15 Jan 2008
ESmerelda Weatherwax
I read Fear of Flying in or around 1973/4 when I was a student. A friend who had recently discovered both the book and the activity it described lent it about (the book, her other activities are none of your business) pour encourager les autres.
It left me totally bemused.
Of course the heroine was feeling terribly guilty. She was committing adultery, unfaithful to her husband who seemed a blameless sort of chap (I am working from memory here – if someone with more recent knowledge of the book reminds me of incidents after which any sensible woman would end her marriage which I missed I will stand corrected) and if you are doing wrong you should expect your conscience to be pricked. (Mary, NO!!) She did return to her husband at the end, a Chinese dentist if I recall, after pages of drivel and angst and a fantasy of the “zipperless f**k” during which the man’s clothes floated off without the need to struggle with his flys and some very silly, pre 501, musings on European men and the button fly.
I didn’t realise that she was still around.
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