We Go On Our Hands And Knees

...the World She Ran Through Loved Her And Would Give Her What She Wanted And Would Let It Happen.

These Were Everyday Sounds Magnified By Darkness. And Darkness Was Nothing - It Was Not A Substance, It Was Not A Presence, It Was No More Than An Absence Of Light.

Novels Without Female Characters Were A Lifeless Desert.

How Can A Novelist Achieve Atonement When, With Her Absolute Power Of Deciding Outcomes, She Is Also God? There Is No One, No Entity Or Higher Form That She Can Appeal To, Or Be Reconciled With, Or That Can Forgive Her. There Is Nothing Outside Her. In Her Imagination She Has Set The Limits And The Terms. No Atonement For God, Or Novelists, Even If They Are Atheists. It Was Always An Impossible Task, And That Was Precisely The Point. The Attempt Was All.

Finally, You Had To Measure Yourself By Other People - There Really Was Nothing Else. Every Now And Then, Quite Unintentionally, Someone Taught You Something About Yourself.