But To Do Its Noticing And Judging,

In The First Half Of The 20th Century, We Lived Through Human Disasters On A Scale Unimaginable. The Holocaust Was Once Suggested Would Be The End Of Not Only Civilization, But Art, Too.

This Commonplace Cycle Of Falling Asleep And Waking, In Darkness, Under Private Cover, With Another Creature, A Pale Soft Tender Mammal, Putting Faces Together In A Ritual Of Affection, Briefly Settled In The Eternal Necessities Of Warmth, Comfort, Safety, Crossing Limbs To Draw Nearer - A Simple Daily Consolation, Almost Too Obvious, Easy To Forget By Daylight.

I Actually Find Novels That Are Determined To Be Funny At Every Turn Quite Oppressive.

At The Risk Of Sounding Like Virginia Woolf, I Could Live On £700 A Year.

I'm Delighted When People Respond With Passion And Readily Intensity To My Work. Literature Is Not As The Economist Would Put It A Positional Good; In Other Words, There Is Infinite Space For Good Literature.