And I go out of Father's house and I walk down the street, and it is very quiet even thought it is the middle of the day and I can't hear any noise except birds singing and wind and sometimes buildings falling down in the distance, and if I stand very close to traffic lights I can hear a little click as the colors change.

My book has a very simple surface, but there are layers of irony and paradox all the way through it.

I want my name to mean me.

Eventually scientists will discover something that explains ghosts, just like they discovered electricity, which explained lightning, and it might be something about people's brains, or something about the earth's magnetic field, or it might be some new force altogether. And then ghosts won't be mysteries. They will be like electricity and rainbows and nonstick frying pans.

Madness doesn't happen to someone alone. Very few people have experiences that are theirs alone.

And this shows that sometimes people want to be stupid and they do not want to know the truth.

I think good books have to make a few people angry.