Only Marcus knows: Sex in fiction
‘The sex in your novel I can understand,’ said a friend as we stood in adjoining lanes in the shallow end of Civic Pool. ‘The sex in A.S. Byatt’s novel you’d need a PhD in English Literature to understand.’ ‘I’ve got one of those,’ I said, pulling my goggles into place. ‘Can I borrow it?’ ‘I’ll bring it tomorrow,’ he said, before swimming away. And that is how I came to have A.S. Byatt’s Babel Tower, all 618 pages of it, about to topple off the tower of books on my bedside table. But I too gave up on it,…
