Pandora's Handbag

Elizabeth Young, 'the great avant-garde literary critic the British had, but never really knew existed. How bloody typical' (Will Self) died in the spring of 2001 aged only 50.

The Times called her 'a grounded combination of the everyday and the esoteric; eccentric but not flaky'; the Guardian obituary writer described her as 'one of the most brilliant literary critics of her generation'; and the New Statesman singled out 'her fierce independent intelligence, her originality and daring as a literary critic, the depth of her reading and, above all, her fearlessness. She was one of a small squad of reviewers who were not in thrall to established reputations and, because they were smart and well-read, wrote about books and the writing life with enormous power and iconoclasm. In a less meretricious age, Elizabeth Young would have been a star; but, in many ways, she was too good, too uncompromising in her tastes.'

Now her literary criticism has been published as Pandora's Handbag (Serpent's Tail). One of the essays in it first appeared in the New Statesman in July 1999, when she wrote:

'We have been warned regularly, for almost a century now, that the Death of the Novel is nigh. This dire prediction has always been confounded but now, for the first time, something seems different. I can find almost no new UK fiction that I wish to read. I am not suggesting that there is no-one at all in Britain who is currently writing readable fiction but with the occasional exception there is very little that, well, seizes the soul. Most of what passes for literary fiction in Britain is just not very good.'

'The aftermath to this essay,' wrote Elizabeth Young in the book, 'was most interesting and curious. I received a letter from an editor at a new, mail-order publishing house who had divined, quite correctly, that what I was complaining about was not being able to find books to love. My library is full of books I truly love but it is very hard to find new ones now. Anyway, she enclosed a copy of Fidelity by Susan Glaspell ­ and I did indeed love it. I was particularly intrigued by these publishers, Persephone Books, as their founder, Nicola Beauman [embarrassingly nice remark] wrote A Very Great Profession: The Woman's Novel 1914-39, and apparently had long wanted to be able to reprint books she loved which had been forgotten.

I wrote to thank Victoria Heath, who had sent Fidelity, and she sent me William ­ an Englishman and The Victorian Chaise-longue. I read both these novels consecutively, at one sitting. They were extraordinarily absorbing ­ and very good. The books themselves are utterly beautiful ­ grey softbacks with the most incredible endpapers, designs chosen from the period of the novel and intended to enhance and echo the themes of the book. So if you, like me, are short of real fiction ­ the sort that blots out the world ­ I suggest you contact Persephone Books. All the books cost £10 each, which I think is a bargain nowadays.

'I am very, very bad at answering letters and acknowledging books sent to me. The fact that I wrote long letters back to Persephone Books indicates very clearly how much receiving these publications meant to me - and how happy I was to encounter a publisher with such an admirable set of priorities. Books must be loved ­ with discrimination.'

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You can see a complete list of Persephone Books and order online here. Or you can email us, telephone on 020 7242 9292, send a fax to 020 7242 9272 or write to the following address: Persephone Books Ltd, 59 Lamb's Conduit Street, London WC1N 3NB All Persephone Books cost £10 each plus £2 postage (see more information on ordering). We can now send a book a month for six or twelve months - more >