Creole? "I thought it was a way of cooking chicken." The early autobiography of Jean Rhys reads like an anti-Pygmalion. Her dreams of the stage crashed on the rocks of British prejudice against her Caribbean accent. She slipped into what is quaintly called the demi-monde: posed, danced, aborted, almost died, married again a man who is arrested and exhiled.
To the 'rescue' comes Madox Ford dragging his poor wife along. He comes across as the sort of 'humbug' who feels that hating himself gives him the right to be hateful with everyone. As he is taking advantage of Rhys, her husband is marching in the prison yard wearing his blanket as a hat. Ford's wife turns a blind eye to her own husband but tries to control Rhys by forbidding her to visit the prison.
Artistic patrons behave as badly as USAID it seems. After WTO demanded Europe stop giving guilty preference to Caribbean monocrops, islanders returns fell to pennies on the ton. Screwed by Ford, controlled by charity.
To the 'rescue' comes Madox Ford dragging his poor wife along. He comes across as the sort of 'humbug' who feels that hating himself gives him the right to be hateful with everyone. As he is taking advantage of Rhys, her husband is marching in the prison yard wearing his blanket as a hat. Ford's wife turns a blind eye to her own husband but tries to control Rhys by forbidding her to visit the prison.
Artistic patrons behave as badly as USAID it seems. After WTO demanded Europe stop giving guilty preference to Caribbean monocrops, islanders returns fell to pennies on the ton. Screwed by Ford, controlled by charity.
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