As a girl - twelve, thirteen years old - I was absolutely certain that a good book had to have a man as its hero, and that depressed me.

Climbing the economic ladder has been very hard for me; I still feel a great deal of guilt towards those I left behind.

Anonymity lets me concentrate exclusively on writing.

Is it possible that even happy moments of pleasure never stand up to a rigorous examination? Possible.

I didn't choose anonymity.Instead, I chose absence.

I no longer protect myself from the world I grew up in. Rather, today I try to protect the feelings I have for that world, the emotional space where my desire to write first took hold, and still grows.

We lie in order to tolerate our existence and, most of all, we lie to ourselves.