The Independent - London, March 11th, 1995
I heard of Jean Rhys for the first time in the early Seventies, when I was 20 and at Edinburgh University, where I shared an apartment opposite the Royal Infirmary with a woman called Lindsay who wrote short stories and poems and had a baby, a boy called Gabriel, and no husband or live-in boyfriend. I had an American boyfriend who belonged to a theatre group which had been formed in San Quentin prison, and the four of us lived together.
There was no central heating in the big, gloomy flat but there was an endless procession of visitors: actors, musicians, poets, aspirant novelists, deadbeats....
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