Books: Excerpt

“There was the story of H.D.’s fleeing to the roof of Lowndes Square and flinging her clothes over the edge, preparing to leap after them, yet fortunately prevented. Or of Bryher’s taking a near overdose of a drug and being saved by H.D. Yet these were the productive days. Bryher commenced her historical novels. And H.D.’s triumph over circumstance is celebrated in her Trilogy. It is no wonder that H.D. wrote during an air raid: ‘… now that I saw that Bryher was accepting the fury, we could accept the thing together.’

Then follows the thread of despair: ‘But I didn’t care about rules any more. I didn’t care about memories. I was sick to death of tension and tiredness and distress and distorted values and the high-pitched level and the fortitude which we had proved beyond doubt that we possessed. I had passed the flame, I had had my initiation… I was sick to death of being on the qui vive all the time.'”