Wilson’s novel, pretty much
forgotten now, tells the story of a writer called Bernard Sands who is married
but homosexual and ends up living next door to a woman, Mrs Curry, who procures
children for paedophiles. The book was deemed shocking on publication and would
perhaps be thought even more so today, given the way the subject grows and
grows to become our chosen national nightmare. Whatever else it has been in the
past, paedophilia was always an institutional disorder, in the sense that it
has thrived in covert worlds with powerful elites. Boarding schools and
hospitals, yes, churches certainly, but also in our premier entertainment
labyrinths.
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