I had always wanted to be a writer who confused genre boundaries and who was read in multiple contexts.

As much as I care about historical context - I'm very eager to read a really great historical account.

The past is still visible. The buildings haven't changed, the layout of the streets hasn't changed. So memory is very available to me as I walk around.

I just noticed recently that in one book after another I seem to find an excuse to find some character who, to put it idiotically simply, is allowed to talk crazy.

When the civil rights battle was won, all the Jews and hippies and artists were middle class white people and all the blacks were still poor. Materially, not much changed.

Some people have things written all over their faces; the big guy had a couple of words misspelled in crayon on his.

Music still sort of hangs up there in the sky for me as this thing that moves me so much, but I can't really make it. It's like a car I can't drive.