Rotorua

The waitresses at the motel, Burgess writes in his autobiography, were

glorious Maori girls.

He was in Rotorua to open a convention of booksellers, who, he says,

exulted in their thriving greeting-card, paper doily and Barbara Cartland businesses and disparaged literature as a nuisance — hard to sell and it got in the way of the doilies. The next morning I thundered about booksellers’ responsibility and attacked suburban philistinism.

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