I didn't want to write another book about fraudulence.

Every relationship can feel saturated by market logic or at best purchased at the price of the immiseration of others.

In art and life we're always reading bodies and behaviors (and skies and skylines or whatever), constructing brief and shifting coherences, and I guess I want to capture that process of characterization and re-characterization instead of offering up a few stable, easily-summarized individuals.

I usually see the word "metafiction" applied to works that draw attention to their own devices, their own artificiality, in order to mock novelistic convention and show the impossibility of capturing a reality external to the text or whatever.

I like to think - knowing that it's an enabling fiction - of those moments as fragments from a world to come, a world where price isn't the only measure of value.

I’ll work my way from irony to sincerity in the sinking city, a would-be Whitman of the vulnerable grid.

I'm defending fiction as a human capacity more than as a popular or dying literary genre.