I'm Very Attracted To Exile Literature -

It's Not In Good Taste To Have Talking Ghosts In A Grown-up Novel.

Then You Begin To Give Up The Very Idea Of Belonging. Suddenly This Thing, This Belonging,it Seems Like Some Long, Dirty Lie ... And I Begin To Believe That Birthplaces Are Accidents, That Everything Is An Accident. But If You Believe That, Where Do You Go? What Do You Do? What Does Anything Matter?

English, As A Subject, Never Really Got Over Its Upstart Nature. It Tries To Bulk Itself Up With Hopeless Jargon And Specious Complexity, Tries To Imitate Subjects It Can Never Be.

All Novels Attempt To Cut Neural Routes Through The Brain, To Convince Us That Down This Road The True Future Of The Novel Lies.

Today, Writing Seems To Me Like An Incredible Luxury, Almost A Perversity, Something Which Hardly Exists In The World Anymore, Where You Get To See The Fruits Of Your Actions In A Daily Way.