I Want My Name To Mean Me.

If One Book's Done This Well, You Want To Write Another One That Does Just As Well. There's That Horror Of The Second Novel That Doesn't Match Up.

I Rolled Back Onto The Lawn And Pressed My Forehead To The Ground Again And Made The Noise That Father Calls Groaning. I Make This Noise When There Is Too Much Information Coming Into My Head From The Outside World. It Is Like When You Are Upset And You Hold The Radio Against Your Ear And You Tune It Halfway Between Two Stations So That All You Get Is White Noise And Then You Turn The Volume Right Up So That This Is All Can Hear And Then You Know You Are Safe Because You Cannot Hear Anything Else

I Think People Believe In Heaven Because They Don't Like The Idea Of Dying, Because They Want To Carry On Living And They Don't Like The Idea That Other People Will Move Into Their House And Put Their Things Into The Rubbish.

My Book Has A Very Simple Surface, But There Are Layers Of Irony And Paradox All The Way Through It.

I Do Not Like Strangers Because I Do Not Like People I Have Never Met Before. They Are Hard To Understand.