I try not to read my own books just because I would rather read somebody else.

I sometimes wonder if our memories are a myth. We think we remember, but we are remembering the story and not the actual event?

Lot of stories in deceit, how characters deceive other people, but most of all, I think, how they deceive themselves. We're not as tricky as we think we are.

I beat a story to within an inch of its life - that's when I know its done. Not before, not after.

Maybe my work is somewhat divided into family stories, things I know intimately, and then everybody else in the world - the strangers who I am totally fascinated with.

My characters tend to be people who are looking back on a life lived, their joys, their regrets.

I've spent so many years living in one place and imaging another.