It's a terrible thing for a book, when you feel like you're supposed to like it.

I came from an anxious, overly intense East Coast academic family. That was the way of our tribe.

The novel is a highly corrupt medium, after all - in the end the vast majority of them simply aren't that great, and are destined to be forgotten.

The danger would be going back, or staying still. The only way out was through. The past was ruins, but the present was still in play.

How often have I met and disliked writers whose books I love; and conversely, hated the books and then wound up liking the writer? Too often.

A novel with a bad middle is a bad book. A bad ending is something I've just gotten in the habit of forgiving.

I don't know if I've ever derived such an immediate sense of calm and well-being from any book as I did from 'Right Ho, Jeeves.' It was like I was Pac-Man and the book was a power-up.