Christianity has kept itself going for centuries on hope alone, and has perpetrated all manner of naughtiness in the meantime.

I remain fascinated by where you go as a woman once you are a mother, and if you ever come back.

The reaction to 'Aftermath' has been far worse than to 'A Life's Work,' yet I find I'm perhaps a little less touched by it. In both cases, I've coped artistically by believing the criticisms weren't right. They upset me, but they didn't challenge my understanding of how to write, nor of how morality functions in literature.

Having your second child, in case you were wondering, is a lot harder than having your first, except for those people who find it easier. I'm afraid I don't have the latest figures to confirm this.

My children are living, thinking human beings. It isn't in my power to regret them, for they belong to themselves.

Hope is like one of those orchids that grows around toxic waste: lovely in itself - and an assertion, if you like, of indefatigable good - but a sure sign that something nasty lies underneath.

A feminist man is a bit like a vegetarian: it's the humanitarian principle he's defending, I suppose.