I don't know, maybe it's because I was raised Catholic. Confession has always held a great appeal for me.

When I was growing up in the 1960s, there was starting to be more books geared towards young adults.

At first I was glad for the help. My freshmen English class, "Mythology and Archetypal Experience," confounded me. I didn't understand why we couldn't just read books without forcing contorted interpretations on then

Although I am good at enumerating my father’s flaws, it’s hard for me to sustain much anger at him. I expect this is partly because he’s dead, and partly because the bar is lower for fathers than it is for mothers.

I suppose that a lifetime spent hiding one's erotic truth could have a cumulative renunciatory effect. Sexual shame is in itself a kind of death.

But I read comic books. I read things like Richie Rich and Little Lulu.

Grief takes many forms, including the absence of grief