John Fowles

Fowles, who died yesterday, was one of my favourite authors and I've been pondering on how to mark his passing. Lyme Regis is a nice place to visit but the undercliff is probably quite inhospitable this time of year so a pilgrimage isn’t really on.


I could, in the manner of a lot of his stories, fall obsessively in love with an individual and artistic girl but I think that box is ticked already, as is the one for ‘pontificating’ (I am writing this in a blog, after all) which Fowles characters tended to do a bit more than, say, a character in an Irvine Welsh or Michael Marshall Smith book do.

I could lock a blond in a basement, though I'd be missing the point if I thought that's what The Collector was all about so maybe I should try reading Aristos again. That could be tribute enough if I could finish it.