Seth Sinclair paints a touching picture of his father, Clive, and Clive’s brother, Stewart, in stetsons, toting six-guns to the cinema. Clive wore his maverick hat all his life, producing original, erudite and funny works in the face of adversities that would have felled many people. In his St Albans years, friends getting his answerphone would be greeted by Clive’s lugubrious intonation of the Leonard Cohen lyric, “I was born like this, I had no choice. I was born with the gift of a golden voice.” He was a gifted writer and a steadfast and brave man. Clive and I were both early clients of the great literary agent Deborah Rogers and I was proud to call him, and Stewart, a friend for more than 50 years. His forthcoming posthumous collection of stories, Shylock Must Die, should not only enhance his reputation but also remind people of what we have lost.
