Whatever Happened To…..Jayne Anne Phillips?
A-pro-po of bugger all; I introduce a new and irregular series (which, frankly, hasn?t got that much mileage in it) ruminating on past literary loves of mine gone AWOL.
Black Tickets by Jayne Anne Phillips was a revelation to my precocious, pretentious, moody and mardy sixteen year old self. A series of short stories set amongst the emotionally gutted, the dislocated and forgotten teetering on the fringe of US society; it seemed a God-send at the time. It had a peculiarly feminine dynamic of haunting vulnerability with an amazingly lyrical sensibility to match. In case its poetical flights took it too airy it remained grounded in profoundly deadbeat settings, with a profound sense (especially in the title story) of the seedy glamour of the outside.
In short, it?s appeal seemed at the time like a cross between the very different attractions of my two favourite bands of the moment; The Smiths and Throwing Muses. Yet more intellectual tissue to wipe my angst into. Ah, happy misery. Still hadn?t been getting any obviously, not that it improved things too much when it finally happened.......
Ahem. Anyway, fluttering to other things, I never got round to reading anything else by her. Looking at her website I see her last book Motherkind was in 2000, with nothing since.
I could say I?m desperate for her long-awaited next effort, but perhaps I?d best be sure and read another of her works before I stake that claim. I?m not too distrustful of my mid-teen self though. The Smiths and Throwing Muses still sound great to these ears now its twelve years on. So come on Jayne. Show us you care ma?am!!
