I Didn't Read A Serious Book Until

Things Happen When People Are Not Where They Belong, And The World Moves Forward And Back By That Principle.

My Father Died In My Arms. That's Tumult. That's Everything Exploding.

The Ways In Which Things Are Superficially Similar But Also Distinct Is Interesting To Me.

In Order To Write Novels For A Living - It's Not Pathological, But I Do Think And Worry And Brood And Fidget About Stuff That I'm Working On.

The Past Is The Prism Through Which We See A Great, Great, Great Deal Of Ourselves; It's A Useful Prism. It Doesn't Mean That We're Fascinated By The Dead Or That We're Fascinated By Things That Are Settled. It Is Just One Place Where We Can Go To Understand Ourselves In The Present.