John Mitchinson

But you say about failure, writing about failure.

So this is the final paragraph of her second novel, The Bookshop.

In the winter of 1960, they...

In the winter of 1960, therefore, having sent her heavy luggage on ahead, Florence Green took the bus into Flint Market via Saxford Ty and Kingsgrave.

Wally carried her suitcases to the bus stop.

Once again, the floods were out and the fields stood all the way on both sides of the road under shining water.

At Flint Market, she took the 1046 to Liverpool Street.

As the train drew out of the station, she sat with her head bowed in shame because the town in which she had lived for nearly 10 years had not wanted a bookshop.

If that isn't the perfect Fitzgerald combination, it's very specific.

There are the times of the trains.

It's funny because it's true and it's incredibly bleak.

It's not that she failed because the town didn't want the bookshop.

That's the detail, the very specific detail.

It's not that she had run the bookshop badly.

No.

And she loved Beckett.

She loved Beckett, yeah.

You know, of...

When you look at how she writes and you know that she liked Beckett, suddenly there's a kind of correlation there.

Anyway, enough from me.