In short, I'm pretty suspicious of the idea that there's a real and true and authentic world, and then a bunch of false ones.

I have spent a lot of time in the art world, and I guess I do listen to how people speak. I'm interested in what they say and how they say it.

There was lots of pleasure in writing The Flamethrowers. Then again, what is pleasure? Some pleasure is easy and other kinds are never quite felt, existing only as the residue of hard work, or more as satisfaction than thrill.

It's really a misconception to identify the writer with the main character, given that the author creates all the characters in the book. In certain ways, I'm every character.

I had been thinking about rubber all along. Like as the novel's element, or base material. A lot of artists in the late '60s and early '70s worked with rubber and other forms that seemed like they connoted industrial detritus. Robert Morris, Eva Hesse.

My mother told me many stories about her childhood in Cuba. Living there had a profound impact on her and how she regards herself.

A lot of politics in art is just institutional critique, which, in my opinion, is not all that political.