A.S. Byatt: I Have Not Yet Written Enough | Literary Hub

The setting for my talk with the writer A.S. Byatt is one she could have described to perfection. Outside, on an Amsterdam canal, old houses regard their reflection in dark water. Inside, discreet light shines on paintings and artworks and candles illuminate the bookshelves that line the hotel bar. Dame Antonia has asked me to meet her here at six, but when I arrive she already has a visitor: the Dutch writer Cees Nooteboom, who has stopped by to bring his old friend a new selection of his work in French. He orders whiskey, she a glass of champagne. Then these two white-haired, keen-eyed literary eminences retire to a side room to talk while I chat in the bar with Peter Duffy, Byatt's genial, bearded husband. It's a quiet moment, but in the light of current affairs it feels poignant, a scene from a fading dream of cultural exchange.