When women I know – friends and acquaintances – discovered I was to interview Waters, I was greeted with a universal sense of ownership. Not the usual approval of a writer whose work they admire, but ownership, a sort of devotion and sense that – gay or straight – Waters is ours, the women’s writer, chronicler of our lives, passions and struggles. When I tell her this, she blushes. Not blood crimson, but a soft rosy blush that creeps into her cheeks as the awkwardness returns. “It’s lovely to hear that,” she says self-consciously.
But why do you think that is? I ask. Quiet fills the office, I look out of the window at the sky and feel a bit awkward myself. I hear Waters’ PR turning the door handle. “Maybe it’s because I pay attention to women’s history,” she replies earnestly. As if that isn’t quite enough, she adds: “To their secret history and lives, acknowledging meaning in their domestic lives.” The PR enters the room to tell me my time is up. Waters beams, as if just granted a pardon. [Read More]