I honestly thought I was bored to death with Anal's Nin after the appearance of umpteen volumes of her diaries, but Deirdre Bair's biography reads like an exceptionally gripping bestseller. So many lovers, so little love though in the end, after sessions on the couch (literally) with shrink after shrink, and a prolonged episode of incest with her pianist father, she found belated domesticity of all things with Rupert Pole of all people an actor, a gardener, a dog lover and definitely not an intellectual. Pretty toy boy he may have been, but it was he who stuck with her, cleaning, wiping and consoling, when cancer took its spiteful and humiliating toll of her once beautiful body.
