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John Fowles continues to cause a stir from beyond the grave. It emerges that the man who gave us a novel with an alternative ending was leading a double life until his death.
Secret letters from Fowles reveal he had an affair with an Oxford student 43 years his junior who modelled herself on the heroine in his tale of scandalous love, The French Lieutenant's Woman. Elena van Lieshout, a 21-year-old Oxford undergraduate, wrote a letter of condolence to the author on hearing of his wife's death and he invited her to afternoon tea.
There is a long history of readers who abandon themselves to writers and their work. Lady Caroline Lamb wrote Byron an anonymous fan letter on reading Childe Harold. "If he is as ugly as Aesop I must see him," she said.
The 19-year-old Elizabeth Smart read a volume of George Barker's poetry and decided she wanted to have his babies. She was a little put out to discover he had a wife but it didn't stop Mr Barker siring four children with her.
Robert Browning wrote to Elizabeth Barrett, whom he had never met - "I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett, and I love you too" - and they eventually eloped.
Just as forward was the letter received by Thomas Hardy, aged 65, from a 26-year-old, doe-eyed fan called Florence.
Florence conveniently dropped by when Mrs Hardy was out, and, needless to say, Hardy fell in love with her. She later became wife number two. (Claire Tomalin relates in her biography how Hardy helped Florence to find work as a journalist by recommending her to the Evening Standard and the Standard got its reward when he allowed this paper to print the profile she had prepared for his 70th birthday.)
Flattery is not the only recipe for a successful seduction. Being downright impertinent can help too. Rebecca West wrote a devastating review of HG Wells's book Marriage when she was just 19. Her critique either amused or aroused him and he invited her to lunch.
Although he was a married man, they were soon exchanging pet names of Panther (her) and Jaguar (him) and love letters ("Dearest Panther ... I shall lay my paw upon you this Wednesday"). Wells, whose tiny hands and squeaky voice belied his success as a Don Juan, credited his pulling power to the fact that his body smelt of honey. If only it were so easy. I am sure his deep pockets played a part too.
What all these literary affairs go to prove is that physical presence is not necessary in order for seduction to take place. Just as writing is a compulsion, so reading too can be highly charged, intoxicating and dangerous. "If the reader is not at risk," said Harold Brodkey, "he is not reading."
