I enjoy Jeanette Winterson‘s writing more than I do many people (and I love people): so much that I needed to get out of bed between chapters to avoid implosion.
Or maybe it’s that, when every sentence contains whole surprising continents, you can only take so much at once. With soulspeak writing, you risk oversaturation, you need to savor, and you need to spread the good news like the gentleman who gave me a Baptist pamphlet at the gas station.
So I am spreading the news: Jeanette Winterson writes like stream water and blood and a stunning and truthful dream.
Go go go, read read read.