For A Small Island [great Britain], The

Are We Savages Or What?

There's A Kinship Among Men Who Have Sat By A Dying Fire And Measured The Worth Of Their Life By It.

While I Am On, I Can Discipline Myself To That Extent. When I Am Off, I Can't Discipline Myself At All. On The Other Hand, When I Am Off, There Are So Many Things I Like Doing, It Doesn't Really Matter.

I Will Tell You What Man Is. He Is A Freak, An Ejected Foetus Robbed Of His Natural Development, Thrown Out Into The World With A Naked Covering Of Parchment, With Too Little Room For His Teeth And A Soft Bulging Skull Like A Bubble. But Nature Stirs A Pudding There.

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.