I’ve been a huge fan of Jackie Collins since I read The World Is Full Of Married Men at 16, a novel banned in South Africa and Australia because of its vivid depictions of extramarital sex.
Her books were like crack cocaine and reading them was the most fun you could have with your clothes on. I still feel that way and am thrilled, as a critic for this newspaper, to have reviewed so many of them.
Twitter nearly exploded when she announced she’d finished her 32nd — and last — novel, a few months ago. Even after all these years I still screamed with excitement when it landed on my doormat.
It annoys me when literary snobs deride Collins as trashy and inconsequential. You can’t argue with 500 million sales. Her plots are always fabulously intricate affairs — addictive, confident and pacey.
A Jackie Collins novel is also an excellent template for life. She made clear that family must be cherished, time and care put into precious relationships and kindness is usually repaid with loyalty.
Worse than the snobs are those who say her sexy storylines objectify women. On the contrary, she celebrated brave, intelligent and strong women.
Collins was an important feminist of our time, partly due to her own prolific achievements but also because of the characters she created: ballsy, bright women who go after what they want, stand up against odious and powerful men, and achieve great things.
In Collins’s world, decent men with morals and family values are celebrated, whereas men who don’t respect women are barely tolerated. That’s why in her novels wife-beaters, rapists and misogynists of all stripes meet satisfyingly nasty ends.
Daily Mail