Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.

All good criticism should be judged the way art is. You shouldn't read it the way you read history or science.

Critics? How do they happen? I know how it happened to me. I would send a poem or story to a magazine and they would say this doesn't suit our needs precisely but on the other hand you sound interesting. Would you be interested in doing a review?

I used to be fond of Indian arm wrestling.

Faulkner sat in our living room and read from Light in August. That was incredible.

Jane Austen is at the end of the line that begins with Samuel Richardson, which takes wonder and magic out of the novel, treats not the past but the present.

DeLillo never seems committed to me to what he is writing. Very nice surfaces, but he's got nothing underneath.