It's a criminal act, I think that Frances Lynn's click-perfect fashion driven novel "Frantic" is not more widely read, nor has been optioned for a film. There's a lot of heavy chronicling of the London scene of the late 70's/early 80's (think Julie Burchill's self-described Bitch Lit) but material on the top end of the decade is painfully scant.
On this score, Frances to the rescue! Inspired by a close reading of Evelyn Waugh's Vile Bodies, Frances ruled the late 70's scene as a feared gossip columnist for Litchfeild and Bailey's too-hip-to-beathe London rag, Ritz newspaper . But there was a novel bursting within her and Frantic provides a decadent sweep through the late fading world of Swinging London cutting to the glories of hippie acid-freak drag queen legends , the Cockettes of San Francisco, before cutting back to the universe of Celia Birtwell and Ossie Clark in David Hockney’s London basement.
Starring the wayward Alice, Frantic is a wonderland of casual sex, drugs and rock n roll that would make the protagonist sort of the even more badly behaved English cousin of Yves Saint Laurent's Lu Lu vilaine. The intimate details of who wore what is so good, this book could seed a whole collection for an enterprising young designer. What I wouldn't give to have a drink with this author, next time in London. Here's to the tipping point.