I had a connoisseur's... appreciation of fear.

I liked the place I came from. But a lot of what I liked about it was that I had come from there.

When, in the third book, we do learn the identity of the Blue Rose murderer, the information comes in a muted, nearly off-hand manner, and the man has died long before.

Wolf! Right here and now!

I wish I'd known at the beginning that all I really had to do is trust myself. Everything would work out as if by magic once I actually leaned back into my imagination and just let it work, and not question it and not fret about it.

Instead, I was interested in what I guess I could call narrative indeterminacy, in questioning the apparent, taken-for-granted authority of any particular representation of the events in question.

Intellectual labor is a common technique for the avoidance of thinking.