Difficult Women

by David Plante

AN American young man, a novelist, settles in London in the early 70's and pursues the friendship of much older women, who are either themselves literary or have entree to the literary life. It is a given that these women will be complicated, stubborn, strong-willed, and that the relationship between each of them and the novelist will be tricky, even suspect. If this were the 1870's, the circumstances would provide a Jamesian subtext fulfilling, only very slowly, some psychologically unforeseen purpose; but as it is the 1970's, the entire matter is at once laid self-consciously before us, and we are free to decide how much or how little it all means.

By Vivian Gornick

Genres: Nonfiction, Memoir, Biography, Womens, Relationships, Classics, 20th Century

173 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1983

About the author

The son of Albina Bisson and Aniclet Plante, he is of both French-Canadian and North American Indian descent.He is a graduate of Boston College and the Université catholique de Louvain. He has been published extensively including in The New Yorker and The Paris Review and various literary magazines. He is a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature. Among his honours are: Henfield Fellow, University of East Anglia, 1975; British Arts Council Grant, 1977; Guggenheim Fellowship, 1983; American Academy and Institute of Arts and Letters Award, 1983. He is an Ambassador for the LGBT Committee of the New York Public Library. His voluminous diary is kept in the Berg Collection of the New York Public Library. His papers are kept in the library of The University of Tulsa, Oklahoma. He is a retired professor of creative writing at Columbia University. His novels examine the spiritual in a variety of contexts, but notably in the milieu of large, working-class, Catholic families of French Canadian background. His male characters range from openly gay to sexually ambiguous and questioning.
He has been a writer-in-residence at Gorki Institute of Literature (Moscow), the Université du Québec à Montréal, Adelphi University, King's College, the University of Cambridge, Tulsa University, and the University of East Anglia. Plante’s work, for which he has been nominated for the National Book Award, includes Difficult Women (1983), a memoir of his relationships with Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer and the widely-praised Francoeur Trilogy--The Family (1978), The Country (1980) and The Woods (1982). His most recent book is a memoir of Nikos Stangos, his partner of forty years, The Pure Lover (2009). The papers of his former partner, Nikos Stangos (1936-2004), are in The Princeton University Library, the Program in Hellenic Studies. Plante lives in London, Lucca Italy, and Athens Greece. He has dual citizenship, American and British.
Considered to be a writer's writer and having lived for so many years among the artistic elite, David's personal memories are seen by many as high cultural history.

Reviews

[Adam Dalva · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’ve never really read anything like this book, which is in some ways as nasty as everyone says, but (to my surprise, based on the somewhat faulty advance press) is also a queer narrative, one whose sexuality is nearly completely effaced but occasionally peeks through, redemptive.

The structure is simple enough: three sections on three famous women who Plante spent time with in the late 1970’s, then a totally bizarre, experimental index where he compares his 3 leads. The first section, w/ its alcohol-addled, grotesque portrait of the elderly Jean Rhys gets all the attention, and it is sensationalist and pretty awful to read, whether you like Rhys or not (I love her). And yet, several of her monologues are lovely (her analysis of literature as water, in particular, jumps out), and Plante is as hard on himself as Rhys. He is something of a gadfly and a flirt (he is called a c--t-tease later in the book, an expression I have never seen), and a lesser writer, quite possibly working for fame. The messy question of the non-fiction writer is raised here, more literally than usual. Is he a leech, a predator? At this point his own sexuality was totally invisible, which muddied the question further.

The second section, with Sonia Orwell, is the least interesting, though that might be because I knew less about Orwell (she is a fascinating figure, as it turns out, but in this book is essentially an insecure, ranting, ill bridge between Rhys and section 3). Orwell, too, is given moments of grace, and her death is described sparingly and well, but her narrativeseemed more of a structural imposition than something Plante was interested in. Here, Orwell’s occasional cruel asides about “homosexuals” gave me an inkling of what was going on, and toward the end, Plante concedes that he has little need of relationships with women.

Perhaps because Germaine Greer was (and is) alive when this book came out, she is treated far better. The reader can’t help but be swept along as she explodes off the page, a brilliant, foul-mouthed, whirlwind of a character, one who Plante falls a bit in love with. I was interested that Greer, who claims not to have read the book, described her feeling of betrayal in a Guardian article as such:

“I despised him for being so ready to change his work, and also because - though he made a great parade of sensitivity - he had no idea how deeply I would resent being made to utter namby-pamby Plante-speak like a dummy on his knee.”

I experienced her character quite differently, and perhaps because Greer is still at the height of her powers, this to be by far the most pleasurable section of the book. Perhaps it’s not a coincidence that there is an irruption of sexuality as well – Plante describes going to Central Park and seeing hundreds of men sunbathing in “thin briefs,” and it’s reminiscent of Forester’s great Beede bathing scene in A ROOM WITH A VIEW.

I understand why this book gets such a mixed reaction – I love Rhys and it was painful to see her described this way, and Plante's sense of his own attractiveness is more vexing than fun. But the book got me thinking about many things, and though the writing is not in any way flashy, you’ll fly through it if you don’t throw it across the room first.

[Paul Bryant · Rating 3 out of 5]

David meets three difficult women.

JEAN RHYS



Why is Jean difficult? Well, when David meets her she’s 85 if she’s a day and she is busy redefining the word cranky. Sample dialogue :

“I hate men.”

“I hate women. You can’t trust them.”

“I hate England. It’s so mouldy.”

“I hate this ashtray.”

“I hate taxmen. Fascist pigs."

“I don’t understand anything.”

“I never understood anything.”

“I hate you.”

“Why haven’t you brought more gin?”

Here’s my favourite from Jean :

“I didn’t know, and I don’t know now, why my first and third husbands were sent to prison. I don’t know much about my husbands.”

Some kind of magic about that, there really is.

SONIA ORWELL



She was George’s widow, she was married to him for three whole months before he died of TB. She redefined the phrase high maintenance.

She was talking so quickly I imagined her talk would break through the limits of human talk and become something else.

A motormouth in English and French, she’s a frantic brittle alcoholic depressive, rattling between London and Paris giving endless restaurant dinners, dinner parties, soirees, paying for everything, endlessly maintaining her friendships with every living famous person especially painters like Picasso and Freud, David says :

I saw Sonia as an unspeakably unhappy woman. I was in love with the unhappiness in her, and yet reassured that, no matter what I did, what I felt it my duty to do, to lessen that unhappiness, I couldn’t.

And

Sonia was naturally ill-tempered, as if just having to live, day after day, were reason enough.


GERMAINE GREER


Well we all know the great terrifying Germaine, don’t we, so this is probably the less interesting bit, but still full of fun – David visits Germaine in her remote Italian villa where she has a houseguest, an American woman and her baby. Germaine asks the woman to feed her cats, then, looking out of the window :

“I knew it,” Germaine said, “She won’t do the fucking simplest thing I ask. She won’t even feed the cats. No one ever does the simplest things I ask for, but everyone asks me for the world, the moon, the stars, the whole universe, and my money.”

And later

“I always end up finishing, or putting right, or completely restarting what others do badly.”

To say that GG has an ego you can see from space is an understatement, but she backs up her highest possible view of herself by talking to the garage mechanic in the local Italian dialect and knowing all the names of car parts, and knowing everything about plants, and flowers, and pretty much everything else ever.

I found her at the table in the living room doing careful detailed drawings for a dovecot she wanted to build from brick and roof tiles.

Naturally she knows everything about the type of bricks she particularly requires. As well as renaissance poetry and the reproductive rights of women in Sudan and current Japanese literature and.... you get the picture.

Anyway, this was a fun read.

[Tao · Rating 5 out of 5]

Difficult Women (1983) is a memoir by David Plante about his experiences with Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, Germaine Greer. It's in three parts (each focused on one woman) and told mostly via dialogue and scenes. In part one David Plante visits Jean Rhys in the hotel room where she's currently living. He visits many times, mostly to assist her with writing her autobiography (which was published posthumously as Smile Please: An Unfinished Autobiography). Jean Rhys is in her 80s and drunk, it seems, most of the time in this section. At the end David Plante pees in her hotel room's bathroom and leaves the toilet seat up and Jean Rhys falls in the toilet and makes some weak struggling noises before asking for help. I think the last image is of Jean Rhys sitting on her bed in her hotel room with her dress wet with toilet water.

In part two David Plante is an "aspiring" author (25, I think, with no books published) hanging out with Sonia Orwell - George Orwell's last wife and caretaker of the elderly Jean Rhys - who is ~40 I think. David Plante says Sonia Orwell is more depressed than Jean Rhys. The word "depressed" is used often. I liked whenever it was used; it seemed funny. David Plante, who is gay, seems mostly detached in his accounts of his interactions with the three women. He seems passive and sometimes afraid. At one point Sonia Orwell while drunk talks continuous shit about him (saying he can't write, criticizing his life) and he just kept saying "yes" whenever a new unit of shit-talking was directed at him and that each time he said "yes" he became more depressed. Sonia Orwell is drunk for maybe 40–70% of her section. At one point she discusses in a sarcastic tone killing herself. Throughout the book David Plante questions his intentions and says maybe 5–10 times that he seems to be hanging out with these people for selfish reasons.

In part three Jean Rhys and Sonia Orwell are dead. David Plante, who is a little famous at this point, hangs out with a very famous Germaine Greer. They drive around somewhere, then go to Italy. Then they're both in Oklahoma teaching at a college.

The dialogue in Difficult Women is sometimes in very long scenes, which seem very detailed psychologically, like David Plante had recorded his thoughts every day, or most days, in a diary maybe. I sometimes felt myself "studying" people's expressions and movements to try to discern their possible emotions or thoughts. Sometimes someone would make a facial expression or say something that did not seem logical, or at all expected, and David Plante would not try to assimilate it, except sometimes speculatively, into the narrative, but would describe it concretely. Sometimes if I have an intense night socially I will later "view" what happened repeatedly, trying to detect previously unnoticed behaviors, and I had that feeling sometimes with this book.

I like reading about famous people who are severely depressed and productive but also seem very unmotivated, at times, in life. I like reading scenes of people being drunk at parties. I would like to read more accounts of people hanging out with Jean Rhys.

At the end of the book is a kind of glossary. David Plante relates each woman's views or thoughts below specific topics he's chosen like "money" or "music". Under "party" he wrote: "Jean loves going to parties. She sits quietly in the centre and people lean towards her and talk. For periods no one speaks to her, and she stares out."

[James Murphy · Rating 4 out of 5]

My interest in this book began with my thinking it's biographical portraits of 3 women: Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer. But the book isn't that. It's a memoir of David Plante's interactions with each of these women. Not their total relationship, either, but "slice of-life" snapshots of his friendships--for that's what they are--with them.

Did he betray their friendships? Maybe he did. I was aware of the book's reputation for putting forward harsh, even mean-spirited portraits of the women. Perhaps he was harsh. My impression is the friendships weren't fleeting ones and yet the slices-of-life he chose to remember, especially those of Rhys and Orwell, aren't complimentary. So we move, as we read, from the alcoholic Rhys to the waspish and contemptuous Orwell to the no-nonsense Greer. Did he have to show Rhys so helplessly unable to take care of herself in the bathroom? Did he have to write Orwell so small-minded and combative? Do we have to know Greer wore no underwear? Probably not, but I also think he wrote the portraits from his own notes or maybe a journal, and that's what he recorded. Are they difficult women? Well, I don't know. Plante thought they were.

Scott Spencer, in his "Introduction," asks the question why the portraits are unpleasant. He thinks the motivations lie in the 3 women having more money than he did and his trying to rationalize living off the generosity of Rhys in London, Orwell in Italy, and Greer in Tulsa and Santa Fe. Perhaps. Spencer also points out that Plante exposes himself as much as the women. Though familiar with him through his trilogy The Family, I didn't know he's homosexual. The women know it. I think the knowledge of it hangs between Plante and the women in their individual socializations with him, as they regard him and he them. I only remember Greer referring to it.

I did like the book. I liked it more the longer I read in it. The section on Rhys is painful, Orwell less so, and Greer the most interesting as well as the most kind. Closing it all out is a 21-page alphabetized listing of the womens' traits and opinions. This is perhaps the most honest picture of the 3 Plante gives us.

[Paul Wilner]

I think I read a different book than that reflected in some of the comments here. This is a tough love account, most definitely, with an emphasis on the tough part, but it is also a love-hate story, seemingly on all sides of this unlikely triad.
I don't think Plante was quite done with these women - even after writing this - but the details, while specific and sometimes damning, are also compelling (and, in the case of Greer, high-spirited). Plante seems as tough on himself as on these ladies. Scott Spencer's introduction was incisive, and made me want to read Plante's other work.
This is far and away better written - there are wonderful sentences about driving cross country with Greer - than, for instance, Capote's long-awaited "Answered Prayers,'' which turned out to be just catty. I give Mr. Plante points for telling his truth; I suspect that each of these three women were tough enough to take it, and perhaps even appreciate the portraits (or parts of them).

[Kathy · Rating 1 out of 5]

I think I came upon this book when I was writing an essay about Jean Rhys. It turned out to be unenlightening about her. Now I've finally read the rest of it, I realise that it belongs in the category 'gossip and tittle-tattle'. I'm not sure why Germaine Greer tolerated having David Plante hanging around, but I suppose she regarded him as one of the poor souls on whom she took pity. Even his own report of his contact with her makes it clear that she didn't take him seriously, so neither should we. This one's for the bin.

[Monica Westin · Rating 3 out of 5]

The mystery of our narrator's motivations behind forming relationships to the three so-called difficult women fascinated me, and the prose is perfectly limpid; but the treatment of these women is deeply cruel in a coldly detached and almost violent way, and in the end, the text doesn't build a bridge from this clinical cruelty to any kind of larger or more interesting point or observation about the types it dissects.

[Enya · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book tells the story of three intelligent women from the eyes of a man who is inexplicably mesmerized by their complex natures. The first woman, Jean, is a an old has-been writer who has only read a few number of books in her life. By the time the protagonist has met her, she was already submerged in a sea of senility and alcoholism. Despite her decaying mental faculties, she tried to impart cynical views about writing to the protagonist who is also a writer. The second woman, Sonia, is Jean's loyal editor. She concerns herself with the troubles of her friends b nutever her own. She organizers parties and invites writers, poets, and philosophers to her parties. Despite her voracious reading habits, she never considered herself a writer; and in the words of the protagonist, "Sonia has killed "it" in herself." The third woman, Germaine is a successful writer, lecturer, activist, and chairman of a woman's literary center. Her success has made her wealthy and unlike the two women who are volatile and prone to anger, Germaine is placidly detached from people emotionally. She concerns herself with the suffering of and injustices of society as a whole rather than on petty, individual suffering.

I think it is rather sad that David (the protagonist/narrator/observer) was not able to glean any learning or self-discovery from his emotional intimacy with each woman. Though I respect his multiple attempts at unraveling their thought processes and habits, an understanding of himself and his reactions to these women would have made it easier to fully digest the ready-made-packages of descriptions he has presented in an attempt to paint their characters.

[Stephen Durrant · Rating 3 out of 5]

As others have noted, this book raises questions concerning the ethics of tell-all accounts of “friends,” particularly friends who are dead and cannot respond to what they might have regarded as betrayal, as two of these “difficult women”, Jean Rhys and Sonia Orwell were when this book first appeared (or, in the case of Orwell, dead very, very soon thereafter). Certainly the portrait of the novelist Jean Rhys (1890-1979) does go a bit too far. That she was a pathetic drunk in her final years and was certain of her own insignificance as a writer may be “in bounds,” but certain small incidents, not to be repeated in this review, that Plante passes along, seem to me clearly “out of bounds.” At any rate, Plante has written here an engaging, if voyeuristic, book, especially in the chapter on Germaine Greer, who remains very much alive and ever able to defend herself, although I don’t think she would find much Plante has said objectionable. Greer has always, as Plante himself argues, made the personal public and even political. The central question raised in this study is why Plante becomes so attached to “difficult women,” which he convinces us these three assuredly were. His own answer is not altogether clear: “They could justify me in my body and soul,” he says. Okay, fine, this vague comment is better than to say, “I found it strangely flattering that these women of such importance would hang around with the likes of me.”

[🐴 🍖]

as remarked in ten million other places this is among the stickiest of literary ethical wickets, but since the question of whether it ought to exist is moot i'm gonna go ahead and say it's a worthwhile read. if there was any dissembling on the part of plante-as-narrator it would be unbearable, but every time plante-the-character lies or is cruel or otherwise fails to be a good friend, it's depicted just as unsparingly as e.g. jean rhys falling into the toilet. (in other words, it's as much confessional as it is tell-all... imo at least.) question for discussion: is plante saying that men create difficult women a feminist statement, bc it's acknowledging the role of patriarchy in messing w/ women's minds? or is it the opposite bc it's saying that women aren't in control of their own personality? difficult women... difficult book... difficult review

[Daniel Polansky]

A rather waspish depiction of three (semi?) major literary figures. Reading between the lines one gets the sense that, basically Plante was a handsome parvenu who managed to implant himself in the affections of older, highly regarded female writers, then turned around and wrote fairly scathing portrayals of them. I mean that’s kind of shitty and if I was, say, Jean Rhys’s friend I might smack the shit out of him if I saw him in a cocktail party but as a reader my main complaint about Plante is that the experiences he recounts are mostly dull and not expressed with any particularly burning cleverness. God spare us all from sycophants and false lovers.

[Kathleen Fowler · Rating 1 out of 5]

First impression: this is a mean-spirited book, written by a name-dropping literary groupie. He a**-licks his way into the good graces of three aging literary icons, and then uses this intimacy to obtain the inside scoop, which he peddles to the world for the proverbial 30 pieces of silver. The women he describes in his book, Sonia Orwell, Jean Rhys and Germaine Greer, are shown in a bad light, but not nearly so bad as that in which he inadvertently reveals himself.

[Susan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Creepy and voyeuristic (the Rhys section particularly), but still very readable. Just be prepared to feel slightly soiled afterwards.

[Kevin Adams · Rating 4 out of 5]

Another great addition to the NYRB collection. This memoir of 3 apparently very difficult women of literature (Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell and Germaine Greer) is amazing in its depth and its openness. Each of these women is unique in their own way and I would have read even more about them (and will dig into their novels) but I found David Plante a wee bit self-indulging. I’m still not sure the point of his invasion to these amazing subjects. They clearly are in need of someone better than the author as a friend. Fantastic read and well written, check. Perfectly moral? Well, that’s for another book...

[Shelley Diamond · Rating 3 out of 5]

These are not difficult women, they are just complicated people. The author is one of those complicated people; his character is revealed throughout the book as he gives his perspective on Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer. The author is a social climber who seems to depend on his relationships with other writers to get inspiration for his own writing.

What I liked about the book is learning personal details about the three women, all fascinating people, but readers have to make their own interpretations of those details to truly appreciate the women. I had to peel the author's gaze off my eyeballs to cleanse the portraits.

[H · Rating 5 out of 5]

Because he doesn't explain himself, the reader is left to decide what to make of this: morally reprehensible or...something else. But no matter where you fall in the argument, this, a "memoir" of Plante's relationship with Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer, is an undeniably fascinating book. To me, the Germaine Greer section is extraordinary--I already know I'll reread it.

[Ryan · Rating 3 out of 5]

The portrait of Jean Rhys is best - diabolical, grotesque, and unputdownable.

[Knick Knack Kitty Kat · Rating 3 out of 5]

Fancy Gossip. Was nice.
The women were difficult, listening to their tales make it sound the position of their context

[Jeff · Rating 3 out of 5]

Take a look inside the mind of four writers: Three eccentric types, of the female persuasion; one, the author, a glutton for punishment, perhaps.

David Plante tells of time spent with three friends. One is Jean Rhys, the elderly author of Wide Sargasso Sea, which by sheer coincidence I read for the first time recently. The second is the widow of 1984 author George Orwell. The third is Plant’s colleague, feminist author of The Female Eunuch, Germaine Greer. Plante travels with them, sometimes domestically and sometimes abroad. Two of them might be better off alone, and all three present as expats everywhere they go.

Many readers will relate to Rhys, who is losing whatever confidence and desire she may have once had. Sonia Orwell is short on social graces—particularly to friends, and one wonders why anyone would travel anywhere with her. Greer is strong-headed and free-spirited, a woman who knows what women want, even if they don’t know it themselves.

Loaded with philosophy, high society, and humor, Difficult Women can be a difficult read at times, but overall it’s insightful and fun. A glossary of content not included in the story makes up the last several pages, a comparison-and-contrast of the three women on a variety of subjects.

Things I never thought I would know about any of these three women.

[Nina]

From Parul Seghal:
http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/201...

[Michaela Hayes · Rating 1 out of 5]

An evil and misogynistic project

[Ash · Rating 2 out of 5]

There is no comfort in David Plante’s Difficult Women. No refuge, no redemption – only a stark, unflinching portrait of Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer. His prose is precise and immersive, tricking the reader into believing they are in the room with these women, until it becomes clear that they are not. They are merely spectators, as passive as Plante himself. His book offers no insight, only exposure.
The central question Difficult Women raises is whether Plante is a confidant or an intruder, a disciple or an opportunist. His fascination with these women is clear, but it is undermined by detachment. He recounts their outbursts, their failures, their contradictions, but never quite their triumphs. Sonia Orwell spits at him, “You don’t think!” She is both right and wrong. Plante does think, obsessively, but what’s missing isn’t thought, it’s purpose. What he offers isn’t understanding, but a fixation on their fragility.
Plante’s obsession with uncovering secrets runs through the book like a refrain. He repeatedly insists on revealing their hidden truths, as if this alone could explain their greatness. Of Germaine Greer, he writes, “her only secret was this: she would not reveal how she had become Germaine Greer, how she had learned everything she had to learn to become the person she was.” But there is no secret here, no hidden formula for artistic success. This is a misguided pursuit. The complexity of these women’s lives cannot be distilled into a secret to be uncovered; their greatness isn’t a mystery to be solved but a product of their own messy, often unknowable forces.
In a moment of rare self-reflection, Plante admits that these women “could justify me in my body and soul.” This statement is telling, for it reveals that his quest for their secrets is not merely about understanding them, but about justifying his own existence. What does it mean that he is drawn to their brilliance and complexity, only to reduce them to something he can possess, or at least claim to understand? The real irony of Difficult Women lies in this search for justification: in chasing their secrets, Plante exposes his own need for validation.
And so, we leave these women as we found them: brilliant, troubled, enigmatic. For all his access, Plante never truly understands his subjects. He only proves that they, like all of us, are fallible enough to let the wrong person in.

[Pascale · Rating 3 out of 5]

This book is divided into 4 sections. The first 3 describe the author's involvement with, respectively, Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell and Germaine Greer. Since Plante met Rhys and Sonia Orwell in their later years, after decades of alcoholism had taken their toll on them, they come out as rather pathetic characters. Not that Plante is judgmental. For Germaine Greer, he expresses a great deal of admiration and even love. He was in awe of her phenomenal memory and ability to acquire expertise in very disparate fields. If he found her bossy and unpredictable, he also admired her generosity and unexpected humility. What mars the book is the inane fourth section, which is organized alphabetically, from "abortion" to "vocabulary". Under such headings Plante summarizes what he finds most important about Jean, Sonia and Germaine. The problem is that this chapter adds no new information or insight, and reads more as a set of notes aimed at ranking these women. A very odd way to wrap up an otherwise rather generous book.

[Sarah · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is a book like none I have ever read. At once an intimate comparison of three "difficult" women, an honest reflection from and upon the author, and a truly, darkly beautiful story, I smile to think of the controversy it has caused. In fact, I think the confused feelings of others made mine all the more clear. What right did Plante have to these women? What right to their lives? None, of course, but no more too than any of us.

In Scott Spencer's introduction he writes, "Plante is too expert a writer not to know what kind of attention these pages were going to draw, and too perceptive about human motivations and vulnerabilities not to know that in exposing others he is simultaneously exposing himself." And that is reason enough to honor this work. When David writes of Jean's old age, he too is feeble. When he writes of Germaine's pubic hair, he's made naked alongside her. When he complains of Sonia, he too is intolerable. Everyone is drunk, everyone is profound, and everyone, especially David Plante, is a difficult woman.

A truly equalizing work.

[David Stone · Rating 4 out of 5]

I was surprised to learn that my local library in North Kingstown, Rhode Island is a repository of some of David Plante's papers. He is from Rhode Island after all, so it is only fitting. Knowing how far Plante had to travel to arrive in the orbits of these three accomplished women adds an undercurrent of amazement to the author's friendship with Rhys, Orwell and Greer. I was reminded of James Lord's superb memoirs as I read, although Plante's style is more jagged and modernist. A sojourn at Plante's vacation home in Italy obliges Plante to deal with two of his difficult women at once, yielding a superb eggplant recipe and the book's most novelistic pleasures.

[Debumere · Rating 4 out of 5]

The title, ‘Difficult Women’, niggled away at me until I discovered why he called it so. Following his relationships with Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell and Germaine Greer, Plante offers up an honest portrayal of each of these notable women.

I have to admit, none of them were particularly happy shiny people so if you’re looking for joy in this book you won’t get much but you will get an insight into who these women were.

I wasn’t overly surprised to hear about what they were like but at the same time wondered what happened to choosing ‘radiators not drains’. David must have got a kick out of these berating ladies to have spent (willingly) so much time with them.

[Felicity · Rating 4 out of 5]

A few years ago, Greer was a guest speaker at the the local arts festival, where she wittily demolished some of the many male-authored, and self-evidently unauthorised, scenes from the life and opinions of Germaine Greer. I now realise that this book, which I had not then read, was the one for which she reserved the utmost derision, much to the delight of the audience. Reviewers of Plante's book have been variously offended or outraged by his insensitive portrait of the mental and physical decline of Jean Rhys, and of the allegedly obnoxious Sonia Orwell. If they have rarely rallied to the defence of Greer, it is presumably because she was, and still is, well able to speak for herself, giving far better an account of the various contretemps than her detractors can produce. These pen-portraits may even seem quite harmless in comparison with the character assassinations that have become the stock-in-trade of social media, which they long predate. My interest in all three women attracted me to Plante's book, but I reserve judgment on his findings.

[Yooperprof · Rating 5 out of 5]

Controversial memoir of a [minor] gay American novelist living in Europe about about the impression made upon him by three prominent women in the 1970s: Jean Rhys, Sonia Orwell, and Germaine Greer.

I liked this book a lot more than I thought I would. It's not as voyeuristic as I thought it was going to be, more self-reflective.

[Tosh · Rating 2 out of 5]

The Jean Rhys part of the book was a painful read. The rest is simply OK. It's an odd book with an odd mixture of women as the subject matter for David Plante. In the end of the read, I didn't enjoy "Difficult Women."

[Pam · Rating 3 out of 5]

wow. what a surprise..I expected a rather snarky book w not a whole lot of emphasis on the writing of...this is JUST the opposite. Terrific to read, giving room for thoughts along the way.

Absolutely enjoyed it