It's fiction's job to express how it feels to be living now, and it's a complex feeling, full of contradiction. To me it often feels like a brutal trivialization of reality.

I just write what I want to read, and sometimes keeping it interesting means adding one more element that ends up adding another year to the work.

Novels seem to exist because of this need to know and connect, and so story becomes charged with necessity.

I'm not even sure if empathy is an act, it could be a disposition.

Toronto is hard to capture in a few strokes.

There's some evidence that before events of mass trauma, even unpredictable ones, people begin to feel higher anxiety, often expressed in terms specific to the event.

Trauma, and certain important experiences, can imprint on us at a genetic level.