The New Yorkerのインスタグラム(newyorkermag) - 10月30日 04時20分

Jeanette Winterson burst onto the literary scene in 1985 with the publication of her début novel, “Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit,” a fictional “retelling” of her childhood in a working-class Pentecostal family. Upon discovering that her daughter was sleeping with a woman, Winterson’s mother cast her out of the house at 16. Winterson supported herself as a mortician’s assistant, ice-cream-van driver, and aide in a psychiatric hospital while studying for her A-levels. After earning a degree in English from St. Catherine’s College, in Oxford, she moved to London, where she took on more odd jobs. “Oranges,” which was followed by two experimental novels, made her a literary celebrity, a nervy, young, female alternative to Ian McEwan and Martin Amis. Critics praised her pyrotechnic language, her lyrical attention to desire and emotion, her imagination, her exuberance. At times, Winterson seemed ill-equipped to handle her meteoric rise. Asked by the press to choose a “book of the year,” she chose her own. Asked to name her favorite living author, she named herself.

In recent years, Winterson has published a memoir revisiting her childhood, “Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?,” and her latest work, “Night Side of the River,” a collection of ghost stories, is out in time for Halloween. Tap the link in our bio to read a new interview, on breaking rules, pursuing happiness, and deconstructing ghosts. Photograph by Kate Peters / Redux.

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