A N Wilson

Enemy of Promise

The other day I bumped into a friend who had not seen me for some time. I asked about his life, and he then asked about mine. Was I still enjoying being Literary Editor of the Spectator? I told him that I had not held this post for some months and that I now lived in retirement in the provinces. A pained expression passed over his face. ‘But don’t you miss Literary London?’ he asked.

Sign Up to our newsletter

Receive free articles, highlights from the archive, news, details of prizes, and much more.

Follow Literary Review on Twitter