His Whole Personality Was Like An Elaborate

The Real World Is Horrible.

As A Teenager In Brooklyn Quentin Had Often Imagined Himself Engaged In Martial Heroics, But After This He Knew, As A Cold Immutable Fact, That He Would Do Anything Necessary, Sacrificing Whatever Or Whomever He Had To, To Avoid Risking Exposure To Physical Violence. Shame Never Came Into It. He Embraced His New Identity As A Coward. He Would Run In The Other Direction. He Would Lie Down And Cry And Put His Arms Over His Head Or Play Dead. It Didn't Matter What He Had To Do, He Would Do It And Be Glad.

Maybe This Was One Of Those Times When Being A Hero Didn’t Involve Looking Particularly Brave. It Was Just Doing What You Should.

I Feel That's One Of The Central Questions Of Fantasy. What Did We Lose When We Entered The 20th And 21st Century, And How Can We Mourn What We Lost, And What Can We Replace It With? We're Still Asking Those Questions In An Urgent Way.

How Often Have I Met And Disliked Writers Whose Books I Love; And Conversely, Hated The Books And Then Wound Up Liking The Writer? Too Often.