I've come across a novel called The Palm-Wine Drinkard, by the Nigerian writer Amos Tutuola, that is really remarkable because it is a kind of fantasy of West African mythology all told in West African English which, of course, is not the same as standard English.

Ralph... would treat the day's decisions as though he were playing chess. The only trouble was that he would never be a very good chess player.

How can you expect to be rescued if you don’t put first things first and act proper?

Honestly, I haven't the time to read contemporary writers. I know this is awful, but in the main it is true.

However you disguise novels, they are always biographies.

The candle-buds opened their wide white flowers....Their scent spilled out into the air and took possession of the island.

Latin, as we all know, ultimately broke down into Spanish, Italian, French, and so on. One wonders whether there will be an imperial parallel with English breaking down into, shall we say, North American, European, Australian, and so on. On the other hand, there is this immense, inward-driving influence of radio and television that is bringing us all back together. One could say it's a fight between the two: a fight between regionalism and the standardization through communication.