I’m re-reading Elizabeth Falconer’s 1996 novel The Love of Women – and earlier this evening felt moved to share with a friend:
‘What I so love about Elizabeth Falconer’s writing is the intense imagery – in virtually every sentence – which sets fire to my imagination, taking me to the room, or the market etc., allowing me to experience being there …’
‘She put down the basket on the round fruitwood table standing in the centre of the red-tiled floor, and unpacked her supper. She took the waxed paper wrapping off a pork chop and laid it on a green ivy leaf embossed plate, ground some black pepper and a trickle of olive oil over it, and covered the dish with a white net dome which she took from a meat hook hanging from a steel pole above her head …’
‘I want to be there. Am there!’
It’s lovely to think that a writer’s powers of evocation may still be touching the lives of readers long after they themselves may well have all but forgotten writing something.