Most novelists I know went through a period of intense self-examination and self-loathing after the terrorist attacks on the World Trade Center. I certainly did.

Everything becomes symbol and irony when you've been betrayed

Something changed. Somewhere along the line you stopped accelerating.

Delia's arms were inscribed with a grid of self- inflicted wounds, an intricate text of self-loathing

What I'm nostalgic for is the idea of an edge in New York. There used to be these fringes of the city where civilization sort of ended, and therefore young people could live cheaply, or open nightclubs or art galleries, or even squat. That fringe moved out to New Jersey and Brooklyn. The whole idea of the metropolis is the centralization of like-minded souls, and when the central real estate becomes too expensive, the dreamers, the young poets, and the artists will go elsewhere.

Most of the people I write about have been ambitious outlanders who have been attracted to New York from other parts of the world.

My former wife is a very eccentric woman, which is why I still love her.