Wrapped up Virginia Woolf's "A Room of One's Own" last week and started on Robertson Davies' "The Deptford Trilogy."
Currently still in the early stages of the book, where the narrator survived the war, got his left leg amputated blah blah blah.
One of the character, a Mrs Dempster reminds me of an archetypal Holy Idiot. My mind made the cross-reference to Dostoevsky's The Idiot.
That is the thing with books - each book somehow leads you to another, and at the end you realise all books are essentially talking about each other.
I think Jorge Luis Borges wrote something about that at some point in his life.
1. Deptford Trilogy by Robertson Davies
1. Four Quartets by T. S. Eliot
2. A Room of One's Own by Virginia Woolf
3. Oranges Are Not the Only Fruit by Jeanette Winterson
4. The Claudine Novels by Colette