Approaching my 20th birthday, I thought that I would never enjoy modern classics the same way a literary guru can (hello nabokov/kerouac/orwell). I have always believed that either the author condescendingly talks down to me, as if to say i do not understand art, or I dislike it for realz. Not until I picked this novel up, at random but yet with a purpose - to read more LGBT literature. I was intrigued at how could something the contents of this book have made it past the editorials and on to bookshelves.

But that is not what got me through. This novel, for me, was love at first page. Never have I read a book with language so tender, so sophisticated, so beautiful and still understand everything that was happening. My focus was always present, every night before bed I would be alert enough to immerse myself into this story. On top of that, the directness of the words. Every intention. Every emotion. Every nudge. Nothing goes over your head. It is refreshing after spending wasted time reading unreliable narration. If Radclyffe Hall is able to write so eloquently yet in such a way that you understand everything without her having to spoon-feed you, then so can any author.


As for the story itself, it is an interesting and insightful exploration of the human experience. I do not relate to Stephen in any way at any point of this novel, but to walk in her shoes and feel everything that she does (yes, the emptiness too) is much needed.


Although it is still not the biggest page turner out there (i blame small font and thin pages), reading it 30-60 pages at a time made my relationship with this novel everlasting and meaningful.