You bury your childhood here and there. It waits for you, all your life, to come back and dig it up.

Invisible Beasts is a strange and beautiful meditation on love and seeing, a hybrid of fantasy and field guide, novel and essay, treatise and fable. With one hand it offers a sad commentary on environmental degradation, while with the other it presents a bright, whimsical, and funny exploration of what it means to be human. It's wonderfully written, crazily imagined, and absolutely original.

Time is a slippery thing: lose hold of it once, and its string might sail out of your hands forever.

You bury your childhood here and there. It waits for you, all your life, to come back and dig it up.

My preference is for prose with more silence in it, language that contains more pockets of strangeness.

I found my first novel difficult. I don't want to make it sound like it's any more difficult than driving a cab or going to any other job, but there are so many opportunities for self-doubt, that you just kind of need to soldier on.

I've been getting into Nick Drake lately, the folk singer. Sad, gorgeous stuff.