The Novelist Has More And More To

Walter Had Never Liked Cats. They'd Seemed To Him The Sociopaths Of The Pet World, A Species Domesticated As An Evil Necessary For The Control Of Rodents And Subsequently Fetishized The Way Unhappy Countries Fetishize Their Militaries, Saluting The Uniforms Of Killers As Cat Owners Stroke Their Animals' Lovely Fur And Forgive Their Claws And Fangs. He'd Never Seen Anything In A Cat's Face But Simpering Incuriosity And Self-interest; You Only Had To Tease One With A Mouse-toy To See Where It's True Heart Lay...cats Were All About Using People

But She Was Seventeen Now And Not Actually Dumb. She Knew That You Could Love Somebody More Than Anything And Still Not Love The Person All That Much, If You Were Busy With Other Things.

Even In An Intensely Mediated World, In A World That Offers At Least The Illusion Of Radical Self-invention And Radical Freedom Of Choice, I As A Novelist Am Drawn To The Things You Can't Get Away From. Because Much Of The Promise Of Radical Self-invention, Of Defining Yourself Through This Marvelous Freedom Of Choice, It's Just A Lie. It's A Lie That We All Buy Into, Because It Helps The Economy Run.

I Try To Write Things That Can't Be Made Into Movies. My Novels Have Thwarted Many Attempts To Film Them And I Think That Was True Of The Essay, Too. If You'd Actually Tried To Be True To The Essay, It Would Have Been, Perhaps, Boring. So Taking That Narrow Little Cast Of Characters And Expanding It Out, That Was What Was Exciting About The Project For Me.

The Personality Susceptible To The Dream Of Limitless Freedom Is A Personality Also Prone, Should The Dream Ever Sour, To Misanthropy And Rage.