There was mention of Jean Rhys in a comment recently here at htmlgiant and it made me think of her. When I was a wee lass, like 19 to 24 or so, I was obsessed with Jean Rhys (and other stuff).  I read all of her novels, (that didn’t take very long), all of her short stories, even wierd fragments, her unfinished autobiography, and then I did two sort of wierd things: read a biography of her (well, maybe that is not so wierd) and painted a painting of her from the picture of the cover of the biography, Jean Rhys: Life and Work by Carole Angier.

After that biography, I did not read another biography for maybe ten years. The experience was THAT disturbing. In fact, I vowed never to read a biography of any of my heros again. I have since relaxed that rule- I have mellowed with age, like many do–but man, what a defining moment. I was so horrified with Jean Rhys and so heartbroken at what she was really like as a human being. I felt-robbed. Now, as I’ve gotten older and more realistic as to how weak and troubled most human beings are, I feel less disturbed by Rhys. Still disturbed, but less so. To give you an idea of what  I am talking about, here is an excerpt from Jean Rhys: Life and Work: READ MORE >