What Reader Wants To Be Told What

The Moment You Lose Curiosity In The World, You Might As Well Be Dead.

I'm Holding Back, Delaying The Information. I'm Lingering In The Prior Moment Because It Was A Time When Other Outcomes Were Still Possible.

I Couldn't Think About Novels At All. It Seemed The Only Writing That Was Appropriate To That Horrendous Event Was Journalism, Reportage. And, In Fact, I Think The Profession Rose Quite Honorably To The Task. Novelists Require A Slower Turnover, I Mean, In Time.

These Memories Sustained Him, But Not So Easily. Too Often They Reminded Him Of Where He Was When He Last Summoned Them. They Lay On The Far Side Of A Great Divide In Time, As Significant As B.c. And A.d. Before Prison, Before The War, Before The Sight Of A Corpse Became A Banality.

London In The '70s Was A Pretty Catastrophic Dump, I Can Tell You. We Had Every Kind Of Industrial Trouble; We Had Severe Energy Problems; We Were Under Constant Terrorist Attack From Irish Terrorist Groups Who Had Started A Bombing Campaign In English Cities; Politics Were Fantastically Polarized Between Left And Right.