Amy Bloom: Where The God of Love Hangs Out

I was trying to buy Carol Anshaw’s latest novel, Carry The One, which has garnered five star reviews and looks excellent, but the bookshop didn’t have any in stock. So I grumbled over to the short story shelf, and Amy Bloom leaped out at me. She really did. She waved and did a little hiya dance, and curled her index finger right under my nose. Read me, you sorry amateur, she commanded. You will not regret it. Well then. I could but obey.

So I paid for her, took her to Wagamama’s  for a noodle supper and started sensibly at the first page, the first story. Dear God. My food got cold. My eyes, my brain, my hypothalamus, my teeth – they fizzed and boogied with unbridled pleasure. I near as dammit passed out the writing is SO GOOD. So, so, so good. Within fifteen seconds, literally, I knew I was in the presence of a magnificent artist. It was like taking an Alice pill and instantly being dropped into another, better, intoxicating world.

Read her, everyone. She’s a genius. And I’ve only got to page 4. That’s how convinced I am.

Amy Bloom    Carol Anshaw

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About sophiewellstood

Teacher and writer, sometimes the other way around. Some of my writing is traditionally published and in bookshops, as well as online. I've put some poems for younger people / lapsed adults here, and some proper swearing. I hope you enjoy.
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