By MICHELE HEWITSON
Naughty, naughty Fay Weldon. Imagine taking money for writing a book. Imagine taking it from Bulgari, jewellery makers to the stars.
Nothing, said a bunch of "real" writers, could be more vulgar. Nothing could be more fitting. The writer whose theme has long been revenge has taken hers. She's
always been regarded as a tad infra dig in literary circles. They'll never give her the Booker, she said. So she might as well scribble for cash. When has she done anything else?
In return for inserting the name Bulgari through the text, Weldon got freedom to write a book which reads like, well, a classic Weldon of course.
Old wife supports hubbie while he makes his millions. Husband trades in old wife for young model. Old wife attempts to kill new wife. Goes to jail.
Comes out, meets young painter, shacks up with him. He paints her.
Miraculously old wife starts looking younger, thinner. Young wife begins looking shrewish. Starts demanding Bulgari jewels. Husband begins having money troubles. Young wife loses her job as television presenter.
All her themes are here. If you like them, you'll love this. I'm just not so sure that Weldon hasn't turned into a crashing bore who rewrites the same bitter fairy tale over and over again.
And it's one in which all women younger than, oh, say, 30 are to be viewed with the utmost distrust and dislike. Where did that reputation as a feminist writer come from again?
But let's not get as po-faced as the complaining literati here. Reading Weldon is like eating a Twinkie bar to find that its mock cream filling is laced with strychnine. If you want anything more than that it serves you right for deluding yourself that a Twinkie contains nourishment.
Flamingo
$44.95
* Michele Hewitson is a Herald features journalist.
