Quills (review)
‘I’ve a naughty little tale to tell,’ the Marquis de Sade informs us as Quills opens. It’s actually the opening line to the latest bit of juicy pornography he’s writing, but of course it applies to the story Quills tells, a fictional account of de Sade’s final years spent in a French insane asylum. As promised, Quills is bawdy and often surprisingly funny, but more frequently it’s like a dark and disturbing flip side of Shakespeare in Love, exploring the inner and outer demons that torment and inspire writers and the necessity of leaving writers to exorcise those demons on their own, no matter whose sacred cows get slaughtered.








