In Some Ways I Think

I Guess In Life I Find People Who, At First Glance, Appear To Be Very Typical Or Average, Whatever That Means, And Then Turn Out To Have Hidden Qualities.

And An Unstable Childhood Makes You Appreciate Calmness And Not Crave Excitement. To Spend A Saturday Afternoon Mopping Your Kitchen Floor While Listening To Opera On The Radio, And To Go That Night To An Indian Restaurant With A Friend And Be Home By Nine O'clock - These Are Enough. They Are Gifts.

I Thought, If I Write A Book That Is Not A Retelling Of Pride And Prejudice, It's Not Going To Mean That I Will Not Get Any Criticism. I Might As Well Write The Book That I Want To Write.

My Boarding School Experience Was The Only Thing I Had Strong Enough Feelings To Write About For Hundreds And Hundreds Of Pages. I Can Still Smell The Formaldehyde Of The Fetal Pigs In Biology.

Perhaps Fiction Has, For Me, Served A Similar Purpose--what Is A Narrative Arc If Not The Imposition Of Order On Disparate Events?--and Perhaps It Is My Avid Reading That Has Been My Faith All Along.