He Had Never Even Glimpsed Her.

After Memory Keepers Daughter, It Took Me A Few Months To Shut Out The World. I Really Had To Turn Off The Internet And Sort Of Cloister Myself Away From The World Again And Sink Into That Psychic Space To Write Again.

Norah Looked At Her Son’s Tiny Face, Surprised, As Always, By His Name. He Had Not Grown Into It Yet, He Still Wore It Like A Wrist Band, Something That Might Easily Slip Off And Disappear. She Had Read About People – Where? She Could Not Remember This Either – Who Refused To Name Their Children For Several Weeks, Feeling Them To Be Not Yet Of The Earth, Suspended Still Between Two Worlds.

Grief, It Seemed, Was A Physical Place.

He'd Kept This Silence Because His Own Secrets Were Darker, More Hidden, And Because He Believed That His Secrets Had Created Hers.

Writing Is Always A Process Of Discovery—i Never Know The End, Or Even The Events On The Next Page, Until They Happen. There’s A Constant Interplay Between The Imagining And Shaping Of The Story.