A Star Appeared...and Was Momentarily Eclipsed By

The Novel Is Very Much Alive, Indeed. In Toronto At The Sixth Annual International Festival Of Authors (october 1985) I Listened To Novelists By The Dozen.

He Doesn't Mind If He Dies... Indeed, He Would Like To Die; But Yet He Fears To Fall. He Would Welcome A Long Sleep; But Not At The Price Of Falling To It.

I Am Not A Theologian Or A Philosopher. I Am A Story Teller.

An Orotundity, Which I Define As Nobelitis A Pomposity In Which One Is Treated As Representative Of More Than Oneself By Someone Conscious Of Representing More Than Himself.

Of The Authors Writing In English, I'd Mention Shakespeare And Milton. But All This Is Terribly High-hat And Makes Me Sound Very Po-faced, I'm Afraid; However, I Just Happen To Like These Enormous, Swinging, Great Creatures.