.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But her increasing sublety with variations to this<br>and increasing literary skills<br>won her praise from feminist critics<br>and even a minor prize.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had expressed envious admiration for her trenchant criticism<br>to a colleague; one day<br>the unsolicited word came: <br>she had expressed interest in meeting me...</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A shared life of letters -<br>the Sunday papers read in bed -<br>with her reviews in them -<br>the flow of sparkling wit -</div><div style="margin:10px 0">a shared life of letters -<br>the plot of all her books the same..<br>the failed romance, <br>the material to hand...<br>the literary world's knowing gossip..</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I flunked it</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Subsequently, <br>on Friday afternoons, <br>I sat opposite her on the bus<br>from Piccadilly <br>to her small but dress-maker- neat flat<br>just off King's Road, Chelsea<br>bought with the prize-money, I guess<br>and the increased royalties<br>(the men still scoffing at her standard plot, <br>the women admiring her subtlety in describing<br>the bruised but knowing human heart...) </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I knew her face, from in the press; <br>she didn't know mine.<br>I sat opposite her on the bus<br>- neatly dressed, together -<br>contemplating<br>in bittersweet incongruity<br>the novel I never lived<br>and she never wrote<br>differently</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Michael+Shepherd">Michael Shepherd</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=459488" data-title="A novel situation de Michael Shepherd" data-description="She looked not unlike the anti-heroine
of her own novels
or was it the other way around? 
mousey but together, 
neatly dressed 
in an understated way
like her Paris dressmaker mother
who'd fled Vienna

Though in fact she was a brilliant bluestocki..."></div>
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