Did you ever read Oranges are not the only fruit by Jeanette Winterson?
On the flyleaf of her new memoir, Why be happy when you could be normal?, Oranges… is described as Jeanette Winterson’s fictionalised semi-autobiography. I have wolfed it down. I am just savouring the last few pages.
There is so much in there that is quotable, but this paragraph in particular meant a lot to me:
And I suppose the saddest thing for me, thinking about the cover version that is Oranges, is that I wrote a story I could live with. The other one was too painful. I could not survive it.
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