I've been reading Touched with Fire, by Kay Redfield Jamison which is an examination of the links between the creative temperament and manic depressive illness. 'My' poet wasn't necessarily manic depressive, although he may have been, and this seemed a good basic text to introduce myself to the whole area of links between creativity and mental disturbance.
But the thing I most enjoyed was an extract from the diary of Alice James, younger sister of the novelist Henry. Can you guess who she's talking about?
'...what a lifeless, diseased, self conscious being she must have been...her dank moaning features haunt and pursue one...she makes upon me the impression of mildew, or some morbid growth - a fungus of a pendulous shape, or as of something damp to the touch'
That dear readers was all about the great 19th century english novelist George Eliot.And while I like some of her books, and admire others, I can't help feeling young Alice has summed her up to a T. I've always thought of her as humourless and far too self engaged; glad to know I'm not alone.
Apparently Alice James' diary has been published; I wonder if it's as entertaining as this all the way through?
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