In India the odd thing is that English is this almost artificial language floating on the surface of a place with about fifty other languages. The same is true of Nigeria but even more so.

How would I myself live in this proposed society? How long would it be before I went stark staring mad?

He lost himself in a maze of thoughts that were rendered vague by his lack of words to express them. Frowning, he tried again.

As soon as Oliver Twist is serialized, people who would never dream of reading [Charles] Dickens, if they hadn't seen him on their box, buy the paperback.

I'm not a critic so much of my own writing. People must make up their own minds over that.

For a small island, the place is remarkably diverse. Writers tend to see things from their own points of view, looking in one direction very much.

The pile of guts was a black blob of flies that buzzed like a saw. After a while these flies found Simon. Gorged, they alighted by his runnels of sweat and drank. They tickled under his nostrils and played leapfrog on his thighs. They were black and iridescent green and without number; and in front of Simon, the Lord of the Flies hung on his stick and grinned. At last Simon gave up and looked back; saw the white teeth and dim eyes, the blood—and his gaze was held by that ancient, inescapable recognition.