One More Recent Novelist To

I've Been Writing About James Fenimore Cooper. He Was Not A Writer. Here Was A Man Who Was 30 Years Old And Had Never Put Anything More Than His Signature On Paper.

Faulkner Sat In Our Living Room And Read From Light In August. That Was Incredible.

Unless Criticism Refuses To Take Itself Quite So Seriously Or At Least To Permit Its Readers Not To, It Will Inevitably Continue To Reflect The Finicky Canons Of The Genteel Tradition And The Depressing Pieties Of The Culture Religion Of Modernism.

Critics? How Do They Happen? I Know How It Happened To Me. I Would Send A Poem Or Story To A Magazine And They Would Say This Doesn't Suit Our Needs Precisely But On The Other Hand You Sound Interesting. Would You Be Interested In Doing A Review?

I Gave Up Writing Blurbs Because You Make One Friend And 200 Enemies.