During the fall of 2007, I borrowed “Oranges are Not the Only Fruit” by Jeanette Winterson from a friend who had never read it before. At the time, I had never heard of Winterson, nor had I read any of her other works. The moment I peeled open the pages of “Oranges,” I couldn't put it down. I discovered that each word in Winterson's novel is a delicious, juicy, succulent piece of a larger story.
Up until the age of 17, I thought that poetry and p
rose were completely different forms of writing. One was straightforward and used sensible language to weave a plot. The other was often chaotic, using flowery language to express abstract ideas.
Upon reading Winterson's autobiographically inspired novel, I found that prose and poetry could be one in the same. The phrases Winterson uses are prose in the sense that they build towards a larger plot, while the way she writes, weaves, and creates her story is more poetic than any poetic verses I've ever read.
In “Oranges,” Winte
rson explores her own upbringing, the realization of her love for literature, and her blossoming sexuality in a household that kept only the bible on its bookshelves. With flowing language she describes stuttering teenage times, and with comedic verses she delves into the sadness and confusion of her youth.Shortly after reading “Oranges,” I began the lengthy and enjoyable process of devouring every book Winterson has ever written. “The Passion” and “Written on the Body” have climbed to the top of my own recommended reading list.
Each novel Winterson writes is just as poetic as the last. She has a way of using short, sort of surprising phrases next to long, rambling sentences full of commas, parentheses, and dashes. This fashion of forming her sentences is something I have longed- and tried- to replicate, but I will never achieve the poetic level of prose that Winterson has reached.
Furthermore, within all this poetic-like prose, Winterson is never too explicit. Even when writing about sex, death, and blood, she manages to create a soft image, a sideways reference, and a gentle reference with no rough explanations. While much of the poetry and prose created over the centuries has been about love, sex, and death, Winterson is able to describe a huge range of emotions and extremely subtle physical experience with a few well-placed words and simple adjectives.
For months after I read “Oranges,” I urged the friend from whom I borrowed the book to read its intriguing mixture of prose and poetry. I would repeat lines from that novel- and many of Winterson's other stories- to friends and family in order to bate them into reading my favourite novel. I even chose an “Oranges” quote as my high school graduation message: “If you want to keep your own teeth, make your own sandwiches.”
I am still repeating those same lines today.
