Jeanette Winterson's Night Side of the River

When I lived in East Central London (Cloth Fair/Bartholomew Close) fifteen years ago, I used to frequently walk over to Spitalfields Market, to Verde, Jeannette Winterson's Tea Shop, in the hope of catching a glimpse of her. I loved her novels from the early to mid-1990s--The Passion, Sexing the Cherry, Art & Lies, Gut Symmetries, Stone Gods, etc. Recently I saw a collection of her ghost stories in a bookstore, and picked it up, and was glad I did. Night Side of the River is an amazing collection. Regrettably I left my copy back in Austin (I'm presently in Western Australia), but if I see it here, I might repurchase it. In the latter half of the book, there's two tales of a couple. The first telling is from the perspective of the grieving partner trying to make contact with the spirit of their beloved. The second telling is from the point of view of the ghost, disintegrating, losing her identity, and trying in vain to provide some comfort to her grief-crushed beloved. It was so moving, I wept. It brings to mind, the grief of Marjane Satrapi. I wish she had found some comfort after the loss of her beloved husband. I feel like the world has been robbed of her future creative work.