Abstract
Among Angus Wilson's many gifts is the ability, rare in male novelists, to create interesting and plausible female characters. Most men who write fiction tend to see women almost as adjuncts of the masculine world: they are there to stimulate joy and to cause distress. There isn't a single memorable, independent woman in the works of such distinguished authors as Graham Greene, Saul Bellow and V. S. Naipaul, all of whom have been accounted great at some time or another. It is Herzog and Henderson one remembers, and the whisky priest and haunted Scobie, and Mr. Biswas and the hag-ridden heroes of Guerillas and A Bend in the River. The aunt in Greene's Travels with
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