For almost three decades Isabel Allende enjoyed a blessing that often eluded the characters in her books: a sense of home and enduring love.
She found sanctuary in a picturesque niche of California and in the arms of an adoring American husband, William Gordon. Not a bad way to spend your autumn years after a life marked by uprooting and loss.
But as the Chilean writer curls up in an oversized hotel armchair in Los Angeles, she detonates a small bomb under the notion of happy-ever-after. “A year ago I would have said home is where my love is,” she says, in grammatically flawless, accented English. “But now that I don’t have a love I don’t know where home is.”
After 27 years of marriage and dozens of books exploring love, family and belonging, the 73-year-old author is now single and living alone in her house outside San Francisco. TheGuardian