I guess you could say I like an aura of mystery but really what I think I like is the idea of reclaiming these writers from dusty shelves. As the amazing British novelist Sarah Waters (who never gets enough love on American lit-sites) wrote recently, Warner’s obscurity ‘baffles, frustrates and, I think, secretly pleases her admirers, for she’s the kind of novelist who inspires an intense sense of ownership in her fans.’ I suspect all kinds of novelists — good ones, anyway — share this quality. But on the secret pleasure thing Waters is right on. Pursuing all these long-dead, forgotten people down their bibliographies feels like picking a lock, like I’m a child, enjoying being somewhere she isn’t supposed to be.
— The Rumpus discovers Sylvia Townsend Warner (with a little help from The New Yorker's fiction podcast) and discusses reading women authors; read the entire article here. Over the years we’ve published three Townsend Warner books: Lolly Willowes, Summer Will Show, and Mr. Fortune, an edition with includes a novella and it’s follow-up short story.