In the sad wake left by the news of Jenny Diski’s death last week, we continue to read her extraordinary writing. The London Review of Books houses an essential archive of her contributions for them, and they are all freely available online. This passage is excerpted from her final article:
For several days now I’ve been feeling as if I’m on a holiday, a short one coming to its end. Not an especially good one. Not sorry to be leaving, not sorry to have been here. No particular feeling one way or another. Not living in my place. Not familiar enough. As one might sit on the edge of a chair that is waiting for another occupant to take it over. It’s the strangest of strange feelings. Best travelling clothes, a ticking of a clock that will go on ticking after you leave and after the next occupant too.