Soon, nostalgia will be another name for Europe.
This lack of imagination gives his heroism to the hero.
Not for Moorcock the painful, infrequent excretion of dry little novels like so many rabbit pellets; his is the grand, messy fluxitself, in all its heroic vulgarity, its unquenchable optimism, its enthusiasm for the inexhaustible variousness of things.
Reading a book is like re-writing it for yourself.
Hope for the best, expect the worst.
It may be the first in what I trust will be a rapidly growing and influential genre--the novel designed on purpose to be excludedfrom the Booker short-list.