The Creativity Of Childhood Was Often Surrendered

Reality Might Be Described As The Eternal Equipoise Of Positive And Negative.

I Have No Sense Of A Model Or Predecessor When I Write A Memoir: For Me, The Form Exists As A Method Of Processing Material That Retains Too Many Connections To Life To Be Approached Strictly And Aesthetically. A Memoir Is A Risk, A One-off, A Bastard Child.

The 'good' Mother, With Her Fixed Smile, Her Rigidity, Her Goody-goody Outlook, Her Obsession With Unnecessary Hygiene, Is In Fact A Fool. It Is The 'bad' Mother, Unafraid Of A Joke And A Glass Of Wine, Richly Self-expressive, Scornful Of Suburban Values, Who Is, In Reality, Good.

Human Beings Have A Need, Generally, To Destroy Things. The Freudian Principle Of Civilisation Is Correct. There's Always, Always A Difference Between The Family Image And The Reality.

The Reaction To 'aftermath' Has Been Far Worse Than To 'a Life's Work,' Yet I Find I'm Perhaps A Little Less Touched By It. In Both Cases, I've Coped Artistically By Believing The Criticisms Weren't Right. They Upset Me, But They Didn't Challenge My Understanding Of How To Write, Nor Of How Morality Functions In Literature.