I discovered Jeanette Winterson back in high school, picking up “The Powerbook” by chance. I remember being enamored with the language and theme, despite the seemingly jarring narrative. Maybe I loved the worlds she created, I don’t know.
Much has been said that “The Powerbook” was not representative of Winterson’s work. So about ten years after I discovered Winterson (with pit stops of “Oranges are Not the Only Fruit”, “Written on the Body” and “Sexing the Cherry” during my college years), I finally found a copy of “The Passion,” which some say was Winterson at her best.