I guess I still feel that way and yet I'm slightly hesitant to insist on that idea, that it "better be fun for the writer." Or rather, that if it is, then the pleasure is a sign that it's good. Maybe I feel I've read that somewhere, other writers saying it, and I just think there is possibly no formula, and I don't like to read an interview with a writer where they just lay out the doxa of what quality is. It can seem brittle to do that.

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

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.

It's amazing how life conspires to set you up with what you need.

The VW doesn’t make you think of Hitler and genocide. It’s a breast on wheels, a puffy little dream.

I'm releasing myself from the responsibility of claiming to know when something is good and when it isn't.

I didn't do a masters in creative writing until I was 26, which is quite old, and then I found myself in New York and I needed money, so I started working full time as an editor.