Lesley Glaister
Lesley Glaister
Full Name and Common Aliases
Lesley Glaister is a British novelist and short story writer, known by her given name.
Birth and Death Dates
Born on 1945 in Cardiff, Wales, UK. Unfortunately, the date of death is not readily available.
Nationality and Profession(s)
Lesley Glaister's nationality is Welsh. She works as a novelist and short story writer, and has also published poetry.
Early Life and Background
Growing up in Cardiff during World War II influenced Lesley's writing style significantly. Her childhood experiences of evacuation to the countryside helped shape her understanding of the world, particularly in terms of relationships between people and their environments. She studied English Literature at University College London, where she developed a deep appreciation for literary works.
Major Accomplishments
Lesley Glaister has made significant contributions to the literary world through her engaging novels and short stories that often explore themes of identity, family dynamics, and human relationships. Her writing is known for its unique voice and insightful portrayals of everyday life. Some notable achievements include:
Publication of multiple novels and short story collections
Nominations for prestigious literary awards
Notable Works or Actions
Lesley Glaister's works are celebrated for their nuanced exploration of human experiences, often focusing on the complexities of relationships within families and communities. Her writing has been praised for its vivid characterizations and thought-provoking themes.
Key Works:
"Harmless Airs and Placeless Space" (1996): A collection of short stories exploring the intricacies of family dynamics.
"The Square: A Novel (2000)*: A novel delving into the lives of a group of friends as they navigate love, loss, and identity.
Impact and Legacy
Lesley Glaister's writing has made a lasting impact on the literary landscape. Her unique voice and thought-provoking themes have resonated with readers worldwide. Her exploration of everyday life through her characters' experiences continues to inspire and engage readers.
Why They Are Widely Quoted or Remembered
Lesley Glaister is widely quoted or remembered for:
Her insightful portrayal of family dynamics: Her writing skillfully captures the intricacies of human relationships, making her works relatable and engaging.* Her exploration of everyday life: Lesley's stories often delve into the complexities of ordinary people's lives, offering readers a chance to reflect on their own experiences.
Lesley Glaister's literary contributions have left an indelible mark on the world of fiction. Her unique voice and thought-provoking themes continue to inspire readers, making her one of the most celebrated writers in contemporary literature.
Quotes by Lesley Glaister
Lesley Glaister's insights on:
Clem ground out her cigarette and immediately wished she hadn’t. It had felt like something live she could hold onto.
She lay a moment longer. Oh it was queer; she was ignited. Now she understood it. Love. And she was changed.
Iris kissing the lips of a dying boy. Imagine! So very kind, so killingly funny! Cross-eyed Iris in her specs, whatever did the poor boy think?
And she comes, she actually bloody well comes, bustling down between the beds, bless her heart, in her best coat and vile black straw hat, more fit for a funeral than anything. He’ll get her another, whatever she wants, the best money can buy. He’s so pleased to see her he could nearly bloody cry.
The iris of his good eye was a curious pale grey, almost silver; the edges were darker, as if tarnished like a coin, and the artist made a brave attempt to paint the other eye to match. The eyebrow had been finely painted, with the most miniature of brushes, the most delicate of strokes, but it was a shade too yellow. The blank eye gazed beyond her.
He frowned, pulled her roughly against him. She could feel the tickle of his chest hair against her cheek and his bristles on top of her head. She could feel the outraged beating of his heart.
Right on the dot, Ted waltzes in as if he owns the place. Vince looks up from the pump. Christ he’s got his ice-cream seller’s jacket on, straw hat, moustache gleaming like a pair of brass handles.
And then came Mrs Fletcher, snapping her scissors, the soft scrunch of the blades through thick hanks, the gradual sensation of lightness. Now every scrap of hair that Powell had touched was gone.
Walking back in the lamp-stained dark, the duckboards greasy and glittering with frost, she wanted to sing, she wanted to scream, she wanted to make love to him, she wanted to die.
The infant’s eyes were as black as if night were trapped behind his lids, and when he opened them she feared she’d be consumed.