Places in fiction often have a curious dual nationality. They are entangled in historical events, marked on a solid social map. 'It's not exactly the moon I'm asking for,' a girl thinks in The Dark Hole Days, 'but surely all my dreams don't end here: me in a duffle coat signing on the dole and walking in the debris of Belfast.' Later she adds: 'Belfast would fit into a corner of London. Not that it would fit in.' On the other hand, places are used as pieces of an invention, elements of an intended meaning, and they come trailing all kinds of associations which may not have much to do with their material locations out there in the world. The 'brilliant', the 'deep blue' New England air and the irremediable Californian innocence that crop up so frequently in Superior Women really belong to literature or mythology rather than to the weather or any particular living Americans. Of course people and even the weather, as Wilde knew, do at times dutifully imitate literature, and that complicates the issue.

LRB 21 February 1985 | PDF Download