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Everyone is obsessed with air fresheners. We associate smell with disgust. But we're all locked into the body; we can't escape it.
Fairy tales read before bed tend to make me dream. They're all quite violent stories, as are my dreams.
For a long time, I'd wanted to write a book that I would be proud and happy and psychologically and morally comfortable about my parents'... →
For the minimum-wager with Caligulan needs, the glory days are soon over.
I am a man of lost faiths.
I don't think things happen for a reason, but I think it's perfectly possible to experience life meaningfully.
I haven't won any prizes or had any best sellers.
I'm not very good at story. In fact, compared to character and language, I barely care about story at all.
Life would be much easier if I just wrote the same book over and over again. But I'm not interested in doing that.
My family is Anglo-Indian, and of the four children, I'm the only one who wasn't born in India.
My position is that you've got to accommodate everything. I don't morally accommodate but imaginatively accommodate.
Nineteenth-century English literature I know; 19th-century sewage systems, not so much.
One of the things that seems absolutely clear to me about werewolves - with their canine makeup - is that they would be dogs, as it were.