New York just expects so much from a girl – acts like it can’t stand even the idea of a wasted talent or opportunity. And Miss Adele had been around. Rome says: enjoy me. London: survive me. New York: gimme all you got. What a thrilling proposition! The chance to be “all that you might be”. Such a thrill – until it becomes a burden. To put a face on – to put a self on – this had once been, for Miss Adele, pure delight. And part of the pleasure had been precisely this: the buying of things. She used to love buying things! Lived for it! Now it felt like effort, now if she never bought another damn thing again she wouldn’t even–I've never read any Zadie Smith before (I know, bad Sophie), but inhaled this compelling piece about a middle-aged trans woman in New York, homophobia and cultural differences. It's wonderfully written, tautly told and packs worlds of history with some liberal economy.
You can read 'Miss Adele Amidst the Corsets' over on The Telegraph website.
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