I used to worry about finding out that a novel was not ‘for me’. But you don’t have to like writing just because, in its own terms, it is good. This is a blog on Gwendoline Riley (2026) ‘The Palm House’. It starts by defining that strangeness in the novel that is precisely ‘not the kind of strangeness for me’ anymore.
I used to worry about finding out that a novel was not ‘for me’. But you don’t have to like writing just because in its own terms, it is good. This is a blog on Gwendoline Riley (2026) The Palm House London, Picador. It starts by defining that strangeness in the novel that is precisely … More I used to worry about finding out that a novel was not ‘for me’. But you don’t have to like writing just because, in its own terms, it is good. This is a blog on Gwendoline Riley (2026) ‘The Palm House’. It starts by defining that strangeness in the novel that is precisely ‘not the kind of strangeness for me’ anymore.





![Maybe life, at bottom, is quicksand! Comparing Henrietta Moraes’ life ‘to quicksand, deadly calm on the surface but inherently untrustworthy beneath’, Dom Moraes, her third husband is said by Darren Coffield to have ‘worshipped the shifting sand she walked on’.[1] That worship wasn’t quite that of a lasting religion and when it changed it disappeared from sight like a body sunken into quicksand does. However, Darren Coffield allows Henrietta Moraes to speak to us, if fitfully, again. This blog is a reflection on Darren Coffield (2026) Hen: Mistress of Mayhem Cheltenham, The History Press.](https://i0.wp.com/livesteven.com/wp-content/uploads/2026/05/image-61.png?resize=365%2C357&ssl=1)





