The Literary Review, June 22nd, 1997
If I were to tell you, Diodorus, that she taught me to see unicorns, you would not believe me. So I remain dumb. I listen to you, see your thin fragile fingers wear the thin gold-and-silver rings more gracelessly, and am reminded of my own advanced age. I have heard you outline the history of your gentle sins and their parallel guilts a thousand times. But today is sunny, a late summery alteration in climate, and the waters of the bay are calm and bathers plunge and dip and scream as if it were much earlier in the year, and generally speaking there is a charming air of vitality about everyth...
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