There's a certain nostalgia and romance in a place you left.

When it comes time to sit down and write the next book, you're deathly afraid that you're not up to the task. That was certainly the case with me after Snow Falling on Cedars.

Fiction is socially meaningful.

There are things in this universe that we cannot control, and then there are the things we can. . . . Let fate, coincidence, and accident conspire; human beings must act on reason.

The real question is: How do you react? What do you do next? Evade responsibilities? Bury yourself in work? What do you do? All three of my novels take up that question, although none gives an answer.

At one level you're condemned to the voice you have. But within those confines, you have a certain amount of freedom to range among your possible voices.

The strange thing was, he wanted to like everyone. He just couldn't find a way to do it.