The novel is dead. Long live the antinovel, built from scraps.

With relatively few exceptions, the novel sacrifices too much, for me, on the altar of plot.

Thomas Jefferson went through the New Testament and removed all the miracles, leaving only the teachings. Take a source, extract what appeals to you, discard the rest. Such an act of editorship is bound to reflect something of the individual doing the editing: a plaster cast of an aesthetic-not the actual thing, but the imprint of it.

Genre is a minimum security prison.

If I'm reading a book and it seems truly interesting, I tend to start reading back to front in order not to be too deeply under the sway of progress.

Story seems to say that everything happens for a reason and I want to say, No, it doesn’t.

Resolution and conclusion are inherent in a plot-driven narrative.