If Im going to invest the time in a novel, I want something more than the entertainment you get out of most genre fiction.
Glen DuncanWords betrayed her: beautiful butterflies in her mind; dead moths when she opened her mouth for their release into the world.
Glen DuncanNicotine and alcohol embraced in my system like long-parted siblings, grateful to me for reuniting them.
Glen DuncanYes, Eden was beautiful- and if I had to squeeze through corporeal keyholes to crash it- so be it. (Hasn’t it bothered you, this part of the story, my being there, I mean? What was I doing there? ‘Presume not the ways of God to scan,’ you’ve been told in umpteen variations, ‘the proper study of Mankind is Man.’ Maybe so, but what, excuse me, was the Devil doing in Eden?) I took the forms of animals. I found I could. (That’s generally my reason for doing something, by the way, because I find I can.)
Glen Duncan