Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

This peculiar novel, perhaps too analytical to successfully work as satire, is a very chilling book for writers to read. This is the story of Angelica, who as a difficult teen was constantly telling stories in her head, bettering her own life in her imagination, or imagining others' lives. Her relatives, who have no interest in books or creativity, are appalled--they think she's a liar, a poser, dangerous.

How many writers have had to endure that attitude? In spite of Angel's difficult personality, the reader with imagination and a turn for the pen will sympathize with her situation, at least until she sells a novel in her mid-teens, and promptly rockets to the best seller status.

A while back, I was reading a review in Guardian about the diaries of Alison Uteley, a respected children's author who lived in the same city as Enid Blyton. The two were antipathetic to one another: A.U. utterly despised Blyton as a hack, and E.B. despised A.U. for all her awards. They apparently met outside a bookshop once, and A.U. said something condescending, after which Blyton pointed to the window and her books, and trumped the other by saying something to the effect of "At least I get read."

Angel hits the bigtime, and promptly starts believing herself to have become one of her own heroines. After all, she achieved the dream, right? Not only got published, she's famous! That has to mean that she is a great writer.

She soon has a fancy house, beautiful gowns, and she even finds and marries a handsome, troubled painter . . . who is a mess. Like her books. She never sees that it's their very trashiness that appeals--and meantime life moves inexorably on, World War II bringing a grim new atmosphere that doesn't leave time for her faffery, and she's gotten older . . .

Fiction is delusion, but somewhere in it is either a steadying sense of reality, or else a convincing depiction of how life ought to be. When delusion is built on delusion, well, you get Angel.