Paris Review collection.
Never heard of her. The story is intense, not happy, though a few 'humoristic' notes (as the introduction called them. They might just as well be labelled "sad") about a woman writing letters to her husband to explain, to clarify, her stay in Hotel Henry. Why exactly, where her fascination with Turkish women comes from, what the war is about, nothing is explained. Not much even happens. But it is an intense picture nonetheless.
The author died around the age of 57, and was an alcoholic, which made the story chave.
