Abstract

Whilst her first two novels, Berg (1964) and Three (1966), were generally well-received, the publication of Passages (1969) signalled a turn in critical success for Ann Quin. Apart from one anonymous review in The Times which praised the lucid and direct expression of particular observations and moments in the novel, Passages generally didn’t fare well in contemporary appraisals. It was repeatedly accused of being too obscure and of elevating technique above content. Yet despite its critical failure, Passages is the novel Quin herself found most exciting. This article explores the multiplicity of meanings gestured towards in Quin’s third novel whilst at the same time reflecting on the process of conducting archival research in her papers. The piecing together of information to better understand Quin’s life and work mirrors the search for an ultimate(ly elusive) meaning in this novel which destabilizes the notion of a singular coherent self. Consisting of both textual analysis as well as personal reflections on the archival research process, this article weaves together criticism and memoir, drawing inspiration from Quin’s own description regarding the process of writing Passages in which she compared the moving to and from words to jazz improvisations. In doing so, this article adopts a circling approach, approaching both the novel in question and its author slantwise, suggesting that the space of not-knowing might nevertheless be a productive one in which to engage with Quin’s life and work.

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